by Deanna Roy
I glanced down at the picture. I tried to act all casual as I reached beside me and flipped to the page number listed by the cover photo.
“Awww, yeah, Tennessee wants to see what they’re saying about him,” Paul crowed.
Jazz stumbled into the room, blocking the light with his hand. “Shut that door, man,” he said. “You’re going to let rats in, or something.”
“Let ’em out, is more like it,” Paul said, kicking at an abandoned pizza box on the floor. “You were definitely raised in a barn. And that is an improvement over this place.”
Their sniping at each other gave me the opportunity to scan the article inside. Paul was right, it did say Jenny was a movie director’s girlfriend. And an image of his despondent face, obviously unrelated since it wasn’t even what he was wearing last night, confirmed that he was the guy who draped his arm around her at the party.
I’d been played. Dragged into some stupid publicity stunt, maybe. God. No wonder she’d been so flirty across the room, sipping her wine then disappearing like a fairy girl. Stupid pink hair. Stupid dreadlocks. Stupid me, for being stupid.
Paul kicked my shin. “You got a hate face on. Bros don’t let bros hate on themselves over dames.”
The other guy came back in the room, and Paul said to him, “Yo, Dylan, let’s get this boy some breakfast.”
Now I recognized the guy who’d passed through. Dylan Wolf. He’d been a street busker like me before signing a big record deal with Morris Music.
Crazy luck. Last night I had movie actresses hanging on my arm. Today a rock star the size of Adam Levine had shown up to take me to breakfast.
LA was definitely where it was at.
“You’ll get used to that bullshit,” Dylan said, waving at the tabloid. “According to that, I’ve got six girls in every city.” He gulped a bottle of water.
“Nearly cost you Jessie a time or two, as I recall,” Paul said. “Bloody leeches, that’s what they are.” He stood up. “You coming, Tennessee? Might as well get to know somebody who actually makes money in this business.”
Dylan shook his head. “The only difference between me and you is dumb luck,” he said.
I dragged my second pair of jeans out of the bag, and jerked them on. I barely had my boots shoved on my feet before Dylan and Paul walked out the door. “You coming?” Paul asked Jazz through the doorway.
Jazz still had his hand over his eyes, as if he was allergic to the sun. “Nah, man. You go on. Hair of the dog over here,” he said.
“Cool if I leave my stuff here?” I asked Jazz.
“It’s cool,” he said. “I’ll be here until the gig tonight.”
I followed Paul and Dylan outside to a sleek little blue Maserati. I could admire the ride without feeling any sort of need to own it myself. I’d already figured out that owning things just tied you down, and freedom had been my only valuable possession for a while now.
I ducked into the backseat. The engine started so quiet you could barely tell it was running.
I sat back, thinking over the crazy luck I’d had since arriving in LA. Running into the band, singing at the gig, Jenny, and now meeting Dylan.
But just saying her name in my head made my thoughts turn back to her. The beach, her hair flying as she ran naked in the dark, splashing in the surf. The images were seared into my head. A longing for her started to pulse in my chest.
I had to forget it. She belonged to someone else anyway. And she’d been so crazy, doing all that with me despite her boyfriend or whatever. She’d do it again. One thing I knew, cheaters never changed. It wasn’t the first time I’d found out a girl had something on the side.
My thoughts only glanced against that dark muddy night in Chattanooga before I forced them away. Hell, I was acting like I was interested in a relationship or something. I didn’t even have a place to sleep.
Dylan and Paul were talking nonstop about somebody they knew, a guy in another band. I tuned it out and stared out the window. We weren’t among posh mansions anymore, but gray streets and sketchy-looking businesses up close to the curb.
People walked along the sidewalks, headed for bus stops or just strolling along, oblivious to the world. I took it all in, already feeling inspired by this city to write a song about seeing it for the first time.
Words came to me, and a line of a melody. These were the best days, when the muse was sittin’ on my shoulder.
You might be right
We might both live to regret it
We might just lose everything
We worked so long and hard to build
But what I felt last night
Well, I never will forget it
“So what’s your name?” Dylan asked.
I met his eyes in the mirror. “Chance McKenzie,” I said.
“From Tennessee, I take it,” Dylan said.
“Used to be,” I said. “I reckon I’ll figure out a place to settle down eventually.”
“LA’s not a bad base.” He pulled up to a light. “Nashville seems like it would have been a good fit for you.”
I shrugged. “I tried it. Not my scene.”
“You write your own stuff?” The light turned green and we took off through the intersection.
“I do,” I said.
“He sang one last night,” Paul said. “It was all right. The boy’s got talent.”
Dylan turned into the parking lot of a diner. “It’s a tough business,” he said as he pulled into a spot. “Everybody’s got to make their own way. We can talk about your plans if you want to.”
I didn’t know how much I wanted to bandy about my plans, since I didn’t have any, but I could definitely put away some breakfast.
As for my past, I kept those cards pretty close to my chest. But it wouldn’t hurt listening to what this guy’d been through to get where he was. Not that his way was the path for me. I didn’t need any glitz or glory. But probably he had experiences I could learn from.
I’d forget the girl. Focus on today and nothing but today. I’d been doing it for a long time. No use changing it now.
Chapter 17: Jenny
I could barely stand to look at my own television. Corabelle let out a squeal.
“Holy shit,” Tina said.
The minute I saw the grainy black footage of Dockweiler Beach, all the blood rushed from my face. It didn’t even occur to me that anyone might follow us in the limo. I was nobody. Chance was a random stranger. There didn’t seem any point in wasting a photographer’s time on us when there were A-list stars back at the party.
But somebody had.
“Please tell me they aren’t going to get you—” Tina cut off when the shaky video showed me running naked from the rock shelter, censor bars covering strategic parts.
“Oh, they did,” she said with a sigh. “Did you have to go skinny-dipping on a public beach?”
I couldn’t answer, petrified that there would be something of us actually getting down to business. My own live sex tape. God, God, God.
Chance came running after me, just a shadow in the moonlight. I was pale and more reflective, apparently. I wasn’t sure I could watch any more of it.
The announcer came back on, flashing a lurid grin. “The girlfriend of director Frankie Sharp had a little fling with a singer after the premiere party for the new blockbuster film Brontosaurus Rampage.”
They displayed an image of me and Frankie from a month or so back. Frankie gazed at me adoringly. I felt a pang for how bad this looked for him.
“Her mystery crooner didn’t stop there, though. He was spotted with the Copper Field actress Vanessa Price as well as Avery Klaus, the star of The Neighbor Connection.”
Images flashed onscreen to support his words, Avery in her scanty dress, then Vanessa sidling up to Chance after the party.
The show went back to the anchor with an image of me running naked, my dreadlocks flying, displayed on a side screen. This one was from the back, and they didn’t bother to black out my butt.
> “But he chose this little hottie to romp with on the beach,” the guy said.
The shot widened to show a woman anchor next to him. “I think they have a drink named for that,” she said.
“No telling where the sand got lodged,” the man responded with a laugh.
I kept my fists clenched tight, but the show moved on to another segment. I let out a long gust of air as I realized there wouldn’t be any sex footage. At least not on the show. Someone could still have it. The online sites could pop up with something any minute. Getting rid of it would be like trying to catch a thousand cockroaches.
“Well, that was something,” Tina said.
I curled up in a tight ball on my yellow-chick papasan chair.
“You okay?” Corabelle asked.
“Somebody do some online searches,” I said. “If that photographer was there with equipment, he could have anything.”
“I’ll do the honors,” Tina said, heading for my table and the laptop. “You think they have your name? It wasn’t on the show.”
“They have my everything,” I said.
Corabelle looked at the door. “Will they come here?”
“I can’t imagine. I’m just not worth it. They might stalk Frankie, though.”
“What about the boy?” Tina asked from the dining area. “You think they’ll figure out his name?”
“Probably,” I said. But after seeing that segment, I wasn’t sure I cared. He probably woke up with Vanessa. Or Avery.
Or both.
Corabelle scooted down the sofa closer to my chair. “You need us to do anything?”
I covered my eyes with my hands. “Not sure what there is to do. I guess I’ll hole up for a while.”
“You think it will blow over by Monday?” Corabelle asked. “Will you go to class?”
I had no idea. I leaned my head back against the fur and closed my eyes. “I can’t believe I didn’t think that they would follow us.”
“You were on a public beach,” Tina said. “Anything could have happened. Cops. Kids with cell phones.”
I knew she was right. But we had checked. There hadn’t appeared to be anyone around.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Corabelle said. “It was a perfect storm. You trying to get some publicity, the actresses being there.”
“He must have been one hot potato to get you naked on a chilly beach,” Tina said.
I didn’t answer. He had been. I’d been oblivious to everything. Perfect storm was right. The dry spell. The song. The way he’d sung it just for me.
When a man loves a woman.
I wanted to throw something. When a man plugs a woman was more like it. Chance had moved on in a heartbeat. I didn’t know why he’d even bothered to spend a moment with me when he had these other starlets eating out of his hand.
Anger felt good. It was a hell of a lot better than moping. I hoped Chance realized that I knew. Hell, he probably didn’t care. He was just another entertainer trying to crawl his way to the top. Maybe he even knew I had been with Frankie. Or saw me talking to the other big shots and thought I was an easy in.
I unfurled from my tight ball and forced myself out of the chair.
“I think that TV show got exclusive rights or something,” Tina said from the table. “Because I’m not finding the beach stuff on any of the gossip sites. It’s starting to appear on YouTube, though, illegal recordings of the segment.”
“That’s good, though, right?” Corabelle asked. “If they got an exclusive but didn’t use any other footage, nobody else can use it either.”
I headed over to Tina and the laptop. “Maybe. Those photographers are pretty smart. He would hold on to anything the show wasn’t willing to air and see if he could get a higher bid for the rest.”
“So he won’t just stick it on the Internet for free, then,” Tina said. “Still good.”
She was right. I could have Frankie track down the photographer. He was probably submitting his stuff all over. He wouldn’t be hard to find. Maybe Frankie would buy the footage from him.
“Aren’t you a private person, not a public figure?” Corabelle asked. “Can’t you sue?”
“Not if she’s on a public beach,” Tina said. “Technically, she was committing a crime.”
Corabelle’s eyes got wide. “Will you get arrested?”
“Not likely,” I said. “They’d have to want to make a point with me, and generally it’s not worth it.”
I turned back to my kitchen and dug out more K-cups for coffee. I had a feeling I was going to need a lot more of it as this got sorted out.
“You going to tell your mom before she sees it herself?” Corabelle asked. “You know how much she loves the entertainment shows.”
I fired up the Keurig for another round. “I probably should. Although they don’t say my name on the show, and she hasn’t seen my dreadlocks.”
“Moms know their kids,” Tina said, still clicking around on the laptop. “And there’s that super-clear shot of you and Frankie.”
Right. Crap. “Okay, I’ll call her.” I braced my hands on the edge of the counter. “This is like the worst day ever.”
Corabelle came up behind me and lifted the heavy dreadlocks. “It’ll pass.” But her voice was tight. And I knew she was thinking of her worst day ever. This was nothing compared to that.
Corabelle and Tina both had been through a lot. They knew each other because both of them had given birth to babies that had only lived a short time.
They didn’t know as much about me as they thought. To them, I was this colorful, pink-haired friend who partied too hard and never took anything seriously.
I didn’t talk about my past, or the things that haunted me at night. I was barely able to keep them aside enough to keep going at times. I certainly didn’t want to have to live like that girl, the sad one.
I went back to the laptop and took control of the trackpad. Tina pulled her hands away. I navigated back to the spread with the screaming headline that read “Cotton candy tart.”
“Print that one,” I told Tina. “That defines me just about as well as anything.”
Tina shook her head but sent the wireless command through to the printer on the desk in the next room.
Being that silly attention whore who nobody takes seriously was a whole lot easier than anything else. Probably if Chance saw the ruckus I caused, he wouldn’t have given me the light of day this morning anyway.
At least if I never saw him again, I didn’t have to deal with his disappointment or disgust.
Chapter 18: Chance
It turned out Dylan was totally laid back. Despite his megabucks and the hot wife and a baby on the way, he was chill about random fans who spotted him and started screaming. And it happened. Even at our breakfast in a dumpy diner.
The group of three girls who approached us seemed easygoing at first. One shyly came up and asked if he was the real Dylan Wolf. He smiled and nodded at her.
She rummaged through her purse looking for something to get him to sign. When she produced a little notepad, he dutifully scribbled out a message and his name.
I thought they were done, when one of the girls in the group whirled around and shouted, “I can’t stop myself!” and nosedived into his lap in the booth.
He very carefully extricated himself and lifted her off the seat. Her friends dashed forward and dragged her away. She started wailing that she loved him, and by then the manager was holding open the door for them to leave.
When they were gone, Dylan shook his head. “By tomorrow she’ll be telling Star magazine that I’m her baby daddy.”
“How do you deal with all that?” I asked. My tiny taste of fame was more than I wanted already.
“You pay people to manage your publicity,” Dylan said. “And you hope your family will be understanding. My wife, Jessie, really had a hard time at first. But once you realize the people typing up the lies are just trying to pay their bills, you realize it isn’t personal. If it wasn’t me, it�
��d be some other target.”
“I’ve got none of these problems,” Paul said, talking around a toothpick. “You pretty boys deserve every piece of shit you go through.”
Dylan punched him on the arm, and Paul pretended to fall back. “Police, police,” he called out weakly. “I’m gonna sue!”
Dylan huffed out a rueful laugh. “I think half my money goes to lawyers.”
“But you can still eat at normal places like this?” I asked. I was sort of surprised that only those girls had noticed him. One of his songs was in the Top 40 right now.
“Sure,” he said. “It’s funny how many people really don’t pay attention, or don’t believe it’s me. Generally I’m golden until somebody gets crazy. Then everybody else figures they’ve got to get in on it.”
I thought about Jenny and that kiss she’d given me. Obviously it was staged. I didn’t know why she went through with the rest of it, the beach and all. Hell, maybe I was in a porn movie now and didn’t even know it.
But that was the anger talking. Jenny wasn’t that sort of girl. I could tell that. And we’d had an honest-to-God connection out there. Maybe she regretted the pictures. Who knows? It wasn’t like I’d ever see her again.
“He’s mooning over the pink dreads girl again,” Paul said.
My head snapped up. Dylan and Paul were watching me, amused.
“He’s a goner,” Dylan said. “I know that look.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna tie down this hunk of man-meat,” Paul said. He lifted his rail-thin arms and pretended to flex his muscles.
“There’s girls who are into guys like you,” Dylan said.
“Pass them over,” Paul said. “Cuz all I know is that when Tennessee got up onstage, I was a stinking pile of dog shit.”
“But you guys got the gig in the first place,” I said. “I’ve never played for more than twenty people at a time before.”
“Dylan here got the gig,” Paul said. “He’s nice to the little people.”
