by Deana Birch
⸎
On Sunday morning, Casey picked me up and we drove out to Vincent’s house in Manhattan Beach.
Once inside, Vincent’s decor surprised me. I’d assumed he would lean more toward stark and modern. Instead, it was as if he had transplanted the inside of a typical home from Provence to Southern California. It was open and warm, with a huge farm table as its centerpiece.
We settled in and met the other guests. When the meal was over and conversational groups were formed, Casey nudged me.
“You changed the subject in the car. Tell me, Loulou, how’s it going with your hot piece of musician?”
“You know what I wanted to ask you?”
Casey’s face moved from drooling curiosity to fuming frustration.
“Is Brandon Cole gay? I can’t get a read on him.”
He tilted his head and tapped his chin. “Oh my God. I don’t know. Let’s ask Vincent.” He waited for a break in the conversation and asked.
“Why? Are you interested?” Vincent teased through his accent.
Again, Casey paused before saying, “I don’t think so.”
“His agent told me a lot of people think he is, but he isn’t,” Vincent said. “He’s just a really nice guy from Utah. But this will probably change now that I discovered him and will make him famous in my movie.” He said it so frankly, I almost lost the arrogance. Then he switched back to speaking French and a conversation about trying to make the US Open work with his schedule.
Casey glared back to me. “Nice deflection, Higgins. Now spill the beans.”
“Things went well. Thank you for the push,” I admitted. “But he’s back on tour now, so we’ll see.”
“We’ll see? Hmm, better than ‘it’s over.’ Hey, since you’re all alone, wanna go out again? We could do it Saturday.”
“I can’t. I’ll be in Vegas.”
“I don’t suppose a certain Jake Riley will be there?”
I grinned, giving myself away.
“Oh my God, Louana’s dating a rock star!”
“Shh!”
We finished saying our goodbyes and thank yous, and back in Casey’s Mini Cooper, he prodded again.
“Lou, I need to know more. I want some details. I can’t stop thinking about Shane Murphy.”
Considering Casey was the only person I could talk about Jake with, I decided to open up a little. “Did you know he wrote ‘Faster’?”
“Seriously? I guess I always assumed Shane wrote it.”
“I know what you mean. I watched the video on YouTube.” Many times. I had watched the video many, many times. “I see why you’re obsessed with him.”
“Me and everyone else on the planet. But, Jesus, Jake wrote it? Holy gobstoppers. Sex with him must be insane.”
“You have no idea.” I blushed.
“You could explain.” The blinker clicked as he merged onto the freeway.
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“That’s boring, Loulou.”
“There’s nothing boring about it.” I threw him a tiny bone. After all, thanks to Casey’s fast fingers, there had been more of the non-boring sex.
“Have you ever been to Vegas before?” he asked.
“Nope. I wish you could go with me.” Groupies and crowds would be much more bearable with Casey’s wit.
“Me too. I would love to see Shane Murphy up close and personal.”
“He’s not that impressive in person. No, wait. What am I saying? He is.”
“Hold on. Stop. Go back. Did you meet him and not tell me? Oh my God, Louana. Tell me everything about him!” If we hadn’t been stuck in traffic, he would have slammed on the brakes for drama, I was sure.
“Don’t go mental. I met him for, like, four seconds when I picked up Jake last Sunday from the bus.”
“Wait, wait, wait. You met Shane seven days ago and I’m finding out about it now? We’ll come back to the part about you picking up Jake later.”
“It was literally, like, two words. Anyway, I don’t think Shane liked me very much.”
“Why?” Casey’s pitch jumped an octave.
The car moved forward again, and we headed east.
“He thinks Jake has tamed down because of me. I assume it’s not quite how he had planned his tour to go. I don’t know.”
“But, Louana, in person, is Shane just as gorgeous?”
“Honestly?” I watched an SUV cut off a Prius in the lane next to us. “Yes. I think I saw actual sex ooze out of his pores. Men like that should come with a warning label.”
“At least he’s kind enough to share himself with everyone,” Casey said.
True. Although I hadn’t asked Jake about the rumors circling Shane. He was said to be very adventurous.
I fiddled with my necklace and said, “He’s kinda scary. I don’t think I would have the courage to take him on.”
“Says the girl screwing the author of the song ‘Faster.’”
“One point for Casey Wolfe,” I said, dropping the chain and marking an invisible board.
It was late in the afternoon when Casey dropped me back home. After all the talk about Jake, he was on my mind. I knew he was in Chicago. The time difference and early hour of the gig meant he would be onstage soon. I hoped I could catch him but didn’t know what to write. My texting skills were far from proficient. I settled on the truth, even if it left me a bit exposed. I plopped down on my couch and typed.
Me: Missing you. x
He wrote back right away.
Jake: Me too. You ok?
Me: All good. Had brunch at Vincent’s. What are you doing?
Jake: Getting ready to go on.
Me: Friday night can’t come soon enough.
Jake: Are you sure you’re ok? It’s not like you to be so unsarcastic. Is that a word?
Me: Def not a word. And am fine, just a moment of weakness. Am back to my smartass self now.
Jake: What color?
I had wondered if he would ever go back to this.
Me: Very boring. White.
Jake: Part of me is glad that you wore boring underwear around Vincent Renier. The other part thinks there’s nothing boring about you in any kind of underwear. Also, I’m not sure I believe you. Send proof.
Me: Not going to happen
Jake: A man can hope
Me: I don’t have a picture of you. And to be clear, this is not a dick pic request.
He sent back a picture which I assumed he had just snapped. His eyes were closed, and his lips were puckered.
Jake: It’s me sending you a kiss
Me: Thank you, I love it. But that’s not how you kiss me.
Jake: No, it isn’t.
I remembered the sweet taste of his mouth and how he ran his hands over my body.
Jake: You still there?
Me: Yes. But now you’ve gone and made me horny.
Jake: At least you have Arlo. I’m stuck with my hand and some bad hotel lotion.
Me: I prefer Jake Riley.
Jake: Jake Riley definitely prefers Louana Higgins to his hand.
Me: How many hours until Friday?
Jake: 125.
He had done the math and was right.
Me: Too long
His charm hadn’t pacified my horniness. I went into my bedroom, slipped off my underwear, and laid it on the bed. I snapped a photo and sent it to him.
Jake: Now you’re being cruel. Send a pic with you in them.
Me: Arlo likes them off.
Jake: FaceTime me. I want to watch. Chicago can wait.
Me: No way.
Jake: Fuck. Now I have to play with a massive hard-on.
Me: x
Jake: xxx
⸎
* * *
By Friday morning, we had hired an intern, planned Mario’s and my trip to a publishing conference, and caught up on all outstanding paperwork. I had my bag with me and had arranged for my neighbor Richie to walk Archie and check in on Fern. My goal was to leave work early and get to Burbank
with plenty of time to catch my flight.
Mario had other plans. He had a morning of writer’s block and took it out on our new intern, Finn. It was Finn’s second day, so he was at a total loss. Mario was so cranky, I ended up calling Bob for advice. He told me I needed to work it out for both of their sakes. Letting it fester over the weekend would never help.
Mario wouldn’t sacrifice any writing time to discuss the situation, so I sat in the conference room at 5 p.m. on Friday night clarifying expectations and acting as a mediator. I hid my frustration well, remembering that my job came first. When I bolted out the door a little after six, I prayed I could still make my flight.
I hit massive traffic on the freeway and arrived at the gate as my flight backed away.
Me: Got stuck at work and traffic, missed my flight but am on the next one.
Jake: That sucks but glad you got a spot on the next one. Send the details to Phil.
Jake shared Phil’s contact information.
Me: Hi Phil, this is Louana Higgins, Jake’s friend. I arrive at 9:30 with Jet Blue.
Phil replied ten minutes later.
Phil: Hi. A car will pick you up at the airport in LV and bring you to the hotel. The guys go on at ten, so come right to The Joint.
In the ladies’ room at the airport, I changed out of my sundress and into my black silk jumpsuit and gold strappy heels.
We boarded, and the men in the row in front of me—most of whom were already drunk—were a rowdy bachelor party. One of them turned around and tried to make a joke, but my resting bitch face, complete with stink eye, made him understand he should leave me alone. We took off behind schedule, which meant I would be late… Again. When we had to circle before landing, I decided not to gamble. Absolutely nothing had been fortunate about my day.
I found the driver without a problem, and traffic moved well into the city. My luck seemed to be turning for the better. Then I hit the line to check in at reception. Three bachelorette parties and two honeymooning couples later, I was at the front desk.
“Welcome to the Hard Rock. Do you have a reservation number?”
I didn’t. I had totally forgotten to ask Jake.
“Um, no. I’m staying with a friend. I was hoping he left me a key. His name is Jake Riley.”
She squinted and studied my face.
“ID, please.”
I handed her my driver’s license and noticed a message from Phil on my phone. It was already half past ten.
Phil: Where are you?
Me: Front desk.
The woman in front of me typed into the computer then said, “Excuse me one moment.”
She left me standing at the counter and went to talk to her colleague in a blazer. The supervisor said something into a radio, and they both came back to me. Oh my God, they were calling security to kick me out. They must have pegged me for a deranged fan. I bet there were dozens of girls trying to get into The Spades’ rooms all day.
“Miss Higgins?” The older lady with the radio addressed me.
“Yes…”
She brightened. “We’re glad to see you. If you’d like, we can send someone up to the room with your bag and you can go directly to the concert. I’ll just get your pass.” She went to the drawers behind her and brought me my neck pass. The desk clerk handed me a key card and my ID, then explained the layout of the hotel, how to get to my room, and—most important of all—how to get to The Joint. I handed her my bag and speed walked to the venue.
In the dark club, the dry desert air was replaced with humid bodies and loud music. Welcome to rock and roll. The crowd banged their heads with their arms up for The Spades. From my spot squished up against the bar, I caught the last two songs of their set. It was hard to see Jake, but Shane gave it his all. For their encore, Jake moved to the keyboard and a guy Shane introduced as their drum tech played the drums. They did a cover of “Breakdown” by Tom Petty.
Jake sang backup and Shane worked his magic, turning the lyrics into seduction. Shane’s shirt was open. He dripped with sweat and ground his hips against the mic stand with his eyes closed. Oh, to be the mic stand. But it wasn’t all sexual. I knew enough about music to appreciate how talented each one of them was. They weren’t just four guys from a garage who got lucky. The Spades were a new generation of rock star. They were skilled, hardworking, fit, and gorgeous. They were what a lot of people had been waiting for in rock music. I was impressed.
Shane said a final goodnight and thank-you to the screaming fans, and as the crowd thinned out, I made my way to the bathroom. I had no idea how to get backstage, but I needed to pee and wanted to check my makeup before seeing Jake. The line was long, and I studied the women around me.
The girls in Las Vegas were a whole different kind of Barbie. I was used to seeing plastic women in L.A., but this raised the bar several notches. Vegas Barbies had bigger tits, bigger lips, longer eyelashes, faker tans, shorter dresses, and higher heels. I was a flat-chested brunette, wearing fucking pants, in a sea of blonde atomic bombs.
I shuffled my way through the line and got to the mirror. The woman next to me contoured her already enormous cleavage. Her friend said to her, “Last time I was with John, he totally loved it, so I shaved my pussy again.”
Uh, overshare much, lady?
“How hot was Shane?” the contouring blonde asked, apparently grooming habits were totally inbounds for these two. “Pity there’s no chance. Fiona was here last night and said he’s into black chicks now.”
“I thought he was gay.” The bald-crotched one spun to check out her perfect ass.
“He’s everything.” Blondie put her makeup back in her bag and snapped it shut.
I reached for my mascara, which seemed feeble compared to these girls’ fake lashes.
“Did Jake leave your name to get backstage?” the friend asked.
My heart screeched to a halt. All brain activity ceased. They didn’t notice. My presence was no different to them than the sink’s.
“He better have, but I guess he’s been too busy to text me back. Anyway, I’m totally going to let him fuck me in the ass. I have the magic pill and I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours, so we can go all night.”
“Oh my God, Candace! He’s going to be so happy!” the friend gushed.
Contouring girl turned on her heel and left the bathroom, her friend in tow. I blinked several times to try to wake up my brain and restart my heart. The rock and roll lifestyle had bitch-slapped me in the face.
“Are you done?” The girl behind me gestured to the mirror.
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” I wandered out in a fog. I decided to have a drink to try and tame the uncaged monkeys that now ran loose in my mind. As I opened my clutch to pay the bartender, my phone rang and Jake’s picture came up. I paid and answered.
“Hey.” My words were served like my cocktail—on ice.
“Louana! Where the fuck are you?”
“At the bar.” My fingers twitched for nicotine. I had no idea what he was mad about, but he was about to meet a whole new side of me that reveled in tongue lashing. And then, because I was sure things couldn’t get any worse, perky Brandon called out from behind me.
“Hey! Louana!”
“Who the fuck is that?!” Jake fumed from the phone.
I turned to face Brandon, forced a smile, and put my finger up, signaling I needed a minute.
“A friend,” I said, trying to brush it off. But I was aware that Brandon and his hometown buddy were now listening to my conversation. The phone went silent. I pulled it away from my ear and examined it. That fucker had hung up on me. I put the phone back in my bag, the blood pumping through my veins rising in temperature. I searched the room for someone who had cigarettes.
“Everything okay?” Brandon asked.
“Hunky-dory.” I sipped my drink, unable to think past any other action.
9
Mantrum
* * *
JAKE
“Did you find her?” Shane sat with his new
hookup. She was a stunningly beautiful older woman, and I didn’t dare dream what went on behind closed doors with those two.
“Yeah, she’s at the fucking bar talking to some dude.” It had occurred to me to throw my phone at the wall, but I needed to focus on informing one of my fans that he was hitting on my girlfriend. “It’s wrong to punch a dude who paid to hear you play music, right?”
“Calm down, buddy. No one is throwing any punches.” Phil walked over to me with his hands in the surrender position. “Do you want me to go find her? Do you know what she’s wearing?”
Typical. Phil would try to smooth shit over, but my tantrum had only begun.
“I’m going to fucking get her.” I pushed by Phil and opened the backstage door.
Ignoring the screams and shoving my way through the crowd, I stomped to the bar at the back of the venue.
Her long hair and thin frame gave her away. She stood with her back to me, talking to not one, but two guys. I crossed my arms and waited. I knew she could sense me. Our energy and attraction were too much, even with this temporary layer of shit frosting on top. My evil eyes worked, because the two dudes stopped speaking and she turned around to face me. I tilted my chin and raised an eyebrow.
“Are you done here?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m just getting started.” She downed her drink and slammed the empty glass on the bar. What the fuck was she mad about? She was the one who was late. She was the one talking to guys at the bar.
“Let’s go,” I ordered.
I spun around and marched away. I heard her mumble something in French, and I knew she was glaring into my shoulder blades, but she followed. As we approached the door to backstage, I reached for her hand and pulled her through the crowd. We may have both been pissed, but holding her hand stripped off a layer of my anger right away.
Fans screamed my name and elbowed to touch us. I nodded to the security guards to let us in and they parted, allowing us to slide through the door and leave the chaos on the other side.