“Damn, Vic – that’s some genius-level shit right there.”
I didn’t tell him I got the idea from a vodka commercial where they fly a blimp up into the sky and project an old movie on clouds.
Hey – the best artists steal, right?
“So – we never got around to it, but how exactly are we going to make money on this?” Derek asked.
“Basically we’re going to live-stream it on the internet for ten bucks.”
“How are we going to let people know?”
“Internet star, remember?” I said, jerking my thumb at my chest. “Ten billion fans? We’ll have to pay for all the tech stuff, but at least 50% should go to the charity.”
He winced. “50%? How much do you think we’ll actually raise?”
“Last number I saw, we’ve already got over a million people signed up and ready to watch the live stream. That’s 10 million bucks so far, and there’s another five hours to show time. I’m thinkin’, when you take into account everybody who’ll watch across the planet.… at least 30 million gross, so about 15 million dollars profit for the charity.”
“Holy shit,” Derek murmured, seriously impressed.
“Plus I’m going to run a telethon off of my Instagram page, asking people to donate. There’ll be an online auction for 50 spots to come party with the band afterwards – that total’s already up over a million dollars, mostly celebrities – along with a lottery for 50 people who don’t have the money to bid. And we’re gonna sell the concert footage to HBO or Amazon or somebody, so that’s even more cash.”
“Wow!” Derek laughed. “You pulled this all together in – what – 16 hours? How’d you do it?”
“Connections, my man. Connections.”
“I guess so! To be honest, man, I thought you were all talk, but… this is fuckin’ awesome.”
His words stung a little – mostly because they reminded me of something Monica had said: You’re just talk, talk, talk.
“Thanks,” I said, but what I was really thinking was, I hope you see this, Monica.
And then you’ll know you were wrong about me.
“So since you’ve put together all this wizardry behind the scenes, what are me and the rest of the band supposed to do?” he joked.
“Just bring it, buddy. Make it the concert of the century.”
“Alright… you set a high bar, Vic, but I’m gonna do my best to clear it.”
We hugged again and back-slapped.
“I better get working on sound check,” he said.
“I’ll be around if you need me.”
“Good job, brother,” Derek said as a parting shot, and gave me a thumbs-up before he walked off.
High praise from the biggest rock star on the planet.
But it wasn’t what I wanted most.
I looked at the Manhattan skyline, all the steel and glass gleaming in the late afternoon sun, and wondered if she would see it.
She would definitely hear it, that’s for sure.
I thought of something else she’d said: You could change the world if you just put your mind to it – but before that, you’ve got to change yourself… and that’s the one thing you don’t seem willing to do.
“Here’s where I start, babe,” I said. “Here’s where I start.”
101
Monica
Dinner at Gironde was amazing. The food was well-worth the three-star Michelin rating – but the view was the truly astounding thing. Domenico had a table on the upper deck of the restaurant, on an open-air platform forty feet above the other diners, and we commanded a 270 degree view. As twilight crept towards complete darkness, the million lights of the city blazed like some sort of impressionistic painting.
The only thing that was really strange was this giant cloud billowing up from the Hudson River. I could have sworn it was a fire, but there wasn’t any flame, and the cloud was completely white.
“So… I take it you are free of entanglements?” Domenico asked as we started on the fourth course.
I looked up at him. “Legal?”
He smiled devilishly. “I was speaking of relationships.”
“I thought we were going to keep this to business.”
“I am merely making conversation.”
I smiled tightly. “Well… if you must know… then yes. I’m currently single.”
“I hope it was not a painful ending.”
Actually, yes, it was heart-wrenching. And it was less than 24 hours ago.
“Not particularly,” I lied.
“Good. It really was the best thing for you.”
I looked at him coolly. “And why is that?”
“You are a woman of class. Elegance.”
I’m a Jersey girl, born and bred. I try my best at putting up a good front, but I would never say I was a woman of class OR elegance.
And as a Jersey girl, I can tell right away when I’m being bullshitted by some guy who just wants to get into my pants.
But I let him go on anyway. He was nice to look at, and even nicer to listen to.
“You deserve much more than what your previous companion had to offer,” Domenico said.
“Is that so.”
“That is so,” he said definitively, closing the book on any disagreement. “And now, by his absence… you have opened yourself up to other… more rewarding experiences.”
I couldn’t deny it – he was gorgeous. And his voice… smoldering and sexy…
For a second I forgot about Vic.
And that was when it happened.
The cloud bank lit up in Technicolor brightness over the Hudson River. A familiar album cover flashed onto the clouds: a .44 Smith & Wesson next to a tiny little pistol, with the words Bigger Than Yours at the top.
At the same time, an announcer’s voice spoke clearly – a real achievement, seeing as the source was probably a full mile away, and about a thousand feet below the restaurant. “Ladies and gentlemen, both here and across the world – thank you for watching tonight’s charity concert for breast cancer – featuring the biggest rock band in the world! Give it up for Derek Kane, lead singer of Bigger!”
There was a monumental roar from down below. The kind of roar you hear from a crowd of a hundred thousand people or more.
All the patrons of the restaurant were turning around in surprise, craning their necks to see what was going on outside. A few even walked right up to the glass to peer out.
Of course, up here on the second level – above the ‘mere millionaires’ – Domenico and I had an unobstructed view.
I stared in astonishment as Derek Kane’s gorgeous face appeared on the cloud, just like on a gigantic movie screen.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I murmured.
Domenico saw my reaction, and turned around to see the cloud bank. “Ah – clever.”
He didn’t have a clue what was going on, or why we were seeing this right now.
But I did.
Vic, you sneaky bastard –
Derek looked out from the cloudbank, his face two hundred feet tall, and said to the audience, “Hey everybody – just wanted to thank the people of New York and New Jersey for coming out tonight, and thanks to everybody watching online. We’ve already raised over TWENTY MILLION dollars for breast cancer research tonight, and that number is climbing by the second as more of you log on. So, thank you twenty million times over!”
Domenico raised his eyebrows. “Impressive.”
Impressive indeed.
I stood up from my seat and walked towards the thirty-foot high window as though in a trance. It was like I knew exactly what was coming.
“Where are you going?” Domenico asked.
“I have to see this,” I said, and kept walking towards the window.
Derek went on talking. “I’d also like to thank the man responsible for tonight. He called me out of the blue yesterday and said, ‘Hey – what do you think about putting on a concert tomorrow in New York City?’ And I was like… ‘Ok
ay. Sure.’ He is a crazy mother effer, and a man I’m proud to call a good friend. Give it up for The Beard – the King of Instagram – Vic Cortelian!”
And there was his grinning face projected on the cloud, hundreds of feet high.
Despite all our time together, I’d forgotten how incredibly handsome he was. It took a day’s absence and a hell of a break-up to remind me.
I noticed he didn’t have any hoochies surrounding him, either. It was just him hanging out on the side of the stage with the camera guys and audio techs.
He smiled and waved at the crowd, and a giant roar went up from the city below – almost as loud as when the band was announced.
The camera cut back to Derek. “We’re going to play some brand-new, never before heard material off our new album tonight – but first, at Vic’s request, we’re going to start off with our first hit… which he’s dedicating to a special lady out there. Hope you’re listening, Monica.”
My heart skipped a beat.
And then the opening strains of “Girl, Please Stay” started.
Domenico cursed in Italian a few feet behind me.
Well played, Vic, I thought, with an appropriate amount of respect and more than a little humor.
He’d just pulled off the biggest upstaging in the history of the world.
And maybe the biggest cock-block, too.
102
Vic
The concert was absolutely rockin’.
Derek and the rest of the band played like it was their last night on Earth and they were going to make every second count. It really, truly was a concert for the ages. One everybody would be talking about for years.
But despite the exhilaration of being responsible for one of the biggest rock ‘n roll moments of the last decade, I felt…
Empty.
Alone.
More than anything, I wished Monica was here with me.
In fact, I could have done without the concert, as long as she was back by my side.
103
Monica
There’s a great story about Bette Davis.
She was in a movie with a rival actress. When one of her male co-stars praised the other woman highly, Bette just sniffed and said, “I can upstage that bitch without even being on screen.”
And she proceeded to do it.
In her next scene with the woman, Bette was scripted to leave halfway through. Seconds before she was supposed to walk off, she lit a cigarette, took a couple of puffs, said her remaining lines, then left the cigarette burning in an ashtray without stubbing it out.
Over the next three minutes, the other actress kept talking – but all anyone could look at was the smoke curling up from the cigarette. It was just too damn distracting. Nobody could pay attention to what the other woman was saying – and it reminded you continually of Bette’s presence.
She’d upstaged her rival without even being onscreen.
That was exactly what Vic had done to Domenico. Except he wasn’t subtle enough to use a cigarette – it had to be a whole damn cloud bank and a rock concert.
His face never reappeared again – yet he was all I could think about.
Domenico was devilishly charming, but it wasn’t enough. Vic was an invisible yet overwhelming presence throughout the evening – looming over Domenico’s shoulder the entire time, filling the air with music, making it impossible to ignore him without ever actually being there.
And Domenico was smart enough to know that if he tried to get us reseated, or suggested we leave the restaurant, then he was admitting defeat.
He fought valiantly, but he still lost.
When we finally finished dinner and went down to street level, the music was even louder. It seemed to echo through the glass and steel canyons of skyscrapers.
I caught Domenico making a disgusted face at the sky, and I almost burst into laughter.
When his limo pulled around, he said, “Let me drop you at your hotel.”
“Thank you, but I can catch a cab.”
“It is nothing. Let me drop you off.”
“Really, I – ”
“I insist.”
I sighed, then relented. “Okay.”
As we rode back to my hotel, a couple of things became apparent.
One – the limo was virtually soundproof. Domenico had finally removed his rival.
Two – on a Saturday night, the traffic was absolutely brutal. We were going to spend a lot of time together in that limo.
After ten minutes, he had me laughing at his stories and staring into his eyes.
I didn’t forget Vic, but he wasn’t the overwhelming presence he’d been before.
When we pulled up in front of my hotel, I said, “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
“The night is still young. There is still much we could do,” Domenico suggested.
“It’s been a long day,” I said. “I think I should – ”
“Come with me back to my apartment,” he interrupted, but so smoothly that it seemed like it was the obvious direction the conversation should take.
“No,” I said with a smile. “That’s a bad idea.”
“Just for a drink.”
I cocked my head and said wryly, “Oh. Really. Just a drink.”
“That’s all it has to be. I am enjoying your company. Do me a kindness and allow me to savor your presence a bit longer.”
With his faint accent, the words sounded almost musical: Allow me to savor your presence a bit longer.
I never would have heard something that poetic from Vic. With him, I was lucky if his romantic overtures didn’t include the word ‘bang.’
“I… it’s not a good idea,” I demurred.
“You’re still in love with him,” Domenico said with a nod and a knowing smile.
“What?! NO,” I snapped.
“It is fine – it is totally understandable – ”
“I am not in love with him,” I protested vehemently.
“But you still have feelings for him, no?”
“NO. That’s over. Done.”
“Then what is the harm in one drink?”
I paused.
Damn it. I’d fallen right into his trap.
“I told you, I don’t want to mix business and pleasure.”
“Then I will tell you this: if pleasure is to be introduced this evening, you will have to be the one to introduce it. I will do nothing unless you lead the way.”
Huh.
I still hesitated. “Do you promise?”
“On my honor.”
In the silence of the limo, I couldn’t hear the music – which meant Vic was no longer there, exerting his influence.
“…one drink,” I relented. “And that’s all.”
“One drink,” Domenico agreed. “And that is all.”
He clicked a button and spoke into a speaker, and we merged back into traffic.
I wasn’t sure if I’d made a terrible mistake or not.
What I do know is that when the limo drove into Domenico’s building, it went into the underground garage – and I never heard the concert music again.
104
Domenico’s home was gorgeous – a penthouse on one of the tallest buildings overlooking the city.
In fact, it was so tall that it had an outstanding view of the cloud bank and the concert.
Domenico closed the blinds with the click of a button – but there was enough of a glance that I was reminded of Vic.
“A drink?” Domenico asked.
I took a glass of red wine, while he poured himself a straight scotch.
“I want to know something,” I said as I sipped at my wine.
“Anything.”
“Why do you and Vic hate each other so much?”
He smiled as though he found that amusing. “Who said I hate him?”
“He did.”
“He flatters himself, then. I never even think of him.”
“You insulted him every time you saw him,” I pointed out. “I
n Vegas, at Bradley Middleton’s house – ”
“It was something to do. A game. A jest. Other than that, I care nothing about the man.”
“Nothing?”
“I find him repugnant in the same way I find repugnant a beggar reeking of filth. He offends my senses for a moment – but once he is removed from my presence, he is completely gone from my mind.”
Okay, leaving aside Domenico’s incredibly arrogant attitude towards the poor and powerless ‘beggar reeking of filth’…
“Alright, then – why does Vic hate you?” I pressed.
Domenico shrugged. “There are some men who hate their betters simply for the reason that they exist.”
Hate their betters.
Wow.
“So you’re his better?” I asked sardonically.
Domenico cocked one eyebrow. “If that is not apparent, I have done a terrible job of representing myself.”
“You may be more cultured and more wealthy, but that doesn’t make you his better.”
He smirked. “Then what makes him my better? Please, enlighten me.”
“I didn’t say he was your better.”
“Then what makes him my equal?”
“Oh, I don’t know… his sense of humor, for one.”
“So the circus clown is funnier than me.” Domenico made a face like Mm, okay, whatever. “I will grant you that, even if I do not agree.”
“His personal warmth.”
“And is this ‘personal warmth’ you speak of enough to counterbalance his vulgarity? His crude behavior?”
I thought about that for a second, and found that I didn’t know the answer.
If you’d asked the day before when I stormed off his boat, I would have said no.
But in the face of Domenico’s cold egotism, I wasn’t so sure.
“All I know is that he has a lot of redeeming qualities, and you’re completely ignoring them,” I said.
“I’ll tell you one way in which I am his better.”
“Okay…”
“I am a man who goes after what he wants, who makes his own way in the world. Victor is a child. He is a boy frozen in adolescence. He leeches off his uncles, lives a life of dissolution, and thinks about nothing but his own pursuit of pleasure.”
Strip Poker: Bad Boys Club Romance #2 Page 27
