21. Hailey
CHAPTER 21
HAILEY
T hey mobbed me the second I stepped out of the limo — Mina, my publicist, my whole press team. They’d blocked off the entrance so I’d feel safe, but cameras still flashed from outside the perimeter. Voices rose, shouting questions. Shouting my name. I cast about for Jackson, but he was walking away.
“Jackson!”
He didn’t hear me, or didn’t listen. He advanced on the crowd, holding them back.
Mina nudged me. “Say something.”
I gaped at her. “What?”
“You need to wave at least. Smile for your fans.”
I turned. Waved and smiled. Flashes popped in my face. I searched for Jackson again, but I couldn’t find him, and Mina was grabbing me. Steering me inside.
“Get the editors,” she was saying, not to me, but my publicist. “Make sure they print shots that make her look good. The story is, she’s a fighter. She made it through.”
“I’m setting up a presser, but they’ll beat us to air.”
They talked over my head and I tuned them out, still smiling blankly as we got on the elevator. It whisked us straight to the penthouse suite, and I shook my head.
“This isn’t my room.”
“It is now. Isn’t it great? You’ve got the whole sky suite. Check out those views!”
I spotted my guitar case leaned up on the wall, and I guessed all my stuff was here. No sense fighting. I let Mina deposit me on a fancy, too-hard couch, and someone uncorked a bottle of champagne. It fizzed on the floor and everyone laughed, but when Mina passed me a glass, I waved it away.
“No, I haven’t eaten. Is there water instead?”
Next thing I knew, I had a glass in my hand, and I sipped my water, scanning for Jackson. I spotted two men guarding the door, but he wasn’t with them, or anywhere inside.
“Where’s Jackson?” I said.
But Ed was arriving, and the rest of my stylists, yelling as security went through their bags.
“It’s makeup! Makeup! Not Agent Orange.”
“So dramatic,” said Mina. She rolled her eyes. “You’ll make a statement in about half an hour, and then you’re appearing at— where was it? Samantha?”
I didn’t know who Samantha was, or what was happening. A statement? But I’d just got back. How had they arranged all this, so much, so soon? Didn’t I get time to rest and process? And what about Jackson? Where had he gone?
Mina was still talking, laying out my night. Ed was already on me, bibbing me up. Someone came up behind me and undid my hair, tugging out my elastic with a huff of disdain.
“You shouldn’t wear these things. They ruin your hair.”
“Oh, yeah, the breakage… Someone grab the hair serum! No, no, the leave-in. We’re in a rush.”
Mina tapped on my arm to get my attention. “It’s like a mini goodwill tour to settle the fans. People are angry you didn’t show up, and of course what we want to do is try and reschedule. But that might not work out, what with…”
Her words ran in one ear and straight out the other. All I could think of was where Jackson had gone. The last I’d seen of him had been his back, walking away from me to deal with the crowd. He hadn’t looked at me once on the drive, just stared out the window at the road going by. I’d watched him all the way in the rearview mirror, and not once had he moved or turned his head. I shouldn’t have yelled at him. I should’ve stayed calm. But so should he! I was pregnant, not him!
“Hailey, are you listening?” Mina tapped me again. “I said, we have talking points for your press statement, but mostly, you need to speak from the heart.”
If I spoke from the heart right now, I would scream. But I flashed a fake smile.
“I can do that.”
“Can you give me a preview of what you might say?”
I frowned, trying to think, but Ed flicked my nose.
“Don’t wrinkle your brows like that! It cracks your foundation. You know what? Don’t talk. Everyone spread out.”
Mina didn’t spread out, and neither did my press team. But someone handed me a tablet with my talking points, and I sat and read them while Ed did my face. Or I sat and stared at them and pretended to read, but either way, it shut down conversation.
The presser was set up at a nearby casino, where Mina had arranged for me to sing that night — just a quick set, she’d said. Three songs and out. But Jackson wasn’t in our limo when we headed over, and I didn’t see him when we got inside. He wasn’t waiting in the lobby, or down by the fountain, where they’d fenced off a space for our press conference.
“Where’s Jackson?” I said.
Mina glanced at me. “What?”
“I said?—”
“Wait, don’t move. What’s happening here?” Mina tugged at my collar, then licked her thumb. She scrubbed at the fabric, then pulled a face. “That’s made it worse. Ed? Where’s Ed?”
Ed came bustling over and screeched in my face. I couldn’t see what had him so mad, but I guessed I had some kind of spot on my collar.
“Do we have time for a wardrobe change? Where’s the backup?”
“No backup,” said Mina. “Here, put this on her.” She pulled off her jacket and draped it on me. I zipped it up to cover my collar. Ed straightened it out for me and tugged the sleeves taut.
“It’s kind of blah, but okay. It goes with the whole little-lost-waif theme.” He fluffed up my hair again and stepped aside. I scanned for Jackson, but he was nowhere. His men were still with us — or were they his men? Big men, dark suits, mirrored sunglasses. But were the faces behind them faces I knew? I felt suddenly dizzy. Had he left me alone?
“He wouldn’t,” I said.
Mina frowned. “What was that?” She turned without waiting for me to respond, and beckoned the press over with their cameras. “Just stick with your talking points and you’ll be okay. And remember, be positive. And you love your fans!”
I couldn’t remember a single damn thing, but I’d seen enough soundbites to know what to say. I was glad to be safe. Grateful to my security team. Grateful to the police, and most of all, to my fans.
“I want to thank you,” I gushed. “For all your support. That’s what got me through these last few days, knowing you were out here waiting for me. Seeing your posts, and all your thoughts and prayers. You’ll never know what that meant to me, so all I can do is stand and say thanks. Thank you to all of you, with all my heart.”
A small crowd had gathered, and a few of them clapped. My team joined in, to make it sound louder. The cameras spun round to capture the fans. And I scanned and scanned, searching for Jackson. He had to be here. It was his job. So where was he hiding? Where could he be?
I tried to grab Mina after the presser, but she was deep in an argument with casino staff. Ed whisked me off for another quick wardrobe change, and then I was up on the casino’s stage. I sang my short set to a strange, mixed-up crowd, half sleepy gamblers taking a break, half shrieking fans who’d rushed to see me. I sang the scratching your nails song like never before. Sang it for Jackson, in case he was here. I sang “Stars on Fire” and of course “Night Dancing,” but I might as well have been singing alone in my shower. The one person I needed to hear me was… Where?
I signed singles till my hand hurt, and shirts, and chests. A huge body pillow version of me. I posed for selfies, smiles and peace signs. Damp, sweaty hugs that left deodorant smears. Jackson would’ve rescued me, at least from the hugs. He’d have made space for me, so I could breathe.
It was coming on midnight when we piled in the limo, Mina glued to her phone. I reached out and grabbed it.
“Hey! I was texting.”
“I know. Where’s Jackson?”
She looked confused for a moment. “Who? Oh, the guard?”
“Yeah. I don’t see him. Isn’t he here?”
“His contract was up. He left for some other job.” Mina took back her phone and went back to texting. I sat there boneless, hollow inside. I felt like she’d punched me, or Jackson had. Knocked all the air out of me and left me empty.
“How…”
Mina glanced up, then back down at her phone. It didn’t make sense: some other job? What other job had he found since the safe house? We’d only got out of there six hours ago. Had I never been more to him than one more job? A job he could wrap up and leave just like that?
I pulled out my own phone and checked for a text from him. An email, maybe. A voicemail. Nothing? When I tried texting him, it came up delivered, but no second checkmark to show it’d been seen. So he’d walked out on me without a word, not a goodbye, a sorry, an I just can’t . What was it about me that made people leave, my parents, my roommates, now Jackson as well?
“You okay?” Mina had paused mid-text, and was staring. I shut my own mouth, which was hanging agape.
“Fine. I’m just tired.”
“You sure? You look weird.” But she was already back to her text. Trying to rebook my last concert date. She hadn’t left me, but I was her job. I was her bread and butter, her biggest client. If I told her the truth, would she care how I felt? Or would her first thought be how to spin it?
“His contract was up.” Mina held up her phone. “See, he was done with the end of your tour, but he stayed on an extra day to make sure you were safe.”
“Oh.”
“We’ll pay him a bonus. This tour was smooth. Probably my smoothest, not counting the ransom scare. But that wasn’t his fault, or—” Her phone rang and she answered. She held up one finger to indicate I should wait, but as the call went on her finger went down, then she dropped her hand and turned away. She was still on the phone when we got to our hotel, and I went back to the penthouse suite by myself. I scrolled through my own phone for someone to talk to, but I couldn’t find anyone I knew well enough. There were Jen and Rashida, but they were work friends. Same went for Constance, and who did that leave? Just my pre-fame friends, and they’d all flaked off.
“I hate people,” I said to my empty room.
Somewhere, a tap dripped by way of response.
I crawled into bed with my stage clothes still on, and all my makeup. All but my shoes.
“I’m alone,” I said, and the tap dripped. Plip-plop.
“ We’re alone.” I touched my stomach. I willed the baby to kick, but it was too soon. I lay in the quiet of the empty penthouse, and listened to the tap drip and waited for sleep.