Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel)

by Brogan, Tracy

  Delaney came to with a cold washcloth pressed against her forehead and the smell of Sissy’s overly sweet perfume stirring up another round of nausea. Delaney opened her eyes, and there they all were in a circle around her, Reggie, Humphrey, Finch, Sammy, Sissy, and Clark. She felt like Dorothy after returning from Oz, but Delaney wasn’t in Kansas. She was in the Graceland Suite of the Heartbreak Hotel. She could tell by the lemon-yellow and navy-blue decor. This was a replica of Elvis’s TV room.

  “Here she comes,” Finch said. He was next to her, holding the washcloth in place.

  Delaney tried to sit up but he pressed a hand against her shoulder. “Hold on there, sweetness. Give yourself a minute. And give me a minute too because you damn near made me wet myself on that elevator. You scared the livin’ bejesus out of me.”

  “What happened?” she asked faintly.

  “The press swarmed you like a hive of angry bees and you fainted. How are you feeling now?”

  “Oh, God. The press.” She glanced up at Reggie. “They called me Delaney. How did they know I was here?” She closed her eyes as dizziness spun her again, and when she opened them, she realized the rest of them must know now too. They must despise her, although she saw nothing but concern on their faces.

  Reggie shook his head, his dark eyes peering intently at her face. “I don’t know, but obviously somebody told them.”

  “Did you come back alone? I didn’t see Grant in the lobby,” Humphrey added.

  More nausea. That whole panic attack thing—she’d kind of been kidding about that before, but now she was damn certain this was what one felt like. Either that or she had food poisoning. And coronary artery disease. And tuberculosis. Or maybe it was just that her life had completely fallen apart in the space of a few hours.

  She tried to breathe, deep and slow, and stared back at Reggie. If she kept her eyes in one place, maybe the room would hold still.

  “Grant is back at his aunt’s house,” she said through the breathing. “He’s really upset with me. He knows everything.” Numbness was slowly replacing the panic, and that was preferable because otherwise she was going to start crying, and crying never did anybody any good. Plus if she was about to face the press, she didn’t want her eyes to be all puffy and red. That was just the kind of thing a girl like Delaney Masterson had to worry about.

  Finch flipped the damp washcloth over and put it on her forehead again so it felt nice and cool.

  “Don’t worry about Captain America,” Reggie said. “He’ll get over it.”

  She struggled up to a sitting position on the lemon-yellow sofa and let the washcloth fall. “I don’t think so. He thinks I did all this as a publicity stunt, and the press being here is just going to convince him he’s right. He’ll think I called them myself. I need to get out of here.”

  She put her hand on Finch’s shoulder to stabilize herself as she stood, and Clark reached over and took her elbow, steadying her. My God. When had she gotten so fragile? This was not who she was. Or . . . at least it wasn’t who she intended to be.

  “You want me to walk you back to your own room?” Humphrey asked.

  “No, I don’t just mean get out of this room. I mean out of this hotel. Out of Memphis.”

  “Oh, well now you’re just talking silly talk, darlin’,” Sissy said. “You sit back down and let me get you some soda pop. You’re white as Clark’s buns, and you still need to catch your breath.”

  Delaney wanted to argue, but she couldn’t, because gravity had dragged her down and she found herself sitting on the lemon-yellow sofa again.

  “I’ll get you something to drink,” Humphrey said, turning and walking into the mini version of Elvis’s glass-and-mirror bar.

  “Maybe you should just go have a nice little chat with those reporters, and tell them your story. And we’ll all get our picture taken,” Sissy said, patting her stiff helmet of hair.

  Delaney shook her head. “No. No story. No pictures. Those reporters aren’t looking for the truth, they’re just looking for something they can twist into sensationalized headlines. You heard them, didn’t you, Finch? A love triangle? Where the hell did that idea come from?”

  Humphrey handed her a glass of something fizzy. “Here. Drink this.”

  Delaney gulped it down. Apparently fainting made her thirsty. Then she looked around at all of them. All the men had sat back down but Sissy was standing up. Even so, all of them were staring at her as if she was about to sprout moose antlers or turn into a pillar of salt.

  “Listen,” Delaney said. “I owe each one of you an apology. I’m sorry I lied about who I was. I was just trying to keep things simpler.”

  Clark pushed his hat back on his head. “Aw, shucks, don’t you go give no nevermind about that. We understand. Sissy told me yesterday about all your troubles.”

  Sissy tapped him, none too gently, with the back of her hand against his shoulder.

  “Yesterday?” Delaney looked up at the other woman. “You knew who I was yesterday?”

  Sissy’s already rouged cheeks deepened to a bright cherry red. “Well of course I knew. I’m not a simpleton. I knew who you was just as soon as we came back here and you tried on some of my shirts. You got that little hummingbird tattoo right there.” Sissy tapped her own shoulder. “If I wasn’t certain already, that pretty much gave it away.”

  The tattoo. Great. That meant Sissy had probably seen the video too. Not that any of that mattered at this point. What was done was done.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Delaney asked.

  Sissy shrugged, making her enviable breasts jiggle. “I don’t know. I guess I figured you was keeping it a secret for a reason, and if I went and blabbed, you’d just run away again. But . . .” she paused and her face rose to a whole new level of red.

  “Aw, Sissy.” Clark shook his head. “You didn’t keep this a secret, did you.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Sissy started to cross her arms but that was physically impossible so she just harrumphed and her hands landed on her hips. “Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not as if Reggie didn’t know too. And her picture was on Facebook for goodness’ sake. Maybe I’m not the reason the press found her here.”

  “Who’d you tell, baby?” Clark asked. “Please don’t say your momma, ’cause we all know your momma couldn’t keep a secret if the dear Lord Hisself had a hand over her mouth.”

  Sissy’s gaze skittered around the room, not making eye contact with anyone.

  “Aw, Sis,” Reggie said. “Even I know your momma can’t keep a secret. What were you thinking, telling her?”

  Sissy started to visibly bristle as she stared down at Reggie. “I was thinking that I was sitting around eating catfish and ribs with t-h-e-e Delaney Masterson, and even though my momma has never been impressed by anything I’ve ever done in all my life, she might be impressed if I told her that the same Delaney Masterson was in my hotel room, and wearing one of my blouses. So there. That’s what I was thinking.”

  Now all the men were frowning at Sissy and Delaney knew that wasn’t fair. “Hey, it doesn’t matter, you guys. It wasn’t anyone’s responsibility to keep my secret, and Sissy’s right. I was on Facebook. I was playing piano. I’ve been around in the lobby. Anyone could have seen me and figured it out. Trust me. If the press wants to find you, they find you. So now it is time for me to face them, but on my own terms.” Delaney stood up, feeling just slightly stronger than she had a moment ago. “I think it’s time for me to go home. I’ve finally got my wallet and phone and computer. There’s nothing keeping me in Memphis.”

  “What about the cameraman?” Finch asked.

  Hot tears sprang to her eyes but she wouldn’t let them fall. Not here in front of everyone. But it was a fair question. What about the cameraman? What was she going to do about Grant?

  “I think I’m on my own, Finch. He told me he was going
back to Michigan with his mother. And since I’m heading to Beverly Hills, well, I guess that’s that.”

  She didn’t believe that, though. Not for a second. Her heart wouldn’t let her. Grant might have said he didn’t care, but she knew he did, and he’d come back. He’d come back to the hotel so they could talk this through and she could make this right. Everything would be fine just as soon as he’d calmed down.

  Delaney Masterson may have underestimated how long it would take for Grant Connelly to calm down. She’d heard nothing from him by late afternoon, and the longer she waited, the more awful she felt. Like ten-fatal-illnesses-all-at-once kind of awful. This was dread on top of regret on top of heartache, and it sucked.

  When a knock sounded on the door around dinnertime, she let herself hope—but it was only Reggie.

  “You look disappointed, honeybun. I’ll try not to take that personally. I brought you some spaghetti from the Jungle Room Lounge. I figured you’d be hungry by now, yeah?”

  He stepped inside carrying a beige plastic tray with a covered plate on it, along with two beers.

  “Thanks.” She wasn’t hungry, though. Her stomach had more knots in it than a baby hat knit with drumsticks, but she pointed to the table anyway, indicating he could set the tray there. She hoped both the beers were for her. Not because she didn’t want Reggie to stick around, but because she needed at least two of those right now.

  “Any word from your cowboy?” Reggie asked, twisting off the top of one and handing her a bottle.

  “No. I left him three messages but he hasn’t called back. I don’t think he’s going to.”

  Saying it out loud made her heart feel like the iceberg that took down the Titanic, sharp, frozen, and accidentally destructive. She hadn’t meant for it to happen, but her actions caused disaster.

  She and Reggie sat down on the white vinyl sofa, and she pulled her legs up under her. “I even texted him saying I needed to book a flight home and wanted to talk to him before I left Memphis, but . . . nothing.”

  “Did you book a flight?” Reggie took a sip of the other beer.

  Delaney nodded. “Yes. I leave tomorrow at noon. I talked to my sister about an hour ago and told her I’d be home. She said the producers are anxious as hell to tape a special edition of Pop Rocks just to address all this crap as soon as I get home. Like a press conference. Getting the police involved in my search has taken this to a whole different level.” Her eyes puddled up, again.

  She thought she’d cried out every bit of moisture in her body when she talked to Melody, but apparently she still had a little juice left. Out came the tears, twin streams of frustration rolling right down her cheeks, but she swiped them away. Delaney Masterson might be a runner and a hider, but darn it all, she was not a crier. She swiped those stupid, helpless tears away.

  “Everything I’ve done has completely backfired, Reg, and now I’m getting more media attention than ever. I’m beginning to think the purpose of my life is to serve as a cautionary tale to others.”

  Reggie chuckled and patted her leg in the most brotherly way. “Aw, sugar, don’t cry. Maybe you just need to figure out how to put a positive spin on things.” He grabbed a tissue from the box sitting on the coffee table and handed it to her.

  She snuffled into it. “A positive spin? Haven’t you been paying attention? I’m involved in a sex scandal, the police believe I faked my own disappearance, and the man I love thinks I’m a liar and a fake.”

  His dark eyes widened as he looked over at her. “Man you love? You’ve come a long way since yesterday, yeah? I thought he was just the landlord.”

  Delaney threw the damp tissue on the table. “We had a really good night last night.”

  Reggie chuckled harder. “I should say so. Look, the bigger they are, the harder they fall, and your man is the type to fall hard. He’ll come around. Like I told you, he’s got that same sappy love-look in his eyes just like you.”

  She sighed. “You didn’t see him when he stormed in here and threw this magazine at my feet.” She pointed to where it now sat on the coffee table.

  Reggie leaned over and picked it up. It made her sick to look at, but she’d read it anyway, just so she’d know what kind of lies Grant had been exposed to. A new knot twisted in her gut. “The article was pretty awful. All those sources close to quotes basically mean the reporters make up whatever they want. They accused me of everything shy of being pregnant with an alien baby.” She took a big gulp of beer. “And apparently there is some suggestion of a love triangle. Does anyone know you’re here? You could end up in the papers.”

  He tossed the magazine back on the table. “I would love to be your fictional other man. You know what they say. No press is bad press.”

  She set her bottle down next to her glossy picture. “I would argue that the person who said that wasn’t trying to outrun a sex scandal.”

  Reggie cocked his head. “Maybe not, but it seems to me that running from this is like trying to outrun a bear.”

  “How so?”

  His shoulders rose and fell. “It can’t be done, so your safest bet is to just stand still.”

  “Stand still? How does that help me?”

  “If you stand still, a bear will only eat you if he’s hungry.”

  Something must be lost in translation here. His hillbilly advice was not going to help this California girl. “Great, except reporters aren’t bears. They’re more like . . . piranhas or sharks, or . . . oh, I don’t know. Whatever kind of animal shreds you to pieces just for the fun of it.”

  “OK, sharks then. You know how to outswim a shark?”

  “No.”

  “That’s because you can’t, but you can punch them in the nose. You can go on the offensive and startle them. Maybe that’s what you need to do in this situation.”

  “Go on the offensive?” Apparently the animal kingdom analogies had morphed into sports talk.

  “Yeah. Now, Lord knows, darlin’, I’ve never been accused of overthinking a situation, but I do know that facing stuff head-on is better than running. Stand your ground.” He put his feet up on the coffee table and crossed his legs at the ankles. “I know this is none of my business, but if you were my girl and some guy released a video like that jackass did, I’d go after him every which way. Sue him, have him arrested, sic some Rottweilers on his ass, or something. Seems like this was all his doing.”

  Delaney’s cheeks heated up. “I did some doing.”

  “Did you have the expectation of privacy?” His expression was serious.

  “What?” Her expression was surely one of surprise.

  Reggie chuckled and took a sip of beer. “OK, so we watch a lot of Law & Order on the tour bus, but I’m not fooling. Check with your lawyer ’cause that guy did a terrible thing and he certainly broke the law. I mean, you know I love me the honeys, and I’ve had some wild times on that bus, but I would never, ever record a woman without her consent. A real man would never do that. I see you running from this situation, but he’s the one who should be ashamed, don’t you think?”

  She’d never really thought about it that way before. She was so busy feeling victimized, but Boyd was the one who should be ashamed. Boyd had violated her trust. He’d exploited their relationship for fame and financial gain without caring how she’d be humiliated. It really was reprehensible.

  Reggie took another sip of beer. “You know what else? I think maybe you should tell people about the baby hats.”

  “The baby hats? Why?”

  “Yeah, the baby hats. You’re worried over what folks think of you, and you’ve got everybody’s attention right now, so take this chance to tell them about all the nice stuff you do, like making hats for all those poor little bald kids. If you offer up some happy shit, maybe those reporters will stop looking for the nasty stuff. I’m telling you, honeybun, this is all about how you spin it from here on out. Y
ou’re a celebrity and you can’t do much about that, but people love a comeback story. So tell them how you ran away to find yourself, or some new-wave thing like that. You’re from California. They’ll buy that. Tell everybody how you’ve grown from this hardship or whatever. Shucks, tell them anything you want to, but take charge of it. Be the sheepdog and not the sheep.”

  “So we’re back to animal examples again? What if no one believes me?”

  He scowled at the ceiling then looked back at her. “If they don’t believe you, then fuck ’em. Look, sugar, you can’t control what people think or what they do. You can only control how you react to it. Bottom line is you need to decide who it is you’re living this life for. You or them?”

  Delaney reached over and picked up her beer, taking another gulp.

  “That’s kind of smart, Reg. You might be on to something.”

  His chest puffed up as he moved his feet and sat forward on the sofa. “My vast wisdom is a well-kept secret. But listen, I hate to leave you all by your lonesome, but me and the boys agreed to play here for two more nights. You want to come down to the lounge?”

  Was it that late already? Evening now and still no word from Grant. “No, I think I’ll keep a low profile tonight. I’ll just hang around here and eat my spaghetti. Alone.”

  “Maybe your fella will still show up,” he said.

  “I don’t think so. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

  He reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry, sugar. I’d hit on you if I thought it would make you feel better.”

  It took all her strength to smile at that. “Thanks, Reg. I appreciate it. I’ll pass, but do you think you could go with me to the airport tomorrow? I need to leave around nine thirty in the morning, and honestly, I’m not quite ready to take on any scene at the airport. I’ll be OK by the time I get to Los Angeles, though. Home-field advantage and all.”

  He stood up. “Absolutely. It would be my pleasure. Speaking of pleasure, you sure you don’t want me to come back later tonight and tuck you in? You might need some comforting.” He cocked an eyebrow suggestively but she could tell he was teasing. He still looked mostly sympathetic, and the knowledge that even Reggie was realizing Grant was history made her feel worse than before.