Chapter 19
Austin tells all! Secrets and Confessions!
“You sure you’re going to be okay?”
I glance over at Margie sitting next to me in the limo. “Yeah. I told you. I’m fine.”
Margie tilts her head at me, the glitter all over her eyelids catching in the streetlights.
“I’m serious,” I say. “I’m fine.” I reach for one of her hands.
She looks down at it, then at me. “You know I don’t mind… being your date. But…”
I give her a weak smile. “Let’s just try to have some fun.”
The limo pulls to the front of Osko’s where there’s a line out the door. There are a couple of photographers coming over, and a few people craning their necks to see who’s going to get out.
I turn to Margie. “Ready?”
She checks her lipstick in a compact. “Ready.”
I open the door and there are flashes in my face.
I get out of the limo, then turn to help Margie out.
She smiles big as the cameras flash on us like we’re some kind of royalty.
There’s a murmur through the crowd outside as we go up to the door.
This is the first time we’ve been out together in a while.
She’s been at school, and I haven’t felt much like going anywhere.
But Phil wanted me to be seen with a woman.
And she’s the only woman I want to be seen with.
The bouncers give us a nod as we breeze right on past everyone. The dance floor is already packed, and there’s a DJ up on the small balcony above the stage. Margie and I go, arm in arm, to a roped off area where one of the managers of the club is right there with our complimentary drinks.
“I think plenty of people have seen us,” Margie says, taking a sip. “Phil and Arnold should be happy.”
This is all for show. Another performance, another mask. Phil is being strategic with the show. We’ve been alternating. It was Brad’s night last night. Now it’s mine.
The show’s fine. It’s getting lots of good reviews.
I should be happier than I am. After all, this is what I wanted.
It’s all coming back—the fame, the recognition, the admiration.
But it feels empty now. It’s not enough.
I’m incomplete. I know exactly why. I wonder what Margie would say if I told her about the great lengths I went to find where Pete Laden lives.
Then how many times I’ve driven past it to see if I might catch a glimpse of Harvey.
Once, I got out of my car and went all the way to the door, but I just stood there.
I didn’t knock or ring the bell. What would I do if Harvey answered?
Beg? Plead? Kiss him? Punch him in the nose?
It makes me feel insane. I keep expecting someone to notice and have me arrested for stalking. I just want to see him. I want to tell him I heard his song.
It came on the radio one morning right as I was passing through the gate.
I pulled over into a random spot and turned up the volume.
My stomach flip-flopped when I heard his voice.
And those words. Each and every word. I had no idea that son of a bitch could be so poetic.
I sat there and listened to the whole thing and wished I had something to record it with.
A button to replay it. His album isn’t out yet.
This is just the single. When I get it, I’ll probably play his record nonstop.
Margie and I get quite a few looks and greetings. For the first time in years, I’m asked for an autograph. The woman hands me a cocktail napkin with an eyeliner pencil. She recognizes Margie and ends up asking for hers too.
It makes me feel good for about five seconds.
I excuse myself to go take a leak. At the sink, as I’m washing my hands, I hear someone else come into the bathroom. I glance up at my reflection in the mirror.
Then my heart is in my throat when I see who’s behind me.
I feel like a deer caught in headlights as Harvey stares back at me in the mirror. He’s wearing a tight, silky shirt, and two gold chains lay on his chest. Like always, he looks sexy and dangerous.
Like the Bad Boy. The Bad Angel
I turn around. He goes over to the sink beside me to wash his hands.
“So, you’re not even going to say hi to me,” I mutter as he reaches for a towel.
He wipes off his hands. “Didn’t think you’d want to talk to me.”
“Of course I do.”
Another guy comes in and goes to the sink. Harvey puts his hands in his pockets. He’s looking down.
“Look at me,” I whisper.
He does briefly, but then he turns to walk out of the door.
I grab his arm. “Harvey.”
“I’m sorry. We can’t do this.” He shakes off my hand.
It sets off an old fire inside me, so I grab his other arm.
This time he shoves me, he shoves me right into a stall.
The door closes, and we have a brief shoving match before I see his expression crack with emotion.
In the next instant, I’m right up against him, tangling my fingers in his hair and kissing him hungrily.
It feels like I’m trying to climb inside him while he tries to climb inside me.
His teeth nipping, his tongue probing, his hands grabbing my head, my ass, my back.
I kiss him hard and deep, his mouth finds its way to my neck, kissing and biting, and I feel like he might rip my shirt off.
I’m getting high off the drug that I just can’t quit.
I kiss all over his face and neck while my hand dives down his front to his belt, undoing the buckle, so I can slide my hand under the waistband of his pants.
“Austin,” he says quietly, moving my hand away and taking a step back to look at me.
Just then the restroom door opens and a guy walks in, whistling. We both stand still, waiting. I’m shaking from the adrenaline. He’s still got my hand. I squeeze it. He squeezes back, his thumb pressing into my palm, and that motion seems to push the tears right down my cheeks.
The time it takes for the guy to leave is agonizing, and when he does, I manage to whisper, “I miss you.”
Harvey’s expression changes. He looks anywhere but at me.
“Why do you do that?” I ask.
I cup his face in my hands and turn his head to look at me. Why does it make me so weak and so fucking crazy when he looks at me like that? Like there’s nobody else in the world but me, and even if there was, I’d be the one he’d choose over and over again.
I pull his head toward me for another kiss, but he pulls back, removing my hands. “I’m with somebody,” he says quietly. “They’re probably wondering where I am.”
He unlatches the stall door, but I grab the top and hold it shut. “Who? Who are you with?” The jealousy boils up inside me. And there’s hurt too. He’s here with someone else? How could he? It’s only been a couple of months. “Are you fucking them?”
“Austin, stop it,” he says through gritted teeth. He tries again to open the door, and I, again, hold it closed.
“That’s not fair.” I slide my other hand over his cheek. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”
“We can’t do this,” he growls.
“Yes, we can.” I get in front of him to prevent him from going. “You said there’d never be anybody but me.”
He looks weak for a second, defeated, and he tries to move me out of the way. “Someone’s going to see us.”
“Let’s get out of here,” I blurt. “Let’s just leave. Together.”
I watch the thoughts play out on his face. He wants to; he doesn’t want to. He wants to punch me; he wants to kiss me.
Then one of his hands clenches around my jaw, tight. “No. Not together.”
I assume the place I follow him to is his because he has a key.
I follow him inside, and even in the dark I can see he hasn’t lived here long.
The stucco walls are bare, and there are a few unpacked boxes laying around.
On the floor, on counter tops. He cuts on a lamp by a set of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the canyons.
I linger by the doorway, taking note of the brand-new furniture, the television.
“When did you move in here?”
I watch him go over to a bar cart all set up. Has he been entertaining? Having parties? Just living it up like I never mattered to him at all?
“Not that long ago,” he replies.
“How did you afford it?”
He doesn’t answer me, he just takes a drink.
I step into the room, my back against the far wall, watching him with that drink. His silhouette against the glass is like a ghost, see-through into the darkness outside.
“It’s not fair.”
He glances over at me.
“I can’t even be near you.”
He takes another drink.
“You completely demolish me.”
He sets the drink down and takes his time approaching me.
“And you know what’s crazy? I want you to. I want you to shatter me and hold all the pieces in your hands.”
He stands in front of me and stares into my eyes.
I don’t know what I see. He doesn’t let his guts spill out like me. I’m jealous. Around him, I can’t hold it together. I wish I could be more like him.
“I hate it when I say all these things,” I whisper. “And you just look at me like that. What are you guarding?”
He leans in to kiss the corner of my lips.
I fist the lapels of his jacket. “You can lie to me. I don’t care.”
He slides one hand into my shirt and over my skin to my heart. He takes one of my hands and does the same thing to him. His heart is pounding surprisingly fast for how calm he looks.
He places his hand over my hand over his heart. “I feel this. Every day all the time. There’s never going to be anybody but you.”
“Then why can’t we be together?”
His expression falters for a second, then he leans in and kisses me on the mouth.
I don’t get an answer but kissing him like this is too good to stop.
I missed it, and we get right back into the way it used to be.
I push his jacket down his shoulders and find the place on his neck he always liked being kissed. I put my hand over his crotch.
He breathes in my ear while I nibble and suck at his skin. “Austin.”
I love hearing him say my name. I unbuckle his belt, but he starts to back away. He covers my mouth with kisses, and we trip all over each other’s feet all the way into a darker room where he shoves me down on a bed.