Effie searched for her backpack under the seat, then dragged it, and her violin, off the bus.
Hal escorted her to a limo and stuffed her in without a word. As they drove away, she turned back and saw the tears rolling down the bodyguard’s face. “Oh, Hal,” she whispered.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Just pull over,” she said.
Callie answered her call on the first ring. “I saw the news. Where are you?”
She answered the question with a wail.
“We’re on our way to the airport,” Callie said. “Where do you want me to meet you?”
“I don’t know. I’m in Prague. In a car, somewhere. Fuck!”
The line went silent for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to go to Greece,” her sister said. “Want to meet me there?”
“I guess.”
“You need money?”
She looked down at her violin. “No. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you back.”
She pulled out the museum director’s card from her wallet. “Can you drive me to Salzburg?” she asked the driver.
He glanced up in the rearview mirror, his gaze full of pity, and nodded.
Salzburg, Austria
“Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle.”
At five o’clock that morning, Effie knocked on the Mozart Museum director’s door.
He gave her a sad smile and handed her the receipt for the money he’d wired to her account.
Without a word, she gave him the violin, but kept the bow Elias had given her.
The last connection to Greta had finally been cut. In a way, it was like throwing a handful of dirt on her grave. All of this was her mother’s fault, and as far as she was concerned, the woman was dead.
54
Requiem
Santorini, Greece
“You’re not the same as you were before. You were much more, more . . . muchier. You’ve lost your muchness.”
Soundtrack “Creep,” Daniela Andrade
Thirty-six hours later, Effie sat on the edge of a Santorini cliff and watched dark, shapeless mist roll over the indigo sea below.
She’d had thirty-six sleepless hours on the way to there to think about her life. And so far, none of it made any sense.
She closed her eyes and let the nothingness fill her ears. The sound of love lost. The requiem.
Someone sat next to her. “How long have you been out here?” Callie asked.
She didn’t answer.
“You’re sunburned.”
She felt nothing.
“Come inside,” said her sister.
Effie raised her hand and blocked the violent sun. “Did you just get here?”
“Yeah,” Callie said. “Come inside. It’s fucking hot here.”
Back in their room, they climbed into bed together and clung to each other for the first time since leaving their mother’s womb.
“It hurts,” Effie cried.
Callie squeezed her tighter. “I know.”
“I feel like I’m going through withdrawal.”
“I know.”
“I saw our mother. I saw Greta.”
Her sister loosened her grip. “You did?”
“At the concert in Munich.”
“Fuck.”
Effie relayed the events over the last week.
Her sister was quiet for a long time. “I should have done something. Stopped her.”
“I hated you,” Effie said.
Callie lowered her damp lashes. “I thought she loved you more. Because you were so talented.”
“I went through hell.”
Her sister burst out sobbing. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. And then the drugs. And you ran away. I didn’t know what to do.” She let out a sickly moan. “And those pictures of you. Thank God Skip found you. I hate that he was there for you, and I was with that asshole, Daniel.”
“I punched Daniel.” Effie said. “Well, Elias punched him, and I punched Hillary.”
Callie wiped her nose. “What? When?”
“Skip made me dress up like you, so I could accept the award for the dildo campaign. Daniel was there with Hillary.”
Callie covered her face and bawled. “You’ve done everything for me, and I’ve done nothing for you.”
Effie rolled her eyes. “You loaned me fifty grand.”
“No, you stole fifty grand.”
“I can pay you back now. I sold the violin.”
“You what! What are you going to do now?”
“Be sad for a while. Then I’m gonna get up, dress up, show up, and get on with my life.” Because that’s all she could do, just go on living.
“Wow,” Callie said. “You sound so well-adjusted.”
A gust of wind blew through the door and whipped the curtains against the wall.
Callie regarded her for a moment. “What about Elias?”
All at once, blinding pain swept in. She’d probably never see him, or the band, again.
“Has he called you?”
She shook her head.
Callie pushed the hair off her face. “If he loves you, he’ll come for you. Real love heals and forgives. It’s not conditional. Love doesn’t bolt out the door after finding out you used to be a fuck-up.”
Effie pulled the covers up to her chin. “I just want to sleep.”
Her sister closed the curtains. “I’ve got to call Hot Cock. He’s worried to death about you.”
She tried to laugh but nothing came out. Instead, she closed her eyes and tumbled down a dark, dark hole.
55
Tutti
Prague, Czech Republic
“‘Once,’ said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, ‘I was a real Turtle.’”
Soundtrack “Big Decision,” Elliot Smith
After searching the entire city, Elias finally found Len Neal, seated at the bar of a sleazy airport hotel.
Four empty bottles of cheap Czech beer and a basket of pretzels surrounded the reporter. He popped a pretzel into his mouth and chuckled to himself as he scrolled through his phone.
Elias grabbed the back of Len’s shirt and hauled him off the stool.
His rubbery form lay in a heap on the floor.
“Get up, asshole. I want to talk to you.”
Len’s gaze darted around the bar looking for witness. But other than the bartender, there wasn’t a soul there.
Len shielded his face with his forearm and rose to his feet. “Hey, dude, how’s it going?”
Elias pointed toward the patio and shoved the cowering son-of-a-bitch out the door.
At the airport nearby, screaming jets took off and multiplied his rage by tenfold.
“How much did you pay that prick for those photos?” His voice was shockingly calm.
“I can’t tell you,” the reporter said.
He punched Len’s nose. “How much?”
“Okay. Okay.” His hands shot up. “I didn’t pay him. Your manager did. She hired a detective, who found the guy in LA and paid him off.”
“No, you paid him off. It’s your website that published them.” He cocked back his fist and threw another punch.
Len ducked. “I didn’t! Gail did.”
A red mist of rage blurred his vision. His manager paid him? Gail fucking paid that güey de mierda off? He was going to murder her. He hurled a chair to the other end of the patio. “Hijo de re mil puta, motherfucker, I want those pictures off your site.”
“It’s not my call,” Len said.
He heaved a chair over his head, ready to smash it into the reporter’s face. “I’ll sue you for every penny you own. Defamation of character, invasion of privacy, harassment—”
“Okay, okay!” Len crouched and covered his head. “I’ll talk to my boss.”
Elias kept his glare locked on him for a long drawn-out minute, just to make the asshole squirm. Another plane lifted off and drowned out the silent tension rippling between them.
Once it
was out of earshot, Len spoke to the ground. “For the record, I didn’t want to do it. Gail went over my head.”
He examined Len’s bloodied expression and found the truth there.
Len cast his gaze to the ground. “I hate this job. It fucking sucks. If I didn’t have a greedy ex-wife and two kids in college . . .”
“Think I give a shit about your family, motherfucker?” he said. “You’re nothing but a maggot, living off the shit in everybody’s life. You ruin careers and destroy relationships. How do you live with yourself?”
Len let out a long-suffering sign and nodded. “The music’s the reason I stick with it. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane. And yours . . .” He rocked back on his heels and stared at the sky. “Fuck, man. I wasn’t kidding about being your number one fan.”
“Is that supposed to make me like you?”
Len wiped the blood from under his nose. “I’m sorry, man. Really. Truly.” Slow as fucking a turtle, Len limped back inside the bar with his back hunched and his head hanging so low his neck disappeared.
Elias didn’t move from his spot, still stricken by the crushing blow of the evening’s events.
The images of his sweet, sunny love, splayed out on the ground like human waste, looped endlessly through his mind. And when those images grew old and tattered, his mother’s images played on repeat.
He’d spent the better part of his childhood a secondhand victim of drug abuse. Even the thought of Effie in that condition sickened him.
But she’d said she wasn’t that person anymore. Who was she, then? And why did she try to buy drugs the other night?
Another plane ripped through silence. He gripped the railing and shouted, “Fuck you!” to the sky so loud his vocal chords almost snapped in half.
Then he broke down and cried. He didn’t even cry when his mother overdosed. But this was different. Effie was everything. If felt like half his heart had been sliced off.
The sunrise tinted the sky pink, and the birds began to chirp. And as the night disappeared, some of the heaviness lifted. His throat ached, and his limbs felt like rubber bands, but he managed to make his way out front and flag down a cab.
“‘We must fight for her, then,’ said the Red Knight.”
Soundtrack “250 Miles,” Radio Moscow
The cab passed over the Vitavia River, and as the city’s sharp cathedral spires came into focus, the fog in his mind began to clear.
He didn’t know anything about Effie, or her mother, or her sister, or her childhood, or the guy who’d sold her out, or her addition—except for the few tiny bits she’d shared, he didn’t know her at all. And she didn’t know anything about him. They hadn’t been together long enough.
He didn’t even give her a chance to explain the whole story. All he’d done was shut down and run away the minute she exposed a flaw. What a cruel and incredibly unfair thing to do. It’s definitely not how a loved one should behave.
“Can you go a little faster?” he said to the driver.
The driver shot him an evil smile and slowed down instead.
At the hotel, he sprinted up five flights of stairs two and pounded on the door. Hal swept it open so fast he almost fell on top of him.
“Aw, shit, it’s you.” Hal’s eyes welled up. “I thought you were Effie.”
He rushed to the living room. Everyone froze as stiff as corpses. It looked like he’d just stepped into a wax museum. “Where is she?” he shouted.
No one answered.
“Where the fuck is Effie?”
Annie wept into a wadded-up tissue.
“She’s gone, man,” Cato said.
“What do you mean, she’s gone? Where’d she go?”
Hal started bawling. “I put her in a limo. I thought she’d come here, but she never showed up.”
“You what!” He grabbed a vase off the table and hurled it against the wall.
Then he really lost it.
Anything he could pick up—dishes, paintings, lamps—he smashed them all. When he ran out of small objects, Cato and Griffin helped him rip the big-screen TV off the wall and toss it over the balcony.
Then everyone joined in.
Missy stabbed a knife into the couch cushions and threw the stuffing everywhere.
Hal tipped over the fridge in the kitchen, shouting, “Fuck everything!”
Annie grabbed a broom from the closet and beat the shit out of the chandelier, raining glass shards down on everyone’s heads.
They didn’t stop until LeStrange ripped out the bathroom sink and tossed it into the living room.
All eyes landed on the petite French bus driver. He pounded fists on his chest. “Sheet, that felt good.”
Elias bent over and roared. Why the fuck was he laughing? He snapped back up and dragged his hands down his face. “Hijo de puta! What am I going to do?”
A hush fell over everyone.
Griffin interrupted the silence. “Did we just destroy our first hotel room?”
Cato fist-bumped the drummer. “We’re rock stars now.”
Annie shook her head. “This will cost a fortune.”
“Make that bitch Gail pay for it,” Griffin said.
And the tension sprang back into the room.
“She hired a detective to dig up that scum Effie was with,” Elias said. “She’s the one who sold those photos to TMM.”
“That’s a big shocker,” Missy said dryly.
He sat on what was left of the sofa and closed his eyes. “I need help. I need to find Effie. I need to fire Gail—”
“You need sleep,” Annie said and led him to the back bedroom.
“Close your eyes.” She tapped needles into his scalp until he felt overcome with exhaustion.
“What am I going to do?”
“Find Effie and ask her to marry you.”
“What if she relapses?”
A Zen-like wisdom filled the woman’s gaze. “She won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“You healed her.”
He swallowed the razor blades in his throat. “She healed me.”
Annie rose from the bed. “We’ll find her. You rest.” A short while later, she removed the needles and kissed him on the forehead.
He sat up. “I love you, Mom.”
She smiled and patted his leg. “I love you, too, Érzi. Don’t worry. We’ll get her back.”
56
Serenade
Santorini, Greece
“‘Wake up, Alice dear!’ said her sister. ‘Why, what a long sleep you’ve had!’
‘Oh, I’ve had such a curious dream!’”
Soundtrack “Stillness,” Hilary Hahn and Hauschka
For over a week, Effie lay suspended in a fantasy world. In her dream, she was a little girl again, living in a strange animated land, filled with flowers and animals that talked.
The red queen appeared in her reverie, and barked orders for her execution. A white knight, on a black, badass horse, saved her, and then galloped away and left her with a giant hole in her heart.
Voices faded in and out. “We’ve got to get her up,” Walker said.
“Soon,” Callie said. “She’ll get up when she’s ready.”
Effie tried to climb out of the dream, but she was far too small.
One day, the scent of orange blossoms floated through the breeze, and her sister called to her.
“Effie, sweetie,” Callie said. “Wake up.”
She rolled over and opened her eyes. “I’m too tired.”
Callie yanked off the covers and dragged her by her ankles to the edge of the bed. “Enough of this depressive bullshit. Get up and take a shower. You stink.”
“I don’t wanna,” she whined.
“That’s it.” Callie stomped over to the table, grabbed a pitcher of ice water, and dumped it over her head.
Effie jolted to her feet.
“Now get in that shower!” she shouted. “Before I kick your ass.”
She loped to the bathroom an
d took off her nightgown.
Callie turned on the faucet and shoved her under it.
The cold water sliced though her skin like razor blades. “It’s freezing!” she cried.
Callie dumped a bottle of shampoo on top of her head. “Wash that mop!”
For the next ten minutes, Effie followed Commander Callie’s grooming orders.
Once the torture session was over, her sister dried her off with all the tenderness of a pro wrestler, and then slapped a dress over her head.
While her sun-freckled sister braided her hair, Effie studied herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were hollow, and her eyes looked bruised, but she was alive, and that was something. “Remember that time you cut my hair?”
An evil half-grin crept up her sister’s cheek. “Not all of it. Just the back.”
“And I’m the bad twin?”
Callie gripped her shoulders and whipped her around. “You are not bad. Do you hear me? You are beautiful and talented and kind. You paid dearly for your mistakes. Now it’s time to move on.” A tear rolled down her fragile smile. “Literally. And you know how much I hate when people misuse that word. It’s literally time to move on. Now get your fucking shoes on. It’s time to go.”
Effie gave her a blank stare.
Callie grabbed a dirty rag from her luggage and waved it front of her face. “I have a surprise for you.”
“A dishtowel?”
“Turn around.”
“You’re not putting that on my face.”
Callie yanked her braid then tied the rag around her head so tight her eyeballs almost imploded.
“Let’s go, assface.”
“‘So I wasn’t dreaming, after all,’ she said to herself, ‘Unless we’re all part of the same dream.’”
Soundtrack “Daphnis et Chloe Suite No. 2,” Maurice Ravel
Head-Tripped: A Sexy Rock Star Romance (Ad Agency Series Book 2) Page 24
