Chapter 2
JAKE
‘Got a minute?’ Roger asked as I swiped a freshly toasted bagel off the kitchen counter. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Whoa.’ I held up my hands defensively as I took in his serious expression. ‘Sounds like you want to break up with me!’
‘This is serious, Jake.’ He blew out a frustrated breath and I realised that he wasn’t joking. I’d known Roger since high school and I could count on one hand the number of serious chats we’d had.
‘I was just on my way out. Got a meeting with Wilma.’
‘Good. Great. Cool.’ He shuffled awkwardly on the spot. ‘I’m glad you’re meeting your agent because… Cathy’s busting my balls. She… We need to know how much longer you’re planning on sleeping on our couch. It’s been more than two months and…’
‘I know.’ My chest tightened. ‘I’m sorry. I’m working on it. Things haven’t been easy, but I’m trying.’
‘I get that, man. It’s just that…’
‘I hear you. And I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done. Listen, Wilma said there’s some stuff in the pipeline. I’ll be out of your hair soon. Promise.’
‘Can you give me a timeline?’ Roger asked.
I knew that if it was up to him, he’d let me stay for however long I needed, but his wife Cathy wasn’t so sympathetic.
It was obvious from the way she glared at me that I’d overstayed my welcome.
Although now that I thought about it, she glared at me before I’d begged them to sleep on their couch because I had nowhere else to go.
‘Soon. I should know more after this meeting. Did Cathy get the money I left for her yesterday?’
‘She did, thanks.’
‘It’s every spare cent I earned working at Pollo Pops. I tried asking for my job back there again a few days ago, but the boss said I was too much of a distraction. Said he wanted customers to come to buy fried chicken, not to take photos of me.’
‘I know. That sucks. But I guess I can’t blame them. It’s not every day you see a celebrity serving chicken wings at a fast-food joint.’
‘Ex-celebrity,’ I corrected, then shuddered. ‘Ugh. I can’t even believe I used the “c” word. I never liked calling myself that – even when my music was successful. And it definitely doesn’t apply to me now. Has-been is more accurate.’
‘Come on, man. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve got talent. You’ve been successful once and you’ll do it again.’
My stomach twisted. It was nice that he still believed in me. Especially when I didn’t believe in myself. But what I’d said was true. I was a washed-up ex-singer who couldn’t even keep a job in a fast-food joint in LA and was about to be out on the streets if my best friend’s wife got her way.
As much as I wasn’t Cathy’s biggest fan, I couldn’t disagree with her. I had overstayed my welcome. She was right to want to have her apartment back to herself without her husband’s loser of a friend hanging around like a bad smell.
Yep. I’d officially hit rock bottom.
‘Thanks. I’ll be out of your hair in a few weeks. A month, tops,’ I said, plucking random dates out of the air.
‘I appreciate that.’ His shoulders relaxed. ‘But only if you find somewhere. I need to know that you’re okay.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ I slapped him on the back affectionately. ‘I made you a bagel.’ I pointed to it on the counter. ‘Better run.’
‘Thanks! Good luck with the meeting.’
‘Appreciate it.’
I left the kitchen, grabbed my jacket, then caught the bus to Wilma’s office.
‘Jakey boy!’ Wilma said when I stepped into her office then sat down.
I hated when she called me that. Wilma was only in her mid-fifties, but it made her sound like she was an old lady talking to a child. Her bleached blonde hair was slicked back and her bright pink lipstick stood out against her tanned skin.
On the plus side, she sounded more upbeat than usual and after my chat with Roger earlier, I hoped that meant she had good news.
‘Hey.’
‘So.’ She leant forward. ‘I called you in because one of the great opportunities I put you forward for a few months back has just been confirmed.’
‘Yeah?’ I sat up straighter. This sounded promising. I knew she’d put me forward to judge some TV reality singing contest and although I wasn’t keen on those shows, I was desperate, so I’d do it in a heartbeat.
At least I’d be able to guide the kids and hopefully help them from getting sucked in and spat out of the industry like I had.
‘Yeah! You’ve got a place at the Love Hotel!’
‘Huh?’ I frowned. I remembered filling out the dumb application in her office a few months ago because she told me they were looking for ‘stars’ who were single.
At the time I thought it was weird because it had nothing to do with music, but I’d gone along with it because I had bigger things on my mind to think about.
Like the fact that I’d just had to sell my home and had nowhere to go.
‘The Love Hotel,’ she repeated. ‘It’s opening soon and they’ve invited you to be one of their first celebrity guests. The buzz around it is crazy. Forget the elite dating apps. This is the hottest place to be for singles!’
‘How will staying in a hotel for single people get me out of my situation and help me make music again?’ My frown deepened.
‘It’s all about exposure. We need to reinvent your image. No one wants you right now. I’ve tried every reality show under the sun and no one’s biting.’
I wasn’t sorry about that. The idea of appearing on one made my skin crawl. But I wasn’t gonna lie. The fact that they didn’t even think I was worth inviting stung a little. Things must be even worse than I thought.
‘Maybe if you hadn’t persuaded me to do that stupid BUTT-RRR advert, my career wouldn’t be in the toilet right now.’
‘It was supposed to be cool!’
‘Well, it wasn’t. If I had a cent for every time someone sung it to me when I walked down the street, my money troubles would be over.’
About eight months ago, she’d persuaded me to appear in an ad for a new brand called BUTT-RRR where I sung cringey lines like ‘I want to spread you like butter on my warm toast’, whilst thrusting my hips back and forth.
It went viral for all the wrong reasons and unsurprisingly, it got banned. The critics had a field day, citing it as a prime example of just how far I’d fallen.
‘That’s because the jingle was catchy!’
‘It killed my credibility. I even got fired from a freaking Pollo Pops because people wouldn’t stop coming in to take pictures!’
Wilma blew out a breath. She knew I was right. It was one of the worst decisions I’d ever made.
‘You could always do those personalised video messages. People would love to hear you do the whole jingle.’
‘No! I’m trying to distance myself from that. Not lean into it.’
I just wanted to make music again.
Not the shit the record company forced me to sing when I was in the band.
And not the shitty spreadable butter jingle that ruined my career.
I wanted to make the music I’d written. The music that reflected my personality. That came from my soul.
But I had bills to pay. And I had to find a place to live. I needed money. Fast.
And the thing about having debts was that it fucked with your creativity.
I hadn’t written a single song in years.
If I could find that creativity again, then maybe I could try and release my own music independently. But that wasn’t gonna happen anytime soon because every time I sat down to write, I was crippled with anxiety.
All I could think about was all the shit I’d been through these past few years and what I’d lost. Then I’d worry about how hard it’d be to get enough people to listen to it to have a chance of even beginning to make a living from music again. And how crushing it’d be if people hated it.
So it was easier not to try at all. But the bills didn’t go away, which was why I was having this shitty conversation.
‘Explain what the plan is with going to this hotel.’ I blew out a defeated breath.
‘You go there and create an online diary documenting everything. Take photos of you arriving. Videos of you choosing your outfit. Talk about how nervous and excited you are about meeting your match. That shit will make you super relatable. Everyone knows how hard it is getting out there again. And because of your reputation for being a womaniser, it’ll show the public that you have real feelings and that you’re serious about finding true love. ’
‘But I’m not,’ I protested. ‘The last thing I need right now is a relationship.’
I hadn’t dated seriously in years and I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d hooked up. That was the other thing about having financial problems and not having a permanent roof over your head. It wasn’t exactly an aphrodisiac.
‘Semantics.’ She waved her hand away dismissively. ‘You’re not going to the hotel to actually find love. You’re going there to revive your career.’
My face crumpled.
‘That makes no sense.’
‘Stay with me, Jakey boy! I haven’t finished explaining. As I was saying, you document everything. Take photos of the woman they match you with, your first kiss… get all that shit on camera.’
‘Wait, what?’ I frowned so hard I probably left permanent lines on my forehead. ‘You want me to film the woman too? Wasn’t there an NDA? And we’re not gonna kiss! I won’t even be attracted to her.’
‘Again, semantics! You’re allowed to take photos of your match. Just not other guests without their permission. And it doesn’t matter if you’re not attracted to her. You just have to pretend you are.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘You’re getting me confused. I’m an artist. A musician. I sing. I don’t act.’
‘The point is,’ she replied, ignoring my very important objection, ‘the public will be invested. They’ll be glued to their screens. They’ll want to follow your story. They’ll want to watch you two fall in love. And do you know what that means?’
‘Enlighten me,’ I huffed, thinking I didn’t like the sound of this idea at all.
‘The more people that are invested in your story, the more followers you’ll get. And the more interest you’ll have from the reality shows.’
‘But I don’t want to do a fucking reality show!’ I shouted. ‘I don’t want to be filmed eating kangaroo testicles. I don’t want to go on a dancing show or be locked in a house with other Z-list celebrities. I want to make music!’
‘Ah, but that’s the genius part,’ she smiled.
‘If you do this right, you won’t have to go on other people’s reality shows.
They’ll give you your own! People will want to know what happens after you leave the hotel.
Just picture it: they’ll follow you and the love of your life as you start a new life together.
It’ll show the public everything: you two moving in together, getting engaged… ’
‘What the fuck?’ My nostrils flared.
‘You wouldn’t go through with it, obviously.
’ She rolled her eyes again. ‘The point is, whilst they’re documenting your romance, we’ll show you working on your music.
And then boom! With all the extra exposure you’ll get from social media, the reality show and your blossoming romance, the public will forget about the whole BUTT-RRR thing and be itching to hear your love songs. It’s genius, right?’
‘It’s batshit crazy!’ I shook my head.
‘Why?’
‘Because you know I fucking hate social media. I’m a private person.’
‘Says the guy who’s been pictured sucking face with hundreds of women.’
‘But I didn’t take those photos. That was an invasion of my privacy. And that’s the point. I don’t want to share my private life any more.’
‘Well, you’re fresh out of options. If megastar musicians like Bruno Mars, The Weeknd and Ed Sheeran have to do social media, then so do you! Behind-the-scenes access sells.’
‘Even if it does, doing something like this would be immoral. The woman I’d be matched with will be there to find love, so going there knowing I have no intention of having a real relationship is dishonest. I don’t want to lead anyone on.’
Having one-night stands was one thing. I always made it crystal clear from the start that it was just a hook-up. But going to a hotel where the objective was to meet your soulmate just to revive my career left a bad taste in my mouth.
‘When I submitted your application, I said you were looking to date another celebrity, so it’ll be fine.
Whatever you do will benefit both of your careers and once we know who it is, I can speak to their agent to make sure we’re all on the same page and work together to make the partnership mutually beneficial. ’
‘Still doesn’t seem right.’
‘This is LA, baby! This shit happens all the time. If you want to get back in the game, you need to do whatever it takes. And it’s not like I’m asking you to do anything difficult.
All you have to do is take some photos and videos whilst spending two weeks in an all-inclusive luxury hotel.
People would kill for an opportunity like this.
You should be kissing my feet, not acting like a spoilt brat who’s just been told he can’t have ice cream at a birthday party. ’
Ouch.
In the grand scheme of things, maybe it wouldn’t be such a hardship. For starters, as grateful as I was to have a roof over my head at Roger’s apartment, it would be nice to sleep in a decent bed again, even if it was just for two weeks.
As much as I hated everything about this idea, I wasn’t in a position to pick and choose. I was lucky that Wilma was even representing me. Most people dropped me when my career tanked. Including my so-called industry friends.
And knowing that I’d be matched with another celebrity, no doubt another has-been like me, made me feel a bit better about things. At least they’d understand the way things worked and know this was just purely a business arrangement, not anything romantic.
As much as I hated posting on social media, right now this was the only opportunity I could see to get me back on my feet again.
If two weeks at a hotel was my ticket to saving my career and securing my future, then as much as I didn’t want to, it looked like I didn’t have a choice.
‘When did you say that I’d need to go there?’
‘In three weeks.’
That was sooner than I thought. But soon was good.
I’d promised Roger I’d be out of his hair in a month, so I’d be able to keep my word and get to stay somewhere nice for two weeks, rent free.
Wilma was trying to help, so I needed to do my part. Although the idea still sounded dumb as fuck, I had to give it a chance.
‘Okay,’ I said, ignoring the crushing feeling in the pit of my stomach. ‘I’ll do it.’