“Hey, how about that picture?” the guy from the restaurant calls behind us.
Crew, moving fast, pins the man to the building. “Are you following her?”
“No,” he says fearfully. “I, uh, she’s famous, right? I wanted to show my friends.”
“Get the hell out of here,” Crew says, locking him against the wall for a few more seconds. He finally lets him go and he runs away.
Needing distance from Crew, I hurry down the street. When someone else approaches me, Crew yells, “You want some of that, too? Go—get the hell away from her.”
“Crew, stop it!” When he grasps my arm. I jerk away. “I’m so tired of you acting this way. I’ve had to bite my tongue more than once this past week, because things have been going so well between us, but you have to get over this. We’re in a band. We’re on the radio. We play in public places. We get recognized. It’s only going to get worse. You can’t threaten everyone who says hello to me.”
“But—”
“But nothing. You should go find that guy and apologize.”
“Apologize, my ass. He followed you.”
“He wanted a picture, not a date.”
“Bria—”
“Go home, Crew.”
“I’m not leaving you here on the street.”
“I’m a big girl, and I’m tired of you treating me like a toddler.”
He tries to hold my hand.
I pull away. “You can’t act like that and then pretend nothing happened. You have serious issues, Chris. I know what happened with Abby must have affected you in ways you may not be aware of, but you’re taking it too far.”
“How about we leave Abby out of this?”
“Maybe we’ve left her out of this far too long.”
He bites his lip, then grips his head like he’s having a migraine. “You promised, Bria.”
“And you promised you wouldn’t be a douche anymore. News flash, Chris, you’re being an asshole!”
I’m yelling, and people are watching.
“Can we not do this here?” he says.
“We’re not doing this anywhere. I’m leaving, and don’t follow me.” I hail a cab. When Crew tries to get in behind me, I yank the door closed. “Drive,” I tell the cabbie.
I turn around to see him standing on the curb, stunned. My phone pings.
Crew: I’m sorry, Abby. Please text me when you get home.
Tears run from my eyes as I read his text. I immediately get another one.
Crew: Shit, Bria. I’m so so so sorry.
Me: I’m sorry too, Christopher.
I turn off my phone.
Chapter Thirty-six
Crew
Seven years ago
It’s been a week, seven long days, since Abby went missing. I sit on the couch, staring at the present I made for her. It’s a framed picture of her eighteen-week ultrasound, along with the lyrics of the song I wrote for her birthday, the one I started writing the day we found out she was pregnant.
Every so often I look at the front door, half expecting her to appear at any minute. She’s eighteen today, the day we’ve been waiting for, when she can make her own decisions without her parents’ approval. I play with the wedding rings I bought for us last month—another birthday surprise—and think about all the plans we made.
I put down the picture and place the rings on top of it. In the kitchen I force myself to make lunch. Mom walks in. “I’m glad to see you eating again.”
I squirt mayonnaise on some bread and pile lunchmeat on top. I take a bite and taste nothing. I haven’t been able to taste anything in a week. I haven’t been able to do anything except drive around and look for her. After dropping Mom off at work, I use her car to go to all the places Abby and I used to frequent: the park, the abandoned paper mill, the mall. I’ve even driven into the city and sat at the free clinic for hours, hoping she’ll show up.
“Maybe you could invite your friends over,” Mom says. “Or we could go shopping. You’ll need new clothes for senior year.”
“You think I give a shit about school?”
She doesn’t know what to say to me. Nobody does.
I sit at the kitchen table and put my head in my hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a dick. It’s just that today is …” I can’t bring myself to say it.
“Her birthday. I know, honey.”
“I keep thinking maybe she’ll come home today. Maybe this was all some big misunderstanding with her father.”
She looks at me sympathetically, knowing as well as I do that’s not what happened.
Last week, after Detective Abrahms finished with me, I went straight to the room where I’d seen Dr. and Mrs. Evans and told them about the baby. It was obvious they had no clue. They broke down, not even mad at me. Their only concern was with the whereabouts of their daughter—and after I’d revealed the information about Rob—her safety.
Her mother came to my house and asked to see the ultrasound pictures. It was devastating. She kept telling us she now had two people to mourn. Mom ended up asking her to leave.
I’ve tried a thousand times to picture a life without Abby in it, but I can’t. I’ve only known her for nine months, but I might as well have met her the day I was born, because she is so much a part of me, I feel incomplete without her.
I go to my room and look at the keyboard, wishing I had the urge to play something, anything. But it’s like my will to live disappeared right along with Abby. I throw myself down onto the bed, hoping for the millionth time that this will turn out to be a bad dream.
I must’ve fallen asleep, and when my eyes open, it’s dark outside. I check my phone, something I do obsessively in case Abby tries to contact me. It’s almost nine o’clock. I sit on the edge of the bed and run my hands through my hair. I watch my tears drop to the hardwood floor. She’d have come by now.
There’s a knock on the front door. I jump up and hit my knee on the bedpost in my haste to run out of my room. I barely notice the pain. All I care about is getting to her. I beat Mom to the door and rip it open, heart in my throat.
It’s not Abby, though. It’s Detective Abrahms.
“Hi, Chris,” he says. The grave look on his face tells me he’s not bringing good news. “Mind if I come in?” I back up with an uneven step and an indescribable emptiness in the pit of my stomach. He motions to the couch. “Sit down, son.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Bria
Despite what happened between Crew and me a few days ago, I’m excited as I go to the production studio. Today we’re shooting Reckless Alibi’s very first music video.
On the subway, I browse the many apology texts Crew sent me. I’m still mad at him for ruining a perfectly good night. Surely he must understand we have to interact with our fans. Our fans. I look up from my phone as it dawns on me. Abby was a singer, like me. What if something happened to her because of a fan? The possibility almost makes me feel guilty for yelling at him.
At the studio the first person I see is Crew. He’s loitering by the door as if he’s been waiting for me. Guilt is written all over his face, and my anger melts away. I walk directly to him, and he grabs onto me like a drowning man.
“I’m so sorry,” he says into my hair. “I promise I’ll do better.”
I get lost in the feel of his arms around me. For two days I’ve wondered if I’d be in them again. But now that I’m here, I know it’s where I want to be. I just have to give him more time. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have shut you out like that.”
“I was a dick. You had every right. Can I get a do-over tonight? I want to make it up to you. Let me take you to dinner.”
I smile and nod.
“Can we please get started,” Ronni says, interrupting our private moment. “Time is money. Brianna, you go with Elsie. She’ll do your hair, makeup, and wardrobe. Crew, you and the guys will be with those two over there. I’ll supervise.”
Of course she will.
I kiss Crew’s cheek
. He smiles before heading off with Ronni.
“Brianna,” Elsie says. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“You can call me Bria.”
“Actually I can’t.” She nods to Ronni. “She told us we have to call you Brianna.”
I feel a sudden urge to smack Ronni, and I’m not a violent person. I smile coldly. “Do what you need to do, but I prefer Bria.”
She takes me into a dressing room and seats me in a large chair in front of a mirror. There’s all kinds of makeup on the counter in front of me. “You’re going to make me look like a slut, aren’t you?”
“You’re making a sexy video. I love your music, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
I let her do her job. I can’t make small talk because my face moves when I speak. When she’s finished, and I gaze into the mirror, I’m astounded. My eyes are smoky-black, and my lashes are an inch long. I consider asking her to teach me how to get that effect.
“I’m not done yet,” Elsie says, pulling out bins filled with hairstyling equipment.
“Can I talk now?”
“Sure. In fact, tell me about that hot singing partner of yours.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Is he taken? Can you slip him my number?”
“Yes and no.”
“Hmm, that’s a shame. So a one-night stand is out of the question? A lot of guys are taken but still play on the side.”
“Not Crew.”
“Are you sure? I can be discreet.”
I tighten my lips. “I’m sure.”
Her hand goes to her mouth. “Are the two of you …?”
“Yes.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. What about the others? Can you give them my number?”
My cosmetically enhanced eyebrows rise. “All of them?”
She doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. “Improves my chances.”
“I’m not in the habit of matchmaking, but I’ll pass along your number. Might want to stay away from Brad, though. He has a serious girlfriend.”
“Which one is he?”
“Bass guitar.”
“Noted.”
After another twenty minutes, she takes me over to the wardrobe hanger. “I’m supposed to wear this?”
“That’s what I’m told. Why? What’s wrong?”
I give the outfit a once-over. It’s pretty but demure. I figured Ronni would have me in a short, tight skirt with cleavage spilling over the top. This is something I could almost wear to church. “Nothing. I thought it would be sexier.” I look at the other two identical outfits. “Why are there so many? Are they different sizes?”
“They’re all your size. These are extras in case you tear one or sweat too much.”
“I guess I have a lot to learn about making music videos.”
Elsie escorts me down a hall and onto the set. It looks nothing like I imagined. It’s like I’ve entered another world. Hot lights hang from the ceiling and down the walls. Cameras and operators are everywhere. There is an expensive-looking convertible on one side, an empty stage on another, what looks like a bedroom against a wall, and there’s band equipment that’s not ours. Behind everything are massive green screens.
A man comes over. “I’m David Holland, the director. The rest of your band is over here.” We must pass fifteen or twenty people along the way. “That’s my production staff. If you need anything, ask one of them.”
We enter a large conference room. Crew and the others stand around. Crew is always gorgeous, but, oh my God, they’ve got him in tight jeans and a leather jacket, and the shirt under it is ripped so I can see his abs.
He starts over to me, and Ronni rushes between us. “No touching. I don’t want you to have to go back to hair and makeup.”
We stare at each other from a few feet away.
“You look hot,” he whispers.
“You, too.”
Crew gives me a sly smile. “I can’t wait to get you alone tonight.”
“Are you finished?” Ronni says bitingly. “David wants to go over a few things.”
We take seats around the table, except for David, who paces as he talks. “I understand you’ve never made a music video before, so a few things. First, every minute of your song will take two to four hours of shooting. This will be a long day. The more you cooperate, the earlier we’ll get out of here. Second, ideally we’ll have several good takes for every scene, so don’t be surprised if I ask you to do it again even if you think it’s perfect. Third, it’s easier to play your instruments than to pretend. To make picture editing simpler, the amps are unplugged, the mics aren’t on, the drums have been padded with pillows, and the cymbals are stacked. I don’t care what you sound like as long as you stay in sync with the music being piped in. Lastly, think of this more like making a movie than a music video. Your job is to evoke emotion from the viewer. To entice them to follow you and buy your stuff. But don’t overact; it has to be believable.”
The door opens and four gorgeous women stride in. They’re wearing what I thought I’d be given—short skirts and slutty tops.
“Ah, the eye candy is here,” Ronni says.
I lean over to Crew. “I thought it was going to be the five of us.”
He appears to be as clueless as I am.
“What’s this about?” I ask. “Are they supposed to be backup singers?”
Ronni belts out a harsh laugh. “This song is about fast cars and fast women. It’s sexy. So we needed a lot of sexy.”
I sink back in my chair. “Great.”
Crew takes my hand under the table.
David’s assistant arrives and hands him a bunch of large poster boards. He puts them on easels around the room. “These are storyboards. Ronni and I have worked for weeks to perfect them. There’s one for each scene. Study them so you’ll know what we expect from you. I have to speak to the extras.”
“Extras?” I look at the four slutty girls. “I thought that’s what they were.”
Ronni laughs. “They aren’t extras. They play a big part in the video. David is going out to brief the hundred or so people who will stand in front of the stage and pretend to be your diehard fans.”
I cross to one of the storyboards. There is a sketch of four women surrounding a man in his car. Another one has them in bed with him.
I look at Ronni. “Seriously? This song is about one woman.”
“That all depends on your perspective. Too late to change it now. We’ve put a hundred hours into pre-production. Do what David asks and maybe we’ll be out of here by midnight.”
Crew nudges me. “So much for those dinner plans.”
I cross my arms. “Like you’d want to go to dinner with me after having those four draped over you all day.”
He tries to hide his amusement. “Who’s acting jealous now?”
I lean into him. “Try not to forget who’s yours at the end of the day.”
His blue eyes dance with happiness. “Are you saying you want to be mine, Bria Cash?”
“If you want me.”
He shuffles his feet. “Let’s get this over with, then.”
Garrett eyes the storyboards. “Some guys have all the luck.”
I punch him in the arm and walk away.
Two hours later, we’re finally shooting. We do the stage scene first, with the five of us playing and singing like we’re performing at a concert. All one hundred extras swarm the stage, with the four sluts front and center.
Everyone acts like they’re at a concert, but they are completely quiet. A hundred people are dancing and mashing, but no sound comes from them other than the shuffling of their feet.
David has us go through the song seven times. Then the slutty girls crawl up onstage, one at a time, and surround Crew. They push me out of the way, and I’m supposed to act all pouty and mad. They glide around him in circles, taking turns touching his neck and chest, and two of them slide their hands under his shirt.
And then they do it three mo
re times.
I don’t have to act pouty and mad. I am pouty and mad.
Between takes, I don’t miss the huge smile on Ronni’s face when she looks at me. She loves what this is doing to me, and there’s plenty more to come.
“You’re doing great,” Crew says between takes.
“As if you’d have time to notice with eight hands groping you.”
He gives me a sympathetic look. “It’ll be over soon.”
I look at the clock. “Like in ten hours.”
“Places!” David calls. “Crew, I need you in the R8.”
I see the excitement on Crew’s face. He gets to sit in an Audi R8, something he will never do again unless we make it big.
It’s harder to watch this scene, because I’m barely in it. All I do is walk past the car and sing a few lines.
Liam pulls me aside. “You don’t have to watch, you know.”
“Yeah, right. Kind of like trying not to look at an accident on the highway.”
“He’s acting, Bria. They’re all acting.”
“I’ll bet some of them wish they weren’t.”
Elsie says, “You need powder. We don’t want any shine.”
She works on me for a few minutes, and I’m happy to have an excuse not to watch. Then I find a quiet spot and close my eyes. I know what’s coming next. I’m going to be tortured by having to watch Crew in bed with four women. I’m supposed to saunter around the bed, singing as he makes love to them. I’m willing to bet Ronni was the one who scripted it that way.
During a break, David catches me glued to the storyboard. “I hear you and Crew have a thing.” He nods to the set. “This is entertainment. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I know, but I wish we could have stayed true to the song. It’s about one woman’s battle within herself, not her battle with four sluts who want her man.”
He laughs. “After hearing it over a hundred times today, I can see that.” He stares at me. “I like you. You’re feisty. No disrespect to them, but you’re prettier than any of those girls. I hope you know that. I’ll take the girl next door any day.” He taps his lips, deep in thought. “I have an idea, but it involves us going rogue.”
Reckless Obsession (The Reckless Rockstar Series) Page 22
