by Wood, Vivian
“We should get moving toward the stage. That costume is a bitch to get into. It’s the tighter every time I put it on,” I joke.
I stand, and then I falter. For a brief second I’m lightheaded, and I have to steady myself on my chair.
“Hey, hey,” Karen says. She takes my elbow, looking worried.
“I’m fine,” I say. I shake my head and take a deep breath. “See? Just clumsy.”
“I should get the venue doctor,” Karen says.
“Nope! I’m good. It’s just stress. I’m going to warm up, get focused.”
I shake off her hand and her concern, striding through the back hallways until we hit the costume change area on the left side of the stage. I glance up at the stage, at the silky strips of fabric that make up the trapeze I’ll swing from in just a handful of minutes.
I swallow back the nausea that swamps me just looking at the thing; I’ve never been less certain of any aspect of a stage performance.
“You look like you’re going to puke.”
I give Karen my harshest glare and drop to the floor, spreading my legs out and stretching.
“I want to tell you something,” Karen says, coming over to sit next to me as I limber up. “Something… you know, personal.”
“Okay,” I say, curious.
Karen looks conflicted, and I actually watch her take a deep breath to work up her courage.
What could possibly be so hard to say?
“Did you know I was married?” she asks.
I sit up, shocked.
“Uh, no.”
“Well, I was. Connor knows a little of my story, but I’ve never really told it all to anyone. I want to tell it to you, though.”
“Of course. I mean, I’d be honored,” I say, folding my legs up to sit more comfortably as I listen.
“My ex wasn’t a good guy. He wasn’t good to me before we were serious. He wasn’t good to me before we got married. He was a jerk, and a cheater, and at least part of his money came from dealing drugs.”
I can’t help the way my mouth opens in surprise. I gape at her.
“You married a dealer? You’re like… the most uptight, righteous person I know.”
Karen laughs and blushes.
“Now, yeah. But then… well, I didn’t have the confidence to find someone better. He wanted me, I wanted to be wanted. So when he asked me to marry him, I said yes.”
“Wow. Well obviously it didn’t last,” I say, wanting the rest of the story.
Karen looks down at her hands, clearly embarrassed.
“He started hitting me, pretty much right after the honeymoon. It… it went on for almost a year. He blacked my eyes, broke my arm, broke my ribs. Put me in the hospital a bunch of times.”
“Jesus, Karen. I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to listen.” Her words sound sharp, but I can tell she’s stressed just telling me something this intimate.
“So what happened?” I ask, trying to keep my tone gentle.
“Well, the last time he hit me, I went to the hospital. The doctors told me I’d miscarried.” She sucks in a deep breath. “I didn’t know…”
Karen stops and rubs her fingers against her lips. Clearly this is still a fresh, raw wound for her. I reach out and pat Karen’s shoulder tentatively, unsure how to comfort my usually-prickly bodyguard.
“Thanks,” Karen said after she recovered a little. “When that happened, I knew that he’d gone too far. It was one thing to let him hit me, disrespect me, hurt me. But it’s another thing to let someone take something from you that they can never return or pay back or fix. There’s a line that I crossed that day, and I decided that I wanted to be different. I wanted a different life, if I ever got another chance to be a mom.”
I press a hand to my heart, genuinely moved.
“Thank you so much for sharing that with me.”
Karen clears her throat.
“No problem.”
“You know Connor would never hit me, though, right?” I ask.
Karen gave me an exasperated look.
“Of course I know that. I wasn’t finished.”
“Oh.”
“After that day, I rested up at my mom’s house. Got my health back. Started taking jiu-jitsu classes, working out. Making myself strong, inside and out. Eventually I filed divorce papers, and when my ex came around banging on my mom’s door, telling me I didn’t get to divorce him, that I wasn’t in control, I dragged his ass out into the street. I beat him in front of the whole neighborhood, left him bleeding in the street. Just like he did to me. So I lost something to him, yeah, but I also took something from him that can’t be bought or given. Self-respect, and power from within.”
“That’s fucking awesome,” I say.
“You are never stuck,” Karen says, giving me a meaningful glance. “You always hold the key to your own happiness. If you want something badly enough, you can change your own life. That was my point.”
“Ah. I see.”
And I do see. Karen is talking about Connor after all, about the fact that I’m basically head over heels for someone I won’t let myself have. Even Connor understands why this won’t work, can’t work…
If only my stubborn heart would get the fuck over it already, bounce back in the way I have so many times, from so many heartbreaks.
“You love him.”
I arch a brow at Karen.
“Sorry?”
“He loves you too,” she says, patting my hand.
“Ummm…”
She rolls her eyes and gets to her feet.
“It’s not my place to tell you what to do with your staff, but I think you should text him and call off his firing. If you two are really meant for each other, you can figure something out.”
The two-minute warning bell goes off backstage, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“I’ll think about it. I have to get dressed.”
“I’ll be right here,” Karen says with a soft smile.
I rush to climb into my skintight silver leotard and wicked red heels, take my mic from one of the crew, and then paste my Elly Parsons, Pop Star smile on.
I stride out onto the stage and start the show, going through the motions as best I can. I’m worn out, but the energy of the crowd helps. I sail through the first act of the show, stumble through my first costume change, and then charge back out on stage.
I throw my hand up and pose as the trapeze comes drifting down. I grasp it, hoist myself up, and start the wildly difficult act that my choreographers worked up.
To be fair, I was pretty distracted. And I still made it through maybe three quarters of the act before I bust my ass, falling off the trapeze onto the floor with a whuff.
I jump up and play it off, but my heart’s not in it anymore. I rush through the rest of the show, all the while wondering. What am I doing here?
And, is this job really worth giving up what I feel for Connor?
I’m starting to think it’s not.
That means what I feel for Connor might be real, which scares me more than anything.
“Elly, are you okay?” Bill asks as I step off the stage after my final bow. “You landed pretty hard back there.”
“I’m good. I need to make a phone call,” I say, heading back to find Brad, who’s holding my bag.
Brad doesn’t speak to me, just gives me a condescending glance as he paces back and forth backstage. As usual, he’s on the phone.
“Oh, yeah. Things happen. Yeah, Elly’s totally fine. She’s trained to fall,” I can hear him telling someone. “Right? Funny, I know. She’s such a professional about it all, though.”
Suddenly, it no longer seems like he has my back. It seems like Brad just leeches off me and my fame and hard work. He’s so fucking high-handed toward me, and yet… where would he be without me?
I take my purse and head into the back hallways. I know I should wait for one of the bodyguards to catch up with me, but I need some priva
cy. I’m not even sure what I want to say to Connor, but I know I want to be alone to do it.
“Elly, hey—” Gisella says, spotting me and following me down the hall.
“Go away.”
“Listen, about what you asked earlier—”
I turn to her, narrowing my eyes.
“I don’t think you want to talk to me right now. I got to thinking, earlier, how the rumors got started about Connor being in those photos.”
“Elly, you and Connor flaunted yourself in the press,” Gisella says, going cold.
“Yeah, but the really juicy details, the part about our parents… The paps didn’t dig that up. Somebody told them. It had to be someone close enough to eavesdrop on me, which means you, Brad, or one of the bodyguards.”
Gisella crosses her arms, looking pissed as hell.
“And?” she challenges me.
“The bodyguards are loyal to Connor. Brad’s loyal to his career, so he wouldn’t have done it. That leaves you.”
She hesitates just long enough for me to know she’s guilty.
Bitch.
“You can’t prove that.”
“No… probably not. But I have enough money to take you to court over it, just to make your life miserable. If I were you, I’d be looking for new employment ASAP. Also, I wouldn’t violate the non-disclosure again… unless you want to discover my vindictive side.”
Gisella turns and leaves with a huff.
Good. Let her go.
I look down at my phone screen as I walk down the hall, heading for one of the quieter dressing rooms. The things I want to say are rising to the surface in my mind now, and they excite me.
Things like:
I love you.
I want to be together.
I want a new life.
All I have to do is be brave enough to say it out loud. And trust Connor to be brave, too.
I can’t contain my grin as I head down the hall.
When cold fingers close around my arm and yank me sideways into a dark closet, I shriek. Fingers cover my lips and nose, making it hard to breathe.
A dark piece of fabric is pulled down over my head, and the world goes black. I try to scream again and feel the sharp, chilled tip of a knife press against my lower back.
“Shhhh, darling. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
I whimper.
“That’s right. I told you I’d come for you, so we can be together. If you weren’t such a filthy slut, running around with that meathead bodyguard, we could have done this long ago.”
My body goes hot and cold, and I start to sweat.
“Close your eyes now, Elly…”
He presses a cloth to my face, and all I can think of as my eyes roll back into my head is:
Please, no…
Chapter Nineteen
Connor
“Hello?” I say, squinting at the alarm clock on the bedside table in my hotel room.
12:17, it blares at me. I must have fallen asleep.
“It would be nice if one of you would answer your phones,” Karen grumbles.
“Huh?”
“You and Elly, pulling this little disappearing act? Really fucking unprofessional.”
“Karen, what the hell are you talking about?” I ask.
“This isn’t fucking funny, Connor. I know Elly called and made up with you. What I want to know is how you got her out of the venue without any of us seeing it. And why you’d do that to me.”
I pause and look at my phone screen. Six missed calls from Karen, all in the last hour and a half.
I suck in a breath, my heart beginning to pound out of control.
“Karen, listen to me very carefully,” I tell her. “Elly is not with me. I haven’t heard from her since she fired me. So… five hours.”
Karen is quiet for a beat.
“Scout’s honor?” she asks.
“Yes, scout’s fucking honor.”
“So where is she?”
“I— are you sure you’re not putting me on?” I ask, getting out of bed.
“Really goddamned sure.”
“Fuck. Okay. Where are you?”
“I’m at the venue with Lawrence. The crew’s still breaking down. Bill’s on his way to you, looking for you and Elly.”
“Alright. I’ll search here first. Maybe she’s in her suite.”
“She’s not. Bill’s already been in her suite. He should be at your door any second now.”
“God damn it. Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to call the police and that useless fuck Elly calls a manager. I’m going to text Harv and find a meet point between us. Surely she’s just in the hotel bar or something, but we need to go into lockdown. I found a bunch of letters and shit from the stalker, Elly’s been hiding them.”
“10-4.”
Karen hangs up, all business. I pull on a shirt and jeans, lace up my boots. After a moment’s pause, I also put on my holster and my Colt M1911 handgun, plus a tazer and some pepper spray.
I hope like hell that I don’t have to use any of them.
I pull on my leather jacket and step out into the hallway, and Bill’s just coming out of the elevators.
“Did you talk to Karen?” he asks.
“Yeah. Elly’s not here.”
“Fucking A. She’s not in the bar or the restaurant.”
“Jesus, I haven’t even tried to call her yet,” I say, exasperated with myself.
I call her. It goes straight to voicemail.
Hey, this is Elly, you know what to do at the beep.
“Shit.”
I try again and again, with the same result.
“Her phone is turned off,” I tell Bill. “Let’s just check with Brad and Gisella really quickly, okay?”
We take the stairs, heading down to the staff floor.
I knock on Gisella’s door first; no response.
When I knock on Brad’s door, he opens it with a startled expression. Behind him is a handsome Cuban guy, and both he and Brad are disheveled.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Brad blurts out.
“Shut the fuck up. Elly’s missing. Do you have keys to the staff rooms?”
“Yeah, of course. Let me get them.”
Brad closes the door and reappears a minute later in his robe and slippers, a handful of keycards at the ready.
“Give me Gisella’s first. You two start opening every door on the hall. Get people to help you as you do it. Go, go,” I say to Brad and Bill. “Leave no stone unturned.”
I head to Gisella’s room and unlock it, opening the door with a slam. When I flip on the lights, the place looks fucking ransacked. Mattress is askew, lamp’s on the floor, the whole nine.
“What the fuck,” I mutter.
I check her bathroom. There’s not a single personal item left in the room, not to mention a suitcase or anything substantial. Gisella is gone.
As I’m about to leave her room, I see a crumpled piece of paper in the trashcan. I stoop and grab it, smoothing it out.
It’s a bank deposit slip, made out for a deposit of $15,oo0 in cash.
That is not a good sign.
My mind races. Gisella and Elly haven’t been getting along well lately; the money could be for anything as simple as a tip to the right paparazzo, but it could also be a lot more sinister than that.
The important question is whether Gisella might have decided to sell Elly out to her stalker, give up her location or give him access to the arena, maybe?
How much of a pop star’s life does $15,000 buy?
I storm out of the room and find all of the staff in the hall, looking confused.
“Has anyone seen Elly?” I shout.
Heads shaking.
“Gisella? When’s the last time you saw her?” I ask them all.
“She ran out with her suitcase like half an hour ago. She was pissed, said Elly fired her,” one of the PR girls says.
“Shit. Okay.”
My phone buzzes, an
d it’s Karen.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Nothing here. You?”
“Nothing. Hold on for just a second.”
I use the internet search on my phone to look up a location between the hotel and the arena.
“Karen? Leave Lawrence there to deal with the police. I want every fucking nook and cranny searched, I want security tape pulled, everything he can do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to grab Alejandro and have him meet you at…” I look for the address. “Corner of State and 10th. Leave in five.”
“Done.”
We disconnect, and I give Bill instructions to stay and search the property top to bottom. There’s still a chance that Elly’s here somewhere, hiding out on the roof or hanging in the gym alone.
My gut tells me that isn’t the case, though.
“Call me if you get anything,” I say, then I head for the stairs.
I race downstairs and stop dead, realizing I don’t have a car. I’m always with Elly or the crew, so I don’t keep my own wheels.
“Fuck it,” I say, trying to decide how to steal a car. Not exactly in my wheelhouse.
I spot the valet, and a lightbulb goes off.
“Hey, come here,” I say, calling him over. “You got any long-term rentals that won’t be missed for the night?”
“Oh, man, no. I can’t—” he starts, then stops when I pull a huge wad of cash from my wallet.
“My friend is in trouble. The car will come back here before dawn, untouched. Just tell me which key to take, I drop the money over here, and we never talk about it again.”
I’m not sure if it’s the cash or the fact that I’m standing over him, trying to make it clear that I will beat his ass, but he sidles back.
“I gotta go on my break. There’s a Mercedes G-Class hanging on number eight, they’re on a cruise. Nobody’s gonna be looking for it for a couple days.”
I nod and wait till he’s out of sight. I grab the keys and stuff the cash in his valet podium, then jog to the valet parking area. I click the key fob and find a black Range Rover-style Mercedes waiting for me.
Careful not to make myself conspicuous, I wait until I’m down the block before I floor it and speed toward where I’m supposed to meet Karen. As I drive, I open the GPS tracking app on my phone.
See Elly, my paranoia does pay off.
