A Kind of Honesty

by Lane Hayes

  “Your mom? Why doesn’t she—?”

  “Princess Timothy? Get your ass in here! We’re working. Chop-chop.” Rand clapped his hands together and disappeared as quickly as he’d entered.

  “I have to go. Let’s deal with this later.”

  “We have to deal now. Listen, I’ll call Miranda and arrange for step one. While you’re playing, think about what comes next. Are you okay with that?”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Wrong. You always have a choice. What you don’t have is time to worry about spilt milk. The deed has been done. Now we clean it up.”

  Cammy was waiting for me outside the studio when we finished recording at eight that evening. Before I could check my cell for messages, she pulled me aside and told me to change my shirt. Miranda had agreed to meet me at our hotel’s finest restaurant if I could be there before nine o’clock.

  “At night?”

  “Yes, at night. Geesh! This is a good thing, Tim. I’ll snap a couple photos and this part will be over. Next step is up to you. I’ll give you forty-eight hours to think about it. Do you want to call Miranda to let her know you’re on your way, or shall I?”

  I heaved a sigh and pulled out my phone. My battery was dangerously low. I had too many messages to count, but I’d save them for tomorrow. The three-hour time difference meant it wasn’t possible to have a real conversation with Carter, and yeah… I was a coward. I wasn’t going to lie to him, but I also didn’t know how to explain having dinner with my ex in five minutes or less. I typed a quick good-night message to Carter before sending another to let Miranda know I’d see her soon. Then I turned my phone off and put it in my pocket. I waved off my friends’ invitation to join them for dinner before giving Cammy a pointed look.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  The Polo Club was a beautifully appointed restaurant known for its lavish décor and celebrity chef on staff. The main section was a wide-open area dotted with modern glass-orb chandeliers. Huge potted plants cordoned off the perimeters and gave an illusion of privacy for a few select tables. And a cover for Cammy or whoever was taking pictures of us. I was already antsy. Everything felt rushed and out of my control. I would have liked the chance to talk to Carter. Especially since I had a feeling his ex was the one who put me in this position in the first place.

  Or had I done it to myself?

  “Dah-ling, here you are.” Miranda smiled at me before graciously turning to thank the hostess.

  When I stood to greet her, she launched herself into my arms like an old friend. Or a lover. She looked good. Amazing actually. Her long, blonde hair was artfully tousled. It contrasted nicely against her bright red, satin, slinky dress. There was no mistaking she was pregnant. Not far along, but certainly showing. I diverted my gaze back to her pretty blue eyes before gesturing for her to take a seat.

  “How are you?” I asked politely. I took a sip of my gin and tonic, hoping the liquor would settle my nerves. Nothing about being here with her felt right. It felt like a mistake. I had to get out of here quickly, I mused.

  Miranda sighed and gave me a weak smile. “I’m okay. I was sick in the first trimester, but I’m feeling better now.”

  “How far along are you?”

  “Four and a half months. It’s a boy. Congratulations.”

  I shook my head and gave a short huff. “No. Congratulations to you. Not me. The last time you and I were in the same bed was in February. I’m happy for you and I wish you well, but let’s be honest. Your baby isn’t mine.”

  She cocked her head thoughtfully and studied me. She opened her mouth to answer just as a waiter appeared to take her drink order and leave us with menus.

  “Perrier with a slice of lemon, please,” she said without looking at the young man. She kept her eyes locked on mine in a sort of challenge. Like she was willing me to take my words back. When the waiter left, she leaned forward and smiled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing at all. You. Me. This,” she said with an evil-sounding chuckle. “No. It’s not yours.”

  “Why lie about it?”

  “I wasn’t sure at first.”

  “Bullshit,” I countered.

  “Regardless. It makes for a better story, you must admit. The model and rock star is almost cliché, but that’s because it’s sexy. The model and the married accountant? Not as alluring. You understand.”

  “Un-fucking-believable. Wow. I suppose the married part means this asshole was perfectly okay with you passing his kid off as mine while he tried to explain knocking you up to his wife. Am I right? Is that rock on your finger his promise ring? Jesus!”

  “Well, yes and no. But it’s good publicity for both of us. It adds a touch of lubricious interest. The kind that sells records, clothes, and magazines. It’s genius.”

  “No. It’s not. It’s dishonest and… fucked. You’ve been feeding the press lies to get your picture in the paper while I’ve been doing my best to lay low and avoid the same thing.” My voice rose slightly as the injustice hit me like a sledgehammer. I’d known what she was up to from the start. Hearing her admit it didn’t make me feel any better about being right.

  “Ah yes… I saw the photo of you and that lovely man, by the way. Is he your boyfriend?”

  “He’s none of your business. Call off the press, Miranda. Tell the truth,” I hissed angrily.

  She sat back in her chair, tapping her long, red nails against the linen-clothed table as though considering my request.

  “I will if you will.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tell everyone who your friend is.”

  “No. He’s off-limits. And why? What the hell is in it for you besides one more—really? This is all about the story, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely. Leaving your pregnant girlfriend is one thing. Leaving me for a man? Perfectly juicy! See? Win-win.”

  Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous light I didn’t understand. Her conscience was in no way troubled by the series of lies she perpetrated or the people unwittingly hurt by spinning this web in the first place. Her brazenness was so outlandish, it was almost impressive.

  “No. Lose-lose. I’m not interested in playing your game,” I said, standing abruptly.

  Miranda stood too. She skirted the small table quickly and weaved her arms around my neck. To the average passerby, we probably looked like a frisky couple taking advantage of our quieter section of the restaurant. But there was nothing sexy happening here. This was dirty. The kind of human interaction that reminds you some people will never know what it means to be genuine.

  “You already are,” she whispered as she sealed her lips over mine.

  I was too surprised to act. The tight confines of our dining alcove made it difficult to escape. And frankly, so did she. She’d wrapped herself around me like an ardent lover. I certainly couldn’t push a pregnant woman away. And that’s what it would have taken. A forceful shove. I stepped sideways and grasped her hands from around my neck before finally edging her backward and pulling out of her hold. I moved to the plant closest to the main dining area and shook my head fiercely.

  “I don’t think so. This is over now, Miranda. I don’t care who you screw or who you think you need to protect. I’m not part of this equation. Find another sucker.”

  She never stopped smiling. She looked radiant and lovely, perfectly serene. The dishonesty didn’t faze her. She got off on it. The funny thing was, she was right, to a degree. The public loved a scandal. We were high-profile enough to be interesting. Sex and rock and roll with young, pretty people behaving badly. This shit sold anything and everything all day long. It didn’t matter if it was true or not.

  Except it did to me. And it certainly would matter to the people I cared about.

  My brain was buzzing after my conversation with Miranda. I was having serious second thoughts about the wisdom of our meeting. Maybe we’d get the reprieve Cammy anticipated, but I was beginning to think the element
of confusion wasn’t going to work in my favor. Short of recording an improbable second confession, there was no way to prove she was lying until her baby was born. I wasn’t sure I could deal with another five months of this bullshit. And come out to my mother. Then there was the question of whether Carter would be up for public scrutiny. Until today, no one knew anything about him. He wasn’t tagged on the pictures, but some eager reporter might dig up his name, occupation, shoe size, and favorite color by morning. I swiped my hand through my hair in frustration. This had disaster written all over it.

  A sliver of sunlight crept between the seams of the thick drapery, sending a beam of light across the stark white duvet the next morning. I yawned and stretched my arms over my head, vaguely aware of my phone vibrating on the nightstand next to me. I reached for it automatically.

  “’Lo?”

  “Hi, it’s me. I don’t have much time, but I counted five missed calls from you and figured I’d better check in early. Are you okay?”

  Carter’s deep, sexy voice made me smile. I struggled to sit up and will myself awake. I had a lot to tell him, but little sleep and no caffeine made it difficult for me to find the right words quickly.

  I settled for a groggy, “I’m fine.”

  Carter chuckled and suddenly I couldn’t remember what was wrong. I grinned as I flopped backward on the pillow.

  “Go back to sleep. We can talk later. I have meetings all day but—”

  “Wait! Did you see the picture of us?”

  “Uh… no, I—”

  “Look it up online. Google my name or Spiral. It’s us in front of your place the day we got back from Baltimore.”

  I could hear clicking in the background. No doubt he was at his office, dressed to impress in executive chic while his secretary hovered nearby awaiting instructions. Carter consulted and managed finance portfolio investments for some of the biggest corporations in the world. Googling an entertainment gossip site surely didn’t rank high on his list of priorities. I had a sudden thought it was best not to delve into the Miranda angle on the phone. Hopefully I could fix this without involving him. We’d be back in New York in a few days anyway. There was no sense in spreading the worry.

  “Hmm. It’s a nice picture,” he said thoughtfully. “It had to be Lance.”

  “Yeah. I—”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think he was the type to—” He broke off and barked a command to someone in the room with him before continuing. “—Are you okay? What do you want me to do?”

  The harried noises of his office emanated through the line. It was midmorning on a regular workday. He didn’t have time for this, and like it or not, he didn’t have any solutions.

  “Nothing. I’m working with our PR team. We’ll spin it somehow and—I miss you,” I blurted unceremoniously. I winced at the needy sound in my voice, but I wouldn’t take the words back. I did miss him. Ten days was too long, and with all the nonsense bubbling up, another few days seemed like a lifetime.

  “I miss you too.”

  “Do you have time for phone sex? I have a serious case of morning wood you might be able to help me with.”

  Carter guffawed. His hearty, happy laughter rolled over me like a refreshing wave on a hot summer night. I could easily forget my troubles just by talking to him. He brought a sense of clarity I longed for and couldn’t seem to achieve on my own. I grinned at the musical cadence as I closed my eyes and let my hand drift to my throbbing member.

  “Unfortunately, you’re on your own. I’ve got an audience nearby. If I pull out my dick and start jacking off, someone’s going to notice. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I lied.

  “Okay. I’m going to be tied up over the next couple days, but—”

  “Oh really?”

  He snorted at my lascivious tone. “Yeah. Not like that. I have a client here from Japan and—”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be in the studio. No phones allowed. We’ll talk when we can.”

  “All right. I love you, babe.”

  He ended the call before I could respond, which was good because I was speechless. My eyes had to look like cartoon saucers. His passing three-word grenade hit me like a ton of bricks. I could almost convince myself he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Or maybe I misheard. What I did know was I wanted to go home. I had to get through the next couple days and then… it was time to make some serious changes in my life.

  Being locked in the studio all day was a blessing. I was able to ignore everything but the music. I was focused on the moment. No diversions were welcome. No gossip, no scandals, no ex-lovers or irate mothers. Only music. I wouldn’t allow myself to check my phone until we were finished for the day. My angst level was high enough without piling on more worry. I had a feeling I’d be a basket case the second reality invaded our creative cocoon.

  And I was right.

  Will gave me a funny look when I walked into the lounge. “Did you know about this?”

  “About what?” I asked nonchalantly as I grabbed a water bottle from the side table. I unscrewed the top and took a healthy sip before glancing at him.

  “‘Stunning supermodel and her boyfriend drummer were seen dining in Hollywood. The pair appeared happy to be together at last amid allegations of a sordid breakup. When asked about a recent photo featuring her fiancé, Tim Chalmers in an intimate embrace with a man, Miranda Müller laughingly referred to the picture as a photoshopped mess. The model stated that she and Chalmers were engaged to be married and were thrilled to become parents.’”

  Will adjusted his glasses before peering up at me curiously. My bandmates had filed into the room after me. We all stood still, wearing matching expressions of dismay. Or in my case, flat-out panic. Holy fuck.

  “Um… congratulations?” Cory offered weakly.

  I gulped.

  “Christ! You look like you’re cleaning her tonsils in this picture.” Isaac pointed at Will’s computer and shot me a baffled look. “I thought you met her to tell her to back off, not set a fucking wedding date. Damn.”

  “I did. I—Cammy said—fuck. Let me see it.” I flopped into the chair next to Will and braced myself.

  Fuck. Me. The photo in no way showed what really went down during our abbreviated dinner the other night. It was Miranda with her arms wrapped around my neck, clinging to me tightly with her mouth sealed over mine. The angle was complimentary to her. Her eyes were closed. She looked blissed out and happy. The huge diamond ring on her left hand sparkled lovingly and told the story with no caption necessary. She’d obviously planned this. The tame photo next to it had to be Cammy’s contribution. Once again, my expression was hidden, but Miranda was beaming.

  We’d been outmaneuvered. She’d gotten her way. The only way out was a messy one involving more personal sharing than I’d ever done in my life.

  Carter didn’t pick up his phone. I’d tried him a few times that night and again the following morning before we headed to the recording studio for the last time. The fact I hadn’t heard from him made me jumpy, even though he’d clearly said he was swamped this week too. Time and distance were working against me. I couldn’t easily explain this new twist with Miranda. Add the resurfaced photos of us when I actually did like her, and the fervor over her announcement hit a new high. I didn’t get it. I was a drummer, for fuck’s sake.

  I stared at the black-and-white photographs of LA area hot spots on my hotel room wall and fixated on the one of the Hollywood sign, hoping it might keep me grounded when I finally braved returning my mother’s umpteenth call the following morning. The conversation went as expected. She was frantic with worry, then outraged at the audacious lies of the press accusing me of having a homosexual lover when it was clear as could be that Carter wasn’t gay and certainly neither was I. She was miffed I hadn’t told her I’d popped the question but very relieved I’d done the right thing and finally asked my beautiful girlfriend to marry me. Great.

  I could hardly get a word i
n edgewise and as I studied the block letters of the Hollywood sign while my mother’s voice singsonged in the background, I wondered if it mattered. I couldn’t undo this mess over the phone. I was trapped. I was suddenly aware of a claustrophobic cloak of irony. This was what I’d wanted. Fame, fortune, a chance to play to screaming fans who wanted to hear our music. That sign stood for every dream I’d secretly hoped might one day be mine. But I hadn’t stopped to ask the price tag. It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d forfeit my privacy and my right to share my story in my own time. If and when I felt like it. The scariest part was knowing I couldn’t back away from the ledge now. I was in up to my eyeballs. The only possibility of surviving this mess was to face it head-on. But not like this.

  “…when are you coming home?” she asked.

  “Um… I’ll be there in a couple days. We can talk then, Mom.”

  “All right, dear. I can’t wait to meet my new daughter-in-law. And the baby!”

  I said good-bye as quickly as possible and tried Carter’s cell again. It was late-morning in New York. No doubt he’d be in another meeting, but it was worth a shot.

  “Carter speaking.”

  I was instantly alarmed at the businesslike quality in his voice. My pulse went into overdrive. “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Hi. Listen, I can’t talk now.”

  “Oh, that’s cool. Um… I wondered if you saw that article.” I wiped at my eyes and then rested my palm on my forehead.

  “I did.”

  Silence.

  I swallowed hard and tried again. “It’s bogus, Carter.”

  “I know.”

  I should have felt light-headed with relief, but his distant tone made me leery.

  “It’s a bigger story than I can go into on the phone, but it’s not what they’re saying.”

  He didn’t speak right away, but it hardly mattered. The silence spoke for him. I could hear him breathing. I tried to picture him at his desk, adjusting his tie, looking toward the door to see if his secretary was nearby. This was nothing like the last time we’d spoken. The lighthearted, easy vibe was missing. Replaced by a layer of mistrust. We were three thousand miles away from each other, but it hardly mattered. I felt his hurt. What I hated most was the notion I was the one with a knife in my hand, seemingly unable to stop causing him pain.