Break It Up

by Tippetts, E. M.

  He raises an eyebrow suggestively as I step off of the elevator. “May I walk you to your room? Or do you still not trust me enough?”

  My cheeks flush warm. “It isn’t a trust issue.” I step off the elevator and the doors slide shut behind me.

  “No?”

  “I take this job seriously. I want to look professional. I don’t want to look like some groupie who weaseled her way in—”

  “A groupie, huh?” He laughs.

  Which makes my cheeks burn more. He thinks that the image of me acting like a groupie is so absurd, so it’s clear he doesn’t know me at all. And again, I don’t know how to set him straight. “Hey, I would have totally slept with all three of you a year ago,” comes to mind, but I can’t make myself say it.

  At least I don’t nod in agreement, which he takes with good humor as he plucks my shirt hem. “Loosen up, Armijo. I promise not to compromise your situation with your boss. No one will think I got you this job, though you know, I have some pull in entertainment circles. If you ever wanted a job in—”

  “No. I’d never—”

  He cracks up. “Always honorable. All right. All right.”

  Wow. His wrong idea about me is pretty entrenched. The lies keep piling up, but I’m too tired to sort them out. Given his demeanor, we’ll probably just sit and talk some more, though I suppose I could set him straight if I tried to take his clothes off with my teeth. That thought makes me smile and shake my head. This whole situation is hopeless. I keep my eyes averted from him. It isn’t as if I don’t know his fully-clothed body by heart.

  We reach my door and I slide the keycard in with a click. He steps in to open my door for me, though. Once I’m in, he says, “May I?” and steps in after me, switching the light on with one hand and with the other shutting the door behind us.

  “Sorry this isn’t as nice as your room.”

  “This is the kind of room I’m used to. Let me know if this all starts to overwhelm you. You know, with the glamor of it all.” He looks me over as if he expects me to do something.

  Should I have laughed?

  We’re both standing just inside the door. I wonder what cue I’m missing.

  “Go on,” he says. “Brush your teeth. Get in your pajamas.”

  Huh? I think. What does this mean? Dare I hope this signals a change in this “friendship” of ours? I step into the bathroom and turn on the tap. It takes me a few minutes to wash my face, brush my teeth, and change into my sweats. I started sleeping in sweats when I decided not to be easy anymore. It just seemed to go with the new lifestyle, but it’s less than ideal when I have Zach Wechsler sitting on my bed. I poke my head out and he smiles at me.

  Yeah, this won’t do. I duck back in and twist my hair into pigtails. That’s the best I can manage to de-frump my image. When I step all the way out, he’s waiting for me, shoes off and feet up on my bed, lounging. As I move closer, he gets to his feet and pulls down the covers for me. “M’lady.”

  Straight to bed?

  I climb in. This mattress is a little narrow, but sometimes it’s better that way. Some of the best sex happens when you can only move so much. Because sex is what’s about to happen, right? Not that it would make any sense.

  Zach pulls the covers up over me and kneels down on the floor next to my bed. “So,” he says, “you survived your first day of the tour.”

  I look into those steely blue eyes. “I guess so.”

  “I’d say they get easier, but they don’t. The longer we’re out, the crankier people get. It can be bad.”

  I can’t help but watch his lips as he speaks. “Oh joy,” I say.

  “But it’ll be all right. It always is.”

  I’m not sure if he wants me lying down or propped up on my elbow or what. I’m beyond confused about what’s going on here.

  “So what are your rules?” he asks.

  Rules? What on earth is he talking about? Is he into hardcore kink? Do I need to come up with a safe word? I’m too tired to think of a good one.

  “No being seen together in public,” he ticks off on one finger. “No being too, ah, familiar even around just the rest of the crew. Do you want to set a curfew? Am I breaking it?”

  ”Huh? No, I—”

  “I was kidding. People know we’re just friends.”

  Ouch.

  “Goodnight,” he whispers. “Sleep tight. I’ll see you in the morning, and I’ll keep things strictly professional in public. Promise.” He holds out a hand to me.

  Not knowing what he wants, I take it, and he gives me a gentle kiss on the knuckles, the touch of his lips feather-light.

  And with that, he gets to his feet, grabs his shoes, takes the two steps to the door, and lets himself out. “Night,” he whispers again as he hits the light switch.

  I’m too stunned to reply. I’m now alone in the dark.

  Did he just tuck me in?!

  The next morning, I get up, shower, dry my hair, and head down to get breakfast, only there’s a commotion in the lobby. It would appear that Ben and Logan are having a fight. In public.

  I slow my steps as I approach. Aidan and a guy I assume is Rick-the-Manager, a middle aged man with a friendly smile and a slight paunch, exchange wary looks with me. The two band mates appear to be seconds away from punching each other’s lights out.

  “I am cancelling the zoo,” says the guy I assume is Rick. “It’s not a vital part of the tour.”

  They’re fighting about a trip to the zoo? What zoo?

  “It’s up to Zach,” says Aidan.

  “No, it’s up to me,” counters Rick.

  “He wants to do this, and we’re going to film it.”

  Logan takes a swing at Ben, who jumps back. “Bring it!”

  Rick looks Aidan up and down, shrugs, and says, “Fine.” He turns to leave, sees me, and pauses to nod a greeting. “Kyra.”

  I watch him exit to the café while Ben ducks another swing and clambers over one of the lobby’s many sofas. A small crowd of hotel staff has formed behind the front desk. Brent and crew film from a discreet distance. I look to Aidan. “The zoo?”

  “Yeah, it’s a PR thing.”

  I jerk my head in the direction of the two feuding cousins. “We checking them in? Putting them in the monkey house?”

  “Oh, no, they are fighting over whether Logan knows how to pick good music.”

  “Come here!” Logan shouts.

  Given that he’s trying to punch Ben, he shouldn’t be surprised that his cousin doesn’t obey.

  “Um, isn’t anyone going to get them to move somewhere not so public?” I say.

  “Yeah, it’s interesting. Logan’s mother would have come down on them like a ton of bricks. Maybe they just need to let off some steam.”

  Logan hoists a heavy pottery vase.

  “Whoa! Hey!” I shout. “Enough. Break it up, guys.”

  Ben turns and gives me a sheepish smile. “Come on, don’t fight in front of the pretty girl,” he says.

  Logan glares at me.

  I feel like a babysitter as I put my hands on my hips. “Put it down. Come on. You don’t just trash other people’s stuff.” And now I sound like a babysitter, even though Logan and I are the same age.

  Ben smirks but doesn’t join in, which shows he’s smarter than he acts sometimes. He looks past me. “Zach, hey, what’s up?”

  Logan hastily returns the vase to its spot on the end table.

  “Not me. Jet lag.” Zach’s voice is right behind me, and even though it’s soft, I hear every word. Every nuance.

  “Eh, it’s all good. Slap on some concealer like a real man.” Aidan walks over and gives what sounds like a friendly clap on the shoulder.

  “Oh, yeah, right. And some eyeliner,” says Zach.

 
“Tellin’ ya, man. Chicks dig metrosexual.”

  “I was ten when people used that word. Dude, you’re showing your age.”

  “Rub it in, rub it in.” Aidan’s voice moves off in the direction of the elevators.

  I stand, rigid, as if someone’s holding a gun to my back. My plan to act purely professional is going just great; just the sound of his voice puts me on edge. My heart’s pounding. It’s as if I can feel where he is in relation to me without even looking, and I don’t get why. I mean, I get why I break a sweat just being in the same room as him, but I don’t get why my feelings are even more intense now. We didn’t do anything last night.

  “Ms. Armijo,” says Zach.

  I turn way too fast. His hair’s still wet and he’s wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts. I can see every inch of his toned and muscular body—and the fact that he’s been working out.

  He inclines his head as if we’re mere acquaintances. “You goin’ to the zoo today?”

  I have no idea. “I think so,” I squeak.

  He nods as if my reply is normal, but his eyes twinkle. “Good, good. It’s a great zoo.” Then he walks off in the direction of the elevators. I watch for several seconds before I get a grip, turn around, and try to act natural. Ben’s gaze flicks between me and Zach, and he chuckles before he walks over to me and says in a low voice, “Yeah, good luck with that.”

  I’m grateful for my dark skin. It should mask my blush a little. Otherwise, I’d be beet red.

  “But if you ever wanna come by my room…” Ben winks at me.

  I shake my head.

  He shrugs and strides off.

  Logan is now glaring after Zach, but I can tell there won’t be any more violence.

  “Yeah,” says Aidan. “I’m thinking he won’t be going to the zoo either. Bet you ten dollars it’s just Zach.”

  I have no idea how to respond to that. This morning has just been too weird, and the one thing that consumes my attention is the fact that no one tried to protect Triple Cross’s image. A few media stories about this morning and their reputation will take a hit.

  The zoo is closed. This is a private tour, and Aidan was right. Zach’s doing it solo. Zach and Rick (I now know for sure it’s Rick-the-Manager) argue on the way over.

  “People are doing extra work for this,” is Zach’s take. “It’s a privilege being offered.”

  “It’s another item in your already overfull calendar,” says Rick. “You guys should have some downtime. No one else will be on this zoo tour, and you see the stress on your band mates.”

  “What do you mean no one else will be on this tour? No one was invited? There wasn’t a contest that people could win tickets from or something?”

  “No.” Rick shakes his head. “I wanted to cancel the whole visit. I still want to cancel it.”

  “So the zoo staff is working overtime and no one’s coming on this tour with me?”

  “Or we could cancel it.”

  “That would be rude.” Zach isn’t having any of it.

  I observe this from my cramped position, wedged between Aidan and Brent. They’ve set up a camera mounted on the car dashboard to record this entire exchange.

  From what I can glean from the conversations I’ve overheard, Triple Cross under the reign of Mrs. Wechsler did a lot of PR stunts. Everywhere they went, they’d arrange events like this tour of the zoo and bring along kids dying of cancer or a Girl Scout Troop selected by a random drawing or something. They’d smile and interact with these guests from a calculated, safe distance and get a ton of photo ops that showed what great guys they were.

  It makes sense why the manager thinks it’s too much to hit full day after full day of work after a transatlantic flight. The problem is only two out of three band members concur, so now one lone Triple Cross member is going to tour the Madrid Zoo solo. Unless you count his entourage, which I don’t. We won’t be in any of the publicity stills. This’ll look weird. One major celebrity walking around the zoo by himself.

  Now I have some idea of why Mrs. Wechsler was so successful. She didn’t just micromanage every second of the band members’ time, she was good at making a visual statement that the media would grasp. Three band members walking around the zoo with some special needs teenagers and the pictures would say it all. Zach on his own, though…

  “Kyra,” says Aidan under his breath, “you could sign a release and join him on the tour. We could film it like you’re a lucky fan or—”

  “No,” I say.

  “This could be a disaster.”

  “Is this going to end up in the film?”

  He shrugs. “We’ll figure that out later.”

  “If you want to prevent disasters, why didn’t you do anything this morning in the lobby?” I ask.

  “Blowing off steam, I can make that work, you know? Show the wear and tear of a tour on the members. This zoo visit… I’m not sure what I can say about it.”

  “So you probably won’t use it in the film?”

  “Probably not, but you never know. Something interesting could happen. Give me something to work with.” He shrugs.

  When we get to the zoo, Zach steps out of the car with an easy confidence, smiling and nodding at all the right times, greeting his guide and the other zoo staff graciously. He makes each person he greets feel like she’s the only person in the universe right at that moment. That’s star power. It’s a skill Jason has too, though Jason is more every-guy about it. You forget you’re talking to an A-list movie star around him and start to feel like he’s someone you grew up with and used to throw food at in junior high. Zach doesn’t make you forget who or what he is for a second. It’s as if the whole rest of the world is slightly out of focus. Even when I don’t look at him, I still know exactly where he is. Though, to be honest, I can’t stop looking at him.

  This trip is awkward at best. With the right media spin, it could be an unmitigated disaster. People might think he demanded a solo tour and ordered the zoo shut down on a whim.

  Aidan gives me his phone and a slip of paper with some numbers on it and why I need to call them. It’s all to arrange transportation to the next stop on the tour; once again, some of the documentary crew will be travelling via commercial flight while the rest of us will be in the private jet with the band, so I need to call to confirm seat reservations and special meal requests.

  I hang back from the crowd and keep my voice low so that I don’t interfere with the filming. It’s best not to see how this is going anyway. Everyone else goes into an outdoor amphitheater to watch a dolphin show, but I linger outside, on hold with the airport shuttle service in Lisbon. I can see the dolphin trainer on the concrete stage, albeit from an extreme side angle, and I watch as he waves to Zach and crew, smiling with appreciation.

  The dolphins, four of them, swim up to the edge of the pool and look eagerly up at their trainer like eager children expecting a treat while Muzak drones on at me over the phone connection.

  The trainer throws his arms open and the dolphins are off, swimming around the pool and leaping out of the water, their torpedo-shaped bodies gleaming in the sun.

  And as luck would have it, that’s when the airline picks up the line, so I have to turn my back and focus on the conversation. Between this and the call to the airport shuttle company in Lisbon, I miss most of the show, but whatever. I’m not really here to see dolphins perform.

  Afterwards, though, Zach doesn’t leave at once, but rather accepts the trainer’s invitation to step up to the lip of the tank, where the dolphins mob him much like his fans do on land. He smiles and pets them and his gaze falls on me.

  “You ever petted a dolphin?” he calls out.

  I nod but know I’m probably too far away for him to see it all that well. If I get closer to him, I make the shot unusable, though maybe that’s
a reason to get close. Maybe I should help make all the footage from this visit unusable.

  No, I chide myself. You’re overreacting. The very thought of Zach looking bad brings out my protective side. He can handle this.

  He continues to pet the dolphins, but his face is still turned my direction. “Come on,” he coaxes.

  Coming from him, this has the power of a royal decree. My knee buckles slightly, and before I know what I’m doing, I find myself halfway around the front of the tank, walking towards him.

  The camera keeps rolling as I draw close, and the trainer grins at me toothily. All my focus is on Zach, even though I’m not looking at him. Not at his face, at least. I stare intently at his shoes, the white ones with his autograph stitched into them.

  Right now the camera should feel like it’s shooting out a thousand-watt beam of light, and I suppose I am aware of its cold, glass eye watching my every move, but it’s Zach who has my stomach tying itself in knots.

  One of the dolphins chitters at me, and I reach over to stroke its boiled-egg textured skin. Another one noses up under my hand and I lean over the side of the pool to give them equal attention. “Hey,” I say as cheerily as I can. “Hello.”

  “Have you ever petted a dolphin before?” Zach asks me. His tone of voice is low, as if we’re alone together, and that just makes my nerves worse. My hand, the one on the dolphin’s head, begins to shake.

  “Yeah,” I say in a low voice. “When I was a kid. At SeaWorld.”

  “Which one?”

  “Which dolphin?”

  “Which SeaWorld?”

  “Oh. San Diego.”

  “Nice.”

  I hazard a glance at his face and see that he’s smiling. I let myself smile back. It’d be rude not to.

  I did get an A in drama. Even Jason says I have potential. But the challenge of playing it cool in this situation is kicking my butt.

  “Shall we move on?” his chipper guide asks.