by Elle Casey
I can’t meet their eyes, so I look over their heads at the wall behind them. “We got the papers from your lawyer . . . Lister . . . and the message that I have from my sisters and me in response is . . .”
My mind is racing, short-circuiting, suffering instant-onset Alzheimer’s. What do I say? How am I going to say it? Telling them to stick the money up their butts sounded so awesome before—we’re going to stick it to The Man!—but now it just seems rude and disrespectful. My mothers raised me better than this. Dammit! Go away, conscience! You’re ruining everything!
I open my mouth and let the words fall out, because no amount of inner conversation is going to make this easier; I just need to get it over with. “The message is that we appreciate your offer, but we’re not interested. So thanks very much and have a nice life.”
Okay, so I panicked.
It feels like the walls are closing in on me. I move to go around Lister because I need to get the hell out of this place right now. Unfortunately, my stupid stiletto heel catches in the area rug and I start to go down. I reach for the closest thing, which happens to be Lister’s arm.
I grab his jacket, but he wasn’t expecting my weight on him so he falls backward with me on top of him. He catches himself just before he’s dumped into an armchair and onto the lap of the rhythm guitarist. Everyone jumps to their feet to help, hands going out.
Once Lister steadies himself, he assists me with getting to my feet again. Holy hell, how embarrassing! Now I have another walk of shame to look forward to. As I try to right my dress that’s somehow become twisted, my purse swings out and whacks Lister in the face, making him wince with pain.
“Oh shit!” I reach out to fix it somehow, but don’t know what to do exactly, so I end up just patting him on the forehead. “I’m so sorry. There, there.”
“Yeah, watch your face, man,” Ty says from across the room. “She’s got a killer right hook.”
I refuse to rise to the bait, but, oh, how I wish I could have another ten minutes in this room with Ty’s sorry butt so I could make him regret the shit he’s giving me right now. I don’t know exactly what I’d do with those ten minutes, but I know I wouldn’t waste them.
Red is at my right elbow, distracting me from how annoying Tyler Stanz is. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
“It looks like you broke your shoe,” Mooch says. He bends down and picks up the heel of my stiletto, which has indeed separated from the sole. I hadn’t even noticed, since I’ve been trying to stand on my tiptoes this whole time.
I could not possibly be more embarrassed. I take the piece of my shoe from his hand and shove it in my purse. “That’s okay. No big deal. I have lots of other fancy shoes.” That’s a lie now and for the future; I will never buy a pair of these kinds of shoes again! I gather up the bottom of my dress to keep from tripping on it and try to walk out, but there are too many people in my way.
“Excuse me,” I say, trying to breathe through the panic.
“Please don’t leave.” Red is standing in front of me, pleading with his eyes and his words. “We’d really like you to stay.”
“It’s getting late,” is all I can say without exposing what’s actually going on, which is the fact that I’m about to have a panic attack. It’s just too overwhelming for me to be here. I expected to be full of one emotion: righteous indignation. But instead, I’m dealing with loss, sorrow, regret, curiosity, frustration, and any number of other feelings that were never a part of my plan.
He points at the food. “We have cake. We had it brought in just for you. Even the flowers are edible. Would you like to try it? Have a little slice? What do you think?”
What I’m thinking is that there’s no reason for me to stay. Not even for cake, as beautiful as it is. This is the beginning and the end of our relationship . . . game over. It’s not going to happen, so why prolong the agony? It’s not like I’m going to ask them why they never reached out to us, why they didn’t care enough to ask after us, why I never had a cake like that for one of my birthdays, or why they let our mothers disappear from their lives when they were carrying babies in their bellies. What’s the point? I’ve already got a crack in my heart over it . . . no need to break it wide open and destroy it. Like Rose said on many occasions, it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie. Our lives are good now. We should be happy with the blessings we’ve been given.
I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
“Are you sure? Because we’re not going to play for very much longer. Once we’re done, we can just sit down and have a conversation.” He pauses. “About whatever you want.”
It’s so tempting to say yes, especially when he’s practically begging—and I don’t think this man ever begs—but this wasn’t a part of our plan. Rose, Em, and I decided that keeping it simple was best . . . that raising ghosts by reliving the past was only going to bring us trouble with not only our lives but our mothers’—the women we love more than anything on this earth, even though they’re human and made mistakes in their pasts that are causing me endless amounts of grief right now.
Now that I see with my own eyes how much our mothers sacrificed—walking away from this life of luxury, fame, and fortune—it makes their dedication to us even more amazing, and I couldn’t be more grateful to them for it. My need to stand up to these men and tell them to their faces how my sisters and I feel seems like a horrible mistake now. I’ve opened the door to something that should have stayed closed.
I shake my head more vigorously. “No. There’s really nothing for us to say to each other.”
“But there is,” a voice says from across the room. We all turn around and find Ty standing there, his hands shoved in his front pockets.
I instantly start to fume at his interference—I was almost out of here—but he keeps talking, effectively stalling my escape.
“I don’t know what’s going on here exactly, but Amber told me earlier that she thinks she’s the daughter of one of you guys, and you made her some kind of offer . . . but now she’s leaving and telling you she wants nothing to do with you. But it’s obvious the feeling isn’t mutual, so I’d say you have a lot to talk about.”
I feel like my head is going to explode. How dare he! The best thing for me to do right now is leave, but my temper won’t let me. I have a little unloading to do first.
“Oh, really?” I glare at him. “So now you’re the authority on what people need to be talking about, is that it?”
He looks at me funny. “Not really.”
“Well, how about this . . .” I point to him and the band, circling my finger around to include all of them. “How about you guys have a conversation between yourselves about why everybody outside this room thinks Ty doesn’t belong in the band while you guys are in here saying he is a part of the band—so much a part of it, in fact, that he gets to listen in on a conversation about three illegitimate children you abandoned twenty-five years ago. Why don’t you guys talk about that, huh?”
“What is she talking about, Ty?” Paul asks, turning to face his new guitarist.
“I have no idea.” Ty’s expression is stormy. He sure as shit does know what I’m talking about, though, and so do they. They can’t possibly be this clueless. I know they read the gossip magazines; surely their egos need feeding.
I point at him when their attention starts to move back in my direction. “Yes! He does! He knows exactly what I’m talking about. He walked out on that stage tonight and people started booing, and I know this isn’t the first time. He loves the band and he knows all your music forward and backward.” I pause, still kind of blown away by that level of dedication. “Did you know that? Did you know he can play your songs backward? And yet, all you guys do is blow off this bullshit from your faithful fans, bullshit I know you hear and see, and you don’t stand up for him in public. So what do you think everybody believes about him?”
“I would really love to know,” says Cash, looking a little astonished.
I’m on a roll
, and I have all of them staring at me in rapt attention, so there’s no turning back now. Two barrels, trigger—click! Boom! “I’ll tell you what they think . . . they think that Ty has somehow blackmailed you into letting him be in the band or that someone is forcing you to let him in but you don’t really want him there. And I don’t blame them for thinking that, because that’s exactly how it would look to me too if I’d never talked to him. It’s only because I did that I know any different.”
My heart is beating so hard it’s aching in my chest. I have to get out of here or I’m sure it’s going to be permanently damaged by all the stress I’m putting it under. “Anyway, I have to go. It’s past my bedtime.” I look at Lister. “Can I get a ride to the airport?”
He nods after checking with Red, who gives his silent assent. “We have a car for you outside. We can go right now if you want.”
I keep all my focus on him. I can’t face the men I just verbally body slammed. Ty will have to live on in my memory because I’ll never be able to look at him again after what I just did; I’m sure he’ll see it as a betrayal. “I do want that. Thank you.”
I leave the room without a backward glance, trembling and covered in cold sweat. I want nothing to do with these people. They have serious issues. I don’t, however, because my issue is now dealt with. I did it! Mission accomplished! I just wish I didn’t feel so defeated and sad. I thought I was going to feel a lot more powerful and satisfied in this moment.
I walk through the door and Lister follows. He puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Wait a minute.” He faces the bodyguards in the doorway. “I need you to escort Amber out to our car and then go with her to the airport and make sure she gets on our jet that’s taking her back to JFK tonight. And then make sure someone from the security team gets in the car with her at JFK to take her to the hotel. Nobody bothers her, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the taller one says. “We’ll call ahead and set it up.”
He turns his attention to me. “I’ll leave a message at the hotel about breakfast if you’re still interested.”
I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’ve said what I came to say. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.” Even if I have to hitch a ride home.
He nods, looking grim. “Are you going to be okay?”
His concern—his fake concern—annoys me. Why is he pretending to care? He told his clients not to give us money, so he should be happy with our decision. And he was part of this scenario, partnering with Ty in getting me here and surprising me with the band. Just walk away, Amber. Walk away. He doesn’t matter.
But I could no sooner walk away than I could invite him to my wedding. “What do you care?” I put a hand on my hip and stare at him. “I mean, really . . . what do you care?”
“I know this must be difficult for you.”
“No, you don’t. You have no idea what this is like. But I have a suggestion for you . . . Don’t worry about me.” I point at the door. “Go worry about that band in there, because they’ve got problems. And if they don’t deal with them, you’re going to have bigger issues than three illegitimate children on the payroll.”
“What do you know about all this? About the things you said in there?”
“I know what I know. I hear things. I’m not wrapped up in your cozy little world where everybody kisses your butt and says yes, yes, yes. I live in the real world where people tell it like it is.” I leave him with that little nugget of hard truth and walk away. I’m not interested in conversations with Greg Lister, the guy who thinks it’s a good idea to make Ty his errand boy where I’m concerned.
The wall of muscle that’s been assigned to ensure my safe travel and delivery gives me a big sense of relief. With them at my sides, nobody is going to stop me from getting out of here—not that anybody would want to.
Feeling like a stranger in a strange land is not familiar or comfortable for me. I need to get home where I belong. It makes me sadder than sad to know that the big city is not where I was meant to be. I always imagined it could be an option one day, if things on the farm changed and my mothers didn’t need me so much anymore, but now I know I was just fooling myself. I could never fit in with these kinds of people, and I wouldn’t want to.
The two big shadows follow me, their heavy boots clomping loudly on the floor. I’m up with one step and down with another because one of my shoes is missing its too-tall heel. It becomes embarrassing pretty quickly, spoiling my cool exit.
“I can help you with that if you want,” one of the men says.
I stop, looking up at him, confused. “Excuse me?”
He points at my shoe. “I can help you with that.”
Does he have a miniature shoe repair kit in his pocket? Looking more closely at him, I find that very hard to believe; his pants are waaay too tight. This should be interesting. “Have at it.” I hand him the broken stiletto and start digging around in my bag for the heel.
“No, the other one,” he says.
Oh. That makes more sense than a shoe repair kit. I take off the good one and hand it over. In two seconds, he rips the heel off and gives it back to me.
I take the shoe from him and smile, slipping both of them onto my feet. Finally, something is going right. I test them forward and back a few steps. “Sweet. Now I have ballet flats. Kind of.” These are much more my speed. They’re a little awkward, but they’re better than the up-down thing I was doing a minute ago.
“I have a sister,” he explains.
“Lucky girl.” For a moment I wonder if my sisters and I could have half siblings, other kids created with other women while the band was roaming the world and living like kings. But then I sweep that idea under the stairs where it belongs, dark and dusty, never to see the light of day. Our lives are already complicated enough with these men; no need to make it worse.
My temporary bodyguard nods at my comment and we move forward, making our way through the crowd to the car. His friend rides in the front seat and he rides in the back with me. As the town car pulls away from the curb, I put the window down a little bit so some of the night air can hit me in the face. I can’t believe how sweaty I am.
The bodyguard next to me nudges me on the arm, and I look over to find him offering me a handkerchief. It’s not until this moment that I realize I’ve been crying.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As soon as I get inside my room, I shut the door and lean against it. I’m so exhausted, my brain actually hurts. The band’s music is still inside there, thump, thump, thumping against my gray matter. I search through my bag as I limp over to the bedroom, looking for one of my homeopathic remedies for headaches. For the first time in my life, I’m not confident it’ll work. I think the problem is that the pain in my head is originating in my heart.
I use the kettle in the tiny kitchenette to steep the herbal concoction from my bag before taking out my cell phone. It’s late, but I know my sisters are wondering what’s going on. I finally got a text back from them that told me to call when I returned to the hotel, and Em is a night owl, so she’ll be waiting up for sure.
What am I going to say to them? Are they going to be disappointed that I didn’t give those men a piece of my mind? There’s only one way to find out; I dial their number and put the phone to my ear.
Em picks up right away. “Hi, how did it go? Did you have fun? Who did you meet? Was there anybody famous there?”
I can’t help but smile. I haven’t tasted the tea that I’m making yet, but I’m already feeling a little bit better. “Yes and no. Is Rose awake?”
“Yes. She’s sitting right here with me. We were hoping you’d call. I’m going to put you on speakerphone.”
There’s a beep and then I hear Rose speaking. “Hi, sweetie. Are you okay?”
Leave it to Rose to know before she even hears my voice that there’s something wrong. “I’m okay. Not great, but I survived.” There’s a hitch in my voice so I stop to gather my emotions.
“Are you crying?” Em asks. “It sou
nds like you’ve been crying or you have allergies or something.”
“I may have done a little bit of crying, but it’s also possible that I’m allergic to New York City.” I try to laugh but it doesn’t come out right so I quit.
“Tell us everything,” Em says. “Leave nothing out.”
“Honestly, there’s not a lot to say.” I’m going to omit the parts that concern Ty because they’re totally irrelevant. “The band was supposed to meet me tomorrow morning for breakfast, but at the last minute they invited me to this event they were having in Toronto.”
“Toronto? The band was there? What?” Em pauses. “Wait a minute . . . Don’t tell me you went to Toronto . . .”
“I actually did. I rode in a helicopter and a jet to get there, too.” Hearing myself say it makes it seem way more exciting than it actually was.
“No way!” Em exclaims. “That is so amazing. Were you totally excited?”
“More like scared out of my wits, at least during the helicopter ride. We flew off the top of a building in Manhattan, and I felt like we were going to drop right to the ground as soon as we went over the edge.”
“Oh my god. I would’ve peed my pants,” Rose says.
“Me too,” Em adds. “I practically am right now just hearing the story. What happened next?”
“Well, we took the helicopter to JFK and then got on a private jet.”
“We?” Rose asks.
“Private jet,” Em says before I can respond. “Sounds swanky.”
“Yeah, it was swanky. I was with the lead guitarist, Ty. He replaced Keith James about six months ago. He’s the one who’s kind of been hanging out and letting me know what’s going on with the band.”
“Oh, he’s cute. I remember seeing a picture of him,” Em says.