CHAPTER ELEVEN
“How old were you when everything started?”
He looked up at the starless night sky, frowning a little like he had to think about it.
When was the last time anybody had asked him that question?
Did anybody care anymore? From what she’d seen earlier in the evening, she guessed the answer was no—and it made her so sad to think about it.
He had so much more to offer than just a few songs and a killer smile.
“I had just turned fourteen. They liked me because I was cute and because my voice hadn’t changed yet. I could still hit the falsetto notes they wanted.”
She waited for more, but nothing came. “That’s it?” she asked after a while.
“What did you expect?”
She shrugged, searching for a way to put words to her feelings.
“I don’t know. I guess it sounds stupid and naive, but I figured maybe the producers saw something special about you that told them you were the right person.
A little spark or a light in your eyes or your smile. Or in the way you sang.”
He came to a stop, standing in front of her.
Right now, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the park, he was just another guy.
There was no artifice, no fans jockeying to get closer to him so they could take his picture.
He wasn’t putting on that signature, I know I’m in public so I’d better look pleasant expression she had already seen so many times in the few short hours they’d spent together.
He was just a guy, and he was looking at her. She told herself to ignore the thrill that ran up her spine, right along with the wish that her best friends from middle school were there to see this. They’d never believe it.
He looked so serious, almost stern. The fact that he reminded her of her father went a long way toward tamping down the impulse to throw herself into his arms. “Do you want to know the truth? Do you think you can handle it? Having your expectations blown to bits, I mean.”
She nodded, silent, holding her breath in anticipation.
He was going to tell her some great secret, she could just tell.
How many years had she wanted him to look at her this way?
How many times had she imagined him trusting her with his private, personal information?
How many times had she wished for him to think of her as something rare?
He drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I was young, I was cute, I could carry a tune. They already had two blonds in the group and wanted another dark-haired kid to balance things out. It came down to me and another blond, and I got the job because of my hair.”
She swayed a little, blinking hard, processing this. “And?”
“And what?”
“Is there more to the story than that?”
His smile was sad, cynical. “No, there isn’t, which is exactly why I’m telling it to you. That was the entire reason I got chosen for the group. I had brown hair, and the other kid they liked had blond hair. I wonder what he’s doing with his life now.”
Why did it hit her like a punch in the gut? She was an adult now, not a little kid anymore, and she had seen enough of the music industry in the few short years she’d spent working in it to know things like what he’d described happened all the time.
Sure, on the outside, there was a lot of mystique and glamour.
People wanted to believe what they wanted to believe about their favorite artists.
Maybe it was a deep-seated hope that truly hard work and talent would win the day.
Maybe they were dreaming of a future for themselves in the industry and thought they could make it big if they wanted it badly enough.
Yet here in front of her stood proof that, sometimes, all that mattered was the color of a person’s hair and whether or not their voice had changed by the age of fourteen.
“You look upset.” He took a step closer, frowning, his eyes appearing darker. Maybe it was the concern in them, or maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t used to looking at him without a spotlight in his face.
“Not upset,” she insisted with a faint smile, “but sad.”
Yes. That’s how I felt when Dustin and I were talking. Granted, I don’t know if any of what I just said reflects his experience, but it feels true to me. Besides, it’s true to my characters, and that’s what really matters.
My heroine is a publicist assigned to rehab the image of a former boy-band member who wants to make it on his own.
She was a huge fan of his back in the day, and meeting him as an adult is a real bucket of ice water over her head.
He’s nothing like she expected, nothing like she used to imagine when she was a kid.
Back then, when she adored him, he was heavy into drugs and alcohol.
Now, he’s moody, insecure, and it irks him to no end when people insist on thinking of him as the teenage superstar he used to be.
Not so far from reality, it seems, though my hero is much more temperamental and self-obsessed than Dustin struck me.
Of course, he has a heart of gold underneath all those insecurities, and of course, my heroine is the key that unlocks the door he hid his heart behind to protect himself at a young age.
He got hurt one too many times and decided to never get hurt again.
Once he realizes she’s the real deal, not like the users he used to know, he opens up, and they create something real together.
Or so I tell myself. I’m still in the early stages of building these characters and the way they fit together, but I’m liking the direction this is headed in. Maggie likes it too—or at least, she pretended to.
No, on second thought, my editor never pretends to like something she doesn’t like.
“So long as they bone frequently,” she reminded me before we got off the phone earlier today.
Yes, she actually used the word bone. I’ve still not quite recovered from it, which is saying something because she’s gotten pretty graphic with me in the past. But there’s something about calling it boning that strikes me as hilarious. Maybe I’m more childish than I like to believe.
It’s getting late, and I haven’t eaten dinner yet.
I think I skipped lunch too. A glance at the clock on my laptop explains why my stomach is growling.
But that’s a good thing because it means I’ve been absorbed in my work.
Which means I’m on the right track—finally.
I’m not sitting and staring at the blank page anymore.
It’s around eight o’clock by the time I throw together a quick salad and sit down in front of the laptop again.
I always work best at night; I have no idea why.
I’ve just never been one of those people who can bounce out of bed before dawn and start working right away.
I guess we all have our own rhythms and peculiarities. Lord knows I have my share of them.
When the phone rings, I almost don’t even want to look at it. My friends know it’s better to text than to call—really, only Maggie and Lois, my agent, bother calling—so it can’t be anybody I know or feel like talking to on a Monday night.
I don’t know the number that comes up either, so I use my super-sleuthing skills to do a quick reverse search on it while the phone is still ringing.
And I almost drop my salad on the floor when it turns out the call is coming from The Plaza Hotel. And who do I know in the city who’s staying at a hotel right now?
“Hello? Hello, hello?” I hope I didn’t miss him.
I hear a snicker on the other end. “I was starting to think you were ignoring me.” There’s that voice of his.
I’m shaking all of a sudden. I honestly never imagined he would call me again.
“I didn’t have a number in my phone for you. What, you think I answer the phone for just anybody?”
He laughs. “Good point. I know I don’t. How’ve you been?”
How have I been? I take a look around me, at the many empty cups I’ve used throughout the day for water and tea.
The scratchpad next to my laptop is covered in scribbles, I can’t remember if I brushed my hair after taking a shower, and I’m just now shoving a salad into my mouth after having missed lunch.
“Pretty good, all things considered. How about you?”
This is the inanest conversation I’ve ever had. We’re talking to each other like a couple of people who didn’t make out in the backseat of a cab, like one of us didn’t turn the other one down when they offered sex.
“I’m actually doing really well right now.
I have a show tonight, another one of those small clubs like the one you saw me at on Friday.
But it’s a big deal for me since my agent convinced a handful of music writers to be there, so they can write about it.
This could be a turning point for the tour.
It would mean a lot if you could make it out. The show starts at nine.”
Once again, I almost drop the salad bowl. “Nine?”
“Short notice, I know. But come on. It’ll be fun. Afterward, we’ll go out for a real, actual date—if you’re interested.”
The man knows how to sweeten the deal for sure.
My heart takes off triple time, and before I know it, I’m halfway to my bedroom, so I can tear through my closet and decide I hate everything I own.
“If I’m interested?” I ask with a shaky laugh.
“Here I was, thinking you wouldn’t be interested anymore. ”
“Nothing could be further from the truth. I really mean that. The only reason I didn’t call before tonight was that I was a little embarrassed, and I figured you didn’t think too highly of me.
Sometimes, I forget not all women are the same, and I end up asking a question without thinking about it.
It’s like a knee-jerk reaction, you know? ”
“I get it.”
“Because I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
And now, I feel worse than before. “I don’t think that’s the compliment you mean it to be.”
Instead of taking it personally, he laughs. “You know what I mean!”
I do, and I love his sense of humor. He gets it. He doesn’t take himself too seriously.
“You don’t have to apologize to me.” Meanwhile, I have him on speaker while I’m texting Hayley. OMG! He invited me out again. To another show. 45 minutes. Oh my God.
“I feel like I do though. I already knew by then that you weren’t that girl. And I don’t want you to be. I want you to be somebody I can get to know, not just another face I’ll forget by morning. And that’s why I really want to go out with you tonight. Please say you will.”
I feel like I shouldn’t be too eager, like I should at least make an attempt to sound like I have a life.
I mean, nobody who knows me would make the mistake of thinking I have a life, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“It is sort of short notice …” I hedge, completely pretending even though I’m narrowing down my choice of outfit as I speak. “But I think I can manage it.”
“That’s awesome!”
Is he only pretending to be as excited as he sounds?
Gosh, I really hope not. I don’t know why I want so badly for him to be the real deal, but I do.
Maybe there’s still some part of me that wants him to be the sweetheart he always seemed to be back in the day.
No matter how old I get or how mature I tell myself I need to be, there are some things that are practically impossible to let go of.
Just then, a text comes in from Hayley. OMG! And of course, now, I have the time to go! Why do these things always happen to me?
Okay, she’s starting to sound a lot like me, and now I understand why she loses her patience sometimes.
“Hey, I have a question. I hope this isn’t a total bummer, but I feel bad.
” I explain the situation with Hayley, how she was the one who scored the tickets for Friday and how she was supposed to be the one to introduce us.
“I would feel like the world’s biggest jerk if I didn’t at least ask if she could come with me to the show.
We can hang out alone together afterward, but I know she would just die for the chance to meet you. ”
“Sure! You said she knows Todd?” His agent, I’m guessing since I never learned the guy’s name.
“She works with the lawyers who work with Todd,” I explain. “She’ll probably be a partner there someday, but right now, she’s the associate who stays late at night and misses once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, like meeting somebody she’s admired for a long time.”
“Now that you put it that way, she’d better come.”
“That’s really sweet of you.”
“Hey, why not? One more fan of my music is never a bad thing. And if she’s important to you, that means she’s probably a pretty cool person. I don’t know you very well yet, Kitty Valentine, but you don’t seem like the sort of person who puts up with idiots.”
Little does he know just what I’ve put up with in my life, but I’ll take a compliment when it’s handed to me like that.
“You’re the best. I’ll let her know, and we’ll try to be there before the show starts.”
“You’ll have the table right up front, just like on Friday. And, Kitty?” His voice lowers, almost to a whisper. “I’m really looking forward to seeing you again. I hope it doesn’t sound pathetic, but I thought about you all weekend.”
How am I supposed to function when he says something like that?
“You’d better let me go, so I can get ready,” I croak since I can’t draw in enough air to do anything more than that. He definitely has a way about him. “Text me the address.”
Then, I text Hayley. Show starts at 9. I’ll send you the address. Look hot.