American Diva

by Julia London

  “What are you doing?” he demanded of Audrey.

  “Hold your horses, Rambo,” she said, and turned a brilliant smile to the girls. Their screams pierced his eardrums, but Audrey didn’t seem to notice it—she was all smiles, dipping down to speak to the girls, taking their CDs and posters and autographing them. He watched in amazement as she spoke to each of the two dozen girls gathered there, answering their questions, complimenting their outfits, and looking every inch a star.

  When she had signed everything she could reach, she told the girls she had to go and practice, said good-bye, then turned a warm smile to Jack. “I’m ready now.”

  He opened the door to the limo and she stepped in, giving one last, enthusiastic wave to the girls as Jack followed her in and shut the door.

  The driver continued to the arena.

  Jack couldn’t help looking at her. She was still smiling. He’d been in Hollywood for too many years, had seen too many stars refuse autographs or to acknowledge their fans. He was astounded, really, by her eagerness. “That was really nice of you,” he said, meaning it sincerely.

  “Are you kidding?” She laughed warmly. “That is the one bright spot in my day. Girls like that are why I started the Songbird Foundation.”

  “The what?”

  She laughed again, the sweet sound of it a stark contrast to the way she had spoken to him the last twenty-four hours. She seemed almost a different person somehow. More real. More alive.

  “I guess you wouldn’t know about my foundation, would you? I set it up when my second album went platinum. It’s an organization that helps disadvantaged girls get into music. I would have killed for a little encouragement at that age, a little constructive, progressive instruction. Mostly I got the put down the guitar and do the dishes sort of thing. So now that I’m in a position to do it, I really want to give girls the chance to rock and roll that I had to fight to get.”

  Jack tried to picture Audrey at the age of ten or so, guitar in hand. He had an image of a scrappy little girl with dirty knees and tangled hair and a determined glint in her green eyes.

  “I was lucky,” she said as the limo drove up to a pair of glass doors at the arena. “I asked my old music teacher from high school to help me set up the foundation, and she’s been fantastic. In the first year, we gave two hundred girls from across the country scholarships to study music.” She smiled broadly, obviously proud of that accomplishment.

  She had every right to be proud.

  And when she smiled like that, it went all through Jack, warming him from the inside out. She looked young and fresh . . . and beautiful. “That’s really cool,” he said. “Too many people don’t give back until their accountants tell them to.”

  “Well, you know, Security Dude, we are always looking for donations,” she said with a sly wink.

  He smiled. “Just tell me where to send a check.”

  Her eyes widened with surprise and pleasure. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. I’d be happy to donate.”

  “That’s fantastic!” she exclaimed, smiling like a kid at Christmas. “I am so . . . surprised and pleased.”

  He couldn’t help chuckling. “You think Security Dude doesn’t have a heart?”

  “As a matter of fact,” she said with a laugh, “no.” But she laughed again, and continued to smile as they made their way inside.

  But as soon as they stepped inside, Junior Birdman was quickly on them, stepping in between her and Jack, his hand on Audrey’s arm, and her smile faded rapidly. “What the hell, Audrey?” he said curtly.

  “I overslept—”

  “Don’t make excuses. How many times do I have to tell you that professionalism is just as important as talent in this business? If you get a reputation for . . .” He paused and jerked his gaze to Jack. “Is there something you need?” he asked coolly.

  Yeah. He needed to kick him in the teeth, but he held up his hands and stepped back.

  Bonner turned back to Audrey, effectively dismissing Jack. “Let me show you the dressing room,” he said low, and forced her to walk with him. Audrey went along, Jack thought, a little like a lap dog.

  He watched the swing of her hips as she walked away. Damn, but he wished he didn’t find her so attractive, particularly since he suspected she was a wreck. She had to be—one minute she was a pill-popping diva who let a jerk like Bonner lead her around by the nose, and the next she was the same sultry, sexy woman who used to sing soulful ballads in Austin clubs. She was exactly the sort of multiple-personality woman Jack normally avoided at all costs.

  Yet there was something about Audrey LaRue that had slipped under his skin that night on the beach, and he was having a hard time getting her out.

  Yeah, but he would get her out—he was fairly certain he just was having a normal male reaction to having seen one very fine ass this morning. Besides, he reminded himself, he was only in this deal for the money. He damn sure didn’t need anything like useless lust complicating his life. Especially not right now—he needed to have a meeting with his guys and the Omaha police the promoter had brought in to work the concert crowd.

  As he walked in the opposite direction of Audrey, the image of her nearly naked began to fade from his mind’s eye, replaced by thoughts about security.

  But it was obliterated altogether a few hours later when Audrey LaRue, Diva, marched toward him, the click-click-clicking of her heels on the concrete floor sounding a little like the rat-a-tat of a machine gun. He glanced up from his conversation with his subcontractor, Ted, and noticed that she’d changed clothes. She was wearing a costume—hotpants and a fierce-looking bra-thing. The flat plane of her belly was exposed and her blond curls were bound up into two mounds on top of her head.

  She was also wearing a new expression, and this one was full of ran-cor as she sailed to a halt before them, glaring at Jack, oblivious to Ted. “Hello?” she said, folding her arms across her middle. “Did you forget who you are guarding?”

  “No,” Jack said calmly. “Did you forget how to converse politely?”

  He heard a tiny snort of surprise from Ted, but it was nothing compared to the wide-eyed gasp of indignation he got from Audrey.

  “I beg your pardon? Ohmigod, do you know who you are talking to?”

  “Yes, Audrey. We have established who I am talking to more than once. Look, if you have a problem, or a question, you only have to ask nicely. You don’t have to come at me in full attack mode.”

  “Attack mode?” she retorted angrily and shifted a fire-throwing gaze to Ted.

  “Hey, I’m gonna check that . . . that thing we were talking about,” Ted said, and quickly backed away.

  Jack hardly noticed—he was staring at Audrey, one hand on his hip. “Do you want to try that again and ask your question nicely?”

  “I don’t have a question, Rambo, I have an instruction. You are supposed to be guarding me. For the last two hours, you have not guarded me, and therefore, everyone who works at Qwest Arena has been dropping in to say hi and ask me questions that I really don’t have time to answer. So I would appreciate it if you would just do what you are being paid to do and keep them away from me!”

  “Good God, I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “How about an apology and a promise you will do your job?”

  “No apology,” he said, working to remain calm. “Let’s get one thing straight, Audrey. Your keeper hired me to provide security to you and your tour—not to be your personal goon. You have a dozen people around you who can answer the door for you.”

  “What do you mean, my keeper?” she demanded, glossing right over his refusal to be her bouncer.

  “Your boy—the one who tells you how to think and what to do.”

  “Are you talking about Lucas?” she squealed incredulously.

  For a woman as creative as Audrey LaRue, she sure was dense when it came to that guy. “Anyone else feeding you pills?”

  She gaped at him in disbelief. For a moment, she looked as
if she would hit him. Then something washed over her, some emotion he couldn’t really discern, but in the next moment, he saw the fire in those pretty green eyes.

  He knew that emotion. That was full-bodied, potent female anger. One would think that Jack, having seen that look more times than he could possibly remember, might have learned a lesson or two. He hadn’t, obviously, because he smiled in the face of it.

  “You’re fired!” she cried.

  “Sorry, but you can’t fire me. I signed a contract and you don’t have the luxury of getting rid of me just because you don’t like me.”

  “Oh, yeah?” she snapped, squaring off with him, her hands on a perfectly trim waist. “Do you honestly believe that I cannot fire you when I am the one who hired you?”

  “No, you really can’t,” he said gleefully, feeling absurdly triumphant. “Why don’t you check that out with the chief? He can read the contract to you. And in the meantime, I’ve got a lot to do, so if you could just tell me if there is anything else besides needing a butler to answer your door so we can both get on with our jobs, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Ohmigod!” she cried incredulously. “I’m sorry—I guess I thought that as some freak out there wants to kill me, my security guy might want to keep a close eye on who is waltzing into my dressing room every fifteen minutes! But hey, you don’t think you need to do that,” she said, waving her arms and head so heatedly that the Mickey Mouse ear balls on top of her head bounced. “You have so many more important things to do. Great, well, if I end up dead or—”

  “You are not going to end up dead,” he said impatiently. “If you had asked me nicely, I would have gladly told you that everyone in here today has been checked out. The doors are secure. One of my guys is standing in your hallway watching who comes and goes, and there are police crawling around outside. You can relax. Trust me.”

  That seemed to appease her somewhat.

  “If you need something, or have a question about what we’re doing, all you had to do is ask.”

  “Thanks,” she said, her voice full of sarcasm. “I didn’t know how to talk to my employees until you came along to show me.”

  He smiled with false sympathy. “I know.”

  “Ohmigod,” she muttered below her breath and turned sharply on her stiletto heel to go.

  “Hey!” Jack said before she could march away.

  She paused, tossed her head back and groaned to the ceiling, then spared him a glance over her shoulder.

  He took in her outstanding figure once more, then smiled and said, “Nice shorts.”

  “Shut. Up,” she said, and marched on.

  And for the second time that day, Jack watched a very fine-looking woman walk away from him.

  “Oh hey,” Courtney said when Audrey threw open the door of the dressing room and stalked inside. “Did you find him?” she asked as she quickly shoved a magazine beneath a bag at her feet.

  Audrey walked over to Courtney’s bag and glanced down. She saw the distinctive top of an issue of Inside Celebrity peaking out. “Yeah, I found him,” she said irritably. She was furious with Jack, and furious with herself because she was actually pleased that he liked her shorts, which was just ridiculous because of course he liked her shorts; all guys liked her shorts. That was why she wore the shorts on stage, because her audience liked them.

  Still, when he said he liked her shorts; she felt a funny tickle in her groin, the rat bastard. She couldn’t even remember the last time Lucas said he liked anything she wore. Well, never mind that—she was not going to spend the next two months with some guy in her employ who told her to ask nicely and then lectured her about her manners, or sleeping pills, or anything else.

  She leaned down, picked up the magazine Courtney had tried to hide. “I thought we weren’t going to read those magazines anymore,” she snapped at Courtney, and threw it across the room, toward the lone trash can. It fell a few feet short.

  Courtney blushed and glanced at her feet. “I’m sorry, Audrey. I just can’t stand it when I see something about you.” She looked up and attempted a smile.

  Honestly, Audrey had the feeling this perky young woman was just waiting to plunge a knife in her back. Lucas said she was overly paranoid. Maybe so, but at the very least, she was fairly certain that Courtney couldn’t wait to read any bullshit written about Audrey.

  But that was one battle she didn’t need at the moment and she turned away from Courtney, pausing to pet Bruno, who was hopping around her feet, wanting her attention. “I need you to get Lucas,” she said as she moved to her costumer, who was still waiting to adjust the outfit Audrey was wearing when she’d stormed out.

  “Lucas is in a meeting.”

  Audrey sighed to the ceiling. “I don’t care if he’s in Siberia. I need to talk to him.”

  Courtney exchanged a look with Trystan, Audrey’s lead dancer, who was watching everything from a fake leather couch. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll get him.”

  “Thanks,” Audrey snarled, and watched her slink out before turning to glare at Lucy.

  “All right, let me pin the shorts,” Lucy said quickly.

  “Please hurry,” Audrey said. “Trystan and I still need to rehearse the ‘Take Me’ number . . . right, Trystan?”

  “Sure, Audrey,” Trystan said cheerfully.

  Sure, Audrey. God, how she wished everyone could be like Trystan. Sure, Audrey. We know that you are debuting your show to the biggest audience you have ever played to tonight, and it would be nice if we could be supportive of you instead of telling you to ask your questions nicely.

  A moment later, as Lucy worked, Courtney returned with Lucas on her heels. Courtney deliberately picked up the magazine Audrey had thrown across the room and put it in the trash, and exchanged a look with Lucas.

  He frowned. “What is it?” he asked Audrey as Trystan shut the door behind him.

  “It’s the security guy,” Audrey said. “I want him fired.”

  “What?” Lucas exclaimed, looking around at the others in the room. “Why? What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. That is exactly the problem, Lucas. People have been dropping in all day, unannounced, asking me questions and interrupting me, and I thought he was supposed to be watching the door.”

  Lucas looked at Courtney, who looked at the floor. He sighed and looked at Audrey in a way that said she would not get what she wanted.

  “I want that guy fired,” she demanded again.

  “Jesus, Audrey, we really don’t have time for this right now, do we?”

  “Lucas! Some guy has been threatening my life! It was your idea to get security; you were the one who said I needed protection! So why don’t I have it?”

  “You do have it. If you don’t want people coming in, Courtney will answer the door. Or Trystan. Or anyone, I don’t give a shit! But Jack has some slightly larger issues to tend to than your door!”

  “I thought the issue was me, Lucas. You know, my tour, my life.”

  He sighed again, then flashed a very patronizing smile. He moved to put his arms around her, but Audrey shrugged him off. Lucas was persistent, though, and finally got his arms around her and kissed her temple. “You’re right, baby, that is precisely the issue. But it takes a cast of thousands to protect you because you are such a huge star.” He kissed her again, on the top of her head, just like she’d seen him kiss his niece.

  “I had a talk with Courtney. She will answer the door. So no more talk of firing Jack. We can’t just fire him anyway—there’s a contract.”

  Oh hell. She hated that Jack was right and, with a groan, pressed her forehead to Lucas’s shoulder.

  “I think I know what is upsetting you. I think you are worried about the show. But don’t worry, baby. The show is going to be spectacular. There is some press here from L.A. Did you know that?”

  “No,” she muttered.

  “And guess what?” he said, dropping his arms from her. “I’ve got a little surprise for you tonight.”

  “
What?” she asked as he walked to the door.

  “I’m not telling you—it’s a surprise.” He winked. “Just chill out, okay? No more throwing things at Courtney.”

  “I didn’t throw anything at Courtney,” she said, glaring at her assistant.

  “Baby, please calm down,” Lucas said. “I’ll check in on you later.” He reached for the door handle and glanced at Courtney. “Courtney . . . you will answer the door so people aren’t bothering Audrey, right?”

  “Of course! Whatever she needs me to do,” she said brightly.

  “Good. Thanks,” Lucas said, and with a smile, he opened the door.

  “Lucas?” Audrey called after him.

  He paused, glanced over his shoulder.

  “What do you think of these shorts?”

  He glanced at her shorts and shrugged. “They’re fine. Why?”

  “No reason,” she said, and turned away from him, holding out her arms to indicate Lucy should continue her repair work.

  They rehearsed the “Take Me” dance routine, a really difficult number, while Lucy held Bruno. Courtney could not be bothered, complaining she’d already had to walk the dog twice today. But someone had to hold him—Bruno could not see all the hopping about and not want to join in. It was precisely the reason Audrey did not want a dog.

  They rehearsed until Trystan begged Audrey to stop so he would have something left for the show. So Audrey left and ran some vocal drills with her vocal coach, then had a light meal which she could scarcely eat. Two hours before show time, she went into makeup, where she was surrounded by people who transformed her into a pop star while she held Bruno.

  When show time rolled around, she had forgotten about everything but her performance. As she walked down a dark and narrow corridor amid the electrical and sound equipment, Audrey realized she was nervous. This was a huge production, much bigger than anything she’d ever been involved with. There were three jumbotrons, eight costume changes, and a set that looked like something out of the movies. She thought she had gotten over the nerves that came with walking out onto a stage alone a long time ago, but they had come back with a vengeance tonight. It was just inconceivable to her that anyone would pay sixty-five dollars a seat to listen to her sing. It was even more inconceivable that twelve thousand people in Omaha alone would do that.