The Elliotts 03 - Cause for Scandal

by Anna DePalo

  “Perspective? Perspective on what?” he asked, dumbfounded. A part of his mind understood what she was saying, but he just didn’t want to believe it.

  Usually, he was the one having to let the woman down easy. He’d never liked doing it, and had never boasted about the number of times that he’d had to do so, but it was just a fact of life, given who he was. There would always be women who were ready to appear on the arm of a rock star, however briefly.

  He watched as Summer took a deep breath. “Our lives are totally different, Zeke. You tour a lot, and I’m committed to climbing the ladder at EPH.”

  “Are you?” he asked. “I’ve started to wonder, you know. You’re a great photographer, and you have a real passion for it.”

  “Becoming a reporter at The Buzz is my goal,” she said emphatically. “It’s the reason I met you, remember?”

  “I remember,” Zeke said, “but I’ve also realized that EPH was your grandfather’s dream. It doesn’t have to be for all his kids and grandkids.”

  “I know, but it’s been my dream for forever.”

  He wanted to say more, wanted to argue with her, but he decided it would be more productive to change tactics. “Look, even if EPH is what you want, that doesn’t mean we can’t be together.”

  “For how long?” she countered.

  He had no answer to that. Marty’s admonition sounded in his head: Don’t get serious with anyone. It wouldn’t be good for his career.

  “I don’t want the globe-trotting lifestyle,” Summer continued, “and you’re not ready to settle down.”

  What could he say to that? He hadn’t really thought about where their relationship was heading. He’d just been happy to take each day as it came. That was how it had been in every past relationship.

  Yet, Summer seemed ready to cut her losses now.

  “You need to feed a voracious publicity machine,” she went on. “You need to stay in the public eye with the right type of publicity, and that’s not me. That’s not what I want.”

  Again, he couldn’t argue with her. In fact, she was sounding a lot like Marty with her harping on the requirements of his career.

  He tried the only tactic that he had left. “Come on, Summer. You’ve come a long way from where you were just three weeks ago. You’re finally breaking out of your shell. Don’t back away now. Seize the opportunity.”

  “Maybe the shell is who I am,” she said quietly, “and you should stop kidding yourself or thinking I’m transforming into someone else.”

  She turned her back to go to the dresser and get more of her clothes, and Zeke knew that, from her perspective, the conversation was over. They were over.

  “Summer.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Summer.”

  Summer swiveled around in her chair at work and noticed her uncle Shane lurking at the opening of her cubicle. She started guiltily. Ever since she’d left L.A. three days ago, she’d had trouble focusing on work. It was now Wednesday, and she was still trying to concentrate.

  Shane rested his arm on top of the cubicle’s partition. “Good news.”

  She could use some. “Oh?”

  Shane grinned. “You’re getting promoted. Next month, you’ll be a reporter here at The Buzz.”

  She forced a smile, the news arousing mixed emotions. “Thanks.”

  “You came through for The Buzz, kid, with that interview with Zeke Woodlow. You’ve helped us keep up with the competition in this game that Granddad started, and you deserve to be rewarded.”

  In Summer’s opinion, Shane had coped with Granddad’s challenge better than most of the rest of the family. But then, Shane seemed to view the competition among EPH magazines as a game—a game that perhaps would be interesting and amusing to win.

  Shane cocked his head to the side. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be elated about the promotion.” He looked at her quizzically. “Isn’t this what you’ve been gunning for?”

  She had been. She’d come out and said so last year in her annual employee review. So, what was wrong with her?

  For Shane’s benefit, she tried a game smile. “Of course, I’m happy.” No, you’re not. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.” Until now. “I’m just trying to absorb it all. After all, I’ve been aiming for this promotion for a long time.”

  Shane nodded, then winked. “Great. We’ll have a celebratory drink on Friday.”

  The staff of The Buzz sometimes converged at a nearby bar for TGIF—Thank God It’s Friday—drinks, but this time Summer found it hard to work up any enthusiasm. “Thanks, Shane.”

  When her uncle had left, Summer found herself staring at her computer screen. She wished she could confide in Scarlet, but her sister had been distant and remote lately, not to mention rarely home. Summer couldn’t help thinking Scarlet’s behavior was due to her breaking up with John and hooking up with Zeke, though Scarlet had never come out and said as much.

  She was still morose when she got home that night. As usual, Scarlet wasn’t home when she got there, though Summer heard her come in after she’d gone to bed.

  It had been three days without a word from Zeke. Summer knew she had no reason to expect him to call, but, perversely, she wanted him to.

  After tossing and turning in bed without being able to sleep, she gave up in the early hours of the morning and went to sit on the couch in the living room, staring ahead as the city lights outside created a dim glow in the room.

  She was so confused. Today, she’d hit another milestone in her five-year plan by getting her coveted promotion.

  She should have been happy, ecstatic even, but she wasn’t. She should have been celebrating with John, but she wasn’t.

  She remembered Zeke’s words: You can’t live life by a neat plan.

  She mulled over what he’d said, and wondered if that’s what she’d been doing. Had she been trying to make life nice and tidy when, by nature, it was messy and full of the unexpected?

  She’d realized she was marrying John just because he fit in with her long-standing plans, but maybe he wasn’t the only aspect of her life that she should have been questioning. Maybe trying to move up at The Buzz had become something she did unthinkingly, without examining why she was striving for it anymore.

  What was it that Zeke had said? Sometimes plans can get in the way of getting what you really want.

  What did Summer Elliott really want? She almost feared opening that door and finding out what lurked inside, but she forced herself to.

  What did she want?

  Just as Zeke had said, she was a far cry from the Summer of even a month ago. Gone were the twin sets and pearls and kitten heels. Today she’d gone to work dressed in a bottle-green V-neck top, a snug blazer that outlined her breasts, pants that rode low on her hips and black pumps. The look was sophisticated but soft. Thanks to several after-work shopping trips, her style wasn’t Scarlet’s, but neither was she the conservative retro chick that she’d been when dating John.

  Will the real Summer Elliott please stand up? she thought wryly.

  She closed her eyes and thought about the transformations of the past month. She let her mind loose, freed it to think about her most secret desires.

  Release your inner goddess…. Release your inner goddess….

  Scarlet’s words came back to her.

  She thought about what she really wanted and realized it wasn’t being a reporter, or The Buzz, or even EPH. She’d enjoyed interviewing Zeke, but what made her happy was photography. She loved capturing the world around her with a camera.

  She hadn’t let herself seriously pursue photography because…well, because of fear. Fear that she’d never be good enough to be more than an amateur, and fear of family expectation. She’d assumed—more than been told—that she was expected to work at EPH, just like everyone else in the family did.

  She wondered now whether she’d sold herself short. Where would Granddad have gotten if he’d been afraid to succeed in publishing? If he’d let himself be b
ound by the customary fields of work for the son of Irish immigrants?

  What was it that Zeke had said? EPH was your grandfather’s dream. It doesn’t have to be for all his kids and grandkids.

  Maybe she’d gone about it all wrong. Maybe remaining true to Granddad’s example meant pursuing her own dream rather than her grandfather’s.

  She opened her eyes and exhaled. Yes.

  She didn’t know what she’d do yet, but she did know her future wasn’t tethered to EPH or The Buzz. She wanted to find out how much talent she had as a photographer. She’d love to have the sort of gallery exhibit that Oren had had recently.

  Zeke’s words echoed in her head. You’ve come a long way…. Don’t back away now.

  Finally, she knew what he’d meant. It wasn’t just about John or her love life. It was about her life. Period.

  She felt a smile touch her lips. How many times tonight had she thought about what Zeke had said? She didn’t care whether it was due to having a mother who was a psychologist, or because he was in tune with emotions because of his music, Zeke Woodlow had taught her a lot about herself.

  Her smile widened. She’d learned something—something profound—from a bad-boy rock sensation.

  And, with that thought came another.

  Release your inner goddess…. Release your inner goddess….

  Her inner goddess, she realized, wanted Zeke Woodlow.

  Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. She not only wanted Zeke’s, she loved Zeke.

  He was smart and funny, and he made her a better person by challenging her. And they had amazing chemistry. Sure, she’d learned a lot from him in bed, but she’d learned even more out of it.

  She didn’t have to wonder whether she was being swayed by Zeke having been her first lover. Intuitively, she knew she’d never have had the same chemistry with John or any other man even if she’d gone ahead and slept with any of them.

  It all made sense now. She loved Zeke.

  Yes, his career would often put him on the road, but it would make life with him an adventure. And if she was going to be a serious photographer, a career on the road might be ideal. She’d never lack for interesting subjects and scenery.

  It no longer mattered to her that she wouldn’t be getting married at twenty-six…or even in the foreseeable future. She realized that life couldn’t be lived according to a neat plan.

  What mattered to her was that she and Zeke were committed to seeing where things led between them. She knew he’d remain a heartthrob to his fans, but she also knew she could accept that—as long as he felt as strongly about her as she did about him.

  That thought should have buoyed her. Instead, she slumped back against the sofa cushions. The problem was that three days ago, she’d kicked Zeke out of her life.

  She looked at the glass clock on the end table. It was one in the morning in New York, but only ten in the evening in Los Angeles.

  She could call him, but she’d much rather talk to him in person. Then she remembered Zeke had said he had a concert in Houston at the end of the month.

  Picking up the phone again, she got in touch with the airline that she usually used.

  She was going to Houston, and this time, thanks to The Buzz, she hoped to have a press pass to get backstage.

  Eleven

  Z eke strummed his guitar, played a few bars and paused to jot down some notes.

  Then, becoming distracted again, he tossed aside his pencil.

  Damn. It was no use.

  Since Summer had left four days ago, he’d found it hard to concentrate.

  It was now Thursday, and he was still in L.A. He looked around his music room. If time apart was what she wanted, then that was what he’d give her. Anyway, the truth was, he’d been hanging around Manhattan for the past month mostly to be near her, rather than for any pressing business reason.

  He had the song down now, and it was about her. It had always been about her, he realized. In a fit of inspiration last weekend, before she’d left, he’d finally gotten the song down—lyrics, melody and all—during the small hours of the morning while she’d slept.

  Too bad that now she was gone, his writer’s block had returned with a vengeance. He was unable to make any progress on another song, his thoughts straying again and again to Summer.

  At a sound from the doorway, he looked up. “Hey, Marty.” He looked back down and experimentally played a few notes.

  Marty walked into the room. “How’s it going?” his manager said, adding, “The housekeeper let me in.”

  Zeke put the guitar aside and stood up from the couch. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “It’s sort of an impromptu visit.”

  “Can I get you anything?” he said. It was almost lunchtime.

  “Just some iced tea, if you have it. I want to talk to you.”

  Zeke nodded. Marty only ever stopped by to talk business.

  When they were seated at a table on the veranda, he with a beer and Marty with his iced tea, Zeke said, “So shoot.”

  “How’s work on the next CD going?”

  “It’s going,” he said. “Slowly, but it’s going.”

  Marty nodded, looked off into the distance, and then back at him. “Look, Zeke, I want you to consider something and keep an open mind about it.”

  Zeke thought he could guess what Marty was going to say.

  “For this next album, I was thinking we could have you do remakes of some classic songs, and even get you a little help with the songwriting on new material.”

  “Marty, no.” He raked his hand through his hair. “You know writing songs is what I want to do, and I need to establish my credentials. Get a few more hits under my belt.”

  “Zeke, under your contract, you need to have another CD out next year.”

  “I’ll make the deadline,” he responded, “but then I’m committing myself to doing the songwriting for the Broadway musical that I’ve been approached about.”

  “What? Look, I thought we’d discussed this.”

  He gave Marty a steely look. “You work for me, Marty.”

  He rarely had to pull rank, but he did it now.

  More and more, he and Marty were seeing his career in different terms, and Zeke wondered how much longer they’d be able to work together. In the past, Marty had steered him right in many ways, but this was a decision that he felt strongly about. It was a question of vision—vision about what to do with his life.

  “Zeke, be reasonable. At the moment, you can’t even seem to get started on the songs for your next release.”

  “I was doing fine until Summer left,” he grumbled.

  Marty sighed heavily. “For a while there, you really had me worried about this Elliott woman.”

  Zeke cocked his head, sensing they were getting into dangerous territory. “How so?”

  “You seemed to be getting hung up on her,” Marty said, adding, “We both know that getting serious about any woman would be bad for your image. Women love you, Zeke, because you’re the sexy bad-boy rocker that their mothers always warned them about.”

  “What made you realize I wasn’t hung up on her?” Zeke asked, keeping his voice even.

  Marty shrugged. “You said it yourself. She was your muse. Or rather, her photo was, initially. She wasn’t your usual type, but once I realized why you were hanging around her, it all made sense.”

  Zeke remembered Marty had stopped by on Sunday when he’d been out, and he started to form a hunch. He nodded and said, “Summer was really taken with the coincidence of my owning ‘Daphne at Play.’”

  “I’ll bet,” Marty responded. “It’s not every day that a woman realizes she’s the inspiration for a major rock sensation. Very flattering.”

  Zeke forced himself to nod placidly. “You know, I never did get around to telling her that part.”

  “Yeah,” Marty said, “it seemed to come as a bit of a surprise when I mentioned it to her.”

  “And did you also mention she should be flattered?�
� he asked, his voice too quiet.

  Marty held up his hands. “Hey, Zeke, look—” He stopped and looked around. “Where is she, by the way? I was surprised when you left a message with my secretary saying you wouldn’t be returning to New York on Monday like you’d planned.”

  “Summer’s gone back to New York.” Zeke stood. “And you’re leaving.”

  Marty looked up at him uncomprehendingly for a second, until an astounded expression crossed his face. “What? Why? Do you have an appointment to keep somewhere?”

  Zeke realized Marty figured he must be joking, but this was no joke. “You need to leave, Marty, before I give in to the urge to deck you.” He added, “Believe it or not, I’d hate the bad publicity as much as you would.”

  Marty wiped his lips with his napkin before standing up. “When you’ve calmed down, you know where to reach me.”

  “I’m as calm as I’ll ever be,” Zeke replied. “What exactly did you say to Summer?”

  Marty eyed him. “Is it my fault you didn’t mention to her it was her photo that got you hot and bothered?”

  Zeke waited, holding his temper in check.

  Marty finally shook his head. “I pointed out the obvious, including the requirements of your career right now.” He perked up. “I planted a story about you and that hot Czech model in the press this week. Did you catch it? Nice touch, eh?”

  Zeke shook his head. “You’re just not getting it, Marty.”

  “Getting what?”

  “For a while, I’ve thought that the two of us weren’t on the same wavelength as far as my career was concerned. I chose to ignore the feeling—until now.” He looked the other man in the eye. “You’re fired, Marty.”

  “What?” Marty blustered. “You can’t fire me. You need me. I’ll sue your pants off.”

  “Take it to my lawyer,” Zeke said coldly. “I think our contract allows me to pay you off to dump you. It’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

  “This over a nice piece of ass?” Marty sneered.

  Zeke didn’t need to think about it. He threw Marty out on his ear.

  Much later, Zeke sat in his living room gazing sightlessly at the television.