Hollywood Parents

by Kristina Adams

  Melrose snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Dude, where’s your head at? You seem more and more out of it lately, and I’m pretty sure it isn’t because of the vodka in your system.”

  “JD today,” I said, raising my hip flask and taking a swig. “I’m bored of vodka. And the store was out.”

  Melrose grabbed the flask, took a swig, then handed it back to me. “Much better than vodka,” she said. “Also, you didn’t answer my question.”

  I sighed. I was conscious of the people milling around us. The press still tried to monitor my every move, so I had to be careful when I was in public. Especially since I didn’t have a bodyguard anymore. They just made me more on edge than the general public.

  Anyway, we were tucked away in a quiet corner of a cafe. Someone would have to know we were there to do anything.

  While I was still unsure about our friendship, I also knew that if I cut Melrose out of my life, I’d be pretty much friendless. I had people I hung out with, sure, but no one I could really trust. And while I wasn’t sure how I felt about her, I knew that I could still trust her. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

  “I was thinking about how much money I make this time of year. Then I got annoyed because the reason I’m making so much this year is because of Tate. Heck, she’s the reason I’ve made more money this year compared to every other year of my life combined. I told you: one song—the right song—can change everything.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you and Jessie J are lucky SOB’s, being able to live off the royalties of one song. Is that it now? You done?”

  “With music and DJing? Nah. I still owe the label another album. I just don’t know what shape it’ll take.”

  “It’s been what, two years? Haven’t they given up by now?”

  I scoffed. “No. They won’t give up until they get what they paid me for.”

  “Why not just release any old shit to get away from them, then? It’s not like it matters if you can live off the royalties.”

  “Because that’s not what I want. I want my music to mean something to people,” I said.

  Melrose contorted her face into an uncomfortable expression.

  “What?”

  “You think way too highly of yourself sometimes.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s just music. It doesn’t mean shit to anyone.”

  *

  I blocked out Melrose’s words about music being meaningless. If the crowd gathered at New Year’s Eve was anything to go by, she was more wrong than she knew. The venue was sold out, although I couldn’t take all the credit as there were several popular bands and other DJs performing. I’d invited Melrose—before her comment—but after she’d made it, I was glad she chose to go to one of Juniper’s infamous house parties instead. And also glad my place wasn’t the venue for once. House parties just didn’t have the appeal they used to anymore. I think Melrose knew I was getting bored of them. They felt like a place for lost souls to congregate, and while I was still lost, I was trying to find my way. I couldn’t do that hanging around people who were happy being lost and felt like the concept of finding their purpose in life would drag them down.

  All the performers were given space to hang out in a green room behind the stage. We could hear everything, but we couldn’t see anything. It was away from the crowd, though, so at least my anxiety was at bay. The other acts went to soak up the atmosphere and hang out with the partygoers, giving me space to spread out and practice what I was going to say aloud without looking like a bigger idiot than usual.

  I went over to the mirror and checked out my outfit for the night: a white shirt and leather pants with a pair of sandals. I wasn’t sure Tate would’ve approved, but—dammit, why did I need her to approve of my outfit? She wasn’t the one wearing it! She wouldn’t even get to see me in it. Ugh.

  I needed a drink.

  My pants were so tight I couldn’t fit my hip flask in my pockets. If I wanted a drink, I’d have to leave the safety of the green room. My anger at myself for thinking about Tate made me forget the reason I hadn’t left the green room all night until I found myself in the midst of the crowd. It was almost impossible to move. How could they dance if they couldn’t even lift their arms an inch?

  Committed to getting myself a drink, I braced myself and began to navigate my way through the throng of people. It was so packed that nobody noticed one of the stars of the show wandering around. Or, if they did, I didn’t notice. The anonymity was nice. It was a luxury I hadn’t felt like I’d had much since meeting Tate.

  Oh, Tate.

  Why did all roads lead back to her?

  I’d have to play our song during my set and I was dreading it. Hearing her vocals on that track still made me feel like I’d been stabbed in the heart. How was it that emotional pain could cause so much physical pain?

  Through the crowds, I saw someone who looked sort of familiar. But I couldn’t place her.

  She looked pissed, though.

  Oh.

  I knew that look.

  I’d seen that look too many times.

  She was someone I’d slept with. And someone I’d probably told I’d call.

  When I never did.

  I tried to run away, but I wasn’t fast enough. She caught up with me as I reached the bar.

  “Jack,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Hi,” I said. I didn’t even remember her name.

  “It’s Sharon,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  I knew that. It was somewhere in the back of my mind. Like, right in the back of my mind behind memories of kindergarten. Was she the one who had given me that subpar blow job at my house party when Juniper had changed my playlist? It looked like her. I think.

  I pursed my lips. She didn’t seem impressed to see me. I had no idea how things were about to go.

  She grabbed a drink from the bar. Then she threw it in my face.

  Turns out, alcohol stings when it gets in your eyes.

  Sharon walked off before she could see my reaction, although I doubted she cared.

  Eyes still stinging, I stumbled my way to the nearest bathroom where I could rinse them out. Holy shit, that hurt. But I could see how it could be interpreted that I’d deserved it. I mean, I had said I’d call her. Then I hadn’t. I hadn’t even kept the piece of paper with her phone number on it; I’d thrown it straight into the trash. Did that make me a bad person? Or did it make her really dumb? I’m going with the latter. I do have a track record for not calling people back…

  I straightened up and checked out my reflection. My eyes were even more bloodshot than usual, but then they did still sting. And of course my clothes and face were dripping wet. I wiped my face with my shirt, then stood at an awkward angle under the hand dryer for a few minutes to dry my clothes as best I could.

  Given the size of New York, it was rare for me to run into people I’d slept with again. It happened occasionally, but most of them knew what they were signing up for and were fine with it. The others understood that not being called afterward was a sign and they got over it.

  Then, every so often, there were people like Sharon. I’d thought something was off at the time. Should’ve trusted my instincts. But then, when you’re drunk, you never really know if you can. You never know if it’s your instincts or the alcohol talking; everything becomes blurry. Apparently that time, it had been my instincts and they’d been spot-on. Hopefully after throwing her drink all over me, she’d at least be able to move on.

  “Jack! There you are!” said the event organizer. “You’re onstage any minute.” He hesitated, studying me. “Why are you wet?”

  “Long story,” I said. Apparently my wet shirt was still noticeable. It’d dry in the hot lights, but I didn’t want to go under them in a wet shirt. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare shirt, would you?”

  “No, sorry.”

  I sighed. Shirtless it was, then.

  I pulled my shirt over my head and handed it to h
im. He kept it at arm’s length, trying not to touch it if he could help it.

  “Relax, it’s just someone’s drink,” I said. “She was pissed I didn’t call her back.”

  “Oh,” he said with a knowing look. His body relaxed. “Well you’ll definitely make a statement now.”

  “Before I do, is there any chance you could get me a drink?”

  13

  Tate

  I’m the lion but you can’t tame me

  I’m hot as hell I’ll set you on fire baby.

  So come with me let’s have some fun

  Because the night has only just begun.

  — “Ringleader,” Tate Gardener

  What Trinity didn’t tell me about the New Year’s Eve party she was desperate to go to was that Jack would be there too. That’s what I got for letting Trinity organize our night out.

  “It’s not like you have to speak to him,” said Trinity. “We can go somewhere else during his set if you want to.”

  Oh, I wanted to. But I also wanted to listen to his music: I liked it. It was just a shame the person that had created it was such a douchebag.

  “What do you want to drink?” Trinity asked as we made our way to the bar.

  “Tonic water, please,” I said.

  Trinity frowned at me.

  “I want to start slowly.”

  She shrugged, then carried on pushing her way to the front, her hand gripping my wrist. Trinity gently forced her way to the front. How she managed it so gracefully I’ll never know. Nobody seemed to mind, either. They parted ways for her like the crowd was the Red Sea or something.

  Several bartenders gravitated to her to take her order. Ah, the power of cleavage. Trinity was wearing a low-cut V-neck dress that clung to all her curves, and she was more than happy to embrace that fact.

  While I loved Trinity, I’d always been jealous of her curves and how well she pulled them off. I wasn’t totally shapeless, but I’d never have curves like hers. My figure was much more modelesque, which I guess was good for the modeling contracts I got.

  Trinity handed over the money for the drinks, then passed me my tonic water. “To having a great night. And meeting Jebediah from Tainted Crows,” she said with a smirk. Jebediah was the lead singer and Trinity’s old man crush. Honestly, I was pretty sure the guy was older than her dad. Ex-dad. Whatever you called someone who was emancipated from his daughter.

  “To having a great night,” I said.

  *

  I really hoped Jack wouldn’t play our song. But he had to. It was the one everyone would want to hear. I’ll bet most of the crowd didn’t even know his other songs. He had so many amazing songs, but that was the one everyone remembered. My album would’ve turned out very differently with his input. Hopefully one day he’d contribute to a future record.

  What was I thinking?

  He’d called me a controling, career-obsessed bitch! Why would I want to work with someone who thought I was obsessed with my career?

  And what, exactly, was wrong with that anyway?

  Why did we always overlook how toxic people were when they were talented?

  Speaking of which.

  Jack walked onstage just as I finished my drink. In a pair of leather pants and nothing else. Sigh. He looked thinner than I remembered. Had he been eating properly? Nope. Not my problem.

  I grabbed Trinity’s arm and dragged her away from the dance floor to the bar.

  “SUP PEEPS!” Jack shouted.

  The crowd screamed back, Trinity included. Hmph.

  “HOW’S IT GOING ON THIS FINE NEW YEAR’S EVE?”

  More screams.

  “ARE WE READY?”

  And some more.

  “I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

  Even more screaming.

  Oh please. That was such a boring way to get the crowd going.

  We reached the bar and, thankfully, it was pretty quiet because everyone had their eyes on Jack. Even Trinity. I nudged her.

  She turned back. “Sorry,” she said into my ears. “You know I like his music.”

  “He hasn’t started yet,” I grumbled.

  Well, he sort of had, but it was just boring background stuff while he talked. Nobody cared what he had to say. They just wanted to hear his music. OK fine. I didn’t care what he had to say and I wanted to get his set over with as soon as possible. But he’d be playing until just before midnight, which was over an hour away. Yay.

  I switched to alcohol after that. It had been a long night so far, and it was about to get even longer.

  *

  The opening chords of our song began to play. A lump formed in my throat. I clenched my fists. I looked up at Jack, begging him to meet my eye. To see me. To remember what we’d had. What he’d thrown away.

  But there was no way he could’ve seen me among all those people. The lights were too bright, the crowd too thick. I wasn’t even a face in the crowd; I was just a silhouette.

  All the jumping and the dancing and the animation in his movement seemed to have disappeared as he played the song. It was like a whole different DJ had stepped onto the stage. Could playing the song be just as difficult as hearing it was for me?

  “We sneak away for one last kiss

  Out of everything, it’s you that I’ll miss.”

  My voice echoed through the venue as the bass boomed. Hearing those lyrics again—ones that weren’t even in the original—hit too much of a nerve.

  I nudged Trinity, gestured towards the bathroom, and made my way there. I needed to get away. While I could still hear the music in the bathroom, it was much quieter. For a few minutes, I’d have some reprieve.

  I wanted to splash my face with water, but my makeup wasn’t good enough to withstand it. So I settled for checking it in the mirror and topping up my lip gloss. My makeup looked good. It was a shame I didn’t feel as good as I looked.

  My next stop was the bar for a stronger drink. If I couldn’t avoid Jack, I’d just have to get drunk enough that I stopped caring about him. At least I wasn’t a selfish drunk like he was. I wouldn’t do anything stupid like he did, either.

  “One vodka and Coke please,” I said to the bartender.

  The guy next to me turned his head and looked me up and down.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “Nothing,” he said, tucking his curly blond hair behind his ear. “You seem agitated.”

  “You got that from my drink order?” I said as the bartender put the drink in front of me and I passed him the money.

  “I got that from the resting bitch face you’ve got going on,” he said.

  “If you’re trying to hit on me this isn’t the way you go about it, you know,” I said.

  He laughed. “And why would I be trying to hit on you?”

  I snatched my drink and walked off. He caught up with me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You’re right. I was trying to hit on you.”

  “I know,” I said. “You were terrible at it.” Usually I’d at least pretend to be civil to a stranger—you never knew who they were: a reporter, a fan, a producer—but I was so past caring.

  “Let’s start again. I’m Lawrence Roskowski. I’m a director,” he said.

  A director, huh? I stopped walking. “Tate Gardener. Actor and singer.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Tate.”

  I couldn’t decide if he knew who I was or not, but it was nice to have someone not treat me like they knew all my secrets without ever having met me.

  “Can I get you something stronger than a vodka and Coke?” he offered.

  “Maybe,” I said. “If you work on your pickup lines.”

  *

  Lawrence did, in fact, work on his pickup lines. So much so that he joined Trinity and me for the next set, which happened to be Tainted Crows, so she mostly ignored me anyway. Jack not being onstage made me feel more comfortable, although I was worried I’d run into him as I figured he’d stick around after. I did hope that he’d have somewhere else to go given how po
pular he was, but since he was one of the headliners I figured they’d want him to stay until the party was over.

  Trinity, Lawrence, and I had done a few tequila shots and I was starting to feel disoriented. It was time to give the drinking a break. I didn’t like drinking until I was blind drunk and out of control; I just wanted to get drunk enough to block out how crappy I felt.

  “IT’S ALMOST MIDNIGHT!” shouted Jebediah Rose, the lead singer, from his spot on the stage. “ARE WE READY? DO WE ALL HAVE SOMEONE TO KISS?”

  Lawrence caught my eye. He was cute. He reminded me a bit of a lost puppy. And wow could I relate to that feeling of being lost.

  “TEN.”

  Trinity tripped, nudging me into Lawrence’s arms.

  “NINE.”

  Lawrence caught me and helped me up.

  “EIGHT.”

  I turned to Trinity and narrowed my eyes.

  “SEVEN.”

  She gave me an innocent look, but I was convinced she’d tripped on purpose.

  “SIX.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time she’d encouraged me with a guy to help me get over Jack.

  “FIVE.”

  And she was technically the reason I’d had to be faced with Jack for the last few hours.

  “FOUR.”

  The question was, was I ready? Or was it just the alcohol?

  “THREE.”

  Both, I realized. I’d been wanting to move on for ages but had lacked the courage to do it since Jack’s comment about me being narcissistic and career-obsessed had really shaken me more than I wanted to admit.

  “TWO.”

  I straightened myself up and leaned into Lawrence.

  “ONE!”

  The crowd cheered. Lawrence leaned the rest of the way and kissed me, his chapped lips hungry for mine. He was a good kisser. Comforting.