Single, Cool, and Fine: How to Get Laid as an Ex-Teen Idol

by Lux Zakari

  Still, the urge became so strong that he didn’t realize he’d dialed until he heard the ring followed by her vaguely surprised “Hello?”

  “Hey,” he croaked, straightening in his chair and clearing his throat. He’d no idea why he was so nervous talking to someone he’d known for a third of his life. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing exciting. We’re just eating lunch.”

  “Yeah? What’s on the menu?”

  “Soup and sandwiches. James, is everything okay?”

  He hated the worried note in her voice. Him calling and making conversation was so out of character it was cause for alarm. He really was a selfish prick.

  “James?” she repeated when he didn’t answer, too lost in self-disgust. “Are you all right? Is it the tour?”

  Her concern, however, made him feel valued, at least on some small scale. “No, the tour’s fine. I’m fine. I’m just calling to see how you are. You guys, I mean.” The nervousness returned. “How’re the kids?”

  “Themselves. Amie’s taken to stuffing her dolls in her toy microwave.”

  “Sounds like housewife training isn’t going so well.”

  “Yeah, not so much. Noah’s been even more of a handful. He’s been peeing on the raised toilet seat lid and watching it trickle down, ‘like a waterfall,’ he says. Oh, and he’s made you some potpourri.”

  “Potpourri?”

  Her laugh was irresistible. “He painted some pine cones and put them in a bowl.”

  “I can’t wait to see them.” And he really, really couldn’t. “So what’re you doing while these shenanigans are going on?”

  “Just working on setting up my business. Pierce has been helping me look for spaces to rent to use as a storefront-slash-office.”

  “Uh huh.” Pierce. Just the name destroyed all the slight-but-optimistic feelings that had been stirring in him. He pictured the two of them strolling through the streets of Albany, arm in arm, smiling as they sought her future—one without him.

  There was a pause. “Why do you say it like that?” He could picture her nose wrinkling in annoyed confusion.

  “Say what like what?” He feigned innocence, but his tone was too dark to really sell it.

  “Say it like a suspicious jerk. What are you getting at?”

  I hate you living there, I hate you seeing him, I hate everything about this conversation was what he was getting at. Instead he released an aggravated growl, her blunt honesty sapping any remaining cordiality he might’ve salvaged. “Nothing, forget it. Let me talk to the kids.”

  “Which one?” Her tone was so icy he could slip on it.

  “Either of them. Both.”

  “Fine. One last thing. Where are you signing those papers?”

  The question was a knife in his gut, and he hated her deeply right then. “Don’t worry, Greer. I’m signing them the second I get home, I promise you.”

  “Good. The sooner, the better.” Without a word of goodbye, he heard her pass the phone on, murmuring, “It’s Daddy.”

  There followed an excited gasp and his daughter shrieking, “Dad!”

  “Hey, pea.” His breath came short; he was so rattled. “How are you?”

  “Good. I’m eating.”

  “I heard. Speaking of eating, I also heard about the dolls in the microwave. You’re not giving your mom a hard time, are you?”

  “Nope!”

  “And you’re being nice to your brother?”

  “Well…”

  “Pea…”

  “He started it!”

  He had no idea what Noah started but it didn’t matter. “Don’t worry about what Noah’s doing. Amie needs to worry about Amie. I need you to behave, okay?”

  “Okay,” she mumbled grudgingly.

  “I love you, pea.” The words snagged in his throat.

  “I love you, too,” she chirped, bright as sunshine. “Here’s Noah.”

  His son came on the line, and James had a similar conversation with him, every word threatening to tear his stupid heart out even more. When his son was done speaking and they’d said goodbye, he expected to return to arguing with Greer, but the line had gone dead.

  He launched the cell phone across the room, his hands shaking. No one had ever made him angry like Greer could. Conversely, nothing he said ever got through to her. How could she claim he made her so miserable and didn’t care when she was the one who never, ever batted an eye?

  Well, Greer could bat an eye at this: Tonight, he was going to find Bijou Light, someone who was like him, someone who liked him. Like E.Y. had said, it was time to right some wrongs.

  Before James could think of a way to contact Bijou Light, she solved the problem for him.

  His fingers traveled the length of the piano’s keys during the sound check that afternoon. His bluesy, haunting rendition of “Give It Time” filled the near-empty venue, and the spontaneous new take on the old song filled him with a sense of pride and meaning. For the next few minutes, there was no Greer, no divorce, no Blame James blog, no fame, no anything except the song. It was freeing and comforting in a way nothing else came close.

  When the song came to an end, he looked up from his piano to the sound of someone’s slow clap followed by the heavy click of heeled boots. And there was Bijou Light, all porcelain skin and impossibly dark eyes. Her silky black hair was twisted on top of her head, pieces tumbling from the messy bun. A smirk twitched on her lips as she sauntered toward him like she moved through honey. She looked incredible. James’ heart paused at the sight of her.

  “That was awesome.” She propped her elbows on the edge of the stage, resting her cheek atop one of her fists. “I’m glad I saw that.”

  “And I’m glad to see you.” He leapt off the stage to give her a hug and tried not to swallow hard when her body pressed against his. Possibilities were crackling under her skin.

  Despite his earlier determination to get Bijou into bed, he hadn’t actually expected to have this reaction to her. Last time he saw her, she did nothing for him. Then again, Bijou had been fairly different back then. When she’d first burst on the scene at age eighteen, she was a sweet, innocent ray of sun with bright eyes, plaid button-down shirts, and acoustic guitar. She was sexy and wholesome and wrote catchy pop songs, and her public ate it up. Now she seemed very much a woman of the world with a knowing spark in her eyes and a sensual roll to her hips.

  He licked his lips, suddenly nervous. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Too long,” she echoed with a nod of her head. “When I heard we’d be in the same place at the same time, I knew it was time to bridge that gap.”

  A million shapeless questions danced on his tongue, but he couldn’t voice one. He just wanted to know everything. Surely anything going on with her had to be interesting. Maybe E.Y. and Wade were onto something with their punching-your-weight theory.

  “So I’m having a party tonight at the Rosemont Hotel. A little soiree to celebrate my new album. Surely after your show, you’ll be stopping by.” She arched an immaculately sculpted eyebrow at him. “I’m not taking no for an answer. We need to play catch-up and talk about that song we were supposed to write together.”

  “Yeah, whatever happened with that? I tried calling you a million years ago but—”

  “Later,” she drawled, her voice light with amusement. “I’m not going to interrupt your sound check any longer than I have already. I’d rather distract you tonight.” She gave him a wink and strolled off, her boots sounding on the polished floor.

  He considered himself already sufficiently distracted. Promise tingled in his spine. It was going to be an interesting evening.

  Until that afternoon, James had all but forgotten Bijou Light and their brief, primarily professional friendship. Now, though, as he arrived at the club called Torch located inside the impossibly posh Rosemont Hotel in Nashville, he couldn’t think of anything else but her.

  And there she was, emerging from the crowd of her well-wishers, bathed in the club
’s ruby-and-fire lighting and looking appetizing as hell in a tight black sleeveless dress that managed to be both sophisticated and seductive. Her hair tumbled down her bare shoulders in tousled, who-gives-a-fuck waves, and earrings in the shape of diamond guitars glittered on her ears.

  “James.” She draped her arms around him and melted against him, and again he felt that awe-inspiring rush he’d had when he embraced her earlier. She drew away from him just enough to look him in the eyes and dug her fingertips in his shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re here. Everyone’s been driving me crazy.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “They all want to talk business.” She heaved a sigh and tossed her hair back, sending up the scent of her perfume, something mysterious and intoxicating. “I just want to have some fun. That’s what we came here to do, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Good.” She hailed a passing server. “What’s your poison, James?”

  “I’ll take a Red Bull.”

  “Ah, yes, I forgot about your crusade against synthetic fun.” She smiled, letting him know she only teased him, and turned to the server. “Get my friend a Red Bull on the rocks.”

  When the server departed, Bijou led him to one of the plush, intimate, S-shaped couches and sank down, patting the seat beside her. The seats were so low James’ knees were level with his chest. Bijou crossed her gorgeous legs as another server materialized with a glass of champagne for her.

  “I’m so glad you could make it, James.” She took a sip. “I’ve been dying to talk to you about the song I want us to write.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to talk about business tonight.” He shifted in the seat, trying to get comfortable but doubted any position that wasn’t horizontal would work. He suspected that was the point.

  “Trust me,” she said with a laugh that was more like a purr. “It’s not business, it’s pleasure. I’ve wanted to do it with you for years.”

  James was grateful for the distraction of the server returning with his Red Bull; his face was on fire from her double entendre. “Like I said earlier, I tried getting in touch with you about it a long time ago but never got through.”

  “Oh, that was a crazy time.” Bijou waved her hand. “I was doing my own thing, you were getting married and having kids…”

  Despite what E.Y. and Wade believed, James wasn’t completely oblivious. He heard the tightness in her voice and had no idea how to respond to it. “That was a crazy time,” he echoed, not really sure if that was true on his end, but he suddenly felt so overwhelmingly uncomfortable that he believed the only way the tension would break was if he was agreeable.

  She put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry about Greer,” she murmured. “But I think it’s for the best. She wasn’t right for you.”

  “Yeah?” Recent events suggested that was obvious, but the words still stung to hear. “Why’s that?”

  Bijou shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not like I spent much time with her or anything, so I could be totally wrong, but based on pictures and articles and stuff… I don’t know, it just seemed like a weird match. A match that wasn’t. You both didn’t seem to belong. Something was always off.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line or offended you in any way by saying that. I’m sure she’s a great girl. That’s probably why you married her. But you’re so talented and larger than life and amazing, and she just seems…ordinary, I guess.” She paused. “Do you get what I’m trying to say?”

  “Yeah, yeah, definitely.” He took a swig of his drink and resisted the urge to leave. Bijou was only trying to be nice. So what if it was coming out all wrong? These things happened.

  “I mean, she let you of all people go.” Bijou smiled. “A soul mate would never do that.”

  “Uh huh.” It was getting harder and harder not to feign a sudden onslaught of exhaustion.

  She studied his face for a moment, her brow crinkling with concern. “James,” she said. “Your nose is bleeding.”

  “What?” He raised his hand to his nostrils.

  “Here.” Bijou scrabbled for one of the dark red cocktail napkins scattered on a nearby table and passed it to him as she took his drink. “I’ll hold this while you take care of business. The bathroom’s to the left of the bar.”

  “Thanks.” James cursed the low-riding couch as he struggled to a standing position then wove through the crowd, the napkin to his nose, feeling like a jackass. What the hell was this—he got nosebleeds now, ones triggered by the mere mention of his soon-to-be ex-wife?

  He pushed open the bathroom door and peered into the mirror, expecting to see a bloody mess. Instead he saw nothing out of the ordinary—just his pale face, rough with a couple days’ worth of dark blond stubble, and his troubled blue eyes with the dark circles ringing them. No blood. He returned to Bijou, confused.

  “It was probably the lighting. This place is so dark.” She handed him back his drink. “Slug this, will you? I want to dance.”

  “I don’t dance.” He drank faster anyway, although the sweet caffeinated beverage tasted watered down and strange. He blamed the ice floating in his glass.

  “You do. You just haven’t found the right partner yet.” There was that flirty wink.

  “Are you the right partner?” he asked, feeling bold and trying to salvage the night and his desire for her. People say stupid things. He certainly did. Why should he hold that against anyone?

  “Maybe.” She grinned and waited for him to down the rest of his drink then stood—with much more grace than he had—and reached her palm toward him. “Come on.”

  He slipped his hand in hers and let her tug him to his feet again, grateful for her help. They made their way toward the dance floor, a twelve-by-twelve square defined by flashing lights, but the journey seemed to last hours as Bijou stopped to say hello to everyone she passed. She kept her hand in his and even introduced him as “the gorgeous James Venora.” Most nodded at him with a vague smile, and some would say, “Oh yeah. The ‘Give It Time’ kid, right?” It was inevitable.

  He wished he could explain further. Yes, he was the “Give It Time” kid, but he’d released seven solo albums since then and had his own record company, and so on and so forth. But he just couldn’t find the urge to care. It seemed like such an exhausting, fruitless effort.

  The only one who truly gave him any notice was Oz Lavann, a lean, narrow-faced man with a Roman nose and sharp, dark eyes that seemed constantly on the lookout for the next new thing. He was the front man and lyricist for the Top 40-friendly band The Verdict, and those eyes of his lit up when Bijou introduced him to James.

  “Oh, yeah,” Oz said. “I heard your last album. The Way Down.”

  “Yeah?” James couldn’t disguise his shock. The Way Down was his record he was most proud of, and it also got the least attention. He didn’t even know how Oz might’ve come across it.

  Oz nodded. “It was good stuff. We should do something together one day. What do you think?”

  “Sounds good.” James briefly let the warm, exciting prospect of collaborating with someone talented and currently relevant like Oz fill his mind.

  Then Bijou tugged him away again to have him meet yet another person who didn’t give a damn about him. He grew more uncomfortable by the moment, standing by while Bijou exchanged air kisses and other schmoozy pleasantries in a way that only those living the lifestyle of the rich and famous could. He also didn’t care for all the cameras and phones around them, watching him play the part of the obedient boy toy. But if he was to “punch his weight” as far as his love life went, he supposed he had to accept that this sort of thing came with the territory.

  Bijou caught his eye and winked, a private look meant just for him. She gave his hand a squeeze as she excused herself from their company and led him onto the dance floor. “It’s dancing time.”

  The sight of him dancing—he could imagine the field day E.Y. and Wade would have with that one. But when Bijou stepped in the middle of a lit square and pulled h
im toward her, he realized “dancing” actually meant “grinding.” That he could do.

  Bijou writhed against him like no one else was around and no clothes lay between them. His cock rose to attention when she pushed her ass against it. She leaned back into him, resting her head on his chest and putting his hands on her rolling hips, moaning softly in time to the music, a pulsing, electronic number full of sensual groans itself.

  Bijou turned around, her eyes glowing, and put her hands in his back pockets. “Having fun?”

  He could only nod.

  “I can feel.” She looked pointedly between them and licked her lips. “I think you like dancing after all.”

  “With you, I do.”

  “Let’s see what else I can change your mind about.” She stepped closer to him, closer than he thought he was physically possible at this point, and her tongue flicked over his bottom lip. “Do you know how bad I wanna suck your dick, James?”

  His tongue suddenly felt too big for his mouth. He opened his creaky jaw to speak but nothing came out. The innocent sweetheart Bijou had been was officially dead and buried.

  “So bad,” she said, not waiting for a response. “Even after all these years, some days it’s all I can think about.” Her eyes hardened. “But you made me wait a long time. Let’s see how you like it.” She reached between them and gave his cock a squeeze with a giggle. “Ooh, this is gonna be fun.”

  Then she walked away, spreading her arms with a shrill “Hi!” as she stepped into another partygoer’s arms, ever the perfect hostess. Immediately she was surrounded by a zillion friends, and just like that, he and his hard-on were forgotten.

  James took a deep, shaky breath and looked around, fighting for control. He hoped no one was taking his picture right now. It’d be even more embarrassing than in 1998 when someone had pasted his fourteen-year-old face on someone else’s well-muscled, Speedo-clad body.

  He wandered over to one of the awkward couches and practically melted into it, feeling miserable. He was horny, confused, and angry; his head was cloudy; and his body couldn’t decide if it wanted to keep dancing or go to bed.