Beats of the Heart

by B. Rose, Charli

  Izzy: Sorry I missed your call. I love you. Have a great show. Call when you’re done.

  Me: About to go on. I love you too.

  My heart soared as I slipped the little piece of technology that served as my lifeline when we were apart back into my pocket. Lila walked by. She shot me a glance. It wasn’t any of her usual looks—not flirty, not seductive, not arrogant like she knew best. Not even annoyed.

  No, this time she looked… triumphant. But I didn’t care. Even her presence couldn’t rain on my parade at the moment. She’d been oddly absent this evening. Normally, she was everywhere. Maybe she found a job better suited to her where she wouldn’t have to annoy the crap out of me. My guitar tech signaled me, preventing me from giving the situation any more thought. I dashed up the stairs into the dark, strapped my guitar around me and took my spot on stage.

  When the lights came up, the crowd roared to deafening levels. For two hours, I lost myself in the music, rushing the minutes until I could hear the best song in my ears—Izzy’s voice.

  * * *

  Two days later

  I woke tangled in my sheets after a crazy night of video chatting with Izzy. Though she still looked a little under the weather, we’d been able to really reconnect. We’d both needed it. The distance was hard. Unbearably hard.

  But thanks to Bluetooth technology and some innovative companies in Amsterdam, the oceans and miles between us didn’t pose as big of an obstacle as they used to. We both finally passed out after a couple hours of chatting, reading and playing.

  I’d still be sleeping if not for the constant chirping of notifications on my computer. That’s what I got for leaving it on instead of shutting it down. But it was so worth it to fall asleep staring at her.

  I ran my finger across the touchpad to wake it up. Izzy’s sleeping form filled the screen. I resized the window of the video so that I could see what was screaming for my attention. As my gaze focused on the screen, I had to blink a few times to convince myself this wasn’t a nightmare. I clicked on the first article that popped up. It wasn’t a gossip rag, but a legitimate entertainment news site.

  Initially all the blood must have fled my brain because I became light-headed. My vision blurred. Starbursts flashed in my peripheral. I closed my eyes and drew in a few deep breaths. When I opened them again, the words were in crystal-clear focus. The headline read, Dawson + Isabelle = Dizzying Heat.

  Damnit!

  They knew Izzy’s name.

  The article wasn’t just some fluff piece. It had Izzy’s full name and even said where she was from. It even had a piece of her artwork from a college showing in a small thumbnail image. Even worse than the information were the photos the article had.

  Images of the two of us in bathrobes lounging in our hotel suite in Amsterdam.

  One of us in the jacuzzi.

  Several blurry images of us in bed.

  A video clip of us writhing beneath the sheets.

  Nothing inappropriate was shown in the photos or the video. But it was obvious to anyone what we were doing.

  Rage blinded me to the words on the screen. I didn’t know how long I was lost to the tempest of fury swirling inside before a sweet sound acted like a lighthouse beacon guiding me safely to shore. Izzy was calling my name.

  Blinking hard, I enlarged the video she occupied. “Hey, baby,” she greeted me. She was propped up in bed—the sheet tucked under her arms, her hair tousled, a beautiful, pink flush on her cheeks. My heart stalled in my chest for half a second.

  Her smile chased the largest storm clouds away. “Morning, flutterby. Did you sleep well?”

  “I did. Thanks to you. Orgasms are good for the soul. I really needed that. I feel like a new person.”

  “We both needed that. But remember, if you start feeling bad again, you promised you’d go see your doctor.”

  “I remember. I must not have been sleeping very deeply since I got home. Without you wearing me out, my sleep wasn’t restful enough,” she said with a laugh. It was music to my ears.

  “I’ll have to do better then. Thank goodness we have those new toys.” I winked at her and licked my lips seductively.

  She giggled again. I let the silence marinate between us. I swallowed and tried to figure out how I was going to tell Izzy that not only did the world know her name, but they also knew what her face looked like under a haze of pleasure.

  Ringing sounded through the computer. She reached for her phone. “Who would be calling me at this time of day?”

  “Don’t answer it. Not yet. We need to talk first,” I rushed out urgently.

  “OK.” She set her phone down and looked at me curiously.

  “I’m so incredibly sorry, flutterby.”

  “What for?” Confusion marred her perfect face, creating little lines in her brow.

  I just had to say it. Quick. Like ripping off a band-aid. “The press got your name.”

  “Oh…” Her finger started twisting a strand of hair around it, something she used to do as a kid when she was really nervous. I hadn’t seen her do in years.

  “Unfortunately, that’s not the worst part,” I mumbled, my voice filled with a mixture of regret, rage and sorrow.

  “What else?” she asked fearfully.

  “I don’t know how, but they have photos and… uh… a video of us in our room in Amsterdam.”

  Horror made her jaw drop and her eyes widen. “What kind of pictures?” She was imagining the worst. She knew we were rarely dressed in our room.

  I couldn’t look her in the eyes. “The worst kind that can be printed in a mainstream publication. Us in robes watching TV. Taking a bubble bath.” I filled my lungs with air and blew it out in a rush. “And in bed, making love.”

  A squeak escaped her lips. Her fingers flew to the keyboard, the motion making the sheet slip lower down her body. I couldn’t even let myself appreciate the view. Izzy’s life was about to be turned upside down because of me, because of my life. Indirectly, I was responsible for the hurt and humiliation she was about to feel.

  I didn’t have to be on the other side of her screen to know when the webpage finally loaded. Tears leaked from her eyes in a silent stream.

  My fingers clenched into a fist, the nails biting into the flesh of my palm. I pounded it into the mattress but found no satisfaction in striking the soft surface. It didn’t even make a sound.

  “I swear, flutterby, I don’t know how this happened. But I will get to the bottom of it. Whoever is responsible will pay. In the meantime, I’ll get the band’s lawyers on it to see what can be done about getting the images down.” The fixer in me demanded I take whatever action necessary to eradicate the pain being inflicted on my girl.

  The harsh chuckle that erupted from her lips was unfamiliar. Chilling. Aching. “Dawson, you know how the internet works. It’s out there now. It will never be gone. Everyone in the world knows what I look like when I come now.”

  Sharp pain stabbed in my chest. “No, they don’t, flutterby. I know it’s bad. But those images are of the back of your head or your profile. And all the ones from the bedroom are blurry.”

  “It doesn’t matter. They’ll fill in the blanks,” her voice hiccupped. She looked so broken. So defeated.

  “Don’t let them win, flutterby. Please,” I rasped. “I love you.”

  “I love you too. Oh my—” Her hand covered her mouth as she jumped from the bed, naked. I appreciated the view for a split second before she disappeared from view. As the computer on her end shook, anxiety ratcheted my heartrate up to unsafe speeds.

  Tapping the volume button on my computer, I strained to hear what was going on in the room that held my future. Retching sounds filtered through cyberspace to my anxious ears. The ache in my entire being amplified. She was sick and hurting, and I was a world away, helpless to do anything.

  After what felt like an eternity, she came back into view, the band T-shirt she swiped from me on her last visit now engulfing her small frame. Her eyes were red, and
her skin was sallow.

  “I’m so sorry, flutterby.” My trembling fingers brushed against her face on the screen.

  “It’s not your fault, Daw. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the situation. And I’m embarrassed. My parents, my friends, my clients will now see me as part of a sex tape scandal.” All celebrities expect to have some sort of scandal at some point during their careers. It was laughingly joked about as a rite of passage in the A-lister circles. But this wasn’t the type of thing Izzy signed up for by being with me.

  “They know you. It won’t make a difference to the people who matter to you,” I tried to reassure her.

  “Dawson, I need to go,” she whispered.

  “Don’t go, flutterby,” I pleaded.

  “I have to. I need some time to think.” Her face begged me to understand.

  “If it gets to be too much… any of this…” I swallowed hard. “…just let me know. I don’t want you hurt or uncomfortable or—”

  “OK. I promise, I’ll let you know.” She gave me a small smile of reassurance.

  I exhaled loudly. “OK. I’m going to call the lawyer to see what can be done about getting the photos and video down. There’s an expectation of privacy in a hotel room. That has to mean something. And I’ll call Steve and Lila, get them to work on preparing a statement. We might officially need to go public now. This may force their hands. If we need to make a joint appearance, I’ll arrange everything to get us in the same place for it. And I’m going to call the owner of that hotel too and get to the bottom of who would do something like this. Oh, and I’ll get Joe to see what can be done about getting you security so that the paps don’t harass you.” I was rambling, but she wasn’t saying anything. Panic creeped into my soul and squeezed it in a vice.

  “Hold off on the bodyguard thing. I changed my hair. I’ll be less noticeable this way. Having a big guy following me around will just draw attention back to me,” she reasoned.

  “I’ll just get things in place in case you do need it. OK? It’ll make me feel better. Please?” I gave her my puppy dog eyes. She’d never said no to them before.

  “OK,” she relented. “I love you.”

  The noose around my heart loosened a little. It wasn’t that I doubted her love, but the reassurance those three words gave me… there were no words to describe it. “Oh flutterby, I love you too. So damn much. This is just a bump in the road. We’ll figure things out.”

  She nodded. “I’ll call you later, OK?”

  I swallowed hard. “If you don’t get me, I’ll call you back. I don’t know what this latest news does for all the appearances the band is supposed to have today.”

  “I’m sure Lila will capitalize on the increased publicity. But she’ll want you to spin it some way that fits the label’s image needs for you.”

  I sighed heavily. She was right. Lila and the label probably wouldn’t let me be honest about our relationship.

  “Screw what they think. I should just tell the first person who asks me about it that I’m in love with you and have been for almost two decades.”

  Her face lit at my impassioned vow. “You know you have to do what they want. You’re under contract for a while longer. You can’t throw away your future. We’ll figure things out.”

  I nodded. “You’re right. I’ll see what they say first. And I’ll let you know if there’s anything they want you to do.”

  “OK. I’m going go for now. We’ve both got stuff to figure out and deal with.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and offered me the tiniest of smiles.

  I nodded. “I love you. No matter what the next few days hold, don’t forget it,” my tone was impassioned.

  “I won’t. And don’t you forget how much I love you, Dawson Anderson.” A fierceness flared in her green eyes.

  The screen faded to black as she blew me a kiss and disconnected.

  Something inside of me cracked and sank like a rock. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I texted Steve and Lila. I didn’t waste words on pleasantries.

  Me: Fix it. I don’t care how. Get the pictures and video down.

  Me: And warn everyone who wants an interview, I’m NOT talking about my relationship with Izzy.

  I didn’t wait for a response. I dialed Joe.

  “Hey, D. I saw,” he said immediately.

  “Then you know why I’m calling.” I was grateful I wouldn’t have to explain everything to him.

  “You want someone on Izzy.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yeah. But she doesn’t want it unless it’s absolutely necessary.” I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging hard on the strands.

  “I’m on it already. Don’t worry. We won’t let anything happen to her.”

  “Thanks.”

  I disconnected and dialed the lawyer.

  * * *

  Hours later, I had no answers as to who was responsible. Joe sent one of his guys back to the hotel in Amsterdam to look for the cameras in the suite. It was a long shot. Whoever planted them probably retrieved them after we checked out. But I’d feel better knowing that no one else would be violated like we were.

  The hotel owner called me directly before I could call him. He was in the process of interrogating his staff and promised to keep me informed of what he found out. But everyone who’d been assigned to care for us and our suite had been employed by the hotel for years. And they were used to taking care of celebrities. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

  The lawyer assured me that he would get the legitimate sites to take down the photos and videos, as we weren’t out in public. But he also reinforced what Izzy said—the internet was forever. A bell couldn’t be unrung. The photos were out there. They’d always be out there.

  Internally, I vowed to pay someone to scour the world wide web everyday and send takedown notices to the sites publishing the photos and video of us from our suite. Eventually, the vultures would find a new carcass to devour. In the meantime, I would do what I could to minimize the flesh available for them to chew on. Especially Izzy’s.

  When I finished the calls, I had several unread text messages.

  Dad: Saw the news. You OK?

  Me: Trying to fix things now.

  Mom: Sweetie, how did this happen? Is Izzy OK?

  Me: Trying to deal with things. Will talk to you later.

  Izzy: I LOVE you. Just wanted you to know that. XOXO

  Me: I love you too. Hang in here with me.

  Dragon Lady: You will be VAGUE in all interviews. You do NOT have to deny a relationship. But under no circumstances are you to confirm one either. Instruct Izzy to not comment if she is approached.

  I didn’t bother to reply. Instead, I messaged Izzy.

  Me: Lila says that I am to be vague about our status.

  Izzy: Did her highness have instructions for me?

  Me: Yeah. Don’t comment.

  Izzy: Got it. Have a great show.

  Me: That’s the farthest thing from my mind. I wish I could cancel it.

  Me: Are your parents freaking out?

  Izzy: Yes. They want me to come home until this dies down.

  Me: Might not be a bad idea.

  Izzy: Maybe. But only if it gets nuts here. I have work to do.

  Me: Be safe.

  Me: Please. I don’t want anything to happen to you.

  Izzy: I will. I’m not going anywhere today. I don’t feel well.

  Me: Soup for dinner. Then bed for you.

  Izzy: Don’t have any soup. But I’ll figure something out.

  I typed the name of her favorite diner into the search engine on my laptop. A few minutes and a hundred-dollar tip later, Izzy’s favorite soup and grilled cheese were on the way to her house.

  Me: Soup and sandwich are on the way.

  Izzy: ??

  Me: I called Faye’s and ordered it for you.

  Izzy: They don’t deliver.

  Me: They do for me. ;)

  Izzy: Even on the other side of the Earth, you’re ta
king care of me. XOXO

  Me: I’ll always take care of you.

  Me: I have to go now. TV appearance.

  Izzy: I love you. Good luck.

  Me: I love you too.

  * * *

  By the time I was back in my room on the bus, I’d surpassed exhaustion. Thank God for muscle memory. It was the only thing that got me through the past few hours. I was on autopilot.

  Smile. Shake hands. Grit teeth. Answer questions about our music. Dodge questions about Izzy and our relationship.

  Drive to venue.

  Smile. Say hi. Sign autographs. Repeat a few dozen times.

  Walk on stage. Pluck the strings. Belt out the lyrics. Dance. Smile. Repeat for fifteen songs.

  Run off stage. Wait. Return. Perform two encores.

  Shower. Dress.

  Smile. Say hi. Sign autographs. Repeat too many times to count.

  Finally, return to my bed, alone and desperate for her voice.

  Chapter 11

  Izzy

  The first week after the pictures were printed, I didn’t even leave my apartment. A couple of reporters were noticed by the doorman and ran off a couple of days after the story broke.

  At least now the reporters were finally convinced that I didn’t actually live in my building, so they stopped camping out across the street. But just to be safe Dawson arranged to have groceries delivered to me. And I rescheduled all my photo shoots for next month. Instead, I devoted my time to working on the band images from my visit. The edited images would be delivered ahead of schedule. Maybe that would please Princess Pissy.

  Ten days after my name and sex life became fodder for the masses, the paps finally found out my phone number and started calling. Everyday. All hours of the day. Everyone wanted a comment or an interview. I was exhausted, irritated and miserable.

  I needed to hear Dawson’s voice. His schedule had been impossible, so we hadn’t talked recently. I dialed his number. When his voice came through on the other end of the phone, it was in the form of his voicemail greeting.