by Remy, Cate
“It wasn’t your t-shirt. People are making memes from the picture. They’re putting it alongside this photo of your ex and her new boyfriend Krash Skulkton.” His manager scrolled down to show him a picture of Rita and some pale guy with eyeliner and a tongue ring. He was dressed in studded black leather with skulls printed on the front of his vest.
“So Rita’s into goth guys now. What’s it have to do with me?”
“Don’t you understand the meme?”
“I don’t have time to sit and dissect what fans do behind the computer. That’s part of your job.”
“The meme is comparing the two of you. Rita looks like she’s enjoying life. You look pitiful.”
“I’m working on a new album around the clock to meet the deadline. I’m not sleeping regularly.”
“Obviously, but no one else knows that. We have to shape up your image or everyone’s going to think you look tired and unhappy because you’re pining over your ex-girlfriend.”
Deacon crossed his arms. “I don’t think about Rita anymore. She and I have long been over.”
“Fine, but you need to appear like you’re having fun, too. You need some new arm candy.”
He walked over to the window and looked out at the street below. “I’m not dating right now. I need to focus on my music.”
“Who said you had to actually date? You just need a chick who looks good standing beside you.” Ash got up from the table, taking the laptop with him. He showed Deacon the picture of him and Tracy again. He tapped Tracy’s head on the screen. “What about her?”
“My photographer?” Deacon began to seriously consider whether his manager needed a short stay at the psych ward.
“You don’t think she looks the part? She’s tall and she has a lot of hair. You like girls with big hair.”
“It’s not her hair.” He viewed Tracy’s image on the screen. “She is cute, in a nerdy girl kind of way.” Deacon paused, thinking how he just spoke those words aloud to his manager. Now the guy looked encouraged. Or was the word incorrigible?
“So this could work,” Ash concluded.
“No. I can’t ask Tracy to pretend to be my girlfriend. That’s weird.”
“No, it isn’t. A lot of musicians and celebrities hire people to go with them to parties and award shows.”
“Those are one-time events. You’re asking me to get her to be my fake girlfriend. Sounds like a commitment.”
Ash made of pshaw sound. “No one’s asking you to commit. Just pretend you are. You remember how you used to work on that soap opera as a teenager before you made it big as a singer, right?”
“Did you really have to remind me of those days?”
“My point is, you know how to act. We need to change your image and get you out in the scene again looking like the rock star you are, not some sad little emo boy crying into his latte.”
“It had triple espresso, and I wasn’t crying. And I’m not emo.”
“Sure. I’m convinced when you whine at my idea like that.” Ash shoved the laptop into Deacon’s arms. “Think about it. I’m going to call in some takeout since I’ll be here for a while.”
He left Deacon in the break room clutching the laptop. Deacon kept shaking his head as he stared after him. His manager was crazy. He couldn’t figure out why he hired him in the first place.
Because he knew his job and how to get things done. Ash wasn’t afraid to go against the grain. What Deacon admired before now came to backfire.
He glanced at the photo of himself and Tracy one more time. He focused on Tracy. She did look pretty with her fluffy ‘fro spilling over her Jumpy Java visor. Still, he wasn’t so convinced about his manager’s idea. Would fans be convinced he and she were dating?
Ash returned to the break room. “Kung pao chicken is on the way. I ordered an extra platter of dumplings and egg rolls if the band wants some.”
“They might. I don’t.” Deacon gave him back his laptop. “Tracy will never agree to this.”
“How do you know if you don’t talk to her?”
He thought back on how she stood up to him at the concert when he mistook her for one of the stage crew. “Something about her tells me she’s very no-nonsense. Plus, she’s not the wild type.”
“Like you need more of those, anyway.”
“Ouch. Point taken.”
“Offer her an incentive that pays well. You need her to be your girlfriend for a few months while you get your career comeback going.”
Deacon made a face. “I hate that word.”
His manager remained stoic. “It is what it is. You need to sell albums and trend on internet searches. Do what you have to do.”
He relented. “I’ll see if I can talk to Tracy after we finish up tonight.”
“While you butter her up, I’ll draw up the details for a new contract. You should get to work. Renting those recording studios by the hour doesn’t come cheap.”
“Neither does a fake girlfriend,” Deacon muttered as he left the manager alone in the break room. This had to be dumbest thing he ever did in preparation to launch a new hit album.
It might be just dumb enough to work.
Deacon went down the hall past the recording studios and found Tracy in the lounge. She was perched on the couch, gazing at photos on her laptop. She had one leg tucked under her while the other dangled. He looked at her sneaker. “Your shoelaces are untied.”
His voice made her jump. She blinked at him, wide-eyed beneath her glasses. She took them off and rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“This whole floor is sound proof.” He tapped on the wall next to him for emphasis. “The original Peachtree Records exec wanted it that way when he signed the first heavy metal band with the company.”
“Makes sense.” She put her glasses back on. “Did you need me for something?”
“Yes.” Deacon fumbled over how to phrase what he was about to ask. Tracy continued to dangle one foot above the floor while she waited for him. He started to say something, but the words became jumbled in his head. He bit his tongue by accident. Was this his body’s way of telling him to hold off until he could think of a better approach? Why did come rushing here before he thought things through? “Actually, this can wait until after we finish recording. Do you want to get something to eat afterwards?”
She stared at him. “You and the band are grabbing dinner?”
“Not the band. Just me. And you, if you want to come.” He cringed on the inside. So awkward. Usually, asking a woman to dinner came easy for him. What made it so difficult this time? “It’s strictly business,” he added.
She put the laptop down in order to tie her shoelaces. “What place did you have in mind?”
Phew. He didn’t bomb things too badly after all. “There’s an Italian place uptown I like to go to.”
“I like Italian.”
“Perfect. Did you ride here on the rail or take a cab?”
She finished tying her shoe. “I drove my car.”
“We can take mine to Giada’s. Then I’ll drive you back here.”
“I guess that’ll work.”
Deacon wanted to get out of the lounge. It felt stuffy and claustrophobic. “Good deal, then. I’ll let you get back to work. You can come meet us by the recording studio to take pictures in about thirty minutes. Should have the drum and bass solo wrapped up by then. Hopefully.”
She gave him the thumbs up sign. He took his cue to leave. This plan he cooked up with Ash had better work or else he succeeded in only making things super strange between him and Tracy.
AFTER DEACON LEFT THE lounge, Tracy processed the strange invitation to dinner she received from him. Something about it seemed off.
For one, he wanted to have dinner with just her and not the rest of the band or his manager. It almost sounded like a date, but she knew that couldn’t possibly be what it was. He hired her to take pictures, and besides, she was pretty sure he didn’t have an issue finding women to join him for dinner. T
here had to be another reason.
He mentioned this being about business. What did he want to discuss with her that he couldn’t say in front of his manager? Why wasn’t Ash joining them?
Tracy couldn’t find answers to her questions, so she gave up trying. Instead, she used her phone to google the restaurant Giada’s. There were four money signs next to the restaurant’s name. This place wasn’t cheap. She would go broke ordering a salad. Maybe she could order a small appetizer and tell Deacon she had a big lunch earlier and wasn’t very hungry.
She hung out in the lounge until the thirty minute mark went by. The band might be finished recording. She packed her laptop into her bag and carted everything to the recording studios.
Deacon was standing outside Studio Three with the other band members when she arrived. He looked a little less agitated now than when she first saw him. “Got the solo down?” she asked.
“Eh.” He turned his hand from side to side. “We’ve got something to work with. We’ll pick it up again tomorrow morning.”
“Where did you want me to take your picture?”
“Let’s take a few shots out here. If you can, get some pics of the recording equipment.”
Tracy took out her handheld camera and got pictures of the band, starting with them as a group outside the studio. Then they went inside the studio where she shot pictures of Luka and Nick individually with their instruments. “You, too,” she instructed Deacon.
He picked up the lead guitar and slung it over one broad shoulder. “What do I need to do?”
“Act natural, like you’re about to sing. No posing. I want a realistic shot.”
He relaxed in front of the mic. The strap hung across his lean torso and stopped just below his hips. Tracy snapped a few shots. The soft gold lighting in the studio highlighted his tanned skin. She took a couple more just to have more to choose from.
She finished within the next half hour. “I think I have what I need, unless you want to take more pictures in a different location.”
Deacon declined. “That’s good for tonight.” He pulled the guitar strap over his head and put the instrument in its case. “Alright, guys, see you tomorrow.”
The drummer and bassist each went their separate ways, leaving Tracy alone with Deacon in the recording studio. “Ready to head out?” he asked. He slung the fabric guitar case strap over his back.
She nodded while putting the camera away. He turned out the lights to the recording studio when they left it. They carried their things to the elevator. They passed a window on the way. The sun had set a while ago, leaving a sliver of pink-orange light barely visible behind the downtown skyscrapers.
Deacon held open the elevator door while she got inside. He hit the button to go to the lobby. “My car is in the employee lot. Where are you parked?”
“I’m a block up the road in a parking deck.” She counted back from the present until the time she arrived. It looked like she would be paying the fifteen dollar all-day fee after all. “I need to put my stuff in the car before we go.”
“There’s room for your stuff in my trunk.”
He must be really hungry. Tracy followed him past the security guards, who merely nodded his way, and went out to the employee parking lot. The long rows of Bentleys, black BMWs, and zippy little sports cars gave it away that this space was reserved for the company elite.
Deacon strode to a red foreign number that looked like it was better suited to the Audubon rather than the streets of Atlanta. He lifted the small hatch in the back. “We should be able to fit both your backpack and my guitar.”
Tracy saw the Alfa Romeo symbol on the side of the car and handed him her backpack. “I don’t want to scratch up anything.”
He managed to get all of their stuff in the car’s hatch. Then he hit a button on the key fob to start the engine. “I called ahead to the restaurant so they’ll be expecting us.”
Wow. This dinner must be significant. Tracy opened the passenger door and sank into the bucket seat. Deacon hopped in and drove the car out of the lot in one smooth motion. What was he up to? The question followed her all the way to Giada’s.
ONCE THEY ARRIVED AT the Italian restaurant, a waiter dressed in white jumped to greet them and escorted them to a private table in the back. When they were seated, Tracy stared at the list of entrees on the fancy menu. She couldn’t pronounce the names of several, let alone guess what was in them. She was certain about one thing. Judging by the restaurant’s plush décor and posh wait staff, each dish on the menu probably cost more than her monthly electric bill. She couldn’t afford any of this. “I think I might just get coffee.”
“You have to be hungry after spending the afternoon at Peachtree Records,” Deacon said, while seated across from her. “Order whatever you want. My treat.” He plucked a breadstick from the basket. The angular bone structure of his face was evident as he took a bite. He even looked good chewing.
She lifted her menu to hide her face. Why did she have such a silly, random thought? He was just a guy eating a breadstick. A guy with nice biceps, tattoos, and dark hair, but still, just a guy.
“You should have one of these. They’re good.”
“No, thank you,” she mumbled from behind the menu.
“Don’t tell me you’re watching your carbs. That’s no fun in an Italian restaurant.”
“I’m not. I love bread.”
“Then have some. I’ll look bad if I eat the whole basket.”
“So that’s why you want me to have a breadstick. You aren’t worried about me being hungry. You just don’t want to look greedy.”
“Can’t keep a secret from you.”
Tracy set the menu aside and reached for a breadstick. She bit back a moan as she tasted garlic and parmesan cheese baked into the flaky crust. Carb heaven. “It’s nice of you to treat me to dinner, though you don’t have to.”
“I want to.” He finished the rest of his breadstick and drank water. “In fact, I needed a chance to talk to you alone.”
She stopped chewing. “Huh?”
He leaned across the table. The warm, ambient light reflected in his eyes. She could see her own confused face in them. She fixed her mouth so she wouldn’t look like she ate a lemon. “Tracy, how would you like to be my girlfriend?”
She watched her eyebrows rise and her glasses slide down over the bridge of her nose. She adjusted them. “Did you just say, girlfriend?”
“Not so loud.” He looked around the restaurant to see if her outburst caught anyone else’s attention. Most of the patrons were focused on the plates in front of them or their dinner companions. When he turned back to her, he dropped the volume of his voice. “I don’t want you to be my real girlfriend.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Is there another kind of girlfriend?”
“Sure. A fake one. “
“What?”
“Let me finish.” He held up his hands, signaling for more time to explain. The action made a muscle ripple in his forearm, bringing her attention to one of his tattoos. The lion seemed to wink at her. “I’m making a comeback with this new album and tour. It would look good for me to show that I’ve made a new start in all areas.”
“Including your love life.”
He nodded, briefly looking away. “There’ve been rumors going around that I’m still after Rita. That’s not true, but the public needs to be convinced.”
Tracy recalled the photos of him at the coffee shop yesterday. “The Jumpy Java picture...”
“Yeah. I was tired and just needed some caffeine, but people wanted to make it look like something it wasn’t.”
“No offense, but so what? People see stuff on the internet and move on fast.”
“Not if the tabloids and gossip websites keep it going. They made me look like a pushover, a guy who couldn’t get over a breakup with his ex.”
“So if you have a new girlfriend—”
“A pretend girlfriend,” he corrected her.
“Pretend, exc
use me. Then you’ll show your fans that you’ve moved on.”
“Exactly.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. His biceps stretched beneath his fitted tee. “Simple, right?”
Tracy wasn’t so sure. “Why do you want me to do this? I mean, you already have a lot of female fans who would jump at the chance to be called your girlfriend.”
Deacon sighed. “That’s the problem. Some of them actually want to date me and wouldn’t be too happy to be in a fake relationship. You, on the other hand, are different.”
“Different,” she echoed him.
“Yeah. I mean, there’s no attraction between us whatsoever. You’re not my type and I’m not yours. We can keep this strictly business with no problems.”
Tracy hiccupped. She reached for her water. “Sorry. Got a tickle in my throat.”
“Hold that thought. Waiter’s coming.” Deacon put on a pleasant face for the waiter as he ordered the lobster linguine off the menu.
“And for you, Miss?” The waiter had his pen ready.
“I’ll have chicken parmesan.” Tracy chose one of the more modest options on the menu. It also happened to have words in English that she recognized. The waiter collected their menus and set off towards the kitchen.
“Back to the subject.” Deacon got another breadstick. “I’m going to need a fake girlfriend for a few months. Just enough time for me to drop a couple singles during the summer and play some shows. Oh, and attend a few parties with me. Maybe do some interviews with talk show hosts.”
Tracy’s stomach drew in at the mention of parties and interviews. “Sounds like a pretty big commitment for a few months.”
“My schedule usually is packed when I release a new album. Don’t worry, though. I don’t expect you to work for free. How does ninety grand sound?”
She almost hiccupped again. “Ninety grand, as in ninety thousand dollars?”
“Ash can cover more of the details with you, but I’m also paying for your business and extended travel expenses.”
“I forgot about travel.”
