“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t.”
“Then why did you say that back to me then? You weren’t trying to offend me back?”
Shane laughed. “I... I’m sorry, I guess. But, I don’t call women names. Not those kind of names.”
“No, I know. I listen to your lyrics.”
“Right.” It was weird. It was as if this girl knew him better than he knew himself. He knew that his music was kind of a window into his soul. He basically laid bare his most private, most intimate thoughts to the public. It was funny, though, because no one he’d ever interacted with before seemed to have studied him in such depth. Sure, he’d hung out with groupie fans before, but those women had always been obsessed with superficial things about him. The way he looked. The way he held his guitar. The sound of his voice. Lark didn’t seem to think that kind of stuff was very important. Shane liked her.
“I think you’re afraid of women,” Lark continued. “I think that you think you don’t understand them and that they don’t understand you, and I think you’re afraid that no one really understands you or that if they did, they wouldn’t want anything to do with you.”
Yeah. That was pretty much exactly it. “You think that’s bad?”
“I understand being afraid,” she said. “I understand having secrets.”
Okay. Well, now they were right back where they started, weren’t they? Neither of them was probably going to open up about that stuff, were they? “Is there more coke?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “Good idea.”
* * *
When they reached the hotel where The Wrenching was staying the night, Lark tried to convince Shane that it was fine if she slept in the bus. Shane wanted her to stay in the hotel. The bus wasn’t comfortable, and the hotel would be much better. “Is it because of the sex thing?” he asked. “Because I wasn’t trying to pressure you into doing anything. You know that, right? And there will be two beds.” So eventually, she caved in. She wondered what Rainey would say if she knew that Lark wasn’t jumping on the idea of having sex with Shane Adams. Rainey would probably think Lark was nuts. And Lark would have done it, if it had seemed as if Shane really wanted her to. But she didn’t think he did. She didn’t think it was really that big of a deal. And sleeping in a hotel with a rock band was pretty cool. She seemed to have gotten herself into a pretty awesome situation. She wondered if she should send Matt a thank-you letter or something.
So she and Shane rounded up the rats, put them in carrying cases, and loaded them into the hotel. She and Shane were staying in a suite. It had a living area, a kitchenette, and a bedroom. It wasn’t as opulent as some of the things she’d seen on TV shows about the lifestyles celebrities led, but it was pretty amazing. Lark felt a little like a fairy princess. It was mid afternoon. The show wasn’t for hours. Once they were settled in the hotel room, Shane went back to sleep. Lark was too wired from all the coke they’d snorted, so she hung out in the living area and watched cable TV. It had been a long time since Lark had watched cable, and she found herself really enjoying it, even the ads, because they were all new to her.
When Shane woke up, they ordered room service. Lark felt bad, because she didn’t want him to pay for her to eat. She was used to paying her own way. That was why she sold her clothing. But Shane said, “I have more money than one person really needs. Eat the food.” And she did, because she was hungry, and because she decided that what Shane had said really did make sense. She told herself that she wasn’t a charity case for him or something. But later, when she told Shane that she didn’t have a ticket for the show that night, because she hadn’t been able to afford one, he insisted she come hang out backstage.
“No way,” Lark said. It was too much. She was perfectly happy in the hotel room. This whole experience was beginning to feel more like a dream. She was afraid she might wake up. She didn’t need to sleep in a posh hotel room, eat expensive room service, and get a free backstage pass. “I can’t,” she said. “I would owe you, and I could never pay you back.”
“Whatever,” said Shane. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, I’m always backstage by myself. Sometimes I bring the rats, but I get lonely.”
“Don’t you hang out with the rest of the band?”
“No,” said Shane. “Not anymore.”
“I just can’t.”
“Think of it as a favor to me. It’ll be fun. Come on,” he said.
So Lark ended up backstage in Shane’s dressing room with him. Shane tuned an acoustic guitar, ran through a couple of songs. Then he took a few shots of whiskey.
Lark felt out of place, because, as usual, Shane was sort of pretending she didn’t exist. She thought it was weird. He had asked her to hang out with him, but then he didn’t even acknowledge her presence. She perched on a couch in the room and hugged her knees to her chest. Shane had covered all the lamps in the room with black sheets. He hadn’t told her why he did this, but he did it with the kind of efficiency that let Lark knew it was a ritual.
Shane offered her the whiskey bottle wordlessly.
Well. At least he knew she was there.
Lark took it. She didn’t say anything, but she took a long swig. She gagged at the taste of it. She handed it back.
There was a knock on the door.
“What?” Shane demanded.
“It’s Rob,” said the person on the other side of the door.
Shane got up. Opened the door a crack. Talked with the man there for several minutes. Lark couldn’t hear what he was saying, because his voice was too low. Finally, Shane closed the door. He held up a baggy.
Oh. Coke. Of course. Shane had been getting drugs. Shane did a lot of coke, didn’t he? Well, he’d said that he did a lot of drugs. Shane took a mirror off the wall, set it on the floor and knelt beside it, cutting up lines.
“You want a line?” he asked.
“Um...” Lark bit her lip. “Okay.” Coke was a really hard drug to say no to. She joined him on the floor.
After they’d each snorted a line, Shane rocked back on his heels. “I’m nervous,” he said. “I get nervous every night. Silly, huh?”
Lark shook her head. “No. I’d get nervous.”
“I’m always fine once I get on stage. But right before. I get kind of nervous.”
“You’ll do fine.”
“Yeah. I know.” He bent his head to the mirror and did another line. “Hey, thanks for coming here with me. It’s cool to have somebody here.”
“Sure,” said Lark. Did he really care? What was she to Shane Adams anyway, except another fan?
There was another knock on the door. Shane didn’t respond to it. The knock came again, more insistent this time.
“Do you want me to answer that?” Lark asked.
Shane shrugged. “If you want.”
Lark stood up. Went to the door. Opened it. It was Chris Dearborn. Wow. The only other original The Wrenching member. She was speechless.
Chris looked her up and down as if she were a really disgusting bug. “What are you doing here?” As if he knew who she was...?
“Answering the door,” said Shane from behind her.
Lark turned. Shane was standing up, rubbing a hand across his nose.
“What’s up, Chris?” Shane asked.
“We’re on,” said Chris.
“Okay,” said Shane. He started forward. “Come on, Lark, I’ll show you where you can sit during the show.”
Chris moved away from the doorway. Let both of them by. Closed the door after Lark. Followed them. They wound through the hallways of the venue. There were some chairs on the side of the stage. A few people with press passes sat in them.
“You can sit here,” said Shane. “Is that cool?”
“Yeah,” said Lark. “Awesome.”
“Cool,” said Shane and went to get his guitar from one of the roadies.
Chris was still standing next to her. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he
growled in her ear.
Lark started. “I...” She turned, but she could only stare at him.
“Listen,” Chris said, “I don’t know who you think you are, but whatever your plans are for Shane, they aren’t going to fly.”
What the hell was he talking about? Lark made a confused face. “I don’t have any plans for Shane.”
“I won’t let you use him for whatever it is you want. I won’t let you get his money or use him so that you can get famous.”
“But...I don’t want anything like that.”
“Give it up, bitch. I see right through you.”
Lark wanted to shrink into the chair next to her. She wanted it to swallow her up. Why was Chris so angry with her? What could she have possibly done that could make him talk to her this way?
“And,” Chris continued, “don’t even think about trying to do something stupid like getting pregnant with his kid or something, because we have lawyers that never lose and ways to keep that kind of shit out of the papers.”
Wait. Did Chris think that...? “Look, Shane and I aren’t like together or something,” said Lark. “He’s giving me a place to sleep. That’s all. It’s totally platonic.”
Chris snorted. “Whatever. As if he’d let a chick stay with him if she wasn’t even putting out.”
Was that really true? Should she have slept with Shane when he’d asked if she wanted to? Even though she’d sort of manipulated her way into staying with Shane, she didn’t want to piss him off. She wanted him to be happy with the arrangement. If he wanted to... “Well,” Lark said, “we aren’t having sex. But I guess if he really wants me to—”
“I’ve known Shane for a long time,” said Chris. “So you aren’t fooling me with this little act. But Shane’s been messed up lately. He’s vulnerable. He could let some little gold digging whore like you really fuck him up. Luckily for him, I’ve got his back. I’m his best friend.”
“I don’t want to hurt Shane.”
“I know your type. I know what you’re doing. Just remember that I’ve been through more with this guy than you could possibly ever imagine, and if he trusts anyone, he trusts me. So do yourself a favor and leave now, before it gets ugly. Because I’ve got no qualms about doing whatever I can to make you disappear.”
Was Chris nuts? Was everyone in The Wrenching a psychotic head case? God. Lark didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything.
“Get out while you can, bitch,” said Chris, and then he stalked off, joining Shane in the wings. Lark looked after him, unsure of what to make of what he’d said. She guessed it was normal for Chris to be protective of his best friend. But why had he jumped to so many conclusions?
* * *
“Whitney?” said Ryan, peering into her office. Whitney looked up from her game of solitaire. What time was it? Was it time for Ryan to be home?
“Hi, babe,” she said. “How was your day?”
“How was yours?” he asked.
“It was good,” she said. “Tim O’Doole from Crunch promised to call me back, and he hasn’t, but other than that...”
Ryan stepped into her office. He looked around the room, a concerned expression on his face. Whitney followed his gaze, realizing her desk was littered with empty rocks glasses that had once been filled with liquor.
“You didn’t come to bed last night,” said Ryan. “When I left this morning, you were asleep at your desk.”
She knew this. Why was he telling her this? They’d both been here last night.
“You haven’t changed your clothes since yesterday,” he continued.
Was he going somewhere with this, or did he want an award for being Mr. Observant?
“I’ve been busy,” she said.
“Playing solitaire?” he asked. “Drinking?”
God. Not this again. “I’ve been working,” she said defensively.
“On the Shane Adams article,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“But nothing else?”
God. Ryan was so starting to get on her nerves. He just harped on the same shit over and over again. This was the reason she didn’t bother to go to bed anymore. As if she wanted to hear him go on and on about what he thought was wrong with her. “Look, what do you care? It’s not as if you depend on me for financial stability or something,” she said. “This is what’s important to me right now. It’s my career. I have the right to pursue it however I want to.”
“You can’t see what’s happening to you, can you?” said Ryan. “I don’t know what happened to my girlfriend.”
“I’m right here.”
“But you’re not. You’re always only thinking about that damned article or about that fucking band. I’m so sick of watching it eat you alive. I’m so sick of hearing you talk about Shane Adams.”
“God, Ryan, it sounds as if you’re jealous.”
Ryan laughed. It was harsh and brittle. “Yeah. And a man shouldn’t have to be jealous of his girlfriend’s job. He shouldn’t have to be jealous of a guy in a band his girlfriend likes. That’s crazy. But you’re acting crazy, Whitney. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
Whitney was flabbergasted. She didn’t have time for this. She didn’t have time to deal with Ryan’s temper tantrums. He was being ridiculous. God. “I’m the same person I always was, Ryan. Maybe you just never really knew who the real me was.”
Ryan just shook his head. “Is the real you an obsessive drunk?”
That was it. She didn’t have to listen to this anymore. She didn’t have to take this kind of abuse. Ryan was being a total asshole. “Fuck you,” she said. “Get out of my office.”
Ryan looked stunned at the force of her response. “Are you sure you want me to do that?”
“Do I sound sure?” Whitney thought she sounded pretty damned sure.
“If I leave now,” said Ryan, “I don’t know if I’m ever coming back.”
“I don’t want you hanging around in my office, anyway. This is where I work.”
Ryan shrugged. He started to say something. Stopped. Turned. Left.
Whitney returned to her game of solitaire, viciously moving the Ace of Spades to the top tier. Fuck Ryan. He didn’t understand. At all.
Chapter Seven
“You wanna be my date to the MTV Movie Awards?” asked Shane. He was lounging on one of the couches in the tour bus, petting one of his rats.
“No,” said Lark. “That will convince Chris that we actually are dating.” She’d been staying with Shane on the tour for several weeks now, and while the two of them were still sleeping in the same bed, everything was still totally platonic. Lark liked the arrangement, but then she guessed she’d have to be crazy not to. After all, she was living with a rock star and getting a taste of VIP treatment. It was awesome. To earn her keep, however, she made sure to keep the bus clean, and she took care of Shane as best she could. He was always forgetting to eat or not getting up on time or getting too wasted to go on stage. She did the best she could to help him out. She couldn’t exactly keep him from getting wasted, but she could discourage him from drinking so much.
Shane seemed to love having her on board. He said it enough. “God, Lark,” he was always saying, “I don’t know how I survived before you came along. You should let me put you on the payroll.”
But that, as far as Lark was concerned, was out of the question. She still sold her clothes outside The Wrenching shows for cash. She was doing what she did for Shane because she was concerned about him and also as a thank-you for giving her a place to crash. She sure as hell wasn’t about to take money for it. That would be too much.
“Fuck Chris,” said Shane. “I don’t care what he thinks.”
“He’s your best friend,” said Lark, “and he really doesn’t like me.”
“He’s just being a dick,” said Shane. “Chris will come around. He always does.”
“Well, I’m not going with you to the MTV Movie Awards,” said Lark. “No way.”
“Oh come on,” sa
id Shane. “I don’t have a date. You want me to show up alone or something?”
“Yeah,” said Lark. “That’s what single people do. They go places...singly.”
“Whatever. You’d love it. It’s fun. We get to ride in a limo.”
“Ooh, a limo,” said Lark. As if she hadn’t been in a limousine before. Everyone and their brother rented them for prom. Or was Shane just so divorced from society that he had forgotten that?
“Limos still excite me, okay?” said Shane. “Besides, they always have champagne in them, and it’s like having a party on the way to a party, you know? It’s a blast. I want you to come.”
“Why?” Lark couldn’t help but think that it was a little strange that Shane was so keen on her being around all the time. She didn’t think there was any real reason for him to like her so much.
“Because...” Shane trailed off. “I don’t know. It’s just that whenever I think about the fact I have to go to the MTV Movie Awards, I keep imagining you’ll be there. So, like, I’m expecting it. So you should come, because otherwise, all my expectations will be dashed to pieces.”
Lark laughed. “Whatever.”
“Why don’t you want to be my date?”
“Because we’re not dating, for one thing,” said Lark. “And because I think Chris might try to kill me for another.”
“I don’t know why you’re so hung up on Chris.”
“You haven’t heard the things he says to me,” said Lark.
“He’s just trying to look out for me.”
“He called me a whore.”
“I told him we weren’t together like that.”
“He hates me.”
“Who cares? He doesn’t matter. He’s just Chris, and he’ll get over it. I promise.”
“I don’t think so. And anyway, even if we were together like that, that would be no excuse for him to call me a whore.”
“You’re right. He’s a dick. And it’s ironic, because you’re like the opposite of a whore.”
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