The waitress arrived with her pen poised on a notepad. “What’ll you have?”
Eden ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a soda. That sounded tempting. I ordered the same, but replaced the fries with a side salad and the soda with water.
As soon as the waitress left, Eden said, “So you’re going to want to know if we’ve set a date.”
The abrupt shift in topic took me off guard. “What?”
“Since we’re talking bluntly about your interest in my life, aren’t you going to ask when I plan to get married?”
“It does seem to be driving everyone crazy. You were engaged two years ago, right?”
“Yup. But we have a hard time coordinating. It’s been a crazy busy two years. It’s hard to plan far enough in advance to know for sure we’ll both be in the same town at the same time. Adam tours all the time.”
“Do you ever worry about him out on the road?” I wished I could take that back. So nosy. I wasn’t even trying to pry. “I mean. I would, but I think I might lean more jealous than you. You both seem completely smitten.”
“I used to worry. But Adam’s a keeper. I think it would kill him to cheat on me even more than it would hurt me. And then I’d kill him. He’s never been into on-the-road romance with groupies.”
“Unlike your br—” I clipped the last word when I realized how awful the question was. Did I really want to dig into Micah’s private life?
Our food came, and we fussed with settling in to eat. I could tell she had something on her mind, but she didn’t speak again until she’d taken a few bites and then a swallow from her drink.
“You think my brother’s a slut, don’t you?”
I nearly choked on a crouton. I’d always hated that word ever since the neighborhood gossips leveled it at my mom. “Look, I’m in no position to judge him. But he sure has had a lot of relationships with his fans.”
“Not his fans.”
“But—”
“His fans go out and buy his CDs. They may or may not go online to talk to other fans. They live in places like Iowa and go to community college while working a part-time job so they can eventually get a job as a manager of a Best Buy. They come out to his shows when he’s in Des Moines and scream their heads off in the audience with their girlfriends. And then they go home to their Iowa apartment and listen to his music while they study for an exam. At most, they come out after a show and try to get his autograph.”
“But—”
She waved a fork-impaled fry to punctuate her next point. “The people Micah dates are groupies.”
I held up a hand to interrupt. “But aren’t groupies just bigger fans?”
“Sometimes. There are definitely devotees of the band who live on the road, following the tour from town to town. But for a large number of them they may not even care about the music. They may not care which musician or even which band they’re in with. They somehow make friends with security and find ways to get passes backstage. They like the musician’s life, and they make it really easy for a boy who has no attachments to have something like a relationship out on the road—or even if he does have other attachments. They sometimes call themselves ‘road wives.’ ”
My food sat uneaten. I gaped at Eden while she talked, more and more unnerved. She said all this so matter-of-factly, I wondered how she sat there casually scarfing down her lunch while her fiancé currently thrived in an environment of casual invitation. “And they don’t want anything more? No commitment? Just sex?”
I thought of Kendall and her “one-night personal tour of the city.” I pushed the lettuce around my plate.
“For Micah, when the tour ends, and he goes back to his normal life, these girls don’t usually follow him. They’ll use their connection with him to work their way into the whole groupie culture. It’s not unusual for them to go out looking for another musician to latch onto.”
“He was telling the truth, then?”
“About?”
“About the girls breaking it off with him?”
“Well, it’s not as if he really cares. Once upon a time, he used to date girls who didn’t seem to even know that he was a musician. I guess it’s getting harder to find one. To be fair, he’s never cheated on his groupies. I’m not sure they ever returned the favor. He’s not a man-whore. But he’s definitely not a monk.”
I felt a blush creeping up my cheek. Eden blotted her lip with a napkin and leaned in. “But you should probably keep a low opinion of him. I love my brother, but I can’t vouch for him. I don’t know if he’s ready for anything more than the easy commitment-free relationships he’s burned through in the past two years.”
I took a sip of water, but my throat had clenched up, making it hurt to swallow. “He’s definitely a big old flirt.”
“That he is.” She sat back in her chair and watched me for a second. “Look. Micah’s got a big heart, and he’s had legitimate girlfriends—though mostly back before this whole rock star thing took off. It’s a hard life for regular people.” Her eyes bored into mine. “I don’t have to tell you how invasive the media can be, especially when it involves new relationships. And new relationships are the most vulnerable. The paparazzi drive away anyone who values a shred of privacy.”
“But you put up with it?”
She snorted. “Do I?”
We declined to order dessert when the server came, but Eden ordered two coffees. I folded my napkin absently. “My boss would be so pissed if he knew I spent an hour talking to you about Micah.”
She steepled her fingers. “You want to fuck with him?”
“What? With Micah?”
“With Andy.”
“How?”
She leaned on her elbows. “We could feed him something bogus but innocuous.”
My heart sank. “Like what?” Her eagerness confirmed my suspicion that she wanted to use me to get to Andy. And maybe she already had. Maybe the pregnancy was a complete fabrication. Would she go that far?
She cast her eyes up toward the ceiling, thinking. “I don’t suppose you could make him believe I’m Elvis in disguise?”
I snorted. Her ridiculous suggestion dispelled the nagging doubts about her ulterior motives with me. “Ooooh. Or we could say you’re in contact with our alien overlords?”
Her face lit up with laughter. “Yeah.”
A waitress cleared our cups away and spoiled the moment. “Anything I tell Andy about you will get published in my name. He’s probably not above stealing credit, but you’d most likely be messing with my career.”
“Crap. I’d really love to get him good.”
Knowing what drove the tabloids as well as I did gave me some insight on what might actually entice Andy, and I couldn’t help share with Eden. “There is one thing we could do. Is there a jewelry store nearby?”
* * *
Andy ambushed me the second I came into the office. “Well?”
“She said it was off the record.” Not that Andy would care. He wouldn’t print it, but he could mine information for gold for future research. And nothing would get him more interested than starting off by telling him he couldn’t print whatever I knew.
“What did she say was off the record? Did they get married or not?”
“She says, ‘Not.’”
He pouted like a little kid. “Did you at least get any pictures of her ring?”
“That I did.” My conscience stirred slightly. I’d told Eden this could cost me my job if Andy found out I was lying to him, and she said that would put us into a state of détente. We both knew a secret about each other.
Andy reached for my camera without waiting for me to offer it. He rolled through the pictures Eden had posed for outside. We’d gone into a boutique that sold cheap jewelry and bought a ten-dollar silver band that she’d worn with her engagement ring, flashing her hands about while I took pictures. Andy zoomed in on every picture and finally got one that came out clearer than the rest.
“Is her engagement ring a double band?�
� He kept flipping through pictures. Then he started looking through older pictures trying to compare. It was impressive but scary to watch him work. “Here. There’s only one band.” He zoomed in on a picture from weeks earlier.
He narrowed his eyes and went over the pictures. “Something doesn’t seem right about this. Eden doesn’t ever pose for pictures.”
I held my breath.
He stood for a minute in thought. “And she told you she’s not married? Then why would they go around wearing wedding bands in the open?” He straightened his tie and ran a hand through his hair. As he walked to his office, he muttered, “I wouldn’t put it past Eden to pull another stunt.”
So much for operation Fuck with Andy. At least he hadn’t suspected my involvement in the prank. No harm, no foul.
When he came out of his office, I made the mistake of asking him if I’d fulfilled my end of the bargain. He scowled. “Do I have a story I can print?”
He hadn’t answered my question. After I hadn’t moved, he finally said, “Are you waiting for an invitation?”
But I had to play the cards I had. “Andy, didn’t I bring you the picture of Eden’s ring?”
“Yeeeeah.” He tapped his finger on the table. “About that. I’m pretty sure she’s using you to get to me. You’d know that if you made it your mission to take candid shots instead of the ones they pose for. But she’s up to something, and I want to know what it is. I’ve asked Derek to keep an eye on her.”
He sent Derek to stalk her. My throat constricted, and I had to fight stupid unintended emotions. If I choked up now, Andy might suspect I was hiding something. And he’d be right. “What’s he going to do?”
“The fact that you have to ask that speaks volumes.” He leaned against my desk. “Go to the airport, and bring me something good. If you can show me you’ve finally discovered your edge, we’ll revisit the whole situation. If not, well then we’ll have a different discussion next week.”
I grabbed my backpack to head out of the office, but before I’d made it to the door, Andy added, “And Jo, if I see you in the paper with Micah again, I hope it will be because you’ve found me a story I can run.” He tilted his head toward me with an ominous expression. “You need to understand that nobody who works for me would fail to take advantage of that situation.”
I bolted with a growing pain in my stomach. As much as I hated Andy, I couldn’t lose this job, or I’d lose my health insurance. And then I might as well just move back to Georgia and live with my mom. But there were other departments at this paper, so on my way downstairs, I stopped in the Arts and Leisure department and asked the rail-thin Audrey Hepburn look-alike if I could see the managing editor.
She waved her hand toward a desk in the far corner, and I squeezed through the small office.
“Excuse me,” I said to the gray-haired man reading his monitor intently. “Are you Sang Moon-Soo?” The question was rhetorical. How many grizzled Koreans worked in this department?
“Yes?” He looked up, but I waited until his eyes lost their glaze and focused on me.
“Hello. My name is Jo Wilder and—”
“Have a seat.” He indicated a chair at an unoccupied desk. I rolled it over. “What can I do for you?”
“Mr.—” I stopped, unsure how to address him. I was 99 percent sure other journalists referred to him as Moon-Soo as was the Korean way of putting the first name last. Tentatively, I finished, “Sang.” He nodded, and I continued with more confidence. “I was hoping you might have some openings on your staff. I’d love to transition to Arts and Leisure if possible as a theater reporter.”
He rubbed his nose. “Theater reporter, eh? I don’t have enough staff down here to be able to hire on anyone for such a specific role.”
“Oh. Well, I could do other things, too, but I had an interview with Miriam Blackwell last week.”
He perked up. “Has it printed?”
“No. I’m currently working up in the entertainment department, and they aren’t interested in stories about theater actors.”
“Yeah. Well, shoot it to me. I can evaluate it and let you know.” He started to turn back to his monitor but glanced up over his glasses. “But I can tell you I can’t pay you whatever you’re making now. This department fights for space, and we’re usually the first to suffer cuts when the newspaper is losing revenue.”
“But would I keep my health insurance?”
“That you would keep.”
I thanked him and headed out toward the airport to collect entertainment news. Entertainment news. It was both an oxymoron and a lie. Nobody in my department cared about the creative entertainment provided by the people on the other end of the camera. It was all about their personal lives.
As the subway came above ground, my notifications buzzed, and I read the text from Micah. What are you doing today?
Working. You?
Also working.
I tried to picture Micah in a coat and tie, punching a clock. You got a nine-to-five job?
You could say that. We have a show in Asbury Park tonight. Packing up now. Wish you could come.
It’s okay. I’m on my way out of the city. Have a good show.
Have a good night. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. okay?
Yes.
It was a simple exchange, but I hugged my phone to my chest. I might have been kicked out of the office for carrying on with Micah, but it was worth it. Or so I thought.
Then I remembered that he’d be surrounded after his show with groupies throwing themselves at him brazenly for all they were worth.
And I remembered Eden’s admonition that Micah couldn’t do a committed relationship.
I deep-breathed and told myself not to get ahead of myself. He liked me. I liked him. Nothing had really happened between us yet. And besides, if he did turn up with some other man-stealing whore, I’d be among the first to know.
Chapter 17
Exiled.
I hadn’t worked the airports since I first started on the paper. It’s a despicable job. The exhausted celebrity encumbered by carry-on luggage and sometimes children, too, must push through a sea of cameras and shouted questions. The beleaguered traveler exits the terminal too haggard to pose for a picture or compose a well-constructed response. Most just walk on by as though the paparazzi were invisible.
I wondered if Micah walked on by or if he stopped and chatted. He probably offered to take the reporters all out for a beer.
Celebrities who didn’t have their own plane had to use the same entrances and exits as everyone else. They stood out with all their elaborate camouflage. Anyone wearing a hat and sunglasses inside was suspect. Sometimes travel routes were predictable from telegraphed information dropped on Twitter or elsewhere. Whenever anyone flew into JFK or LaGuardia, there’d be a good chance they’d be ambushed. Keeping other paparazzi in my sights often clued me in to some action.
Wednesday had been a total bust, but by Thursday afternoon, I’d gotten lucky and shot some pictures of a young stage actor who hadn’t yet made it so big that he was above free publicity. He stopped and chatted with me about his current projects before some passersby saw him talking to a reporter, or maybe even recognized him, and crowded around for autographs.
Andy wouldn’t care about the interview, but it was better than nothing. I’d started to feel serious hunger pangs, so I went in search of a restaurant with plenty of seating. Bonus if they served healthy food. I passed a bakery, dying to go in and shove an entire chocolate croissant in my face. That was a bad sign. When my sugars dropped, I’d start craving any kind of sugary junk. It’s not that the pump couldn’t handle the sweets, but I’d found that giving in to temptation only made me want to fall into a vat of liquid chocolate. Like scratching a mosquito bite—it only made the itch that much stronger. I was always hungry, but I could usually manage to ignore my sweet tooth as long as I kept on top of my diet.
At last, I found a kiosk selling fruits and salads. I got some nuts and strawberries an
d splurged on some yogurt. Not a bad snack.
I had to settle for a seat in a high traffic area, but after standing out on the street waiting for hours, it was nice to have a place to rest. I couldn’t remember why I’d been so dead set against coming back to the airport. Seats, food, free WiFi, and no Andy. It was like a mini-vacation.
I opened my laptop and took advantage of the airport’s hot spot. First, I checked my email and found that Eden had written me earlier.
Subject: Micah.
I hesitated for a minute before clicking on the link.
Jo,
You’re very sneaky, sitting there at lunch not letting it slip that you and Micah have something going on. And I just sat there telling you to steer clear of him. Now I’ve got egg on my face. :)
I hope I’m not way off base here, though I’m sure I am. This is hard for me to write, but I feel like I have to say all this, once.
I like you and I think you like Micah. Of course, everyone likes Micah.
Here’s the thing. Micah likes everyone, too. He trusts people, and he puts it all out there. People think he’s like this because he’s never been hurt or because he’s lived a charmed existence. And that’s partly true. He’s never been badly hurt. He chooses to live his life open and vulnerable and happy. I love that about him, but it also worries me. I worry that one day, he’s going to more than like someone and he’s going to get hurt in a way he can’t brush off and get back up.
I’ve never bothered to say this to any of Micah’s girlfriends because none of them had any substance. But the way he talks about you . . . He would kill me if he knew I was writing you this. If I scare you off, I’m never going to hear the end of it.
What I’m getting at is that Micah doesn’t have the first clue how to actually date anyone, like really court a girl. He’s going to do it all wrong. He’s going to be too intense or too fast or just weird about it. You don’t have to let him rush you, and if he freaks you out, you need to tell him. He doesn’t scare easy. Once he knows what he wants, he’ll work hard for it. But you might have to work, too. He’s worth it, Jo.
A Crazy Kind of Love Page 16
