One Hit Wonder (15 page)

“We used another one of your photographs,” Jennifer said, and Audrey realized she was a tough player and subtlety was her game. “For a poster composite for the band’s concert in Utah. You should expect a check soon.”

“Excellent.” She wasn’t concerned about royalties at that moment, but she suspected Jennifer was waiting for John to arrive to talk about the repercussions of Kevin’s accident. Thankfully, he was coming in through the kitchen door. Audrey remained seated with her back to the door and watched Jennifer preening in her chair.

Unbelievable!

“Hi, John.”

“Hey, Jennifer.”

“I’ll start the coffee.” Audrey stood up and surveyed the brown paper bags he had just lined up on the counter.

John unpacked the coffee and leaned toward her. “I can do it,” he said, kissing her.

“Jennifer has been waiting for you. I’ll do it. Leave the groceries, too; I’ll take care of it.” She reached for the coffee in his hand.

He pulled it away, circled his other arm around her waist, and kissed her again. “You’re the best,” he said, relinquishing the package.

Jennifer seemed anxious to start business, for John had barely let go of Audrey when she said, “Tabloids have got hold of Kevin’s mug shot. We have to write a statement and also start thinking about community work. It’s good for the band’s image.”

“We’ll do whatever is necessary,” John said, leaning with both hands on the chair Audrey had vacated.

“I’m sorry all of you will have to work.”

“I don’t mind, and I’m sure Matt and Tyler won’t either.”

“You’re a great friend.”

“Thanks.” John shrugged off the compliment, while Audrey, unpacking the groceries, couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Would you like some tea, Jennifer? We have green and chamomile,” Audrey said, looking inside the cabinet.

“Oh, no thanks. It’s too hot, but I’ll have some water.”

John straightened up and opened the fridge. “Here you go.” He handed Jennifer a bottle of water and leaned against the counter, where Audrey placed two coffee mugs.

“I also bring some good news.” Jennifer took a sip of water and patted her mouth with her fingers. “‘North Star’ was nominated for best video.”

“The VMA?” John turned toward Jennifer who must have interpreted the gesture as the imminence of celebratory hug, because she stood from her chair and took a step closer.

“Yep, the list came out this morning.” Her eyes fluttered with excitement.

“John, that’s fantastic,” Audrey said, and he automatically swiveled toward her, pulling her into a hug and lifting her off her feet.

“What’s going on?” Kevin placed his hand on the door sill and swayed into the kitchen.

• • •

Thank heavens John was up early, because the phone wouldn’t stop ringing. After the last call, she stayed in bed another twenty minutes, then gave up trying to sleep altogether. John made homestyle Eggo waffles for breakfast — his specialty. He’d toasted them medium dark, warmed the syrup, and cut strawberries for her. She loved playing house with him, now that the kids were out.

“So, what’s all the commotion?” Audrey helped herself to the waffles while he poured them coffee.

“What commotion?” He said innocently.

“Did you get a direct fan line to our house? Because it seems like the kind of thing Bill would do just to piss me off.”

“I guess everyone at Atlantis is worried about the band putting a good show at the VMAs tonight, including making sure we color-coordinate our ties.”

Oh, shit. Audrey had completely forgotten about the award show. “Well I better get going then if I want to be back in time.”

“Back? Where are you going?”

“To work. Edward is having me set up a Vanity Fair photo shoot in Santa Barbara. I’ve told you — ”

“Santa Barbara? You’re kidding, right?” A mix of frustration and disappointment seemed to scratch his voice. She walked to the bedroom and he followed. “I really wish you’d be there with me.”

“And I will be, John, when I finish work.”

“Work? Can’t you take a day off?”

She looked at him in disbelief. Could it be that John didn’t think her work was as important as his? But he looked as innocent as a child asking his mom for more dessert.

“Women take all day to get ready for this. It’s almost ten o’clock and you have to go to Santa Barbara and back.”

“What women, John? Singers, actresses, models? Well, I’m not any of that, am I? I am the fucking groupie who hit the jackpot.” She looked at him, his eyes widened and his shoulders stiffened. Then she zipped her boots up and pulled her jeans over it.

It was like a volcano had erupted, now there was no containing the spread of lava. But John? He was everything to her. Before she could stop, she heard herself saying, “Oh, wait — I know, I am the hot Latina who must fuck him backwards so well, tons of gringos are parachuting in Brazil right now.”

“Wait … a … minute,” John stammered.

She felt the graze of his lifted, reaching hand as she stormed out.

• • •

The drive to Santa Barbara was the worst of her life, uncontrollable tears and sobs made the road barely visible. She pulled over to compose herself before showing up at the photo shoot looking so desolated. She replayed their fight over and over in her head. Not much of a fight really, more like a lion tamer opening the cage just to have his jugular ripped out of his throat by the beast he tried to domesticate.

She hadn’t meant for all her anger to boil over onto the one person she had absolutely nothing against; on the contrary, she had learned to love him more than she knew possible. She didn’t know what had taken over her, but living for months in a city where people used each other for their own ends and sucked their life for the sake of money had transformed her into something else entirely. Taken aback by her own cynicism, she wanted to turn around and go to him, but responsibility kept her headed toward Santa Barbara. She would go up there, set up the photo-shoot, explain to Edward she couldn’t stay, and rush home. She thought of Jennifer’s “you’re so lucky” comments, which sounded more like “you’re so unworthy,” and felt a pang of regret because at that moment she really was unworthy of him. Loving John was easy, the challenge had been to feel she deserved to be loved back; not because he was an ascending rock-star — Jennifer’s probable reason — but because he was inexplicably the one that made her feel whole.

Her mother’s voice urging her not to sacrifice a career for a man was quickly dismissed by fear of losing him. She managed to get back to the apartment before five thirty, but he’d already left. Her heart turned to a block of ice, dropping onto the floor and shattering in millions of pieces. Be practical, she told herself. Get ready, grab a cab and at least try to get there as soon as possible. No answer on his cell; he must have been inside the auditorium. When she walked into the bedroom, already stripping to go shower, there was a box on their bed and a card with John’s handwriting: in case you make it. She felt a pang of guilt thinking of him having to worry about the event and her awful words on top of it.

The box was white embossed with gold opposite facing C’s overlapping each other. Chanel. A dress so beautiful it appeared to have descended straight from heaven. Pale nude in color, low cut cleavage, mid-thigh length, and completely embellished with delicate pearlescent sequins that seemed to be made from flower petals. When she put it on, for an instant, she understood the women John was referring to, who spent all day getting prepped — tanning, massages, facials, manicures and pedicures, hair, makeup — to slip into one of these.

She pulled her cell from the golden clutch that came with the strappy high heels also laid on the bed and dialed Jennifer’s number from the cab.

“Jennifer, it’s Audrey.”

“Aw … hi, Audrey.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Oh no, just surprised. John said you weren’t coming.”

“He did?”

“Well — might — might not come.”

“Is he around?”

“No, he is inside the auditorium right now. They close the doors to avoid people walking in and out on live TV. No cells allowed.”

“I am on my way. How do I get in?.”

When Audrey arrived at the Nokia theater she was surprised by the amount of people surrounding the place: fans, journalists, paparazzi, security, police. Audrey instructed the cab driver to stop near the back where Jennifer said she would be waiting with VIP passes at hand. The red carpet was empty, only a few publicists and crew recognizable by their black outfits, radios, blue-tooth headsets, and manila folders in their hands. Audrey walked toward the door hoping to see Jennifer among them, but she was nowhere to be found.

“That bitch!” Audrey mumbled. She called her again but this time there was no answer. She walked toward the door where a tall, shaved-head, almond-skin Samoan in a tailored black suit guarded the door with a grim expression.

Great, he turns away washed-up and wannabes trying to get in all day. What chance do I have, she thought.

“Hey, what’s up?” She feigned nonchalance.

He glanced down at her, but didn’t move a muscle.

“I’m looking for a P.R. from Atlantis Records who is supposed to meet me here with passes. Is there any way you could call someone to locate her? I’m terribly late and my boyfriend’s band was nominated. I really don’t want to miss it. Please.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. There is nothing I can do.”

“Listen, I’m really not trying to crash this party. I hate this stuff, but the love of my life is in there — for the first time ever — and I’ve promised him I would be by his side.”

The Samoan king let out a big sigh that filled Audrey with hope.

“Look, I can’t let you in without a pass. Last time a beautiful woman wearing Chanel talked me into letting her in, she turned out to be a high-class hooker that offered her services to the last righteous celebrity in Hollywood and got me in trouble.”

“How do you know I’m wearing Chanel?”

“Oh, girl. Pleeease.” He intoned, pursing his lips. It turned out the Samoan king was a Samoan queen.

“I’m not a hooker, I promise.” This was the one sentence she’d never imagined would come out of her mouth. Damn Hollywood.

“The best I can do is radio security inside and see if someone can locate this P.R. of yours.”

Audrey slumped her shoulders and thought, shit! this will take forever. “Thank you.”

After he did what he promised, he resumed his taut stance and grim look, and Audrey turned around and waited. She tried Jennifer’s and John’s cell again; nothing.

What can I do? She looked at her cell and had a crazy idea, all the while thinking: what are the odds?

“Charlie, it’s Audrey. Where are you?”

She had just won the lottery. Charlie was there and he came to get her at the door, greeting Samoan queen with an enthusiastic fist bump.

“How come you’re holding my mate at the gates, Ricky?”

“She didn’t say she was your woman, brother.”

“I’m not his woman.” Audrey interjected.

Charlie and Ricky looked at Audrey, then at each other and started laughing.

Whatever. Audrey rolled her eyes. “Charlie, I really need to get in there before it’s over.”

“Go on in, girl. It’s cool.” Ricky waved her in.

She gave him a kiss on the cheeks. “Thank you. You’re awesome and super-hot,” she said already walking away. Ricky puffed out his chest so big; a little more and he might have exploded.

“You have a new best friend now.” Charlie said, shaking his head. “Why are you stuck out here? I thought your song was up for an award.”

“Well, I had to go to Santa Barbara set up Vanity Fair for Edward. Where were you?

“Edward knows I don’t miss the VMAs. It’s the craziest award in Hollywood. Musicians are party animals.”

“How come your cell worked? I’ve been trying John’s for hours.”

“I don’t go in the theater. Hate that shit. Americans have awards for everything. My ma always said doing a good job is its own award.” He tossed her a tiny wink, and said, “I hang at the bar.”

“Sweet.”

They walked through a foyer, where a bar was set up football-stadium style, except there were tuxes and gowns in line for beer instead of jerseys and sports caps. There were high top tables spread around the area and people drank and talked while photographers and journalists browsed around looking for the most famous — those who congregated in private VIP lounges. Audrey spotted John, Matt, Kevin, and Tyler by a table. Jennifer was there standing beside John, not wearing the black suit that seemed to be the dress code for the publicists — men and women alike. She was wearing a skin-tight red gown with unbelievably low-cut cleavage and it looked amazing on her, the skanky bitch. No security would think she was a P.R. dressed like that, Audrey felt tempted to call Ricky and show him what a real high-class hooker looked like.

She marched toward them, breathing deeply like a defendant in court about to hear her fate from the judge, each step the sound of a drum beat in her ears. She was nervous; furious at Jennifer; but most of all, embarrassed. When she was about ten feet away, John spotted her. His eyes met hers and immediately lit up. She wanted to smile but shame stopped her. She looked at his face trying to decode his emotions: no anger or hurt. At that moment, looking into his eyes as they grew closer, she knew his restrained kindness, his immeasurable character, and his gentle touch smoothed every little crease of her soul.

“You look beautiful,” John said.

“I’m sorry. I’m such an ass — ”

He stopped her with a kiss and said softly, “we didn’t win.”

“That sucks.” She stood on her tip-toes and hugged him tight. Over his shoulder she narrowed her eyes at Jennifer who matched Audrey’s disdain, look by look.

Then, Audrey cupped John’s face with her hands and kissed him hard, making all the boys jigger with excitement.

“Fuckin’ hell. How long has it been since these two last saw one another?” Charlie said. The boys laughed and when Audrey finished kissing John, he was breathless.

“Thanks for meeting me at the door, Jennifer. If it wasn’t for Charlie here I’d be outside — still.”

John turned to face Jennifer, “Did you know she was coming?”