Dream Lover

by Aubrey Wright

  Yikes—so much for subtlety. I blew past the flirt and went to the other point.

  “And then question number two,” I said. “You take me as the party-guy type?”

  Her narrowed eyes and playful smile returned as she opened up her computer and powered it on. The drinks arrived as the MacBook booted up, Moira’s sharp features illuminated in its thin white glow.

  “That’s what I want to find out,” she said, pulling open a word processor and turning her attention back to me. “Because this book—it’s all about you.”

  “So I hear,” I said with a small grin.

  Moira raised her drink to her lips as she cocked her head to the side. “You don’t sound terribly thrilled about the idea.”

  “‘Thrilled’ isn’t how I’d put it,” I said. “It’s more like I—”

  I didn’t get a chance to finish.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” she said, her eyes going wide as she went into it. “This book has got to deliver the goods. I mean, shit, Lover Boys was the hottest band in the world there for a minute, and every single one of your fans is going to be wanting to know just what life was like behind the scenes for you guys.” She went on. “It’s going to be total rock-star insanity,” she said, getting into it. “The people are hungry for the lurid, and you’re going to be right there to serve it up to them. The drugs, the girls, the craziest of the crazy shit—it’s all going to be in there.”

  “That’s…what I was afraid of,” I said.

  Moira looked totally confused, like “dog hearing its owner’s voice through a phone” kind of confused. Like “toddler swiping on real photo and wondering why it doesn’t zoom in like an iPad” kind of confused.

  “You’re afraid of that?” she asked. “Why?”

  “Because it’s not who I am anymore,” I said.

  She leaned forward. “And just who are you now, Mr. Mack?” she asked, clearly calling me “Mr. Mack” because she liked the way it sounded.

  “I’m a lawyer,” I said. “One who cares deeply about my clients. And I’m a dad to the most beautiful, most brilliant little girl in the world. I’m someone who tries to give back after living like a careless kid for so many years. And that’s what I want to talk about in the book.”

  She didn’t appear impressed in the slightest. “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “I’m thinking we can leave that for the epilogue—you know, a little bit of a sappy note to leave a good taste in the reader’s mouth. But the bulk of this baby—” She patted the computer, “—is going to be the good stuff.”

  I knew it was time to get things straight. “You remember that meeting we had, right?” I asked. “The one where we specifically laid out how I have complete creative control over this project?”

  “And you do, you do,” she said. “But it’s my job as the writer to make sure that people actually want to read this thing, you know? When people see a book with the Noah Mack—”

  “Third person,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t like being referred to in the third person when I’m right here. Happens a lot, for some reason.”

  She gave me another curious look before going on. “With the Noah Mack on the cover, they’re going to have certain…expectations. They, want, like I said, all of the gory, sexy details.” She took another sip. “They’re not going to want some heartwarming story about a dad and his daughter,” she said. “God, I’m getting a toothache just thinking about it.”

  “Look,” I said. “I’m not wanting to be cornball about the whole thing, but that’s what I want to focus on. If you don’t like it, then maybe I ought to talk to Pepper and Penrose about getting someone else on the project.”

  Just saying Pepper’s name was enough to make me wish I was talking with her instead.

  Moira raised her palms, as if conceding the whole thing. “OK, OK,” she said. “Fine, fine—let’s not get all crazy about it.” She looked away for a moment, and then spoke. “How about this,” she said. “Like I said, I’m here it to take in everything and put it all together—make it fun and readable and interesting.”

  “Sure,” I said, wanting to see where she was going with this.

  “And your job is just…to talk. But I need material—and lots of it. So, if you’re OK with telling me some of the more…scandalous details of your time with Lover Boys, I can make sure they’re cleaned up, made a little more family-friendly.”

  “Or just left out entirely.”

  She learned forward.

  “Listen,” she said. “You and I—we’re artists, right?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “And part of being an artist is taking whatever creative raw material—” She formed her hands into claw-like shapes and pressed them together in front of her, as if molding a big, invisible wad of clay, “—and making something great with it.”

  “Right,” I said.

  She went on. “You get your material, and you shape it and sculpt it and throw away what you don’t need. But to get anywhere, you need your raw material, and a lot of it. So, here’s what I’m thinking—you give me the works, the good and the bad. Even if it’s the stuff you thought you’d never tell anyone. And that’s my raw material. I work with it and turn it into something that we’re both happy with.”

  I said nothing, letting her go on. I was hesitant about the whole thing, but I got what she was saying. Being an artist was about taking inspiration and turning it into something unexpected.

  “Now,” she said, “I’m going to make the draft what I think works for the project. But you get veto power. You see anything objectionable, and—” She tapped an invisible key in front of her, “—out it goes. And together we keep at it until you’re happy. Because, Noah, if you’re not happy, I’m not happy.”

  “OK,” I said. “I think I can work with that. But I need your word—I’m going to be telling you things that I’ve never told anyone before, and if I let slip with anything that I’m not happy with, you keep it to yourself, got it? Nothing goes out without my final say-so, just like we agreed. I’ve got a new life and a reputation and a daughter to worry about.”

  She held up two fingers, placing her hand on her chest. “Scout’s honor,” she said.

  I still felt apprehensive about the whole thing. But it’s what I’d agreed to, right? And like I’d made clear, I had total creative control over the project. Nothing to worry about.

  Moira typed a few quick notes onto her computer before taking out her phone, opening up a voice recording program, and hitting play.

  “Now, Mr. Mack—why don’t you sit back, get comfortable, and tell me your life story.”

  “Shit,” I said, sitting back. “Where to begin?”

  21

  NOAH

  A very satisfied smile on her face, Moira softly closed her laptop.

  “I think that was a very productive first session,” she said. “How about you? How do you feel?”

  “Drained,” I said, sitting back. “Like I’ve just been put through the wringer.”

  “Well,” she said, taking drink number three into her hand and preparing to have another sip. “We went through a lot. The stuff about you and the first few shows… That’s going to be killer, I can tell.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Really?” I asked. “You think people are going to be into hearing about a bunch of dudes wearing makeup they’d ‘borrowed’ from their sisters bumming around LA and sleeping in a van?”

  “Are you serious?” she asked, excitement playing on her face. “You have no idea—people eat this shit up. It’s a total humble beginnings story.” She glanced away for a second, as if considering something. “You know like when you go to see one of those Marvel movies, and each character has to have his or her own origin story? That’s what this is.”

  “Not quite a superhero,” I said. “But I get it.”

  “Please,” she said. “Rock stars and athletes are the closest we get to superheroes in the real world. You get to touch milli
ons with your music, that’s a superpower in my book.”

  I chuckled. “Sure,” I said.

  “And are you really going to tell me the effect you have on women isn’t a superpower all on its own? Most men would kill to be able to melt a woman with a single glance.”

  “Once upon a time I would’ve agreed with you,” I said. “But the more I got into that world, the more I realized just how shallow—”

  She waved her hands, cutting me off. “There you go again with that ‘cautionary tale’ crap,” she said.

  “That ‘cautionary tale’ crap is the man I am now,” I was quick to add.

  “I get it,” she said. “I really do. But let’s not forget about keeping this thing light and fun, OK?”

  She reached over and tapped the “stop recording” button on her phone before draining the last bit of her margarita.

  “So,” she said. “Work’s over for tonight. And I don’t know about you, but I could do with some unwinding.”

  The glimmer in her eye made it abundantly clear what kind of “unwinding” she had in mind. But I wasn’t interested.

  “There’s this great bar just down the road,” she said, leaning in. “A little more intimate, if you’re down for putting in some off-the-clock hours.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “But I’ve got a kid waiting for me.”

  She nodded before taking her phone from the table and slipping it into her purse.

  “Understood,” she said. “Then let’s call it a night. Same time the day after tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said, slipping into my all-business lawyering tone.

  She nodded, taking her laptop from the table and tucking it back under her arm. “Till then,” she said. She prepared to leave but stopped mid-step, as if something had occurred to her. “Just so you know, Noah,” she said. “We’re going to be working very, very closely over the next week or two. Don’t be surprised if you start to like me.” With a wink, she was off before I had a chance to say anything, her sugary perfume hanging in the air.

  I felt a buzz in my pocket as soon as she was gone. My first actual, genuine smile of the night appeared on my face when I saw that it was a text from Pepper.

  “How’s the groundwork going?” she asked.

  I considered telling her. But only for a second or two. “About what I was expecting,” I typed.

  I sipped my drink as I waited for the reply. Just having one text from Pepper made it clear as hell how much I wished I’d spent the evening with her instead, maybe even getting back to what we’d had interrupted over and over.

  “I think I can imagine what that means ;)”

  I smirked. A few different text ideas appeared in my head, all of them blah and obligatory and dancing around what I really wanted.

  So, I just went out and said it.

  “What’re you doing tomorrow night?”

  The reply was almost instant.

  “No plans. At least, no plans that you wouldn’t make fun of me for.”

  “Oh, come on. A nice guy like me making fun of a woman like you?”

  “Nice, sure ;). Why do you ask?”

  My fingers hesitated over the keys. Still couldn’t get over how weird it was to feel…butterflies for a girl.

  “Because I want to see you again.”

  Another instant reply.

  “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

  I didn’t wait to respond.

  “You’re on.”

  22

  PEPPER

  The next day…

  I had no idea what to wear.

  It was so stupid and silly and a way that I hadn’t acted in god knows how long, but there I was, standing in front of my closet trying to figure out what to wear for my date with Noah.

  At least, that’s what I was pretty sure it was.

  Was it?

  We’d gone out on something like a date before the other night, but things were just so vague and up in the air, not to mention complicated on account this working relationship that he and I now had. And, of course, there was the fact that we’d almost screwed on more than one occasion factoring into the whole thing.

  A text from Noah let me know that he was about a half-hour away.

  “Shit!” I said out loud, followed by a “fuck it.”

  I reached into my closet and pulled out some jeans and a blouse, pairing it all with some old Vans I hadn’t worn in years. Kind of casual, kind of not—perfect for the totally frazzled frame of mind I was in. By the time I was ready to go, another text announced that he was here.

  Do or die time.

  I was giddy and scared all at once, but as nervous as I was, I also loved it. I felt like there’d been more excitement and the fun kind of fear over the little bit of time that I’d known Noah than there had been in my entire relationship with George.

  He could keep his cosplay girlfriend—I had a rock star.

  Well, not really. But I was going on a date with him.

  I hurried out in front of my apartment complex where Noah was waiting for me. He was leaned against his Aston, dressed in black jeans, white sneakers, and a Hawaiian shirt of a red and orange sunset—never thought a Hawaiian shirt was a look I’d think was hot, but there he was, making it happen—his eyes hidden behind black Wayfarers. A hint of a bad-boy smile played on his lips as I approached.

  Fuck, he was cool. I hated to admit that I was fangirling out, but I was. No sense in denying it. It was the Noah Mack—he didn’t have to know that I was thinking about him in the third person—and he was all mine.

  Kind of.

  “Shit,” he said as he laid eyes on me.

  Or, at least, I think he laid eyes on me—hard to tell with the sunglasses.

  “Shit?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “As in ‘shit, you look good.’”

  I stopped in front of him, already totally charmed.

  “Such an old-school smooth-talker,” I said with a grin.

  “No sense in being coy about it.”

  He didn’t give me a chance to respond, instead opening the door so I could slide right on in. As soon as the door was shut and I was back in the car, all I could think about was what we’d done in the car before. Or, almost done. Sure, we hadn’t fucked, but just the thought of the kissing and the foreplay was enough to get me hot as hell down in my jeans.

  “OK,” said Noah. “You ready?”

  “Ready for what, exactly?” I asked, eager to see what he had planned for the evening.

  “Not one for surprises, huh?” he asked.

  “Too excited for that.” I was tipping my hand, but I didn’t care. I was just happy to be with him.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  “Always,” I said.

  “Just what I wanted to hear. I’m thinking we hit up the Apple Pan, grab some burgers and pie, and then…well, you’re going to have to wait for the rest.”

  “What if I don’t want to wait?” I asked.

  “Be a good girl anyway,” he said.

  He didn’t give me a chance to respond before gunning the engine and taking me away. I spent the drive in silence, soaking in LA as we blew through it. The Strokes played on the stereo, taking me back to when I was in high school and obsessed with the man who was, at that moment, just a few feet away.

  We soon arrived at the Apple Pan, home of the best damn pie in the city.

  “You into apple pie?” he asked. “Hope so, otherwise I picked the absolute wrong-est place I could’ve.”

  “Love it,” I said as we entered, the smell of burgers on the grill and fresh apples and cinnamon hitting me all at once. “Never really eat anything these days that I can’t order on Seamless, though.”

  “That’s no way to be,” he said as the hostess led us to our booth. “Old-school diners are one of the simplest, best pleasures in life. Places like this were my fuel when I was on tour with the rest of the guys.”

  “Incredible music powered by apple pie,” I said. “I love it.”
r />   “And burgers,” he said, raising his finger.

  “Can’t forget about burgers,” I said. “And it’s rubbed off on Sophia.”

  “No doubt about that,” he said. “My thinking is that a big brain like hers needs all the fuel it can get. And burgers are the perfect source.”

  I couldn’t help grinning—the idea of him and his little girl put a big, stupid smile on my face. It was still so strange to me to know that behind his rock-star swagger there was total love for his little girl. It made me understand that there was truly something special about Noah.

  We ordered our food, my stomach growling as we sat and chatted about my work and his work and Sophia and everything else. Before too long we had a pair of bacon cheeseburgers and fries in front of us, each of us putting them away and finishing the meal with some apple pie à la mode.

  Pure heaven.

  “Now,” said Noah as we headed back to the car, me stuffed and happy. “I was thinking we could take a nice three-hour nap before the rest of the night.” He grinned, letting me know he was screwing around.

  “You kidding?” I asked. “I feel ready, now. Like I’m up for anything.”

  “Atta girl,” he said. “Now you’re feeling that burger power.”

  “Burger power,” I said with a grin. “I like it.”

  “Like it, love it, live it,” he said. “It’s what’ll take you to the next level.” He revved the engine and we were soon off.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Been thinking,” he said as we made our way back toward Hollywood, “about how much of my past has been coming back with this project of ours.”

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “And, truth be told, I’ve been actually—to my total shock—getting kind of nostalgic about it all.”

  “I like the sound of that,” I said.

  “So I was thinking we could swing by some of my old haunts, maybe see if being around the old places brings back some book-worthy memories.”

  “I’m there for it,” I said.