by Nikki Wild
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, my jaw sagging as Tessa kept going on and on about how the sales figures for even my older albums had jumped through the roof since this scandal had hit the air. I could feel my chest starting to tighten, heat rising at the back of my neck with every word out of my manager’s crimson lips, her stupid cat-that-ate-the-canary grin growing wider and more disturbing with every syllable. What in the hell was happening with my bloody life? Was this all I was now—some pathetic knob people took pity on?
“Get out,” I said, my voice barely audible even to me, though apparently loud enough to give Tessa pause.
“Excuse me?” She squinted at me and the smile dropped from her lips. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you. For a second, I imagined you’d said—”
“I said to get the hell out of my flat!” I growled, taking a step toward her that made her almost stumble back against the wall behind. “Fuck right out of here, Tessa. Now.”
Much to my surprise, she didn’t argue. She only snatched the paper from my hand before she made her way out the door, though I could tell from her expression she wasn’t at all pleased.
But what the hell did I care? What did I care about any of it? After losing what I’d never known I’d wanted all this time—love I’d found in the place it wasn’t supposed to be—what the hell did some publicity matter to me anymore? I was so tired of all the stunts and the interviews. All I wanted was what I could never have: someone who cared about me for more than my financial worth.
I picked the bottle back up from the floor, a little over half its contents still streaming through the grout. I couldn’t even muster the effort to give a damn about cleaning it up. It could sit there for the rest of my damned life, for all I cared. The only thing I wanted to do now was drink the rest of that bottle, or however much it took to blur my thoughts into a blue haze. Plenty of rock stars had drank themselves to death, guzzled and guzzled their way into an early grave. What did it matter if there was one more?
“You’re nothing but someone else’s paycheck, mate,” I said to myself, putting the mouth of the bottle to my lips once again before I took a long draught. “And sooner or later, they’re going to try to get everything they can from you. Take every last bit of you, chew it up, and spit it out. Once you’re not good for anything else, they’re going to leave you to rot on the side of the road.” Then I chuckled mirthlessly as a set of rather iconic lyrics came to mind.
“It’s better to burn out than to fade away.”
Ah, Neil Young. Now there was a rocker who knew the score.
I threw the bottle, watching it shatter against the far wall. To hell with it. To hell with everything.
Elizabeth
It took a special kind of friend to dish out the money for a round-trip ticket to the UK. The kind of friend you don’t ever take for granted. Jen was as selfless and noble as they came, to be sure. But the fact that she had been implicated in this whole scandal sure helped her make the decision to finance my vindication.
The only real problem had been getting from the suite over to the airport without alerting the sea of press that had been stationed outside ever since that stupid story broke. Thankfully, the room I was in had been paid for in advance and included another day, so I had at least a little while to plan how I would get the hell out of Dodge and over to JFK in time for my flight.
Much to my surprise, my saviors had come in a form I hardly expected. The security guards who had escorted me up to my room worked for the hotel, and they were absolutely ready to get rid of me and all the craziness happening just outside the doors to the hotel. With their help, I was able to sneak out around the back and get into an Über that Jen had paid for to pick me up. I honestly couldn’t have asked for a better friend, and I knew that if I made it out of this with a penny to my name, minus the legal fees that surely faced me in the future, I would have to take her out to dinner.
I’d arrived at the gate just in time to catch my flight across the Atlantic. I thanked God I had managed to grab my purse before I was taken away from Billford. The passport inside was nearly expired and had never seen a single foreign stamp. I’d gotten it thinking I might travel some day, and I guess now as as good a time as any. Practicality for the win, I thought to myself.
We touched down in Heathrow airport some twelve hours later, and thankful for just how uneventful my flight had been, I made my way through customs and out toward the pick-up area to try to hail a cab that would take me to Julian’s flat.
I had Jen to thank for the address—leave it to a bunch of obsessed fan girls to have their favorite rock star’s address plastered across the Internet for anyone to find. That only made my life that much easier.
I did my best to relax in the backseat of the cab, glancing out the windows as one of the most historic cities on the planet rushed by. I was amazed at how the cabbie didn’t even have a GPS or anything to help him find where he was going.
The cabbie rattled off some landmarks and talked about some of the history behind it all as we went, our progress slowed by the kind of heavy traffic that reminded me a little of New York. My driver was something of a history buff and had a habit of talking the ear off of anyone who would listen to his countless tidbits of trivia. If I hadn’t found it fascinating—and a worthy distraction from the worry growing in my gut—I think I’d have tuned him out before we’d even gone a block. The sound of conversation was comforting, and for once I’d met someone within the last few days who wasn’t constantly blathering on about my current romantic entanglement with a rock star.
It took about an hour and a half to get across London to Julian’s flat, and by the time we’d arrived, I was already sorry to see the cabbie drive off. I felt like I’d lost a friend just before I was about to step into a dragon’s lair in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, I’d find something good to take away from all this—even if I left with my heart ripped out.
I had to take a risk. I’d always told myself I’d be willing to do so when it mattered. Well, it mattered now. Maybe more than I’d been willing to admit, at first.
It was insane to think I’d fallen in love with him after such a short amount of time, but the moments we’d shared had so much weight to them. I had to keep reminding myself that stranger things had happened, that I wasn’t a complete idiot for feeling the way I did. Every time I started to drift into that territory, I remembered the look on Julian’s face when he’d seen the ultrasound screen, what he’d whispered against me as he kissed the trails of my tears away. If that wasn’t love, I wasn’t sure what the hell qualified.
By the time I found myself standing outside Julian’s apartment, it was nearly evening. I looked up into the golden glow of his windows on the third floor and hoped that he would be alone. At first I thought that my biggest concern in that regard was Tessa, but suddenly the idea of Julian tangled up with some woman he’d picked up at a pub or something popped into my head, and the sting of tears at the corners of my eyes began in earnest. Part of me wanted to run, to hide at the thought that I’d probably already been replaced, and likely by a woman he hardly knew. Then again, wasn’t I some woman he hardly knew? What made me so different? So special?
Well, for one thing, he got you pregnant, I thought, setting my jaw as I mounted the steps to his stoop. And for another… you’re pretty sure you’re in love with him.
But the moment I touched the door, I thought that I might have a heart attack. Right there in the hallway was the one person who could ruin everything.
Tessa.
My heart hammered as I looked for someplace to hide, lucky as hell that I hadn’t been spotted just yet.
In a desperate rush of movement, I ducked behind a car parked along the curb, peeking through the windows as Tessa stepped out onto the street, her expression set in its usual state of mild, stony annoyance.
I held my breath, feeling utterly vulnerable as she stopped to check her phone. She stood there for what seemed like an eternity before turning a
nd heading in the opposite direction of my impromptu hiding spot, allowing me to breathe once more.
Now’s my chance, I thought, rushing back up to the door and pressing one of the call buttons in the hopes that a resident might fall for one of the oldest tricks in the book.
“’Ello?” a garbled voice asked through the speaker on the third try. I put on the most polite voice I could manage and hoped to God they wouldn’t suspect anything.
“I’ve lost my keys, and—”
Before I could even finish my sentence, there was a loud buzz signaling that the door had been unlocked.
“Thank you!” I said before letting the button go and heading inside, surprised and so thankful that that even worked. It was quite a different world over here.
I dashed up the stairs all the way to the third floor, the dread in my belly growing heavier and heavier as I got closer to what I knew would probably be one of the most devastating confrontations in my entire life. I knew that I needed to be strong and hold my own—defend myself to him against all the lies—but no matter how I thought about it, I couldn’t see an outcome where I wasn’t crying my eyes out.
But maybe he’ll believe me once I’m in front of him, I thought, though that tiny glimmer of hope was almost instantaneously extinguished by my omnipresent sense of realism. He might, but I can’t bet on that. I have to go in fearing the worst and be ready to deal with it. This is the last stand for us… and there’s no guarantee that we’ll make it out of there with our relationship in one piece.
Before I knew it, I was outside the door to his flat, chewing nervously on my bottom lip. I felt like I was frozen in place, standing before the gate to what I was sure would be my complete and utter emotional destruction. But I’d come all this way, traveled across an ocean, just so I could see him—possibly for the last time. I couldn’t stop here.
I reach out for the door, my hand shaking as I knocked three times. At first I thought that I might have been too quiet and Julian hadn’t heard me. Or maybe he wasn’t even home—but then what had Tessa been doing here, if not talking to her client? Her only client, now that I thought about it.
Sure that I hadn’t been heard, I reached out to knock again, only to hear the rasping sounds of a deadbolt being slid open. From the other side, a familiar voice grumbled something that I could barely make out.
“You were just here,” Julian said as he opened the door. “What, did you already lose your…”
His eyes, red and bloodshot went wide as they met mine. His mouth dropped open, eyebrows raised as the two of us stood there, staring into one another’s eyes as though we might have just seen our own respective ghosts.
“You,” he said, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “What’re you doing here?”
“I needed to talk to you,” I said, swallowing nervously as I took a step closer to him. “I needed to explain—”
“I think that I’ve heard enough explaining from enough people about what happened,” Julian said, his voice rising as he shook his head. “No. I don’t think I want to hear what you have to say.”
“You’ve heard other people tell you what happened,” I countered, grabbing the edge of the door as I saw him move to shut it in my face. “But you haven’t heard me tell you what happened. And after all we’ve been through, I deserve that much from you, Julian Bastille.”
Julian stared at me hard. It wasn’t until he was looking at me that way, until we were so close, that I realized his eyes weren’t just red from the alcohol. They were red because he’d been crying. My heart suffered yet another crack through it as I imagined the kind of pain he’d been in ever since the day that story broke. To have gone from seeing his child on an ultrasound, to being told his wife was some gold-digging fraud…
I was beginning to think we’d stand there forever. But then Julian turned his back on me, leaving the door ajar and walking farther into his flat. I followed him, shutting the door behind me as he sat down on the couch, his eyes fixed on me expectantly.
“All right,” he said, his accent thick, “let’s hear this grand explanation of yours.”
I felt my throat tighten, and suddenly I was at a loss for words. How could I express what had been happening over the last day and a half? I wasn’t sure where to begin, or what I could say that would make me even sound remotely believable. No matter how many times I’d rehearsed this in my head on the way over here, my courage failed me in the face of his pain. By now Julian must have seen me as some tramp who’d actively tried to ruin his life, all in the name of money. I knew I had to say something, something big, something important, to change his mind. Even if I walked away from this empty-handed, he had to know the truth.
“All right,” I said, swallowing thickly and then clearing my throat. “I know you have no reason to believe me. I know what’s been said and written, and everything else. But I promise you, every single word I’m about to tell you now is the truth. And I swear, Julian. I’ve never given you anything but that—the truth.”
“Get on with it then, Liz,” he sighed, taking a long drink from the bottle in his hand. “I haven’t got all night.”
I reached into the pocket of my jacket. There, between the lining, was one of the printouts from the ultrasound we’d had done that fateful day. In lieu of liquid courage, thoughts of this child—Julian’s child, our child—delivered the strength I needed to go through with this. To bare everything for him, and hope that he didn’t take advantage of my vulnerability in return.
Okay, I thought. Here goes…
Julian
“First, I’m going to have to ask you not to be an ass,” Liz said, clearly quite done with my shit before we’d even started. That little bit of frustration, though, proved to be exactly what she needed to break free of the stumbling block that had stopped her at the door. She was now too angry to be nervous, and inside, that made me ache for her all the more.
“Second…” she continued, taking her hand out of the pocket of her jacket and holding it up as I began to protest. Judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t in the mood to be interrupted, and she seemed more than willing to tell me to shut the hell up and listen if she needed to. “Everything they’ve been saying on the news about me—these e-mails, whatever ‘plan’ I supposedly cooked up with Jen—all of it is complete bullshit.”
“I’ve seen them, Liz!” I said, shaking my head at her. “You come in here telling me that you’re going to tell me the truth—promising that what you’re saying is true—and start out with a bloody lie?” I snorted and turned away. “Come on…”
“I’m not lying!” she shouted, her face growing red. “Those emails aren’t mine. The first time I heard about them is when I was stuffed into a car, flown to New York and locked away in a hotel room. I saw your press conference on TV!”
That gave me just a moment’s pause. Even in my inebriated state, I knew something didn’t add up there.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I slurred, squinting hard at her. “Why the hell were you in New York? Why didn’t you call me?”
“I don’t know!” she replied. “Tessa had me shoved on a plane and somebody had my cellphone service turned off! I tried to call you on the hotel phone but Tessa wouldn’t let me talk to you. She threatened me Julian! And now you owe me an explanation. How, exactly, do I know that you and Tessa hadn’t planned all of this from the very beginning as a way for you to get out of your responsibilities?”
I scowled. “Don’t turn this around on me, love. I don’t know anything about you getting flown to New York.”
“Right,” she said. “Just like I don’t know anything about any damn e-mails!”
“Sure. And you had no idea who I was when you met me, either. Not the first clue that I was a celebrity. We’re all just innocent idiots here, are we, Lizzie?”
Her eyes darkened. “Julian Bastille, you call me ‘Lizzie’ one more time and I swear by my cabbie’s insatiable love for historic landmarks, I will end you.”
>
I believed her on that one, at least…
“I told you, I don’t remember anything about that night. Not much, anyway. I have no idea if I recognized you when we met, but I can tell you when I woke up next to you in that hotel room I recognized your tattoos from a picture my friend Jen keeps on her desk!”
“Oh, your little friend probably gave you all you needed to know,” I sneered at her from the sofa. “Trust me, I read those conversations through and through, and enough times to see how you had it all planned out every bloody step of the way! It’s one thing to get played like a chump, but then to see the step-by-step instructions.”
“Jesus Christ!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “I didn’t write those e-mails! And neither did Jen! How many times do I have to say it?”
“Until I can actually believe it!” I shouted back, getting up to stand in front of her, my face inches from hers. I dropped my voice to what must have been a dangerous level, because I caught the uncertain look in Liz’s eyes.
“Do you even know what that felt like?” I asked her. “To have proof in your hands that the one person you opened up to in your whole damn life has been playing you this entire time? You ripped my heart out, girl. I was warned you would. But it wasn’t until I held those papers in my hands and read through every single line of them that I could believe what you’d done.”
“I would never do that to you, Julian,” she whispered, staring unwaveringly into my eyes. Either she was one hell of a liar, or there was some truth to what she was saying, after all. “I wouldn’t do something like that to anyone. And do you know why?” Her face hardened. “Because I’m not a goddamn monster.”
“And how in the world can I believe you?” I could smell her, we were so close. She smelled like jet-lag and ginger ale, either because she had trouble with planes or was still fending off morning sickness. A lump rose in my throat at the stark reminder that she was carrying my child. “How can I trust that you’re telling the truth? How am I supposed to just ignore all the evidence that’s been laid out in front of me, telling me that you were playing me the entire time?” My words had become less of a challenge and more of a plea. “Tell me how can I do that, Liz. Tell me.”