Between a Rockstar and a Hard Place

by Portia MacIntosh

  ‘I was only in my room,’ she says, looking at our weird embrace with a puzzled look on her face.

  ‘How did you get out without opening the door?’ a pale looking Troy asks – at least I think he’s gone pale, it’s hard to tell in this light.

  ‘Through the door, Einstein. How do you think?’

  We both glance at room 666. How could she get through the door and stand behind us if we were standing in the doorway this whole time?

  ‘Not that one,’ she says noticing us staring at room 666. ‘That one. Room 668.’

  I give Troy a playful punch on the arm.

  ‘You tool,’ I tease him, suddenly feeling a lot less scared.

  ‘What?’ He giggles awkwardly. ‘It looked like a six, not an eight.’

  As we tease each other and bicker like an old married couple, Misty interrupts us with a question.

  ‘Why exactly are you looking for me?’

  ‘Well, I’m actually looking for Dylan King,’ I explain. ‘A friend of yours told me he came back here with you, and Troy saw you both come up here.’

  ‘Yeah, he came up here. We screwed and then he said he had to go see a man about a dog.’

  ‘Ok, thanks for your time,’ I tell her, and she disappears back into room 668.

  Once were back in the safety of the lift, Troy and I laugh at each other.

  ‘Well, thank you for all you help,’ I say sarcastically, although I’m glad I had him to go up there with.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he replies. ‘So, where are we looking next?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, you can get back to the party. I only dragged you up here with me because I didn’t believe you.’

  Troy smiles and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

  ‘I could go back and get drunk with those guys but you know as well as I do how boring they all are. To be honest, I’m enjoying this – and I can’t leave you running around in the middle of the night all on your own, can I? Not with all the…’ Troy pauses, and jokingly looks around to make sure no one can hear us. ‘…ghostly goings on in this hotel.’

  I giggle, and now that he’s not being a smart arse I can’t help but feel a little starstruck around him. I don’t usually feel like this around celebrities, but I’m suddenly feeling very attracted to him, and just having his arm around me is making my whole body feel tingly.

  ‘Are you sure you want to spend your night hunting for Dylan with me? It won’t be easy.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ he replies, squeezing me tightly before releasing me as the doors ping open in the hotel lobby. ‘Now, what could that girl have meant when she said Dylan was seeing man about a dog?’

  ‘Ah,’ I say awkwardly. ‘About that…’

  Chapter Six: A man about a dog

  ‘A prostitute?’ Troy asks in amazement.

  ‘Yep. A man about a dog is just Dylan’s polite way of saying that he’s… looking for company, shall we say. Don’t act like you’re surprised.’

  ‘It’s not the fact he sleeps with prostitutes that amazes me, it’s the fact that he literally got out of bed with a girl who just slept with him – for free,’ Troy rants, his voice jumping higher on those last two words. ‘He slept with a girl and instantly decided he wanted more sex, but this time he wanted to hand over money for it. And didn’t you say he slept with the girl who has his phone?’

  ‘Yep,’ I say casually. This may surprise Troy, but I’ve heard it all before. This is all standard Dylan King behaviour. He’ll be so drunk he won’t really know or care what or who he is doing, and he’ll carry on like this until someone stops him.

  ‘Right. So we need to find prostitutes,’ Troy says casually.

  ‘We do. So if I wanted to find a hooker, where would I go?’

  ‘The concierge,’ Troy suggests. ‘They help guests find whatever they want.’

  ‘Mr Reeves,’ I tease. ‘You’ve done this before.’

  ‘Nope,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I’ve just watched a lot of Hotel Babylon – I told you, I have four sisters.’

  ‘Yeah, that and you love it.’ I’m rather enjoying teasing him.

  He smiles that trademark smile of his and I swoon a little. Mentally pinching myself, I approach the concierge desk – don’t go getting your goals mixed up, Nicole.

  ‘Hello,’ I say brightly to the man sitting at the desk. ‘I’d like a prostitute, please.’

  He stares at me for a moment before grabbing his phone and punching in a number.

  ‘Well they charge extra for couples,’ he says, looking us both up and down. ‘Male or female?’

  Troy raises his hand as if he’s about to make a suggestion. I playfully slap it down.

  ‘Oh, no. Not like that, Roger,’ I say, spotting his name badge and sniggering slightly as I say his name out loud. ‘I think a friend of mine is looking for one, so I wondered if you could tell me where he might have gone.’

  Roger scratches his head, clearly grappling with his conscience.

  ‘This friend, might he have dark hair?’ Roger asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I say softly, hoping he doesn’t freeze up on us.

  ‘And might he be a guest at the hotel?’

  ‘You’re getting warmer, Roger,’ Troy interrupts. I think he’s enjoying this Scooby Doo-esque investigating a little too much.

  ‘We’re guests here. What if we wanted to go out and find a bit of company, where would we go?’ I ask in an attempt to make it easier for Roger to help us out, he’s clearly breaking some kind of concierge code of conduct by dishing guests’ details to us.

  ‘Say you’d told me that you didn’t want one sending to your room, that you wanted to go out and hand pick your own. I’d recommend a trip to Ash Street,’ he tells us.

  I stare at the ground, embarrassed on Dylan’s behalf. He’s truly despicable sometimes.

  ‘Thanks, Roger.’ Troy shakes his hand. ‘You’re a diamond.’

  Grabbing me by the hand, Troy drags me out to the taxi stand.

  ‘Ash Street, mate,’ he says to the driver, before turning to me. ‘This is fun, isn’t it?’

  Chapter Seven: The world’s oldest profession

  As we make our way across the eerily quiet town, I can’t help staring at Troy’s beautiful face. Pretty boys are not my usual type, I’ve always been more into my rock bands, but I’d be willing to go pop for Troy. To be honest, I can’t believe this is happening. Not the looking for Dylan part, although tonight is proving more eventful and he is taking a lot longer to locate than usual. No, the thing that I can’t believe is that I’m sitting in a taxi with TV talent show runner-up, Troy Reeves. If someone had told me this morning that Troy would be helping me hunt for Dylan tonight, I’d have laughed in their face. It may be weird, but I’m actually glad that he’s with me – especially now that we’re into the early hours of the morning. The hotel may still be alive with partying musicians and staff but out here in the town things are quiet… too quiet.

  As the driver drops us off on Ash Street I notice the scantily clad women lined up along the edge of the street and a few cars slowly creeping along.

  Troy hands over the money for the fare, plus a little extra. ‘Can you wait here please, mate?’ he asks the driver. ‘We’re just looking for a friend, we’ll need a ride back.’

  ‘I’ll bet you are,’ the driver replies with a wink, tucking the extra money into his front pocket and giving Troy an encouraging nod. We share another giggle.

  ‘Well,’ I say, glancing around the street. ‘He’s got to be here somewhere.’

  ‘We’ve just got to jump in head first and see what happens,’ Troy muses.

  I laugh. ‘Troy, don’t say “head first” too loudly around here. It’s feet first.’

  ‘Head, feet, whatever. All I know is that we need to do this fast because I cannot be seen here.’

  It hadn’t occurred to me that if Troy was seen hanging around with prostitutes the scandal would land him in big trouble. He’s actually taking a huge risk by being here with me,
and I can’t help but smile and feel touched by his support – especially considering we only met a few hours ago.

  ‘Oh, oh,’ he chants nervously. ‘One is coming over, one is coming over.’

  A redheaded lady wearing black thigh-high boots, a short black skirt and a red tube top sidles up to Troy.

  ‘Shit, you’re Troy fucking Reeves,’ she squeals, looking him up and down. ‘I’d do you discount.’

  Troy moves behind me, clamping his arms around my waist and using me as some kind of human shield.

  ‘I’m with my girlfriend,’ he insists, referring to me I’m assuming.

  ‘That’s cool,’ the hooker says, stroking my cheek. ‘I’ll do your girlfriend too.’

  I can’t help but giggle, letting out an unattractive snort as I do.

  ‘I’m flattered,’ I insist, moving away from them both. ‘But I’m actually here looking for my friend.’

  The hooker looks angry. ‘Fucking time wasters,’ she rants. ‘You’re not the first famous guy to come down here tonight, you know.’

  Poor Troy is bearing the brunt of her anger, but hopefully the other famous timewaster was Dylan.

  ‘Have you seen this man?’ I ask her, pointing to Dylan on my t-shirt.

  ‘Yeah, he was here. Fucking arsehole was negotiating when some drunk slut falls out of that bar over there. She sees him, recognises him, offers to do him for free – can you believe that?’

  ‘That is shocking,’ I reply, pretending to care. ‘So they went off together?’

  ‘Yeah, fucking time wasters.’

  ‘So you just let her wander off with your customer?’ Troy asks, suddenly captivated by the world’s oldest profession.

  ‘No, I punched that bitch in the face,’ she replies proudly. ‘Her nose gushed like a waterfall.’

  ‘We’re very sorry for wasting your time,’ Troy says, pushing money into her hand before ushering me back into our taxi.

  ‘Back to the Williamson Hotel, mate,’ he instructs the driver.

  ‘Troy, honey, did you forget to pick up the sex you just paid for?’ I tease.

  ‘Laugh it up, Nicole. But you heard what she did to that girl who lost her Dylan’s business, I couldn’t have that happening to you, could I?’

  I smile. He really is looking out for me.

  ‘Well, thank you.’ I’ve never had to thank a man for paying a prostitute to avoid me getting my face punched in, but there’s a first time for everything.

  ‘Thank me by never telling anyone what just happened,’ he replies. ‘Anyway, I should be thanking you. My schedule is brutal, I’m always being watched by my manager or someone else who works for me, I never get to have adventures any more. I know Dylan is in trouble if we don’t find him, but I’m having a great time with you.’

  Now that I think about it, since Troy joined me in my quest to find the elusive Dylan King, I am actually rather enjoying myself too. Whether we’re searching haunted hotel floors or negotiating with hookers, we are actually having a laugh.

  As we pull up outside the hotel yet again I experience major déjà vu – you know, that feeling like you’ve already done what you’re doing? But in my case, I really am stuck on Groundhog Day.

  As we walk through the doors I make eye contact with Roger, who squirms awkwardly like he’s hiding something from us.

  ‘We didn’t see him,’ I call over. ‘Have you seen him?’

  Roger looks at his feet.

  ‘Roger, I thought we were pals,’ Troy tells him. ‘You’re not holding out on us, are you buddy?’

  ‘I don’t know anything, that’s the truth. You know I’d tell you if I’d seen him.’

  I’m not entirely sure I believe him, but he didn’t hold out on us before so I guess we’ll just have to take his word for it.

  ‘Yo, Ro,’ a young male hotel employee with a mop calls out. ‘Where’s that blood you need me to clean up?’

  ‘In the lift,’ Roger calls back.

  Troy and I exchange a knowing look. What a coincidence that Dylan’s ladyfriend got punched in the face, and would you believe it, someone has just been bleeding in this very hotel.

  ‘Roger, you’ve let us down,’ Troy says with real disappointment in his voice, and Roger hangs his head in shame.

  ‘He checked into a room,’ Roger admits without looking up. ‘You just missed him again.’

  We wander over to the reception desk, maybe they can tell us what room he has checked into.

  ‘Hello,’ I say to the lady behind the desk, who must have relieved the Ghostbuster for the night. ‘A friend of mine checked into a room not so long ago, his name is Dylan King.’

  ‘Erm, we did have an unscheduled check in,’ she starts, staring at her computer screen as she speaks. ‘But I’m sorry, it wasn’t under that name. Could your friend be using a different name?’

  Oh, I see, she’s hinting. Dylan – who already has a room might I add – has checked in with a fake name, like he always does when he doesn’t want to be found or when he’s being pretentious.

  ‘Right.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Do you have a George Bush?’

  ‘No,’ she replies.

  ‘A William Shakespeare?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Colonel Mustard?’

  She laughs, but tells me that no, there isn’t anyone here under that name.

  ‘Miley Cyrus?’

  Troy starts laughing too. ‘Are you serious?’ he asks me.

  ‘Yeah, he likes important people – or important sounding people at least. He’s always wanted a military title… or to be a part of the Cyrus family. Listen,’ I turn back to the girl. ‘We both know he’s checked in under a stupid name, and I could stand here and guess forever, but the problem is I need to get to him before he goes missing again. So can you just tell me what name he’s using, or give me a very big hint, please?’

  I’m begging her, but I’m desperate.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeats herself. ‘It’s against hotel policy, I’d lose my job. If you know the name of the person I can help you, but if not then I can’t do anything.’

  I open my mouth to reply to her, but Troy places a hand over my mouth to stop me saying something that might get me removed from the premises.

  ‘We’ll get back to you,’ he calls back to the girl as he ushers me towards the lift.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I ask when he finally allows me to speak again.

  ‘We’re going to my room. Look in the mirror, you look exhausted. No wonder you can’t work out what name he’s used. It’s nearly morning, get some sleep and then we’ll get back on his trail. We’re in this together now,’ Troy assures me, brushing my hair from my face and tucking it behind my ear.

  I smile at him and gaze deep into his big, brown eyes. He doesn’t know Dylan, and he didn’t know me until this morning, and yet he’s stayed up for most of the night helping me follow the trail of women Dylan has left in his wake.

  ‘Why did you speak to me earlier in the hotel bar?’ I ask him.

  ‘Honestly?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘When you interviewed me I couldn’t get over how beautiful you were. I couldn’t say anything, not with all the press around, but I was hoping we’d bump into each other again. I just wanted to have a drink and a chat with you – I wasn’t expecting an adventure.’

  ‘I’ve learnt to always expect an adventure when I’m with Dylan,’ I tell him. ‘But thank you for calling me beautiful.’

  The lift pings and the doors open. As we walk along the corridor towards his room we can’t help but hold eye contact and I’m not really sure who makes the first move, but suddenly we are kissing, Troy pinning me against the door of someone else’s room. We knock over the stand holding the touring information and it hits the floor with a loud clatter, bringing our overly passionate kissing to a halt.

  ‘This way,’ he says, grabbing my hand and hurrying me along the corridor. ‘Let’s take this inside.’

  Chapter Eight: I’m northern, not an alien


  I had the craziest dream last night. I would have classed it as a nightmare, but it took a turn for the better as it went on.

  Rolling over and opening my eyes, I find myself face to face with a sleeping Troy Reeves. I lift the covers and peep underneath – yep, we’re both naked, so last night wasn’t a dream. I hold off my victory dance, not only because it will wake Troy, but also because that means Dylan really is missing.

  I roll over and check my phone. Bloody hell, it’s midday. That means in just six hours time he needs to be on the bus, and unless I find him that just isn’t going to happen. Claire will hang him out to dry and he’ll be in a whole mess of trouble – if you thought tracking him down was hard it’s nothing compared to what it will be like trying to handle him if the label ditch him.

  ‘Good morning,’ I hear a voice say from behind me as an arm creeps around my waist.

  ‘Morning,’ I reply, rolling over carefully so that the covers stay up to my neck. I’m suddenly very conscious of the fact that I’m naked.

  ‘How did you sleep?’ Troy asks me.

  ‘For too long,’ I reply. ‘It’s technically afternoon.’

  Troy laughs at me and pulls me close for a cuddle. I can’t pretend I’m entirely comfortable right now. I just want to find my clothes – well, that random girl’s clothes – and carry on looking for Dylan before it’s too late.

  ‘You needed the sleep, you were knackered last night.’

  ‘Yes, I seem to remember you telling me that before you kept me up for another two hours.’

  He laughs again. I must seem like an absolutely ridiculous person to him – losing my friends, my clothes and finally my underwear right before his eyes, and all in the space of one night.

  ‘You need to chill out a bit, Nicole. Dylan isn’t your problem and if he’s shagging his way around this hotel then why shouldn’t you have some fun too? He doesn’t deserve a Tommy Tank the way he’s behaved.’

  ‘What did you say?’ I ask, a little bulb lighting up in my head.

  ‘Tommy Tank? It’s Cockney rhyming slang, it means –‘

  ‘I know what it means,’ I interrupt. ‘I’m northern, not an alien.’