Chapter 19
BIX
“Zaza, over here!” I say, waving at her from the park bench I share with Keesha in Washington Square Park.
“I only have an hour for lunch, so tell me the scoop fast!” Zaza says, wearing a black Equinox T-shirt that says Greeter in white letters.
She hands each of us a fresh protein shake and looks at me expectantly. “How did the audition go? When will we see your name in lights?”
“Maybe never,” I say glumly. “It wasn’t an audition at all. It was a ruse to bring me into the studio and twist my arm into spending the weekend with Slayer in Saint-Tropez.”
"Bummer about the audition," says Zaza. "But congratulations on the glitzy weekend gig! Why did you call us here to meet with you?"
"I can't decide if I should agree."
“Yeah? Then tell this Sterling guy you have a friend more than willing to take that gig.” She strikes a pose that would fit perfectly on a yacht in the Mediterranean.
“You better start from the beginning,” Keesha says. “You’re not making much sense.”
I take a deep breath and deliver a carefully curated review of the morning’s events. I begin with my arrival at Sterling Records, move to the drama in the audition room, and finally to Sterling’s true offer.
I skip over the fact that I spent the night with a handsome, mysterious man who turned out to be Slayer himself.
“The bottom line is, when he saw me sing in the club last night, Sterling thought I was the perfect type to upgrade Slayer’s shady reputation with my sunny style.”
Keesha’s eyes pop wide. “Sunny? He hasn’t seen you in the morning before your coffee.”
“Yeah, well, I think he was just judging by my bouncy blonde curls and my upbeat singing. Apparently, Sterling and his team created an entire media campaign designed to showcase Slayer’s new girlfriend and downplay all the negative attention he’s getting in the press.”
“But they didn’t even know you then.”
“That’s just it. They created the fictional persona first, then I guess they shopped for the actress. The first person they had lined up bailed.”
“How much are you getting paid for the gig?” Zaza asks.
I tell them, watching their eyes widen.
The figure still makes my head spin. “If I accept, I return to the studio to work with the PR team to get my story down. But as I understand it, my role is simple. I just act like Slayer’s girlfriend, like I’m in love with him.”
“You are in love with him,” Zaza says with a laugh.
“Was in love,” I say firmly. “Past tense. I’ve had a chance to get to know him, and I don’t like what I see.”
Keesha and Zaza exchange another look. “You’ve figured this out in the last hour?” Zaza asks.
Every fiber in my body wants to say yes and move on. But I feel so alone. I would have told Hilary the truth, but she’s not here anymore.
“It’s a long story,” I say softly. “But in a total freak-accident kind of way, I ended up spending the night with him.”
Zaza’s protein shake freezes halfway to her mouth.
“You lost your V-card to the hottest rock star on the planet? And you’re wondering if you should spend the weekend with him in Saint-Tropez?”
“Quiet down,” Keesha says, putting her hand on mine. Her eyes, always perceptive, search my face. “You must have your reasons. Did he hurt you?”
“Yes. No,” I say, instantly regretting my honesty.
“Which is it?” Keesha’s voice softens.
“He didn’t hurt me physically,” I clarify, staring at the condensation on my cup.
“And I’m still a virgin. It’s just that this morning, he left without even a note, like the night we spent cuddling together meant nothing.”
I take a deep breath. “Then when I saw him at Sterling’s studio today, he glared like he hated me. Like I was the enemy.”
“Look past that for a minute,” Zaza says. “Be practical. “That money is sitting over at that studio, winking like it’s your best friend. Didn’t you say you were struggling to pay tuition for next semester? That your stepdad refused to help? And your mother was standing by that?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then the first step is to read the contract and see what you’re agreeing to,” Keesha interjects, always practical. “You’re not agreeing to have sex with him, are you?”
“Of course not!” I blurt. But then I realize I’m not sure what being Slayer’s girlfriend for the weekend entails.
“This is the music industry, not human trafficking.” Zaza rolls her eyes.
“They just want you to smile for the cameras, hold his hand, and look adoringly at him during the album launch. You’re acting like you’ve never flipped through an issue of People at the supermarket stand.”
“And maybe you should clarify what happens after,” Keesha adds. “Do they expect you to maintain this charade back in New York? Will there be a public breakup?”
I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Sterling made it sound like a weekend thing only.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Zaza asks. “You get a fat paycheck, a free trip to Saint-Tropez on a private jet, and a chance to network with music industry bigwigs. Maybe you can interest a producer in your singing. All for pretending to like a guy you already slept with.”
“Only in the literal sense of the word sleep,” I remind her. “Let’s say I take the job. Sterling wants me to use my real name, my identity. Even if I get discovered in Saint-Tropez, everyone’s going to think I only became famous because of Slayer.”
“Isn’t that better than never becoming famous at all?” Zaza asks. “Your voice never being heard? Life passing you by because you stood too high and mighty on your principles?”
“Keesha, what do you think?”
Though I always roll my eyes when Keesha gives one of her sermons, this time I really need to hear it.
She takes a thoughtful sip of her smoothie, looking up at a white-throated sparrow chirping on a tree branch above.
“Sometimes the door opens for the wrong reason,” she says quietly, meeting my gaze. “But once you’re inside, you can still look for the right opportunities.”
“What would Hilary say?” I ask, though I already know.
“She’d tell you to do it. So she could live vicariously through you,” Zaza says with certainty.
“I agree. And she’d tell you to trust your gut,” Keesha adds.
I check my phone. Thirty minutes before I need to give Sterling my answer.
“What if I go, and Slayer still hates me? What if this is just a miserable, awkward weekend?”
“Then you’re miserable and awkward on a yacht in Saint-Tropez with twenty-thousand dollars.” Zaza shrugs. “And you won’t have to add another unruly mutt to your menagerie.”
I look from Keesha to Zaza, these friends who’ve become my family since Hilary’s been gone.
“Fine,” I say finally. “I’ll do it. But I’m not sleeping with him again.”
Zaza grins wickedly. “Let’s revisit that statement when you’re back. I’ll bet you twenty bucks—”
“Stop it!” Keesha cuts her off. "Let Beatrix be."
"That's another thing," I say. "I'm not Beatrix anymore."
"What?" says Zaza. "That music producer guy renamed you? That name's part of your new persona too?"
"No," I say, thinking of Sam at the noodle bar. "Yes. Well, either way, Bix is my name now. So please call me that."
"I like it," says Keesha. "Beatrix always made me think of someone's spinster aunt."
"Yeah? It always made me think of a dominatrix with a whip and black corset," cracks Zaza.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Milo, asking for my decision.
For better or worse, Saint-Tropez here I come.