by Every, Donna
“Well then, you can’t blame Nick for being used to it, can you?”
How did she know her mother would say that? Already her mother acted as if she knew him personally.
“Oh, by the way, I may go to his parents’ house for the Holidays since you’ll be in Barbados.”
“What? He’s taking you to meet his parents? Sounds serious,” her mother teased.
“Believe me, it’s far from that. Lily thinks it would be a good idea to see him in that environment. He says his mother still believes he’s a good boy, so I’m sure he’ll be on his best behavior. Even if I still indulged in that lifestyle, which I don’t, I’m definitely not his type.” I don’t think, she added silently, remembering the invitation he’d given in the limo. “And he’s definitely not mine!”
“I’m hearing the word ‘definitely’ a lot and it sounds a bit like never saying never to me.”
“Believe me, Ma. I would never fall for someone like Nick Badley! I’m sure he doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘faithful’. And I’ve had my share of men like that.”
“One man,” corrected her mother. “And that was a long time ago. Nick probably just needs the right woman, dear.”
“Well, that will never be me,” she said drily. “Our lives and our values are poles apart.” They talked a bit more before wrapping up the conversation.
As she ended the call she recalled how many times she had said ‘never’ in the last few minutes and what her mother had cautioned her about never saying never.
Chapter 6
Nick strummed the guitar, changed the position of his fingers on the frets and tried out another chord. That one flowed better. He scribbled down the cord he had just played and went back to the beginning of the song that he was composing. Something still wasn’t right. Why wasn’t this flowing? He crashed his hand against the guitar in frustration. He hadn’t had the time to write music for a while and now that he had a few hours nothing was gelling.
He wasn’t focused. The shame on Shari Goodwin’s face when he had taunted her about enjoying the high life kept messing with his concentration. Its twin stirred in his belly when he thought about the way he had goaded her in the limo. What had gotten into him, anyway? What was it about her that provoked him to try to sully her in some way? Or maybe the question should be, what was it about him? All he knew was that his conscience had been pricking him for the last hour. Maybe he needed to see a shrink. He certainly couldn’t psychoanalyze himself. And why had he come on to her about the mile high club? He never did that. Women came on to him; he didn’t have to make moves on them. What was that about?
Putting down his guitar in frustration, he picked up his jacket, the ever-present sunglasses and the valet ticket for the car that he’d asked Brad to have delivered to the hotel. He needed a drive to clear his head and there was no better place to do that than in the Rockies. The three hours before he had to leave for the Pepsi Center should give him enough time for a head-clearing drive. Patting the pocket of his jacket to make sure that his room card and wallet were there, he headed for the door.
A thought arrested him before he reached it. Maybe he should invite Shari to go with him. After all, he had walked out of her interview and she hadn’t been able to speak with him since. She could ask him her questions while he drove. Would that help him to clear his head, though? Still, it was the least he could do, his conscience assured him, and he walked back to the living room to call the front desk to find out her room number. His conscience was certainly working overtime today. When was the last time there’d been a little man on his shoulder whispering into his ear? He honestly couldn’t remember.
Shari’s pen was poised over her journal. She would hate anyone to ever see this private place where she poured her deepest thoughts, dreams and emotions. Sometimes she wrote down her conversations with God, other times she wrote things she prayed about and sometimes, like now, simply things that had happened in her life.
I have the dubious privilege of creating a documentary about “the great” Nick Badley. (If anyone reads this years from now, he is a famous rock star). I fully expected him to be a typical celebrity with a wild lifestyle complete with women, alcohol and drugs and I was right, to some extent. He’s completely arrogant and obnoxious at times and his lifestyle is unbelievable.
I went to his room (make that suite) to interview him yesterday and two women walked out of his bedroom. He didn’t see an issue with sleeping with both of them. Typical rock star! Sex, drugs and rock and roll. Although I have not seen any sign of drugs. I swear he’s two different people. One minute he was flirting with me in the limo on the way here, asking if I wanted to join the mile high club, and the next he turned nasty and sarcastic and accused me of liking the high life a little too much. I felt ashamed because it was true. But who wouldn’t enjoy the limo rides, the private jet, the …
A knock at the door interrupted Shari in mid-sentence. She didn’t feel like answering it, but the persistent knocking was difficult to ignore. Putting down her pen, she slid off the bed and headed for the door where she peered through the peephole. A distorted-looking Nick Badley peered back at her. What did he want now? She thought irritably as she reluctantly opened the door, glancing back to make sure that she’d closed her journal.
“Hi, Shari Goodwin,” greeted Nick warmly, as if the incident in the limo had never happened.
“Hi,” she replied coolly, still not totally forgiving him for his insults.
“I’d like to take you for a drive and give you the chance to continue the interview that you started in Vegas.”
Shari was surprised. This was the last thing she expected from him.
“Call it a fit of conscience.” He smiled charmingly.
“You have a conscience?”
He laughed quietly at her challenge. “I thought it had died, but apparently it has been resurrected.”
“Well, Hallelujah! Praise the Lord,” she mocked.
“OK. I deserve that. So do you want to drive with me or not? I got Brad to rent a Porsche 911 Targa. And don’t worry; I won’t make any snide comments about you enjoying the high life.”
Shari was tempted. She really wanted to tell Nick Badley what to do with his Porsche and his drive, but she also had a job to do, so she should continue with her interview. Besides, she’d never been in a Porsche before and she was getting a bit antsy being cooped up in her hotel room.
“I’d love to,” she said graciously. “Would you like to come in?” Shari realized belatedly that she’d kept him standing at the door. Stepping back, she gestured for him to enter.
He walked through to her studio and propped against a wall while she packed up the stuff on the bed. The room was tiny compared to his Presidential Suite. From what he could see, her room had a view of downtown whereas his faced the mountains. Still, it was nicer than some of the ones he’d stayed in when he was first starting out.
“Just give me a minute to freshen up,” she said, heading for the bathroom. She looked fresh enough to him. Pretty, without the tons of make-up he was used to seeing on women who thought that heavy make-up made them more attractive. He realized that he preferred the understated make-up that Shari wore.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right out.”
Not many places to make himself comfortable unless he sat on the bed. There was an armchair on the far side of the bed, near the window, but he felt as if he would be invading her space if he ventured further into her room so he stayed where he was. True to her word, she was out in a minute, looking as if she had just put on a fresh coat of lipstick.
Picking up her jacket, which she had dropped on the bed, she shrugged into it, smoothed down her flowered sweater and sat on the bed to pull back on her ankle boots that peeked out from the bottom of the slim jeans when she stood up again.
“OK, I’m ready,” she said, stuffing her tablet and recorder into an oversized handbag and picking up the room key from the bedside table. “Where are we going?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll see where the car takes me.”
“Lovely,” Shari responded drily.
“Live a little, Shari,” he encouraged.
She realized that it was the first time he hadn’t added her surname when he was addressing her. They were making progress. Not that she wanted progress with him, but it would help the interview. She rolled her eyes in response and followed him to the door.
Nick swung the Porsche onto the street with barely restrained power. Driving through Downtown Denver gave Shari the opportunity to see some of the amazing artwork and sculptures that the town was famous for, although she could see that Nick barely gave them a glance. He was keen to hit the highway and his impatience was palpable as he maneuvered through the traffic.
“You’ve been to Denver before, I take it?”
“Yeah. We played here two years ago and stayed for a couple of days. I assume this is your first time?”
“Yes, it is. I’ve had a lot of firsts in the last few days.” She couldn’t believe she had opened herself up for some sarcastic remark from Nick, but he only said, “I don’t know the last time I’ve had a first.”
“You mean you slept with two women at the same time before Vegas?” She couldn’t resist bringing that up again.
She saw a brief smile crease his mouth before he remarked, “You never give up, do you?”
As soon as they reached the highway, Nick released the power of the Porsche. It responded as it had been crafted to do. Shari’s stomach lurched as the car hit 65 mph in about four seconds. Nick’s foot on the accelerator continued to demand more speed from the car, much to Shari’s dismay. The low-slung sports car responded to Nick’s confident hand as he changed the gears, the same way his guitar did. As he slid the car into what looked like seventh gear, she chanced a glance at him and saw the pure enjoyment on his face which was in direct contrast to the abject terror that must be on hers.
“Relax!” Nick instructed, glancing at her terrified face.
“How can I relax when I’m seeing my life flash before me and I haven’t done anything on my bucket list yet?”
Nick laughed out loud but slowed the car marginally and geared down to ease her fear. Shari released her death grip on the sides of her seat and focused on the scenery that they were passing at a speed that was still alarming, in her opinion. However, her confidence in Nick increased with each mile as she saw that he obviously knew what he was doing.
“Fast cars are one of your vices?” She ventured.
“How can you consider a Porsche 911 Targa a vice? This is as close to heaven as you can get on four wheels.”
“You’ll be in heaven if you don’t slow down. Or the other place.”
“More likely,” he laughed. “I love fast cars so I have three, but I don’t consider that a vice.”
“Do you really need three cars?” She exclaimed, thinking it excessive. One of those cars could probably provide micro-financing for a hundred women.
“I don’t need three cars; I want them. Maybe I’ll get myself one of these to celebrate the end of the tour.”
Of course, Shari thought, what’s $100,000?
“Mind you, I don’t get to drive them enough so I’m looking forward to the trip to my parents’ for Christmas so that I can get up to some decent speeds.”
“Speaking of which, I couldn’t help noticing that the speed limit sign back there said 65 mph. Don’t you think…?”
The words were barely out of her mouth when the sound of a siren penetrated the car. Nick looked in the rear view mirror and saw a police car flashing its lights at him to pull over. He swore.
“What’s the point of having a Porsche if you can’t drive it fast?” he complained, pulling over and putting down the window. The officer climbed out of the police car and ambled over to them, noting the license plate as he did.
“Good day, officer. Is there a problem?” Nick asked innocently. The youngish looking officer bent down slightly to peer into the car. Shari smiled at him.
“Driver’s license, please.”
Nick pulled out his wallet, produced his license and handed it over. The policeman looked at the photo and the name on the license and then back at Nick.
“Would you mind taking off your sunglasses, sir?”
Nick obliged.
“You do know that you were over the speed limit, don’t you?”
“I didn’t realize, officer. Sorry.” The last thing Nick needed was another ticket. It was just as well that he didn’t have time to drive often. He hoped that his humility would go down well with the officer.
“Nick Badley,” the officer said, reading the name on his license. Nick knew from prior experience that this could go either way. Some policemen would give him the ticket just because it was him and others might let him off for the same reason.
“My wife is a big fan of yours. In fact, she has a ticket for your concert tonight. Could you sign an autograph for me?” Fishing in his pocket he pulled out his wallet and found an old ATM slip which he gave to Nick.
“Sure.” Nick signed the slip, feeling hopeful. “What’s your wife’s name? I can arrange a backstage pass for her.”
“You wouldn’t be trying to bribe an officer of the law, would you, Mr. Badley?” the officer joked.
“Not at all, officer,” Nick replied with an innocent smile.
“OK. I’ll let you off with a warning. And her name is Casey Patton.”
“Thank you, Officer Patton.”
“Have a good concert.” He said with a brief salute. Nick responded in kind.
Restarting the engine, Nick drove off at a speed that Shari could live with. She could scarcely contain herself.
“And is that something that happens often?” She asked, exasperated. If it was her or any lesser mortal they would probably have gotten a ticket.
“Are you sorry I didn’t get a ticket?” he asked instead, amused.
“Well actually, yes. I would like to think that the justice system in our great country is working.”
He laughed, adding to her ire. “Lots of people get let off from tickets. It works the other way too, you know. Sometimes I get an officer who can’t stand celebrities or think we have too much money and takes great pleasure in writing out a ticket for me.”
“What a hard life,” she said unsympathetically. “Where are we going, anyway?”
“Estes Park. It’s on the way to the Rockies so we can stop there for a bite to eat and stroll along the Riverwalk for a bit since we don’t have time to drive all the way out to Rocky Mountain Park. You can question me to your heart’s content there.”
“Sounds great!” Shari relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the drive in which Nick managed to stay within the speed limit. He seemed to lead a charmed life. What was it they said? The devil looks after his own.
A sign welcomed them to Estes Park fifteen minutes later. Nick had managed to keep the Porsche to about 70 mph, but Shari could see that the restraint cost him some of his enjoyment.
They found a small café which, thankfully, had only a few people in it. The waitress was friendly but not ingratiating as she greeted Nick by name and led them to a small table, deep in the café, where they could not be easily seen. She took their drink orders and left them with the menus as well as her verbal list of the day’s specials.
“Do you drink all the time?” Shari asked as Nick took a large sip of his vodka and cranberry juice that the waitress returned with in minutes.
“Don’t worry. I won’t be over the limit with one drink. I’ll get you back safely.”
“That was only part of my concern. I’d be concerned for anyone who has a problem with drinking.”
“I don’t have a problem with drinking,” he protested defensively. “I drink because I enjoy it, but I don’t need to drink, mother,” he added the last word sarcastically. “I’m touched by your concern. Most people are only concerned that I’ll be able to make records and perform at concerts to keep the
dollars rolling in.”
Shari felt an unwanted and unexpected twinge of compassion for him.
“What shall we have to eat?” She asked, deliberately changing the subject. She didn’t want to be feeling sorry for him.
She wasn’t sure how to deal with this Nick Badley. She could handle the sarcastic Nick Badley, the arrogant and over-indulged Nick Badley and even the depraved Nick Badley, but this one made her uncomfortable. This one, who unemotionally admitted that he knew he was nothing more than a purse-liner for many people. He delivered the words with an emptiness that pricked her conscience and gave her the uneasy feeling that it wasn’t going to be as easy to pigeon-hole Nick Badley as she had thought.
Nick, totally unaware of the effect his words had on Shari, studied the menu and then announced: “I’ll have the ten-ounce steak with twice-baked potatoes.”
Shari looked up surprised. “I don’t think I’ve seen you eat anything since breakfast in Las Vegas.”
“Oh I eat, all right. But, according to my mother, not enough. What are you having?”
“The soup of the day sounds good and I’ll have a spinach salad.”
“Hope you’re not watching your weight. You look perfectly proportioned to me.” He couldn’t help his eyes being drawn to her surprisingly full bosom, given how slim she was.
Shari narrowed her eyes at him and said: “Don’t go there, Mr. Badley. You’ve almost redeemed yourself for your insulting comments in the limo today so don’t spoil it.”
“Sorry.” He didn’t really sound repentant. Teasing Shari Goodwin could become fun. Was he teasing? She definitely was perfectly proportioned to him and as for the mile high club...better not go there for real.
He gestured to the waitress who appeared right away to take their order.