What Now?

by Every, Donna

  Her mother came back into the kitchen looking quite pleased with herself. “I take it that was Nick?”

  “Yes. He’s in California. It’s four o’clock in the morning there and he picked up the phone and called me not even knowing where I was. What did I tell you about him being the typical rock star? If Nick Badley is up, everyone must be up because the world revolves around him!”

  “Trouble in paradise?”

  “Really, Ma. You need to stop with this. There is no paradise and never will be with Nick Badley. I know you want me to find someone and get married but, believe me, it will not be him.”

  “OK. I’m sorry. But you just seemed to light up when you were on the phone.”

  “I’d be lying if I said that I don’t find Nick attractive and the fact that he’s more complex than I thought he would be is appealing. But I’d be a fool to fall for him. He can quote scripture, but so can the devil. I’ve barely known him a week and he may have slept with four women in that week! He also drinks way too much and I wouldn’t be surprised if he does drugs as well. Are those enough reasons why I should stay clear of him?” That should put her mother off.

  “Oh dear! That just confirms that he really needs a good woman in his life to help him straighten himself out.”

  Shari laughed as she put her plate in the microwave. Trust her mother to see Nick as someone who needed straightening out. He was probably perfectly happy with his life as it was. Looking at the unhealthy breakfast, she threw over her shoulder: “By the way, he says to tell you to stop trying to fatten me up because I’m perfect as I am.”

  Her mother laughed. “At least he knows a good thing when he sees it.”

  “Nick, where were you last night?” his mother demanded.

  “Mother, I am thirty-two years old. I no longer have to report my whereabouts to you.” He kissed her cheek as he headed for the percolator to pour himself a cup of coffee.

  “In other words, you don’t want me to know. I was worried about you. Would you like something to eat? I could make you some breakfast.”

  “Not right now, Ma. I’m not hungry.”

  His mother meant well, but he definitely couldn’t live with her for any length of time. She would drive him crazy with her stifling attention. Jo was like her too, he suddenly realized. Maybe that’s why she and his mother got on so well. Apparently they were still friends.

  That was another thing he liked about Shari. She was never all over him, hovering and trying to look after him or suck up to him. More often than not, she ignored him and to him that was different. It kept him grounded and he knew deep down that was what he needed. It was easy, with this lifestyle, to lose sight of reality.

  “You’re awfully deep in thought,” his mother prompted. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Ma, I’m fine. By the way, I want to bring someone with me for Christmas.”

  “You do?” Her face lit up in anticipation.

  “Don’t get too excited, Ma; it’s business. Her name is Shari Goodwin. She’s doing a documentary about me. Lily thinks that seeing me with my family will give her another perspective of my life. Don’t worry, you guys won’t be in the film unless you want to be, but she may want to interview you.”

  “You’re bringing a reporter home for Christmas?” His mother sounded a little put out and a lot disappointed. “After what happened to Jo?”

  “Shari’s not just any reporter, Ma. She’s good. You’ll like her. She’s a really nice girl and doesn’t approve of my lifestyle. She’s also not impressed with my fame and fortune.”

  “I like the sound of her already. I’m looking forward to meeting her. Is she pretty?”

  Nick smiled. His mother was determined to see him married to a nice girl, although Jo was nice and that hadn’t worked out.

  “Yes, she’s pretty. She’s an exotic mixture.”

  “Mixture?” his mother repeated.

  “Race,” was all Nick offered.

  “The plot thickens,” she said.

  “There is no plot to thicken.” At least not yet, he added in his head. “I think I’ll go on the back deck and play my guitar. Is dad at the shop?”

  “Yes. You know how he is, probably tinkering with his latest project.” She smiled, happy to have Nick home, even if it was for just a few days. And the fact that he was bringing home a girl at Christmas was a bonus, even if he insisted that it was just business.

  The sun felt good on his back as he hunched over his guitar trying out some sounds. He’d found some manuscript paper in his room and grabbed a few sheets to bring down. It was a truly beautiful day and, as he looked out across the pool to the grass beyond it, he felt content for the first time in a while. He was glad that he had bought this house for his parents. They’d had a pretty nice house before, but this one could fit his sisters and their children and him when they all came to visit. It would even have room for Shari. Actually, he would probably move down to the basement and give her his room. He liked the thought of her being in his room.

  A melody began to flow into his mind and he quickly tried it out on his guitar. It felt right. He grabbed the paper and pen and jotted down the chords. More chords came to him and he was amazed a few minutes later when he looked at how much he had written down. It wasn’t like the time he’d been trying to write in Denver and getting frustrated. This time it was as if he was just connected to the source of music and it was pouring into his soul and out through his fingers with ease. There was nothing like the beauty of creating something from nothing.

  Words began to tease his mind. He wrote and re-wrote and then put them together with his melody. He hadn’t written like this in ages. He’d hardly had any time recently, with the concerts and the rehearsals. Also, the label was trying to push a lot of the stuff that he didn’t even write himself. He had missed this. This was the kind of music he wanted to write, not the crap like “Moving On”. Granted, it was at the top of the charts, but what was it really about? Some guy telling a woman that he’d outgrown her and he was moving on.

  Granted, he hadn’t been the best husband in the world, but he wasn’t that cold and heartless. However, “Moving On” was selling and that’s what kept the record company happy. But what would keep him happy? What about his music? If he didn’t use it, would he lose it? Had he gained the whole world only to lose his soul?

  He looked at the lyrics that he’d written and began to strum his battered acoustic guitar and put the words to the melody. His guitar had travelled more than many people had in their lives and it had been faithful to him. He’d left it for long periods of time and played with many better-looking guitars, but when he came back to it, it never failed him. Oh, to find a woman like that who would be there for him every time he came back; who would be faithful. He swore that if he found such a woman, this time he would be faithful. This time he would make it work.

  Chapter 16

  The temperature in Miami was a warm 75°F. A brisk wind teased Shari’s curly hair as she stood at the rails of the fifty-foot luxury yacht that the band had rented to ferry them between the mainland and Fisher Island. She had looked beneath deck briefly while they were waiting to cast off and was amazed at the luxurious fittings. The rental could comfortably sleep six if any of the band felt inclined to sleep on it.

  Although she found it fairly impressive, it was dwarfed by the hundred-foot and bigger yachts that were berthed near it. When Nick and the band had walked down the pier to board, they were hardly given a second glance by any occupants of the mega yachts who happened to be on deck waiting to set sail. Shari concluded that millionaires don’t gawk at rock stars probably because they lived larger than life as well.

  She forced herself to get back into work mode after the few days of holiday with her mother and began to succeed only when the mainland receded. What was wrong with her? She never had to force herself to think about work, although sailing around on luxury yachts, flying in private jets and staying in the best hotels hardly seemed like work. Maybe th
at was the problem.

  The others seemed content to head downstairs to the bar for the brief trip to the island. Lily had complained that the wind was too high for her and had joined them below deck, leaving Shari practically alone except for the crew and Brian who stood at the stern filming their departure.

  Brad had introduced her and Brian to the new drummer, Paul Granger, whom he’d hired during the break. He seemed to be a vast improvement on Tim and she hoped that he would fit in with the group. Apparently they knew him from playing with another band which had recently broken up so they’d snatched him up. At least they would have a couple of days to bring him up to speed on their songs before the concert.

  Nick quietly walked up behind Shari, his footsteps masked by the engine and the slap of the waves against the side of the yacht as it plowed through the slightly choppy waves. The bare nape of her neck drew him as if it was exuding a magnetic pull. He knew that she would be mad, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He leaned forward and quickly trailed his lips from her hairline to the base of her neck. Stepping back, he braced himself as Shari whipped around, sure that she would slap him, and with good reason.

  “Nick Badley, I told you never to touch me like that again! I could file sexual harassment charges against you.”

  Nick held up both hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to harass you, Shari, but I couldn’t resist. You look great! Relaxed. The time at your mum seems to have agreed with you.”

  He looked wonderful to Shari as well, but he would never know it from her. “Listen, I’m working and you’re my subject. I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

  “Ah, so you admit that was pleasurable. Does that mean that once you finish the documentary we can pursue other pleasures?”

  She shook her head in exasperation.

  “Please stop flirting with me, Nick. Perhaps it’s time for you to find someone to have a relationship with so that you will stop hitting on every woman you meet.”

  “I’ll have you know that I don’t hit on women. I don’t have to.”

  “Then why are you hitting on me?” she asked pointedly.

  “I can’t seem to help it, Shari.” He said this so seriously that she was shocked into silence. What game was he up to now? Was he an actor as well as a singer?

  Turning back to the rail, she focused on Fisher Island which was still a mere speck on the horizon. She’d been to Miami many times, but she never knew about the resort on the private island. It was a bonus that it was only three miles from the American Airlines Arena where the band would be performing. She wondered how Nick felt about the upcoming concert.

  “Did you enjoy the time with your mother?” he asked, coming alongside her at the rail.

  “Yes, thanks. What about you? You seem a lot better.”

  “It was a good break. I was able to forget about Chicago some of the time and I was able to sit down with my guitar and write a couple songs. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to finish a whole song.”

  “Do you write your own material?” She was all work again.

  “Some, but not as much as I would like. The label finds songs that they think will sell and that work for the band and we record them.”

  “So you didn’t write “Moving On”?”

  “No. Surely you don’t think I’m that heartless.”

  “I don’t know you well enough to say.”

  “I’m hurt,” he complained, putting his hand over his heart.

  “Nick, I’ve known you for less than two weeks,” she reminded him.

  “Funny. It seems longer than that. And you probably know more about me than most people. I don’t know where you get your low opinion of me, but it’s erroneous.”

  “Nick, please. I’ve seen you with three women leaving your bedrooms in one week alone and who knows how many you were with in the last few days. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe that you’re some sort of saint.”

  “I’m not claiming to be a saint, Shari. But I’m not the worse sinner either. Maybe I just need a nice girl to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

  “The last thing you need is a nice girl, Nick. You would just trample all over her.”

  “I can’t trample all over you, Shari, which is why I find you so appealing. But I’d like to kiss all over you,” he added in a husky voice. His eyes, shaded by sunglasses, were unreadable, but Shari’s skin felt hot under his gaze.

  “Nick Badley –” she began.

  “OK, OK. I promise not to make any more suggestive remarks…for the rest of the day.”

  She blew out her breath in frustration. She was relieved that Fisher Island was becoming clearer and soon they would be docking. She needed to get out of Nick’s radius so that she could regain her equilibrium. She didn’t know what was up with him, but for some reason he was playing with her and she didn’t like it one bit. This Nick Badley was dangerous.

  The yacht pulled into the guest marina and the crew dropped anchor. Several golf carts waited near the end of the dock to transport them to the lobby where they were checked in very efficiently. Shari was charmed by her Guest House Suite which led off from a courtyard with a fountain in the center of it. She dropped across the bed and smiled in delight. She really was getting used to this life.

  She’d love to see Nick’s suite. He, Steve and Paul were apparently sharing the famous Rosemary’s Cottage which she had seen online when she had researched the island. She had begun to look forward to seeing Nick’s rooms as they moved from hotel to hotel. Most of the properties were the height of luxury, so Nick could complain for nothing except, as he said, not being able to sleep in his own bed.

  The last thing she wanted to do was see Nick in his current flirtatious mood, but she really should interview him before the concert to capture how he was feeling so that she could show the vulnerable side of him to the audience. She knew that he probably wouldn’t want to talk about it, but there was no way she could omit his reaction to the tragedy in Chicago from the documentary.

  She picked up her phone and searched her contacts for Nick’s number which he had sent to her, as promised, even though she had hung up on him. In a fit of conscience, she had sent him a text apologizing for doing so, but he had not replied. She wasn’t sure if he had been mad at her for disconnecting him or if he didn’t check his messages. Knowing him, he probably didn’t check messages. After all, he was Nick Badley.

  Nick answered after about four rings. She’d almost hung up.

  “Hi, Shari. What’s up?”

  “Hi, Nick. I know that you probably don’t want to talk about Chicago, but I don’t think the documentary would be complete without having you share about it. So I was wondering if Brian and I could come to your suite and do a quick interview after lunch and before you guys go off to rehearse, especially since you’ll probably be rehearsing most of tomorrow.”

  “If you must.”

  “Yes. We’ll be there around two. Brian will get some footage of you since we don’t have any of you being interviewed yet.”

  After lunch, with Brian in tow, she knocked at the door of Nick’s cottage. The entrance was charming and the stone sculpture over the door reminded Shari of photos she’d seen of some of the villas in Barbados. She looked forward to seeing inside.

  “Hi, guys. Come on in.” So she was one of the guys now. Fine. That was better than him flirting with her, wasn’t it?

  “This is fabulous,” she said, looking around. From the living room she spotted a small kitchenette and, from her research, she knew there were three bedrooms and three bathrooms. “It reminds me of some of those West Coast villas in Barbados with that blue upholstery and the dark furniture.”

  “You’re right. My room even has a four poster bed. Want to test it out?” He leered exaggeratedly at her. Brian laughed, to her annoyance.

  “Please! You stayed on the West Coast when you went to Barbados?”

  “That’s where the celebrities stay, isn’t it?” he joked. Shari rolled her eyes
, but it was true. “I can’t remember the name of the villa, but it was pure luxury. Just talking about it makes me feel like going back. I wonder if it’s available for New Year’s Eve. Want to go to a party in Barbados?”

  “Sure,” she agreed facetiously. It must be great to be able to go wherever you wanted to, thought Shari enviously. No wonder he didn’t have a bucket list.

  “Where would you like to do the interview?” she asked, feeling slightly ashamed of herself for envying Nick.

  “The courtyard. It’s private and it’s such a great day, I want to be outside,” he said, leading the way.

  “The natural light would be better,” agreed Brian.

  The courtyard was walled in and featured a sunken Jacuzzi. Palm trees and tropical flowers added softness to the setting while two tables surrounded by comfortable chairs provided somewhere for them to talk.

  “Oh, you have a Jacuzzi!” exclaimed Shari. “I’m so jealous,” she confessed.

  “I plan to relax in it tonight. You’re welcome to join me,” invited Nick.

  “I’ll pass,” teased Brian.

  “I didn’t mean you, Talbot.” Brian laughed. “You’re welcome to use it, Shari.”

  “That’s very kind of you. Maybe when you’re at the rehearsal. Shall we get started?”

  Brian set up his camera on a tripod as Nick began to speak.

  “To tell the truth, I’m not looking forward to this. I want to forget that Chicago ever happened, but then that would diminish the importance of the lives that were lost. Sometimes it seems so unreal, I can’t believe it happened.”