Chapter Six Bozos with Cameras #2
“Yes,” I admit. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said…” I sigh. I should have known there might be paparazzi there. “I didn’t like how different you looked after Beau came over. I acted a bit quickly. I’m sorry for that.”
To my surprise, she laughs, walking over to the open suitcase and sitting down beside it.
“The look on Beau’s face after you said that was worth it.
” She traces her fingers over Bernie Bird, stroking feather by feather.
“If this goes viral, it’s gonna drive him crazy.
I bet he even gets messages from home. He’d love that. ”
There’s sarcasm. She’s feisty. She may as well be playing with a knot in my chest with how much it tightens.
“It will,” I say. “Go viral, I mean.”
“I figured. That tends to be our trend together.”
She’s taking this in stride better than I thought she would.
I hop up onto the empty kitchen counter and lean forward with my forearms on my thighs as I link my fingers together.
“What happened there?” I ask. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“With Beau?”
“Yeah.”
She sighs, her shoulders rising to her ears. “Typical breakup. Nothing huge.”
I have a feeling that’s not entirely the truth. I heard his ex was his high school sweetheart. Beau’s answer confirmed they at least knew each other then. Beverly’s confirms their romantic history. Two halves of the same truth.
“I can push my manager to get those photos taken down,” I say. “If you’re worried it’ll bother him.”
She sniffs, toying with the feathers. “No, let it.”
“Let it?”
“Let people believe whatever they want.” A small smile rises onto her cheeks. It’s mischievous. It’s weird how quickly new nerves bounce through me, from my heart down to my fingertips to the point where I need to flex them out.
I chuckle. “You’re serious?”
“Unless it bothers you? To have people think you’re dating me?”
I’ve never had a fake girlfriend before. In fact, I’ve avoided those publicity stunts like the plague whenever Jimmy’s tried to pitch them. But I’ll happily keep this charade going if it keeps her smiling like that.
“No,” I answer. “Doesn’t bother me at all.”
She hums to herself. Beverly seems so gentle in this moment, even though her own thoughts churn on a loud wheel. I can tell by how her lips twitch. Her eyes suddenly narrow, like an unpleasant thought made its way in. I wonder what she might be remembering.
Maybe the way I spoke before thinking.
Maybe how she gripped my forearm.
Beverly doesn’t know me. I get irritated by the press, sure. I’m definitely testy. But that doesn’t mean I’m irrational. Hurtful. I’d never swing.
“I wasn’t going to punch the camera guy, by the way,” I murmur. “Or push or…if that’s what you thought.”
Her eyes whip to mine, darting over my face. I stiffen under her gaze. What does she see? The way my skin feels like it’s crawling inside itself? My bandmates and how they can’t find work because of me? Does she see Robin? Ava?
But Beverly simply nods. “Okay. I believe you.”
And that’s that.
No arguments of Then why did you seem like you were going to hit him?
Just a simple Okay.
The weight of my forearms presses into my knees. My beating heart pounds down to my fingertips.
“Thank you” is all I can find to say.
She gives a slight smile but doesn’t linger. “Um, by the way…I leave tomorrow.”
Cue record scratch.
“You what?”
She winces. “I’m sorry. I should have mentioned it.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home,” she says. “Well, my hometown,” she amends, as if it’s not the same thing.
She gestures to Bernie Bird. “I kind of spent all my savings on this guy here.” She takes his arm and waves it in my direction.
It’s sweet. “I can’t stay in LA. I know that might make our process a bit slower. But we can always do video calls. And—”
“I’ll just come with you.”
Beverly freezes. “What?”
I close my eyes, frustrated at my own impulsiveness.
Maybe I shouldn’t have invited myself. But I need this gig.
I need to work with her. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.
And anywhere must be better than a place where random camera guys stalk me while I’m working or where I have to circle the block a time or two so that I’m not followed.
“I could come with you,” I say, a bit more of a suggestion this time.
She blinks. “You don’t even know me.”
“I’ve lived on a tour bus with strangers who became my best friends. This can’t be much different.”
A slow smile rises on her cheeks. “Are we gonna become best friends, Griffin Harvey?”
“Maybe,” I answer. “I’m sorry, by the way. I’ve been told I’m…uh…blunt. What I meant to say is that I need to work on my music. Getting out of town to focus wouldn’t be a bad idea. How long do you plan to be there?”
“I have to pitch in March. So…assuming that goes well…I guess until then.”
“I can do that,” I answer. “I go on tour mid-March.”
Beverly cocks her head in thought. I almost enjoy watching her brain churn. Like I can see the gears shifting through each saw of her teeth over her bottom lip.
“You’re serious,” she says.
“I think I’d like to be somewhere else for a while,” I say. “Away from bozos with cameras—”
She grins. “Bozos?”
“Bozos stalking me in restaurants,” I finish with a half smirk. “A place to breathe.”
She blows out a breath, puffing out her cheeks. “Well…my hometown would be the place.”
There seems to be a lot loaded in that heavy exhale. “Is that a bad thing?”
“I mean…it kinda closes for the winter?” It comes out like a question.
“Closes?”
“We’re in the mountains, so it gets a little iffy to go to the top after about November. People can go. It’s not like we close the roads. But not a lot of tourists drop by, so we close pretty much every business. It’s a ghost town.”
A ghost town. Now that’s not a bad idea. A town without people to gawk. Without cameras.