by S. M. Shade
When I wave to Herb, I notice that Holt has stopped just beside him. He must’ve been on his way through the lobby which means he heard my little tirade. Again, I come off so professional.
“Listen, you little bitch,” the guy begins.
That’s as far as he gets before both Holt and Herb are at my side. Holt steps between me and the disgruntled paparazzo, and Herb grabs his arm and marches him toward the exit. Herb is a big guy, one of those people you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley, but he has a teddy bear personality when you aren’t causing trouble.
Holt stares at me for a moment. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Have a good day,” I tell him, and head back toward the dining room. I’d at least like a sandwich before I have to put out any more fires.
It’s my fault I’m so busy. When my father was alive, I was the general manager, and I had an assistant manager to take some of the load off. Since his death, I’ve taken over his duties, but continued with my own. I need to hire someone else, and Vera, the assistant manager, would be more than capable of taking the general manager position if I promoted her.
I make a mental note to look through the resumes on file tomorrow while I scarf down a sandwich and chips, then rush out to make my appointment with the accountant on time.
At least the news from the accountant was positive. The resort is doing better than ever, and it would be no financial hardship to hire a new assistant manager, even factoring in the weekly bonuses I’m giving my staff.
It’s a beautiful day and I’m in no hurry to get back to work, so I send a quick text to Foster.
Me: I’m right down the street from you. Want to go to I Scream?
Foster: I’ll meet you there in five minutes.
I Scream is a large ice cream shop with an attached playground that opened last year. They have every flavor imaginable and a whole section of self-serve toppings. Stuff you’d never think to put on ice cream. Every time I go, I try some new combination.
The place isn’t crowded, so I take a seat at a table and wait for Foster before getting my food. A man takes a seat at the next table with two kids who look around five years old. He’s really attractive, dark hair and eyes, a lot like the asshole rock star that’s causing me so much trouble.
“That lady is looking at you,” the little boy announces, shoveling a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth with one hand and pointing at me with the other.
Little NARC.
The man’s gaze lands on me, his lips spreading into a smile as he scolds the boy. “Don’t point. It’s rude.”
“So is staring,” the girl points out.
Touché, you little brat.
“Not when it’s a beautiful woman,” the man says, smiling at me.
“Sorry, I was daydreaming,” I lie. “Cute kids. Twins?”
“Yes, my niece and nephew. Excuse them. They take after my sister and haven’t grown a filter yet. I’m Campbell.”
“Kinley. It’s nice to meet you.” My phone beeps with a message from Foster.
Foster: OMW. Stuck behind a car accident.
Me: Okay
“Something wrong?” Campbell asks.
“No, my friend just got held up. No biggie.”
“I’m more than happy to keep you company until they arrive.” His playful tone makes me smile.
The boy jumps to his feet and cries, “Done! Can I go play in the playground?”
The girl joins him, swallowing a mouthful of ice cream. “Me too!”
“Stay where I can see you,” he warns, and they race off. He turns to me and asks, “Are you waiting on a boyfriend?”
“Nope. I’m single.”
I don’t usually volunteer that information, but the guy is flirting with me, he’s cute, and he takes his sister’s kids out for ice cream, which is adorable. I haven’t been out on a date since before my father died. And six months seems like forever.
“I have the same problem. Maybe we could get together and do single people stuff.”
Laughing, I lean my chin on my hand. “I could go for some single people stuff. What do you like to do, you know, as a single person?”
“Hmm, how do you feel about Italian restaurants?”
“What a coincidence!” I exclaim. “I also like to eat.”
He laughs and leans closer, whispering in a conspiratorial voice, “I’ve also been known to play a mean game of mini-golf.”
“You monster. I suppose I could go along with that.”
We sit and chat for a few more minutes, and Foster comes in just as we’re exchanging numbers. “Sorry I’m late. There was an accident. But a hot cop was totally checking me out, so it wasn’t all bad.”
“I’ll see you Friday night,” I promise Campbell, and join Foster.
“Looking forward to it.”
“Did you just pick up a guy at an ice cream shop? You slut,” Foster taunts, as we make our sundaes.
“I didn’t pick him up. Well, maybe I did.” I glance back to see him ushering the two kids out the door. “He was cute, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for having cold feet,” Foster agrees. “But what about poor Marcus? He’ll be so disappointed!”
That earns him a punch on the shoulder. “You know those rags don’t tell the truth.” We take a seat across from each other. “Apparently, trying to correct them just makes things worse.”
Foster licks the ice cream from his spoon. “I know you hate being the center of attention, but look at it as free publicity for Foxhaven. You were hoping to draw in more affluent guests to fill those empty suites, right?”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I’m sure they’ll move on to more interesting gossip anyway when I’m not seen out with him again. I just didn’t expect it.”
“Are you pissed at Marcus?”
“I was,” I sigh. “I mean, he can be a total asshole, but I really think he was trying to refute the stories of us being together. It had to be embarrassing for him.”
Foster scowls at me. “Why would you be an embarrassment? You’re beautiful and successful.”
“Not compared to his supermodel girlfriend,” I laugh.
“Ah.” He waves his hand. “Believe it or not, emaciated and high maintenance isn’t always a turn on.” He grins and points his spoon at me. “Just do your thing, girl. Don’t worry about what the media says.”
Chapter Four
Singleton
Sully actually comes through, and I’m headed to see my brother in his rehab clinic. The crowd of paparazzi has grown and when we pull out of the gates, we’re followed all the way to the hospital. Since it’s more than fifty miles, you’d think they would give up, but no. Officers and security guards are gathered at the entrances of the hospital when we arrive, and I’m hustled inside.
A sour faced nurse gives me a curt nod and says, “Come with me.”
She leads me, along with two security officers, through a maze of foul smelling hallways. It’s a good thing they’ll be leading me back out because I’ve lost track of the turns we’ve made, and everything looks the same. Off-white and gloomy.
Finally, she swipes her badge and accompanies us down a staircase and into a small break room. It’s empty except for a sofa, table and chairs, and a few vending machines. “Wait here,” the nurse says, and steps back into the hall. A few moments later, my brother walks in, a wide smile on his face.
He has gained weight and looks much healthier than the last time I saw him. “Asshole,” I greet.
“Dickhead,” he replies. A spare second ticks by before we both laugh and grab each other in a hug.
“I wasn’t sure you were really coming,” he says.
“You know Sully. I had to give him shit before he’d agree.”
He plunks quarters in a vending machine, grabs a drink, and sits at the table.
“How is this place treating you?” Despite the little room we’ve been put in for our visit, I’ve seen brochures for this place, and he sur
e isn’t roughing it. Private suite, gourmet meals instead of hospital slop, more activities than a country club. I’d probably change places with him at the moment.
“It ain’t the Chateau Marmont, but I’m coping. What’s been going on with you? Are you banging that hotel owner?”
The sofa scoots a little, grating against the floor when I take a seat on it. “You of all people should know those papers are full of shit.”
Grinning, he shrugs. “They get it right sometimes. The Daily Tell reported on my drug addiction before anyone else knew. Hell, even me. I thought I was just having fun.”
Fun. It sure as hell wasn’t fun for me or our father. “And now?”
He stares me in the eye for a minute before responding. “I’m an addict. I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s true.”
Sighing, I lean back and prop my ankle on my knee. “You can get better. Look at the huge life you have waiting for you.”
“I know.” His gaze darts away and he changes the subject. “You’re the one living large though. Tell me what you’ve been doing? If you aren’t nailing the hotel owner, you must be wearing out those groupies.”
“I’m working in the Third Street studio during the day, stuck in the hotel at night. I’m not fucking groupies.”
“What a waste! That’s the best part of fame! What good is it to have half the women in the country lusting after you if you aren’t going to partake?”
Shaking my head, I just grin at him. “I’m well aware of your thoughts on the subject.”
He takes a sip of his soda. “If the papers got it wrong with the hotel woman, then what were you doing?”
“Birthday dinner. It was stupid. I momentarily forgot that I’m too famous to eat tacos in public.”
His smile widens. “Great isn’t it? Everyone loves you, wants to be you—”
“Wants a picture with you, or an autograph, you can’t go anywhere, everything you do is judged and lied about,” I finish.
“Have you been signing autographs?”
“Only if I get cornered and have to. I’m following Sully’s advice on that.”
He gets to his feet and goes back to the vending machine, this time for a candy bar. “Don’t act like you don’t love all this attention.”
Anger bubbles inside me. “I’m not acting. I hate this. I never should’ve gotten myself into this.”
His jaw tightens. “It’s not like you aren’t raking in the money. And you could have your choice of any woman you see. So, don’t try to get me to feel sorry for you while I’m trapped in this hellhole where I can’t even have a smoke without someone babysitting me.”
“I’m doing this for you,” I remind him through gritted teeth.
He holds up his hands. “I know, man, and I appreciate it. I really do.”
It’s time to change the subject again. “Has Dad been here?”
“No, he’s called a couple of times.”
“What did he have to say?”
“I didn’t talk to him.”
My head aches, and I rub my fingers across it. The man never learns. It’s just the same shit, the same drama over and over. “He’s worried about you.”
“Bullshit.”
One of the security officers steps into the room. “There’s a crowd gathering at the emergency entrance. The administrator would like us to leave before it endangers the patients. Ambulances may have trouble getting through.”
Nodding, I get to my feet, and my brother smiles. “Fame calls, bro. You’re the world famous Marcus Singleton. Put on that cocky smile and don’t disappoint the ladies.”
“Fuck off.”
The nurse who led us down enters the room, and I gesture toward my brother. “He needs an enema. Said he hasn’t shit for days. He’s just too embarrassed to complain.”
His laughter follows me back down the stinking, eggshell colored hallway.
More and more, I’m starting to think things will never change. That he’ll never change. No matter how many chances he’s given, he’ll just keep taking until there’s nothing left.
My mood is already thunderous when I return to Foxhaven, and all I want to do is go to my room and write. It’s always this way. Any intense emotion drives me to put pen to paper, to pour it out in words so it doesn’t gnaw at my brain. It’s the way I made it through my childhood and adolescence without becoming an alcoholic like my mom, or diving into drugs like my brother.
The fact that the words which spill out make good song lyrics is just a lucky bonus. I write to stay sane, to keep my balance when the universe is determined to knock me off my feet. And it looks like today, the daily shove is going to come from a sixteen year old girl who can’t take no for an answer.
Zya Day is the star of the latest reality trash to hit TV. After acting like a spoiled brat on an evening talk show and spawning a mindless catch phrase, she went viral and somehow landed her own show. She missed out on getting a picture with me a few days ago, then she must’ve complained to Kinley about it, though I’m not sure what the hell she said. Does she really think the hotel is responsible for making me take a picture with her? Either way, it’s not fucking happening.
Sully has been very clear on keeping the “brand” and reputation clean when it comes to young girls. And being seen with jailbait in a halter top and booty shorts is not a good idea.
Two steps inside the lobby, she practically launches herself at me. “Hey Marcus, where have you been hiding?” she asks, running a hand down the front of my tee shirt. Her tits nearly pop out of the tight top she’s wearing, but I have no desire to look at them. Instead, I take a quick step back and hold out my hands, making it clear I’m not touching her.
“Clark,” I call. He looks up from whatever he was working on at the front desk and rushes over. He doesn’t need me to tell him what I want.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t you know who I am?” she screeches, and tries to shove me. Clark steps between us as she loses her shit. “You think you’re better than me? I got an album coming out too and it’s better than your lame shit.”
If that isn’t enough, her mother runs over and starts shouting too. I don’t catch much, but the general theme is my daughter can do whatever she wants and how dare you disrespect her? If there’s one thing I’m aware of, it’s that arguing with people like this is completely pointless. My lips stay sealed as a few more security officers show up to deal with the two banshees.
Finally, I make a beeline for the stairs. Footsteps pound the steps behind me, and I curse, turning to deal with whoever is following me. Clark stops short, and a relieved laugh spills out of me. “Sorry, I thought maybe she sent her father after me or something.”
Chuckling, we resume our walk up the stairs. “You put your hands up like she was robbing you,” Clark remarks.
“I wanted to make it clear I was not touching her.”
“Good move. That whole family has been nothing but trouble since they got here. They won’t be welcome again.” Clark shakes his head as we exit onto my floor. “I don’t understand why we keep making stupid people famous.”
“No idea either.” I dig in my pocket and hand him a couple one hundred dollar bills.
“What’s this?”
“You can take tips, can’t you? Thanks for intervening.”
Nodding, he stuffs it in his pocket. “I’m on call if you need anything. Kinley may want to talk to you about the scene in the lobby. She documents everything.”
“I’ll be here,” I mumble.
Right fucking here.
It’s after midnight when the cabin fever really moves in on me. I can’t sleep, and I don’t want to stay in this room another second.
Fuck it.
I jump up, throw some clothes on, sling my guitar across my back, and head downstairs. A young woman sits at the front desk, her feet propped up on a chair, reading a book. Her eyebrows leap up when she sees me walk past and she calls out, “Mr. Singleton, is there something I can get for you?”
>
“No thanks.” When I glance back, she’s gone back to her book. I’m sure it’s a bit out of the ordinary for guests to be wandering around this late, judging by how empty the place is, but it’s not like I’m breaking any rules.
A lone figure swims laps in the pool as I pass, and I know the gym stays open twenty-four hours as well, so I must not be the only insomniac here. A chime rings as I push through one of the side exits and start down the path toward the lake. Tiny solar lights line the walkway until it splits in two, and I take the dark, unpaved path to the gazebo where Kinley found me before.
Maybe it’s because it’s set back into the woods a bit, and only illuminated by the moon, but the gazebo always seems to be empty. The surroundings are perfect if you ask me, the woods on three sides of you, the lake on the other.
Silent and hidden.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, but the sky above is still bursting with stars. Settling my guitar on my lap, I lean my head back and soak in the sounds. Water laps against the shore and a branch creaks as the wind picks up a little. A few cicadas join a symphony of crickets.
I’ve always been more of a city guy, but there’s a lot to be said for the calming effect of nature. I feel better out here. Less alone, even though I am. The song I’ve been working on starts calling to me, and my fingers find their way to the strings.
I run through it a few times, letting the music overcome my shitty day. The snap of a branch makes me look up. Kinley stands on the top step of the gazebo, watching me, a pensive expression on her face.