Outsider (39 page)

The
limo pulled to a halt, and the door opened. Butch popped his head into the car.
“You all ready? There’s a line of fans about a block long. You can bypass it
and go straight upstairs to the party if you’re not in the mood to sign
autographs.”

“Always
in the mood for adulation,” Steve said, hopping out of the car. The sounds of
cheers, screams, and whistles echoed from the avenue outside.

“Did
he say adultery?” Roux asked.

Azura
chuckled. “He said adulation, babe. That dirty mind of yours is playing tricks
on you again.”

Logan,
Dare, and Max climbed from the car to further exclamations of fan delight. When
Reagan started to follow them, Sam put a hand on her knee. “Leave the guys to
their autographs,” he said. “Take Baroquen up to meet Sinners and the other
opening bands. Fourteenth floor. If you feel like hanging with the big guns,
the Exodus End party is up in Glasshouse 21, so later you can head up to the twenty-first
floor. It’s up to you.”

“It
is possible that someone wants my autograph,” Reagan said.

Sam
laughed. “I thought you hated being the focus of attention.”

She
glanced at the five other women in the car, staring at her as they waited for
her to make her move.

“Just
negative attention,” she said as she slid from the car. No cheers greeted her
ears when she appeared on the sidewalk. Everyone was focused on the four
real
rock stars slowly making the rounds, giving their fans an experience they’d
never forget. She immediately looked for her bodyguard before remembering that
Ethan was in Texas. A few familiar—but not Ethan—security team members rushed her
inside to the elevators.

The
Baroquen women turned heads as they followed her into the silver and glass building.
Reagan felt invisible as people waiting for the elevators whispered about the
five
new
rock stars in their midst. Maybe it was because Reagan wasn’t dressed
outlandishly and the rest of the women in her party looked like they’d stepped
out of a gothic movie screen, but she’d never felt more disregarded in her
life.

At
the after-party, it was much the same. The other women were obviously people
who should be met and apparently fawned over. Reagan didn’t have to introduce
them to anyone who noticed them—and everyone noticed them—as people came
forward to introduce themselves.

“You
look annoyed,” Trey said in her ear.

“Why
is everyone going crazy over them?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of her
hopelessly lacking bosom.

“They
look interesting.”

“And
I don’t?”

“Jeans,
T-shirt, and combat boots; no makeup; ordinary hairstyle—you don’t exactly draw
attention.”

“Gee,
thanks.” She turned to walk away.

Trey
caught her arm and pulled her against him. “You draw my attention.”

She
supposed that was what mattered to her. She didn’t want the world to fawn over
her the way they were fawning over the five “interesting-looking” women that
made up Baroquen.

“If
you want to draw attention to yourself—”

“I
don’t,” she said, wrapping her arms around Trey’s waist and burying her face in
his throat. “It just didn’t sink in that if I
looked
like a rock star,
people might be more likely to
treat
me like one.”

“They
would,” he said, his hands sliding up her back. “But then they’d probably no
longer treat you like a serious musician.”

“They
treat me like a serious musician?” Since when?

“We
live in a sexist world, Reagan. It’s rare that a woman is treated seriously in
this business.”

“And
even rarer for a woman to find a man who understands what she’s going through.”
She leaned away and stared into his eyes. “Wish I could find one.”

“You!”
He poked her in the ribs, making her laugh.

Music
began to blare from the DJ booth, signaling the official start of the after-party.
Reagan pulled Trey onto the dance floor—he liked to dance almost as much as she
did—and moved as if no one was watching. Because they weren’t. Let the new
girls bask in all the attention; Reagan didn’t want it. She just wanted to have
fun, love hard, laugh often, and play her guitar like she meant it.

*****

Early
the next morning, Reagan stood outside a newsstand on a quiet for New York City
street and waited for the owner to open shop.

“Is
this really necessary?” Toni asked, knuckling one eye like a sleepy toddler.
“The sun isn’t even up yet.”

Reagan
had laid quite a guilt trip on Toni to get her to wait with her to purchase the
first copy of each tabloid and entertainment magazine issued today. She wasn’t
going to let her friend back out now.

“I
want to know what I’m up against,” Reagan said. “No more surprises. I hate
surprises.”

Toni
grinned. “You liked the surprise Trey gave you Saturday.”

Actually,
she hadn’t appreciated being put on the spot in front of all those reporters.
She would have much preferred a private and romantic proposal between the two
of them. Or rather the three of them. She was so glad that Ethan would return
to the tour soon. She tended to get into trouble when he wasn’t around. She was
also glad that he’d finally found the courage to come out to his family. He’d
seemed in great spirits when she’d talked to him after the show last night, and
Trey had been so excited for Ethan that he’d high-fived everyone he encountered
for several hours. No one had any idea why they were high-fiving Trey, but not
a single person refused to celebrate with him. Fortunately, two out of three of
them had supportive parents. Just thinking about telling her father that she
preferred polyamorous relationships made Reagan want to hurl.

The
gate rattled as a short balding man lifted it to expose the interior of the newsstand.
He glanced nervously over his shoulder at the two women staring at him
expectantly at four thirty in the morning. “Can I help you ladies?”

“I
want a copy of all the new tabloid issues,” Reagan blurted. “And anything
entertainment related that’s been released in the last week.” Just in case
she’d missed something.

“Don’t
you think you’d feel better about all this if you didn’t seek it out?” Toni
asked.

“The
delivery trucks haven’t dropped off the new issues yet,” the man said. “You’ll
have to come back later.”

“When
do they show up?” Reagan asked.

“Before
six, but not before five.”

“Let’s
go back to bed,” Toni suggested. “Maybe he’ll save you a copy of each
publication, and we can pick them up later.”

“Yeah,
I can do that,” the man said. “No problem.”

“We’ll
wait,” Reagan said. “Can I browse your current stock?”

“I’m
not open yet.”

Reagan
dug through her purse and found her wallet. She began removing twenties and
handed them to the guy until he smiled in satisfaction.

“I
know you’re not running a library here,” she said, having just forked over
enough cash to buy every rag she was interested in as well as most pop-culture
magazines. Reaching over the workout monthlies, she pulled out copies of
several magazines that might potentially have stories about her or Trey or
Exodus End and handed them to Toni. “Start looking,” she said. “For anything
about anyone on the tour.”

“Reagan,”
Toni said, her voice strained with fatigue. “These magazines usually only print
stuff about
real
celebrities. You know, actors and pop stars and rich
heiresses and princesses and super models. Rock stars usually only get page
time when they die from an overdose.”

“Or
get married.”

“Maybe
if they’re marrying a supermodel or an A-list actress.”

“Just
do it,” Reagan said, reaching for copies of outdated tabloids—except for the
American
Inquirer
. She already knew what that piece of trash had written between its
covers.

The
proprietor grabbed an issue of the overlooked tabloid and started to hand it to
her. “You missed one.” He paused to look at the cover and though she was in her
stage makeup in the cover shot, there was no mistaking that the woman on the
front page was Reagan. “Hey,” the man said. “This is you.”

“The
one and only.” She grabbed the tabloid out of his hand and added it to the
bottom of her stack.

She
and Toni sat on the sidewalk to the side of the newsstand, using its lights to
illuminate their pages, and examined every outdated magazine and tabloid from
cover to cover.

“There’s
nothing here,” Toni said as she slapped her final magazine onto the discard
stack beside her.

“I
figured as much.
AI
did break the stories after the other rags had
already gone to press. I just wanted to make sure.” She took great pleasure in
shredding the offensive copy of
American Inquirer
while they waited for
the new issues to drop.

When
the deliveries finally arrived, Toni was dozing with her head against the side
of the newsstand and Reagan was standing with her hands outstretched to receive
any new copies as they were stocked. She examined each cover in turn, relieved
to see headlines unrelated to her or to the people she cared about. There might
be snippets buried in the pages, but at least there wasn’t a full issue devoted
to her alleged debauchery or her naked slip in the hotel lobby. Thank God.
Maybe this whole thing would blow over after all.

She
rubbed her neck and reached out for one more tabloid from the vendor. Damn,
damn, damn. She and Ethan were splashed all over the cover of
American
Inquirer
.

“Caught
Again! Reagan Elliot and Ethan Conner on their Funeral Rendezvous”

She’d
kind of expected that one, but not the smaller headline beneath.

“Is
Reagan Elliot Actually a Lesbian?”

That
query would have made no sense to her if it hadn’t been accompanied by a
picture of her giving guitar lessons onstage to an obviously enraptured woman
at Sam Baily’s request.

“Ergh!”

“Trey
Mills Heartbroken over Reagan’s Cheating Ways”

There
was a picture of Trey forcing his way into his car, and he did look
heartbroken. She was pretty sure that photo had been taken the night he’d
stormed out of the apartment and sped off on his own.

“Is
Reagan Wrecking Homes Before Sedric Lionheart Can Even Say I Do?”

The
photo of her hugging Sed was zoomed in too close to tell they were surrounded
by guests at his father’s visitation. Un-fucking-believable!

“It’s
all about me!” she bellowed.

“Keep
telling yourself that, kid,” the newsstand guy said.

Well,
maybe it wasn’t
all
about her, but the
American Inquirer
certainly
was.

Toni
started awake, blinking at the sunlight hitting her face. “What?” she asked,
her voice slurred with sleep.

“Another
issue of
American Inquirer
devoted to making my life hell.” Reagan
fluttered the paper at her groggy friend.

“If
it’s any consolation,” the man said, “not that many people read
American
Inquirer
. It hasn’t been around long.”

“If
one person reads it, that’s one too many,” she spat.

Toni
pulled herself to her feet and took the paper from Reagan’s hands. “I’ll read
it and summarize for you.”

“What?”
Reagan shouted. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

“You
obviously can’t handle it,” the salesman said with a sly smile. “I assume you
want to buy every copy from my stand.”

“I
don’t care if other people buy it,” she shouted, angry that a perfect stranger
could read her so well.

“I’ll
take them all,” Toni said.

“You
don’t have to do that,” Reagan said, suddenly on the verge of tears. Her
emotions were all over the place, and she fucking hated it. But she loved that
Toni was so supportive.

“I
need kindling for a fire,” Toni said, squeezing Reagan’s arm before exchanging
cash for a stack of papers. “Let’s go back to the hotel. The bus will be
leaving right after the satellite radio segment. We can read these when we’re
bored.”

“But
what if someone at the station asks me about something that’s printed in
there?” She nodded at Toni’s stack of papers.

“You
say no comment.”

As
simple as that? Reagan took a deep breath. Yep, as simple as that. Reagan
nodded, glad she’d brought Toni with her. Reagan didn’t like to admit she
needed a friend to lean on, but if Toni hadn’t been there, she’d have collapsed
both physically and emotionally.

Toni
took all the papers and magazines from Reagan and sent her to her room to
collect more important things, such as her luggage, her guitar, and Trey.

“Why
are you leaving so damned early?” Trey mumbled when she shook him awake.