Rock Star

by Roslyn Hardy Holcomb

  Chapter 16

  Callie stretched and yawned, rubbing wearily at her bleary eyes. It was an early Thursday morning, and she was waiting for the truck that delivered their periodicals. Thursday mornings were always particularly wearing because the truck delivered at seven o’clock, and they had to have the magazines merchandised by the time the store opened at nine o’clock. The big chain stores got the prime delivery times. As an independent retailer, she had to take the delivery schedule that was left. Today she was barely awake. Over the months Bryan had been on tour they’d gotten in the habit of talking on the telephone until the wee hours of the morning. The band had played in Miami the previous evening, and Bryan had called her shortly afterward. He was always wired after a performance but for the first time their conversation had slipped into the realm of phone sex. They had been particularly long-winded and hadn’t said their good-byes until dawn began lightening the eastern sky. Consequently, Callie had gotten only a couple of hours of sleep. The lengthy separation was agony, and though they only had about six weeks to go, it seemed a lifetime. Callie couldn’t shake her gloom and depression. Since Books and So Forth had had its best fourth quarter ever, she should’ve been overjoyed. Instead, she’d merely recorded the data on the spreadsheet. Even the development of a new five-year plan failed to cheer her. Nothing seemed worthwhile if Bryan wasn’t there to share it with her.

  They’d only had two opportunities to see each other in the past few months, Bryan had sent for her and her sisters to join the band in Atlanta when Storm Crow played there. Cynthia and Addie were included as a special treat, even though their presence meant that he and Callie wouldn’t be able to make love. She’d also joined him in Jacksonville, Florida, over a long weekend made possible when an extra show was added to the bill. That weekend had been wonderful, punctuated with long walks along the St. Johns River, and midnight suppers in his suite. Other than that, they’d had to make do with lengthy telephone conversations. Callie was thoroughly frustrated, both emotionally and physically.

  She peered out the back window as she heard the truck pull up. The driver greeted her perfunctorily and then began unloading boxes of periodicals. Callie checked each crate before signing the bill of lading, and the young man was on his way, the whole transaction having taken less than thirty minutes. She groaned; ten boxes of magazines to put out this morning, God, she hated the first of the month! Callie looked up as Tonya joined her, carrying a mug of coffee in each hand. They sipped the steaming beverages for a few moments before beginning to place the stock. Each set of publications was bundled together with plastic wire tape that usually just zipped apart, but today had to be cut with a box cutter, adding long minutes to an already annoying task. They worked through the magazines in companionable silence until they got to the tabloids. Callie had always hated them, seeing them as disseminators of lies and human misery. Of course, they were quite popular, and the one time she’d tried to discontinue selling them, she’d seen a noticeable drop in revenue. She picked up the last bundle, sighing with relief at the prospect of finally finishing this chore.

  Tonya was idly contemplating a plot twist for her book when suddenly she heard a piercing screech. She turned to see Callie dropping the bundle of magazines as if it were a live snake. Tonya rushed to her side, looking at her uncomprehendingly as Callie continued to scream and point at the magazines. Tonya looked more closely and saw a picture of Callie and Bryan together on the cover of The Naked Truth, a particularly repulsive tabloid. The heading over the picture screamed “Best Lay I’ve Ever Had” in bright fuchsia 48-point type. Callie finally stopped screaming, but she still stared at the magazine cover in a state of shock. Realizing that this crisis was going to take a while to resolve, Tonya hastily scribbled a sign to indicate the store was closed for inventory and taped it to the door. She returned to Callie’s side and gently eased her onto the bench. Then she brought her a bottle of water from the break room. Callie just held the bottle, her eyes still transfixed on the appalling headline.

  “Okay, Callie, this is probably not as bad as it looks,” Tonya soothed, disturbed by the chaotic emotion she saw in her friend’s eyes. “I mean, those tabloids have titles like that all the time, just to get folks to buy them. Usually there’s nothing to the story.”

  Callie reeled in greater shock; she’d been so flummoxed by the photograph that she hadn’t considered the possibility that the story could be even worse. She pulled the top copy of the magazine out of its bundle and hastily turned to the center spread, her eyes widening in ever-greater horror as she read the story. Apparently it was an “exclusive” given to the magazine by an “insider,” identified only as “an intimate friend of Bryan’s.” According to the “insider,” Callie was a call girl who used the bookstore as a cover for her nocturnal trade. As per the “insider,” Bryan had been forced to resort to prostitutes because, “He likes rough sex, and no decent woman would have him.” The “insider” went on to say, “He probably took up with a black girl because everyone knows they’re really wild like animals and will do anything in bed.”

  Tonya, who was reading the magazine over her friend’s shoulder, shook her head in dismay. “Damn, girl, you told me about you and Bryan in the Jacuzzi, but you didn’t mention y’all were bare-assed naked.” She gestured towards a photograph of Callie and Bryan in an outdoor hot tub. The grainy texture of the image was a dead giveaway that it had been taken with a telephoto lens.

  Callie turned on Tonya with a shriek. “That’s not us in that picture! I mean, yes, that’s us, but we had our swimsuits on the whole time. Look at that picture! It’s obviously been Photoshopped!” She pounded the magazine. “Those aren’t my breasts, those are L.A. breasts! My breasts move!” She shook her shoulders to illustrate her point, then screamed in anguish as she crumpled the magazine. “I can’t believe these people. I knew they were evil, but this is incredible!”

  In addition to the damning hot tub photograph, there were three others, including one that Callie found particularly poignant. The picture had been taken at the pre-tribute party, and showed Bryan standing behind her, his arms encircling her waist while he placed a kiss on the side of her neck. The party had been winding down, and they’d thought all the paparazzi had left, but obviously they had been mistaken. Apparently they were so absorbed in one another, they hadn’t even heard the shutter go off. Her face glowed as if illuminated from within, and he looked so achingly tender in that moment that she wanted to weep. Their feelings were evident for all to see. Under normal circumstances, Callie would have treasured it as evidence of Bryan’s regard for her. But accompanying the garbage in the article as it did, it only sickened her. It cheapened their love, turning something sweet and pure into something tawdry.

  When her cell phone began to ring, Callie grabbed it from where she wore it clipped to her belt and stared at it as if she had no idea what it was. She couldn’t possibly talk to Bryan right now. What on earth had she been thinking? A relationship with a rock star was out of the question. People would constantly be lying about who and what she was. What would her folks think? And what about Cynthia and Addie? She was their big sister and had always tried to set a good example for them. Now the whole world thought she was a prostitute. Her poor sisters would be made fun of at school. Her family had always been so proud of her; now they would all be so ashamed.

  All the hopes and dreams she’d so carefully laid out in her five-year plan would come to naught. Who would finance any of her plans now? Nobody would be willing to invest in any of her projects. For the first time in her life Callie knew overwhelming despair. Suddenly she burst into tears and threw the telephone. It hit the wall with a muted thud, and skittered across the floor. As Tonya looked on in astonishment, Callie ran up the stairs.

  Tonya moved slowly over to the cell phone where it lay on the floor, still ringing. Thank God for titanium plating, she mused to herself as she picked it up, hearing, as she expected, a distraught Bryan on the other end. When he realized that
Tonya had answered the telephone, he inquired as to Callie’s whereabouts. Tonya paused, looking reflectively up at the ceiling until she heard the unmistakable sound of the shower running in Callie’s bathroom. Callie tended to take long showers when she was upset; it seemed to soothe her.

  “I think she’s taking a little water therapy at the moment,” Tonya replied. She didn’t quite know what to make of the situation yet, but she suspected that it was going to be much worse than she had initially thought.

  Bryan sighed. He had noted Callie’s water habit also. “So I guess she knows about the story, huh?” He had been hoping against hope that she had somehow missed it, and the whole thing could just blow over without causing too many problems.

  Tonya didn’t respond, unwilling to share any more information than she had to. Bryan knew the bookstore schedule as well as she did, and he had to know that Callie would have seen the tabloid first thing that morning.

  “Is she very upset?” he asked worriedly.

  “I’d hazard a guess that she’s pretty much devastated. I don’t think she wants to talk to you right now. Actually, I don’t think she wants to talk to anybody right now,” Tonya replied coolly.

  He had expected no less from Callie’s best friend, and he certainly didn’t deserve anything more. It was barely nine o’clock in Miami. After playing the night before, he and Callie had talked all night and he hadn’t gone to bed until almost five o’clock in the morning. Though he usually slept no more than four hours, performing seemed to increase his requirements. Sleep deprivation certainly wasn’t helping matters any.

  It had never occurred to him that he wouldn’t be able to talk to Callie, but that seemed to be exactly what Tonya was telling him.

  “Tonya, I know she’s upset, but I didn’t do anything! I don’t know what the hell happened. I can’t believe they attacked her like this!” Bryan explained frantically.

  “Look, Bryan, I don’t know if she plans to talk to you. She’s really freaked out. Give her a chance to calm down, okay?”

  Bryan sighed heavily. He wanted to talk to Callie, now. “Just tell her, I love her, okay? Will you at least tell her that for me?” he pleaded.

  Tonya relented, just a little bit. “I’ll tell her Bryan, but I’ve never seen her like this. I don’t think she’ll be listening. I closed the store,” she added just before she hung up. Tonya knew that Bryan would understand that they would close the store only under the direst circumstances. She wanted him to know how much of an impact this was having on Callie. She felt a certain amount of guilt. After all, she had encouraged Callie to be with Bryan, and this was the catastrophic result. It was vindictive, but she wanted Bryan to experience some of the remorse and despondency she was feeling.

  * * *

  Bryan flopped back on his bed, wanting to scream with frustration. He couldn’t recall ever having been this infuriated before. He had to get to Callie right away. Everything they had together, the trust he’d worked so hard to build, was being destroyed by that stupid article. But he couldn’t leave now. Storm Crow had to play another show in Miami before moving on to Houston. He was bone-weary of the tour and being without Callie, and now this filth had bubbled up from the very sewers of hell. He wanted to go see about Callie immediately, but leaving now would mean the end of his band. Jon and Twist had forgiven him for his previous transgression, but there was no chance in hell of them being so understanding if he ditched them again.

  He pulled his hair into a quick, shaggy ponytail. Getting some help for Callie was crucial. He couldn’t go to Alabama, but maybe B.T. would be able to help out. She would need someone to give her some directions on how to navigate the paparazzi minefield that was sure to be set off by this article. No one was better at that than his manager. B.T. had called him first thing that morning and faxed him a copy of the article. He’d immediately realized the implications and quickly called Callie. From the very beginning he’d tried to be careful to shelter Callie from this type of publicity. But he’d never dreamed she would be attacked with slander so terrible. He was a public figure and fair game in their eyes. Hell, there were even times when they’d courted negative publicity because it was so good for sales. But this…Callie was a private citizen; she should’ve been off limits. At worst, he’d expected a photograph where they referred to her as the “unnamed woman” accompanying him. They’d done it just that way countless times in the past. It was an unspoken rule that in general the tabloids left people alone unless they were in the business. It was inconceivable to him that they would violate her privacy and distort the truth to this degree. This was not the way the game was played. He just didn’t understand it.

  He mused on the problem for long moments, and then the answer hit him with all the subtlety of a cruise missile, Chasdity! Of course, she was the “insider” with the information. That evil bitch had gone to the tabloids and used them to attack Callie. Damn! He’d had no idea she was that vindictive. He shook his head. This made no sense; she’d walked out on him! Why did she feel the need to seek revenge? But what about B.T.? They wouldn’t have dared do such a thing without running it past him first.

  Bryan propped himself up against the padded headboard and called B.T. back, puzzled by the fact that his usually crafty manager had apparently been caught flat-footed by the story. B.T. had low friends in high places, and very little caught him unawares. When his manager came on the line, Bryan demanded some answers.

  “Hell, boy, even the best grapevine breaks down some of the time!”

  Something about the statement rang false with Bryan. B.T. bragged all the time that he had a better network than any government agency. He even went so far as to boast that the president called him for intelligence. Though that was probably an exaggeration, it wasn’t much of one. If there had been an actual communication breakdown, B.T. would’ve been the last person in the world to acknowledge it.

  He pushed the issue, “Come on, B.T., that’s bullshit, and you know it. You’ve got your finger in every game in town. Hell, you started most of them, so don’t try to play me like that.”

  B.T. gave a heavy sigh. “You always were a smart-ass.” This sharp line of questioning was surprising coming from Bryan. Usually he didn’t inquire too closely about this area of the business, finding it distasteful and annoying but a necessary evil. If he told Bryan the truth he would come unglued. He tried to prevaricate and appeal to sentimentality.

  “Look, I’ve been with you for fifteen years. Don’t you think I try to take care of you?”

  Bryan was on a low simmer. This day was getting worse by the second. He wasn’t where he wanted to be. The walls of the hotel were closing in on him, and his mood was deteriorating rapidly. B.T. was up to no good, adding to his frustration with this attempt to make an end run around the topic by playing on their personal relationship.

  Bryan clenched his teeth, holding onto his temper by the barest strand of a thread. “B.T., I just called the woman I love. A woman who just had her world knocked off its foundation by a story. A story that my manager, a man who has a network the CIA would envy, to whom I pay an obscene amount to prevent such things, somehow managed to let slip through the cracks. Cut the crap, B.T., it doesn’t work with me,” he snarled, biting off each sentence with a sharp click of his teeth.

  For the first time in many years, B.T.’s thick cornpone accent slipped as he gave an answer that he knew could destroy their very lucrative relationship. “Bryan, I thought it would be easier to let it go this way,” he murmured softly.

  Bryan pulled his hair in frustration. “B.T., what the hell are you talking about? Easier than what? Death by a thousand cuts?”

  “I just thought it would better for your career if you didn’t get so serious about a black girl,” he mumbled.

  Bryan was astounded. He couldn’t believe his manager would say such a thing. “B.T., what in the hell are you talking about?” he asked, enunciating each syllable as if suddenly he doubted who he was talking to. “I don’t believe th
is is coming out of your mouth. You and Maria had her in your home. What in the hell kind of racist bullshit is this? Don’t you think you’re taking the redneck charade just a bit too far?”

  B.T. tried a soothing tone. “Bryan, you just haven’t thought about the impact that dating her might have on your career…”

  Bryan snorted, “B.T., try another one. I’ve dated girls of other races before, and you never even noticed. And all you’ve thought about for the past fifteen years is my career; you know damned well you’ve never missed a trick. Try another one!”

  B.T. had heard Richard Nixon lament once that unlike Ronald Reagan, he had not been able to plead stupidity. No one would believe for one moment that he had not had total and complete control of everyone in his administration. Nixon was simply too savvy. Apparently he was about to be hoisted on the same petard. There were times when being intelligent and crafty was an outright pain in the ass. People just didn’t understand.

  “Okay, okay. I just never thought you were serious about her. Even when you brought her to the house, I thought you were just making nice with Maria. Good God, Bryan, you’ve slept with some of the most beautiful women on the planet! How was I to know that you would lose your mind over a skinny little bookworm from Alabama? She’s a nobody. I thought at the very least you’d go for an actress, even a porn star, but a bookstore owner?” B.T. seemed sincerely perplexed by Bryan’s choices. “So no, honest to God, I didn’t think there was anything to it. Why do you think nobody bothered y’all in L.A.? I got the word out that she was just another flash in the pan, hardly worth noticing.”

  Bryan could scarcely believe his ears. He couldn’t believe he’d known this man for fifteen years and didn’t really know him at all.

  “B.T., I can’t believe you’re saying this. You have to know me better than this. Callie is not a nobody, she’s the woman I love, and I’ll take her over any porn star or actress,” he growled into the phone. He paused for a moment, contemplating the rest of B.T.’s comments. He’d always known that his manager worked hand in hand with the paparazzi, but he’d had no inkling of just how Byzantine the relationship was. “Okay, okay, as usual you were in bed with them, so what the hell happened?”