She wound her fingers in his. “He took me home that night in a hansom cab. He sang to me as we rode through the streets of New York. When the cab stopped he sweetly asked for permission to kiss me, and of course I couldn’t say no.”
“Of course,” I eked out through clenched teeth. If either of them caught the catch in my voice, neither one indicated as much.
“I called Jasper the next day and asked for her number. At first he didn’t want to give it to me, convinced I was up to absolutely no good, but then I admitted I had found my muse.”
My eyebrow rose.
She cuddled against him. “He wrote a song just for me. It’s the first track they’re releasing off of the album.”
“Which one?” I asked, partly because I had to know for the article. It would be great to include that in the press kits to generate interest. But mostly I wanted to hold out hope it was any other song but the one I instantly knew that it had to be.
“’Wanting Her’,” she answered.
“Seeing her, wanting her,” he sang softly, which drew the attention of a nearby table. “What I’d give for just one kiss.” He punctuated the song with a soft peck on her lips, and I had to drag my eyes away.
Had I really entertained the thought that song was for me?
“She’s going to be in the video,” he said and she preened at the idea. “We’re flying to the Caribbean to record it in the spring.”
“Jasper insisted,” she said. “I’ve never acted before, so it will be a new challenge for me.”
I said nothing as I scribbled the answer in my notebook. How hard could it be to act like a woman in love? Especially with Vanni…
The food arrived but as good as it was it settled like wet cardboard in the pit of my stomach. As they lingered over a shared dessert I asked, “So when did you two move in together?”
Her startled eyes met mine. “How did you know that we had?”
Shit, I thought. This is what I get for going off the cuff. “Lucky hunch,” I said. “You both seem so in love,” I added with a pointed look at Vanni. “Like you belong together.”
He looked down at her instead. “You tell her, babe.”
“It was my birthday gift,” she admitted.
“The gift that keeps on giving,” he quietly finished for her. Was it my imagination or was he actually contrite to admit it?
“I see,” I said softly. “Is this something you want to be printed in the article?” I had to ask, since the question was not officially one of the ones I had chosen for print.
“Of course,” she said instantly. “We have no secrets.” She glanced back up at him like an adoring puppy. “Do we, babe?”
His eyes darted toward mine. “None at all.”
“Well,” I said as I gathered my notes, “I think I know all I need to know. I’ll get something over to Jasper this afternoon. I can send you both a copy if you’d like.”
“No need,” Lourdes said with a sunny smile. “We trust you. Don’t we, Vanni?”
He hopped out of the booth to stand while I got up, almost convincingly disguised as a gentleman. “Absolutely,” he said with just enough emphasis for me to hear it but for her not to detect anything. He opened his arms for a hug and I briefly stepped into the embrace that was still emblazoned on my body from the night before. “See you tonight?” he asked softly as he pulled away.
Another gig. Another command performance. “Of course,” I answered with as phony a smile as his girlfriend wore.
At ten o’clock that evening I was on a plane bound for Nashville. I emailed the copy to Jasper so I didn’t have to keep face in front of my new friend Jacob by going by the office, and told Iris that a paying gig came up back home and I had to cut my “vacation” short.
She was disappointed but she understood. “There will be other opportunities,” she assured me.
As I soared above a darkened countryside “Wanting Her” played for the last time on my MP3 player. I deleted that and every other Dreaming in Blue song from my playlist and uncharacteristically prayed the band would not be a success so that I would never have to see Giovanni Carnevale again.
I realized too late I hitched myself to the wrong wagon.
~Andy~
As it turned out my self-defeating prayer did not come true. Dreaming in Blue was poised to become one of the hottest tickets in music by the end of the year, courtesy of a huge media push that included much of my own pro bono work. The first couple of months all the way to Valentine’s Day I tried my level best to go on a Giovanni-free diet, which worked in the real world much more so than with my besties based in New York. Nashville still remained largely on Planet Normal, and no one I ran into had even heard of the band or the lead singer beyond some casual mention with Lourdes in the tabloids. Even then it was a name that rang a bell but no one could put a face to it.
Meanwhile my blissfully ignorant friends from New York, who chatted with me via text, phone and Internet at least three times a week, all kept me in the loop of the latest developments. Jasper had flown the band to the Bahamas on Valentine’s Day to record the video for “Wanting Her,” which was now starting to get airplay in some of the major markets. There was even some talk of it being used for a romantic comedy starring one of the female titans of the box office, but no deals had actually been hammered out yet.
I listened to their updates, and tried to stifle any eagerness to learn what was happening between Vanni and Lourdes. Mercifully none of my friends thought it was important enough to indulge, so the topic barely came up. Instead I’d hear about the new music they were writing, their tentative tour schedule and gigs, as well as some of the funny anecdotes in the lives of musicians and celebrities. That was almost enough in and of itself to help me wean myself off of my celebrity crush.
I was able to step back and gain some perspective on why I behaved like I did. It was a quick crash and burn crush that had more to do with my ego than Vanni. A sexy, important man wanted me, and that boosted my ego enough to want to take it to its natural end.
After all was said and done, I was actually glad we hadn’t slept together. Every now and then I’d have a heated dream but I couldn’t help the residual memories tucked away in my unconscious mind.
What I could control were my conscious actions. With all I knew, and all I didn’t want to know, I felt confident that I would never cave to his womanizing ways again.
And after four months I felt ready to put that resolve to the test.
Iris called to invite me to the world premiere of the video for “Wanting Her,” which I initially wanted to skip entirely due to the lingering resentment and disappointment I had regarding the song. But then she dangled a paying gig over my head. Jasper was so pleased with everything I had done, especially (and ironically) the piece I wrote on Lourdes and Vanni. It ran in several different gossip “lifestyle” magazines and was even featured on a prominent entertainment website. So he had requested me specifically for the assignment, and was giving me an all-expense-paid trip to New York as a perk. This was my chance at another byline in a major music publication – Jasper’s of course – and a fairly nice paycheck to boot.
For my portfolio’s sake alone I couldn’t say no.
After four months to gain some perspective and heal my wounded pride, I figured that I could go to New York, be around the band and most importantly Giovanni and Lourdes, and not be tempted by an old pipe dream that deep down I knew was too good to be true.
This was just business.
At least that’s what I told myself when I checked into my hotel. Again there was a huge bouquet waiting for me but I didn’t even check the envelope. I already knew only Jasper would think to send a spread like that.
Iris met me that afternoon and insisted we go on a major shopping spree. It was as if she didn’t trust me to pick out my own clothes for the soiree she and Jacob had toiled for two months to organize. They had opened it to the fans that would get a special sneak preview, with an after party that wou
ld cater mostly to the elite music professionals.
And, of course, me.
I didn’t bother packing anything special for the trip because I had already made peace with the idea Iris was going to dress me. Jacob threatened to overhaul my wardrobe too when he listened in horror at what I had in my closet to bring.
My comment, “It’s not like I’m a supermodel,” did not warrant a response from the man who really became the closest thing I had to a confidante in my immediate circle of friends.
He had asked about my night with Vanni but I lied my ass off. Somehow I got the feeling he didn’t buy a word I said, especially since I made a beeline for home the very next day. So far, though, he let it go by unchallenged.
Neither of us spoke of Vanni or Lourdes, but it felt a bit like the 800-pound gorilla in the room. Sometimes I wondered if he had a few secrets of his own.
As a present to myself after I returned home in December I dyed my hair platinum blond with an intense blue streak along the front. I needed a change, and you really can’t get more drastic than that. Iris squealed when she saw it, and then proceeded to pick out a wardrobe that fit the theme: Dreaming in Blue.
I groaned when she made the connection, because that wasn’t why I did it.
At least not intentionally.
She insisted I get a two-toned halter dress with an empire waist. The top was in a deep sapphire blue, the bottom was a flattering black. With nearly platform height black pumps it made me look sophisticated and sexy, which boosted my confidence for the task ahead.
It had been easy to put Vanni in the mental rearview mirror while he was nearly a thousand miles away. I traveled even further, to the west coast and even out of the country to put as much distance as necessary between us until memories of the debacle no longer stung.
It felt so good – or at least safe – to cleanse him right out of my system, but the thought I would soon see him again had me slightly concerned. My heart raced. My blood pumped. Little butterflies all wore wooden shoes and happily clog-danced in the pit of my stomach.
Was Vanni like some sort of drug? Did I only need one hit to be addicted again, unsatisfied until he once again threw my heart in a blender?
Maybe distance had cooled him off the hunt as well. He’d been feasting at the table that was Lourdes for four blissful months already, and from what I understood things were going along very well. The video was “beautiful” and “romantic” and sure to make him a hit with all the ladies.
All but one, anyway.
I flew in the day of the event, to avoid the temptation of hanging out with the band at Iris’s behest. That night would be the concert along with the video premiere, then the after-party. I could spend the rest of the weekend sequestered in my hotel room writing, using that as an excuse to avoid any kind of socializing at all should the experience prove too painful or discomforting.
Or so I kept telling myself. I had a sneaking suspicion that neither Iris nor Jacob were too keen to let that happen.
Only Alana seemed content to see me away from the gigs. I somehow sensed she knew more than she let on but had so far decided not to call me on my bullshit that nothing had gone on with Vanni in New York.
But Alana was also one with experience with fickle musicians so maybe she didn’t need a whole lot of writing on the wall to see what was going on. Whenever we talked there was an underlying tone of understanding for things that weren’t being said. Maybe she instinctively knew I learned my lesson and I had decided to quit my rock star habit cold turkey. Maybe her silence was just giving me the space I needed to heal, with the silent permission that it was okay no matter what I had, or hadn’t, done.
I loved her for that.
She also wasn’t a big fan of Lourdes. During one of our epic, five-hour conversations that ended solely because one or both of our cell phones died, she confided that Lourdes treated the rest of the “girlfriends” as though she were better than anyone else. She knew Jasper first and well, and it was her friendship with him that helped the band get so many perks.
Either way, it didn’t involve me. I wasn’t one of the “girlfriends” and I was really only the low end of the totem pole: the writer who showed up every few months when something major happened with the band.
I wasn’t even a fan anymore, even though I had once loved their music enough to listen to it every day. There was no question that even now I believed in their talent. But when I go cold turkey, I go cold turkey, by God.
These were the bold declarations I could make when temptation wasn’t figuratively or literally knocking at my door.
I think there was a part of me very deep down that understood that ignoring Vanni was really my best defense to keep my resolve. I didn’t know how that was going to work after the video premiered and “Wanting Her” started to play in heavy rotation both on the radio and on music television.
I’d just have to cross that bridge when I came to it. I hadn’t really researched the Amish yet but it was certainly as viable an option as any.
By six o’clock that evening I settled in the limo with Iris and Jacob as we headed toward the concert hall that was hosting our concert/premiere. Iris got us seats right down in front in the reserved section that included Lourdes, Jasper, his wife Athena and a handful of other moguls, the girlfriends – which included Alana – and the grunts of the operation, the two of us.
Some fans won their chance to sit in the front row, and they were easy to spot by their giggly exuberance. I overheard their whispers about Vanni, how hot he was, how they couldn’t wait to see him, if he touched them they’d just die. I had to smile to myself.
You could live through being touched by Giovanni. You’d just be mortally wounded for about four months.
The roar of the excited crowd grew louder as the clock ticked down to the eight o’clock concert, which was to begin with the video footage broadcast over the stage on a huge screen that could be seen from the very last person in the nosebleed section. The audience grew antsy as the lights beat down on an empty stage full of equipment just ready to be played.
Despite all my intentions otherwise I grew a little nervous myself. I was almost right dead center of the front row, there’s no way he’d miss me or I him. I hadn’t seen him since that disastrous interview in December, and if I was really, truly honest with myself (and let’s face it, who really is?) I had just gotten over the look in his eyes or the curve of his full mouth about two weeks ago.
He was a hard man to forget, and an even harder man to ignore. My thousand-mile buffer zone had just shrunk to twenty-five feet. The longer I sat there waiting for him to jump out on that stage right in front of me the more I knew that despite all my bluster otherwise I hadn’t gotten as far past my addiction as I had hoped.
I just closed my eyes and prayed for strength.
I glanced down the row at Lourdes where she sat next to Jasper and Athena. Seeing her would fortify my resolve. No matter what I thought of her personally it wasn’t fair to indulge any fantasies of her man. That’s not the kind of woman I was.
But that didn’t stop my heart from beating like a wild animal against my chest when the lights dimmed and the video started to roll on the big screen.
Vanni was walking on the beach at sunset, his feet bare, wearing only loose fitting white pants and an open shirt. His hair tousled around his head with the wind and he ran a hand through his scalp to brush it away. That same big strong hand with long fingers adorned with silver rings that had once caressed the smooth, full curve of my breast…
I shook my head free of such thoughts.
The song started as soon as he saw Lourdes running down the beach in a tiny bikini. Shrewd, I thought. Eye candy for the girls, and some good ol’ fashioned T&A for the boys. Jasper hadn’t missed a trick.
“The curve of her face, a wisp of her hair, I knew when I saw her standing there, I wanted her,” he crooned, and I heard the fans giggle close by. No doubt they pretended he sang those lyrics about them.
>
I did that once upon a time.
On film Lourdes glanced at him with a coy smile, which he returned with that damnable smirk that still made my heart race. It was much more potent, however, when I was the recipient, so I figured I could be thankful that those days were over.
He began to run after her on the beach, and then the film cut to shots of them falling in love in a tropical paradise. They were on a boat, they were on a blanket in the sand; they were in the clear waters of the sea wrapped in each other’s arms as he brushed her wet hair out of her face so that they could kiss.
“Seeing her, wanting her, what I’d give for just one kiss.”
With that line lights rose on the stage and the band was in place. Vanni stood there in the same white pants and open shirt from the video. He was barefoot, with his long hair falling in unruly curls around his shoulders.
“Does she know how I feel,” he crooned to the fans in the front row, and I could have sworn at least one of them swooned. “How much I want this to be real,” he sang to the next girl down. “An angel from a dream I can’t claim,” he said as his eyes landed on me, and for a moment I wondered if he even knew who I was before he went on down the line to someone else.
I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. My palms were sweaty and my hands trembled as I lifted my hand into my hair. Maybe he didn’t recognize me. Maybe he thought I was just another fan.
It meant nothing, just like everything else that passed between us.
I watched his interaction with everyone else, even Lourdes, as he sang. He didn’t pull her out of the crowd, which I semi-expected. Instead he casually strolled back to center stage and finished the song. “Someday I’ll wake from this dream and hold my angel in my arms. And she’ll know all along I’ve wanted her.”
He let the music softly play out as he put his head against the mike stand, and when he lifted up and scanned the crowd there were actual tears in his eyes.
That was when our eyes met again, and as the lights went down he blew a slight, imperceptive kiss in my direction.
The Complete Groupie Trilogy Page 7