Sheik’s eyes were wide, but he put his hands out as if to calm her. “It’s that thing, you know, that thing he does with the colors. Heroin helps with that—”
“He has a biofeedback program for that.”
“There was a little problem.”
Cleo paced the room like a caged animal as Sheik told her what had happened to the program. “Why didn’t he just replace it? That would be the normal thing to do. Not say, Oops, I think I’ll try heroin now.”
“Okay, you’re turning all kinds of colors. I don’t think it’s healthy. I’m not used to white girls yelling at me. Not as white as you, anyway. Shit.”
“Answer me!”
Sheik jumped. “He did order a new one, but it didn’t come in fast enough. It got lost trying to keep up with the tour. Kept arriving a day late. Jesus, girl, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”
Very quietly, she asked, “Where did he get it?”
“Okay, that’s scarier. I liked you better when you hollered. Listen, he had shows to do. He couldn’t wait. I didn’t believe him—that he would go crazy and shit. But man, I saw it with my own eyes.”
He walked right up to her, until they were nose to chest. “I got it for him,” he said softly.
His T-shirt said DEAD RINGER—JUST A LITTLE STING WORLD TOUR. Cleo’s fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. She hadn’t realized she’d balled them into fists. “I hate you,” she said.
“I don’t blame you. I wish I hadn’t done it. I wish I’d just called an ambulance, but he said they’d put him in a psych ward, and he was…” His voice caught, and he cleared it. “He was so scared.”
“You felt helpless.” And he couldn’t very well use the same methods she did to bring Julian out of it.
“He said a little sniff of heroin would clear it all up. And it did, too. But by the time his game came in, he was hooked. The fucker hasn’t even opened the package.”
“Hooked? He’s addicted?” She knew it was a stupid question. Heroin wasn’t like a Saturday night martini.
“Yeah, ’fraid so. Turns out he’s been shooting up alone.”
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…” She began to pace again. “People die that way!” A list flashed through her mind—famous names—and she shivered. Julian was not going to be on that list. “We have to get him to rehab.”
“Listen, we’ve got a big break coming up, and I’m going to help him kick it then.”
“Um, no, you’re not. We’re going to get him help right now, this very minute.”
“We’ve got a lot of shows coming up,” Sheik said. He averted his eyes. “I can get him through until then.”
Cleo punched him on the arm. “Listen to what you’re saying,” she said.
Sheik didn’t budge. He didn’t wince, he didn’t rub his arm. But his eyes slowly found hers. “Let’s go get him, then,” he said.
They walked the short way down the hall. “He’s going to lie to you. It’s what junkies do, and he thinks you’ll run if you know the truth.”
The word “junkie” had just been used in relation to her boyfriend. There really was a first for everything.
The room was dark and quiet except for the humming of the air conditioner. Julian was on the bed, facing away, as if he were taking a nap. Sheik flipped on a lamp, and Julian stirred briefly, then became still again.
“Get up, asshole,” Sheik said.
Julian rolled over, then sat up with a start. “Hey, guys,” he said. He smiled, only there was no hint of wickedness, glee, or mischief. This was a mindlessly happy smile. A drugged smile.
“Big Red,” he said. “Where’d you find this girl, Sheik?”
“Are you finished with your biofeedback?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“You left me in the other room to come in here to do your biofeedback.”
The lightbulb turned on behind his stoned eyes.
“I’m done.” He kept smiling and leaned back slowly, lowering his head to the pillow.
Everything was on the nightstand. A syringe, cotton, other things Cleo didn’t recognize. She walked to the side of the bed and stared down at him, arms crossed. He smiled absently, but then realization began to travel across his face. She could see the battle going on behind his eyes as he fought the good fight to stay in his happy place, but he lost and sat up quickly, eyes darting back and forth between her and Sheik. “Sheik, you stupid fuck. What have you done?”
“I’m helping you, man.”
“Cleo, listen—” Julian began.
“Pack your bags. You’re going to rehab,” she said.
Julian fell back against the pillows and laughed. “No fucking way,” he said. “Sheik’s going to help me kick it in a weekend, right, Sheik?”
“We’re going to do whatever works, Princess.”
“Well, I’m not going to rehab,” Julian said.
Amy Winehouse came to Cleo’s mind. They’d wanted her to go to rehab, she’d said no, no, no, and now she was dead.
“Sheik, pack his things.”
“Hold on a minute. You don’t know where to take him. Let’s wait until he comes down a little, and we’ll discuss this some more.”
Julian sighed. “Thanks to you two, I’m coming down now.” He pouted. Then he seemed to forget all about them and began drifting to sleep or something close to it.
“Julian!” Cleo shook him.
“Hey,” he said, jerking his arm as if she’d startled him. His brow furrowed like he was trying to place her. Then he said, “Stop being a crazy bitch.”
...
Cleo’s gasp was like a slap across Julian’s cheek. What had he just said to her? Stop being a crazy bitch. Those were the last words he’d said to Gina.
“Don’t you care that this hurts me?” Cleo cried.
He cared. He cared a lot. He didn’t want to hurt her at all. He loved her.
“How would you feel if I did this to you?” she asked.
“Did what?” This was all so confusing. And he’d been having a lovely time a few minutes ago.
“Used heroin,” Cleo yelled. “How would you feel if I did that?”
He went rigid. Stone-cold rigid. Every good tingle and blissful, euphoric feeling dissipated, and he came back into himself with painful clarity. He wasn’t any good for anyone.
He reached out to touch Cleo. Her green eyes shone, her curls were trembling…and she backed away from him.
“Don’t you dare touch me. Not when you’re like this.”
“You’re right,” he whispered. “I wish I’d never touched you at all.”
His life force drained out and drifted away. What had he done to her? This was the last place in the world she should be—standing in a hotel room thousands of miles from home, watching a junkie come down.
He thought of sweet Gina, dead because of him.
“Go home, Cleo.”
“I’m not leaving without you,” she said. It shattered him.
“Sheik, get her to the airport.”
“No,” Cleo cried. “You’re coming with me.”
“No, I’m not!” He screamed so loudly it hurt his throat. “I don’t want to come home with you. Don’t you understand? I never wanted you to come here. I want you to get the fuck out so I can do whatever the bloody hell I want. And do you know what I want to do, Cleo?” He pointed at the nightstand. “This.”
“We’ll get you help,” she stammered.
What did he have to say to make her leave? He took a deep breath. “I don’t want help. I love shooting up, and I don’t want to be tied down to you. I’ve been cheating on you, love. I’ve fucked so many women in the past few weeks I’ve lost count. You’re ruining everything by being here, so just go home.”
He expected her to burst into tears and flee. But she didn’t. Her delicate hands clenched into fists, and her eyebrows knit into a ferocious frown above her blazing green eyes.
“Well, I hope you fucked them better than you fucked me.”
&
nbsp; Ouch. Good girl. Get mad, baby. Let me have it.
“And if you’ve given me an STD,” she continued, “I’m suing you.”
He wasn’t prepared for that one. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“For your information, Mr. Rock Star, you were ambitious in your purchase of the large condoms. There’s nothing sexier than having a man fuck you like it’s a chore, and when he’s finally done, leaving a condom stuck to the inside of your thigh. You came right out of that thing. It was pathetic.”
“Get out of here, Cleo, before I throw you out on your ass.” He stood and made a move for her. He knew he looked terrifying.
“I wish I’d never met you,” she screamed, dodging him. Then she fled, pushing past Sheik and slamming the door so hard it flew back open.
“I wish you’d never met me, too, baby,” Julian whispered. “Sheik, make sure she gets to the airport.”
“Maybe you’re making a mistake, pal.”
“Hurry, go help her,” he said, urgently. Then he reached for the syringe.
Chapter Seventeen
Cleo sat cross-legged on the floor and watched Addie and Sherry tape up the last few boxes from the loft. She’d been staying at Sherry’s for the past couple of months and had only taken her clothes and personal belongings. Dishes, linens, small appliances, and furniture had all been abandoned since she hadn’t needed them. But now the building was for sale. She had to get her stuff out.
“I can’t believe he’s closed the studio,” Addie said.
“Me, either,” Cleo said. She’d been coming in faithfully every day, scheduling bands and sessions, making sure the engineers showed up, and staying on top of the bills. She’d assumed Julian—or Sheik—would hire a new person to take over. But instead, Sheik had shown up last week to officially shut it down.
“I think that’s the last of it,” Addie said, stacking a box next to the door.
Cleo looked around the room. “My life in boxes,” she said. “It sounds like a one-woman show. I should hit the road with it. It could start out with a scene called Rock Star Implosion in a Hotel Room—the Sequel.”
“Nobody would pay to see it,” Sherry said. “Too predictable.”
Addie frowned. Sherry’s irreverence obviously bothered Addie. But Sherry cared. She just had a different way of showing it. Opening her home to Cleo—no questions asked and expecting nothing in return—was one of the ways she conveyed her love and concern. You just had to ignore what came out of her mouth.
Cleo cleared her throat. Sound casual.
“So, Addie, have you heard from him?”
“Not much,” Addie answered apologetically. “I don’t imagine you’ve spoken to him?”
Cleo snorted and pulled her knees into her chest. “Of course not. I’ve talked to his hulking minion, but only about closing Soundbox.” She slid up the wall to stand. “God, I cannot get over it. He’s closing this studio. He was so happy here. It makes no sense that he even joined Dead Ringer in the first place. Why? What was he thinking?”
Addie wrung her hands. “I’ve asked myself a thousand times how this all happened.”
Sherry dropped a box on top of the one Addie had set by the door. “Did he go to rehab?”
“Yes,” Addie said. “He’s clean now.”
“And he still doesn’t want to be with me,” Cleo said, wiping the dust off her butt.
“Oh my God. Cleo,” Sherry said. “The man cheated on you. He cheated on you lots. Like, big-time. Do you really want to be with him?”
“I still find that hard to believe,” Addie said.
Sherry grabbed a wastebasket and began stuffing cleaning supplies in it. “Oh, please,” she said. “I know he’s your brother, but get real.”
Cleo swallowed. Were they—she and Addie—just stupidly naive? “I find it hard to believe, too.” she said. “He was so loyal to everyone he knew—”
Sherry turned to face her. “How can you defend these guys? Do you remember Lou? And that other guy whose name I can’t even remember? Cleo, rock stars cheat. All of them—”
“I resent that,” Addie said.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” Sherry leaned over and picked up a couple of Magic Markers off the floor. “I’m sorry.” She crammed the markers in her pocket.
“Well,” Addie said, “I haven’t seen him enough to sort it out. I don’t know why he did anything. He disappears when he’s disappointed people. In the past, I’d be tearing my hair out. But now I just can’t. I have other people depending on me, people who aren’t intentionally screwing up their lives at every turn. Cleo, I feel so responsible for drawing you into this. I wish I hadn’t introduced you.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re not responsible for me. And you’re not responsible for Julian, either. You’re a grown woman, and you don’t deserve to spend your life trying to raise a grown man.”
Addie smiled and squeezed her hand. “Cleo,” she said hesitantly, “it’s unlikely he’ll show for the wedding, so I hope you’ll reconsider.”
Cleo wanted to go to Addie’s wedding. But what if Julian was there? She couldn’t risk seeing him. She’d played the scenario in her head a thousand times—each with a different ending. None of them were good. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, can we see the dress again?”
Addie went along with the change of topic cheerfully. She smiled and pulled out her phone. “Let’s see,” she said, navigating through the screens. “Here we go!”
A bateau neckline, a fitted bodice that flowed into a trumpet skirt—a beautifully classic and traditional gown. Until you realized the silk was dyed in iridescent pinks and greens. They were subtle—there one minute and gone the next—but mesmerizing. They’d be stunning on Addie.
Both Cleo and Sherry made all the right noises. “You did such a fabulous dye job on that,” Sherry said.
“Thanks. Wait until you see my princess of a flower girl.” Up popped a picture of cherubic Emily. Her princess dress, dyed pink, made her look like a confectionary delight. Or cotton candy.
“I could eat that little girl up,” Cleo said. “Your little girl, Addie.”
Addie appeared to melt. Emily was hers as surely as if she had come from her womb.
“These are all my girls,” Addie said proudly, pulling up the portrait Mitch had taken of her with Rachel, Laura, and Emily.
“A perfect family,” Sherry said. “No doubt about it.” She looked at Cleo. “Cleo, you know…”
“What?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“What?”
“It’s just, you knew Julian wasn’t ever headed for that, right? For a family? It was totally outside the realm of possibility. He was never a real boy, remember?”
“The same thing could have been said of Mitch once,” Addie said. “People change.” She put her phone back in her purse.
Addie was right. Mitch had changed. But Julian didn’t want to.
“Listen,” Addie said, clapping her hands together suddenly. “This has been a ton of fun. But I’ve got to get back to Austin. I have two girls who need a ride to basketball practice and a new dye studio to set up.”
“Yeah,” said Sherry. “Maybe next time we can do something even more cheerful, like watch a program about childhood leukemia.”
“This will all turn out fine,” Addie said to Cleo. “One way or another, it will all turn out.”
Cleo didn’t see how.
“I’m really happy for her,” Cleo said, watching Addie drive away.
“You are not.” Sherry snorted.
“I’d like to be, though.”
Cleo picked up the mail, glancing through it as they climbed back up to the loft.
“Isn’t this a perfect ending to a fun evening?” she said, holding up a brown envelope.
“What is it?” Sherry asked, as they pushed the door open and entered the box-littered room. “Are you being audited?”
“Even better. It’s a lab report. I was so freaked out after Minn
eapolis that I got tested for a few things.”
“Oh my God, Cleo. Are you serious? Are you telling me you went and got tested for, like, the clap and AIDS or something?”
“Well, why not? I had sex with a promiscuous IV drug user.”
“It isn’t like he was squatting in a culvert somewhere sharing needles with street people. And it isn’t like you had unprotected sex, either.”
“Actually…”
“Actually what?”
“We had a condom mishap. And you know how I am about these things.”
“You had a condom mishap and you’re worried about AIDS?”
“Yes. I had a condom mishap with an IV drug user.”
“You had a condom mishap with Julian, and you’re damn lucky you didn’t get pregnant. I mean, I’d have been more worried about that than AIDS.”
“It was a couple of days before my period, so I didn’t get too freaked out about it. Besides, I’m not sure when it came off—before, during, or after. It was hard to tell, and I didn’t examine it for evidence.”
“Ooh,” Sherry grimaced. “Too much information. Still, I bet you were relieved when you started.”
“Yeah,” Cleo said, absentmindedly. Please don’t let me have some kind of horrible disease like syphilis.
She ripped open the envelope and removed the single sheet of paper. As she glanced at it, she felt the oddest sensation, as if all the blood in her head had suddenly dropped to her feet. Her mouth slacked open, and she looked up at Sherry.
“Cleo? Give me that.”
Sherry ripped the paper out of her hand and frantically scanned it.
“Shit. You scared me to death. It says here everything is negative. What in the world is the matter with you?”
The room spun. “I think I’m going to be ill.”
“You did start, didn’t you?”
Surely, she had. Cleo thought back. Had she? She’d been in such a panic over the breakup and the ensuing mess it had made of her life that, come to think of it, she couldn’t remember.
“Cleo?”
“Um, sure. I’m sure I did,” she said. “I just can’t remember when.”
“You should have had two periods since Minneapolis.”
Cleo dropped the remaining mail. How could she not have thought about this? “Oh, shit,” she said. “Shit, shit, shit.” She poked gently at her breasts and felt a sense of relief. “I’m about to start my period. I can tell. I have all the signs, sore breasts, cramping. Probably tonight or tomorrow in fact.” She swallowed loudly. “It’s the stress I’ve been under. I’ve skipped. That’s all this is.”
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