Rock Bottom (33 page)

“No, we definitely can’t.” She strode away.

From the patio, Stu called to Jet.
Let him wait.
“Billie, come on. Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” she blubbered, and hastened toward the gate where a taxi waited.

What the hell had happened?

* * * *

Billie could hardly speak because of the effort required to restrain her tears. She had the cab driver drop her off at a shopping outlet. Better to get lost in the crowd, anonymous, though she had no interest in shopping. Or anything else in Malibu.

A sudden homesickness overtook her, and she called her mom.

Immediately, her mother picked up the strain in her voice. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“I’m confused.”

“About?”

Might as well spill. Mom would find out eventually. “A guy. I’ve never been more miserable. Or happier.”

“Sounds like love to me.”

That’s what she’d been afraid of. Swiping a tear from her cheek, she said, “I miss you, Mom.”

“I miss you too. When can you visit?”

Not soon enough. “The season wraps up in a few weeks.” The realization struck. Two and a half weeks, to be exact. Then reality would come into play.

She couldn’t face going back there tonight. Jet would come to the cottage, and she’d let him in. Instead, she asked a cab driver to take her to whatever hotel was nearest, and cheapest. Once inside her room at the Malibu Motel, she sprawled on the bed and realized how hungry she was. Room service rates were outrageous, but she wasn’t venturing out again. Scanning the menu, the Malibu Winery wine list caught her eye. Oh yeah. Tonight, she’d splurge on that, anyway. And an actual meal.

When it arrived, she dug in like she hadn’t eaten in weeks, then settled on the bed to watch television--something else she hadn’t done in a long time. Flipping through the channels, she happened across the current
Rock Bottom
. Stu was on screen, telling Jet he’d arranged a few concerts. “So you can’t accuse me of not doing my job.”

Billie cackled. Right. As if he’d ever done a good job for Jet.

Stu’s whine and ingratiating smile grated on her nerves, especially when he said, “But I’m worried about you.”

Jet slumped on the sofa in his office, head propped in his hand. “Why’s that?” His voice sounded flat, lifeless.

“You’re not yourself these days. Where’s that old Jet pizzazz? The panache?” Stu swung his hand out like the showman he was.

Jet’s deadened gaze turned to Stu. “That Jet’s gone. Everything about him died when my brother died.”

Stu’s nasal giggle sounded. “Then who am I looking at?”

“A ghost.”

The camera zoomed in for a closeup, his sad face filling the screen.

Billie cradled the bottle to her chest. “No. You’re not a ghost. You have so much to give. Damn you for giving up so easily.” Curling into her pillow, she drifted off.

* * * *

The camera cut away, and Jet rose. “We’re done now.” He’d had enough of letting the world in on his private dramas.

“Not yet,” Stu snapped.

The sharpness in his tone drew Jet’s bile. Today was the wrong day to mess with him. “Make it quick.”

Stu held up his thumb and index finger, nearly touching. “We are this close to being done. Don’t fuck it up. All right? As a favor to me?”

“You want me to do you a favor. Too fucking funny.” Here he thought he’d been doing Stu a favor for decades. Looked the other way when his manager skimmed a little off the top. Jet didn’t care. After he straightened himself out, he’d also straightened out his finances. A neat amount waited in the bank. For what, he had no clue. Sometimes he thought he should start his own recording company. Sometimes he wanted to give it all away.

“Jet.” Stu said his name like a reprimand. “Jeff would have--”

Anger sent Jet’s fist slamming to the tabletop. “Don’t bring my brother into this.” By attempting to use Jeff as leverage, Stu had lost any and all leverage.

“I’m just saying--”

“Well, don’t. You know better. Or you used to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly. Neither of us is who we used to be. Keep that in mind.” He might not be so understanding of Stu’s weaknesses anymore. Not if Stu kept pushing. Yeah, Jeff believed in loyalty. Watching out for each other. So what would Jeff had said about Stu? Convincing Jet to sign up for another season of
Rock Bottom
circus. It padded Stu’s pockets, but kept Jet from doing what he loved. Music. Yeah, he’d allowed it to happen.

Well, no more. Too much had slipped from his grasp these past few years. He’d make damn sure nothing else precious got away. Especially Billie.

Starting now, he’d take control.

Striding to Cindy’s desk, he asked, “Where can I get a haircut?” Something he’d wanted to do long ago, but Stu convinced him it would ruin his image.

Well, a new image would usher in a new life. None of it captured on camera.

* * * *

If a headache could cause Billie’s head to break, her skull would split open like a coconut, milk oozing. Sun glared through the sliding glass doors. Why had she forgotten to close the damn curtains?

A shower provided little help. “Never drinking again,” she muttered, gathering her things. She had to return to the cottage. To her laptop. To her little semblance of a measly life.

In the cab, Everett called. “The blog’s been dead for two days. What the fuck is going on?”

“I’m not feeling well.” Not a lie. Her head could crack open at any time.

“Get me something today, Billie.”

“Fine, you’ll have something.” Powering off the phone, she contemplated pointing the camera out each direction of the cottage, clicking and posting whatever happened to be in the viewfinder.

After climbing out, she paid the driver and dragged herself down the driveway. “Be a professional. First do your job, then go to the cottage and let your head split open.”

Cindy would have some painkillers. Maybe even some of the good kind.

She aimed in the general direction of the house and went inside. Cindy’s desk sat empty, and she held in a whimper. “Cindy?”

Cindy popped her head out of the office. “Be with you in a sec. Have a seat.”

Yes. A seat sounded perfect. Billie slumped into the office chair and held her head, elbows on the desk.

Footsteps approached. “Billie.”

She groaned. “No.” She couldn’t face Jet in this condition.

“Are you sick?”

“Yes.” In more ways than one.

Crouching low, he drew back. “You’re hung over.”

“Okay.” She hadn’t specified the type of sickness, after all.

“Were you out drinking last night? Is that why you didn’t come home?”

Fighting to hold in a laugh at the word
home
, she lifted her gaze to his. “What did you do to your hair?” Inches shorter, dirty blond layers brushed across his forehead, his ears, to his collar but no farther. Damn, he looked better than ever.

Still on his haunches, he eased away. “I cut it. Don’t change the subject. Where were you last night?”

Had she forgotten to brush her teeth? God, she couldn’t remember. “I stayed at a hotel. Alone. I told you I needed space to clear my head.”

“That worked well.”

Anger built within as she saw the strength he gained from her weakness. “I’m so glad you find my miserable condition so amusing.”

“No. It’s a relief that you’re as miserable as me.” Grasping her hand, he stood. “Come on.”

Pulling back, she resisted. “I need to talk to Cindy.”

Cindy opened the door. “What’s up?”

Billie begged, “Please tell me you have something for headaches.”

“Hangover,” Jet corrected.

“Both.” Billie couldn’t let pride stand in the way of pain relief.

“I’ll be right back.” Cindy disappeared down the hall, returned with a white plastic container and bottled water.

“Bless you.” Billie fumbled the cap and downed two pills.

“Keep it. I’ll be inside if you need anything else.” Cindy went back in the office and closed the door.

Jet strode down the hall. So that was it? He’d given up already?

She laid her head on her arms. Footsteps sounded, and something clunked onto the desk. “Here’s some coffee.”

“Why the travel mug?”

“Because you’re coming with me.”

“No. I promised Everett--”

“Fuck Everett. Oops, too late. You already did.”

Strength billowed up from her core, straightened her spine. Narrowing her eyes, she said slowly, “I have to work. Why did you cut your hair?” It made it really difficult to concentrate on refusing him when he looked so good.

“Don’t you like it?”

“Right, I hate men who look like models.”
GQ
would be calling him for a summer menswear spread, she could see it now. Damn him, he’d look even better in classic black-and-white photos.

She rose with the intention of brushing past him, going to find Ashley and Julie, get some quick pics and whatever inane comments for quotes, post it online and go back to bed.

As soon as she stood, he pulled her to him in a kiss.

Breathless, she struggled in his arms, though not convincingly. “I can’t think straight. This isn’t reality. I don’t even know what’s real anymore. This place is making me crazy. Crazier than the bimbos.” That scary thought should drive him away.

Instead, he slung the strap of her bag over his shoulder, slipped his arm around her and walked her outside.

“Where are we going?” She didn’t want to be seen in public with raccoon eyes and unruly hair.

“Away from here.” His Wrangler sat in front of the house, and he opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

She found it difficult to argue with him when he wore his mirrored aviator sunglasses, which made him look even more like a model. After she climbed in, he set her bag on the floor and fastened her seat belt.

He jogged to the driver’s side and she could almost swear his teeth sparkled when he flashed a smile starting the engine. “The seat reclines if you want to rest. The drive’s about an hour.”

“Drive? Where?” She couldn’t piece two words together coherently.

“To reality.”

Sure, make a joke of it. Was there a town called Reality in California? Why not? Pennsylvania had Beaver, Lickdale, Butts, Rough and Ready, Blue Ball, Mount Joy, Intercourse, Climax, Paradise…hmm, a definite trend...

The wind rushing through the Jeep lulled her to a haze of semiconsciousness where her headache eased. Jet sang softly as he drove, making her heart ache. They could be any other couple out for a drive. Except they weren’t.

They stopped outside a house in the suburbs.

Squinting, she asked, “What time is it?” Her head felt light, a bit airy. Maybe her brains had leached out after all. At least it hurt less. No wonder the bimbos always seemed so happy. Her brother always said,
No brain, no pain
.

Tilting his head, he said, “Come on.”

“Where are we?” Why bring her to the suburbs? Did he mean to taunt her with a lifestyle they’d never know?

* * * *

Damn, a hangover never looked so good on anyone. Her mussed hair and drowsy eyes made Jet want to roll her on the ground.

“Come find out.” Grinning, he opened her door, then strolled to the front door and rang the bell.

Her eyes widened. “What are you doing? Let’s go before someone--”

The door swung open and Sue frowned in confusion. “Jerry? What are you doing here?”

He kissed her cheek. “Hi.”

Behind her, the boys ran up. “Uncle Jerry!”

“Hey, when did you grow so tall?” Another inch and the kid would reach his shoulder. Eleven and already checking Billie out. Jet chucked him under the chin.

His younger nephew threw his arms around Jet’s waist.

Sue gave Billie the once-over. Twice. “Come on in. The boys just finished their homework before dinner.”

Billie glanced at Jet. “No, we can’t intrude.”

“I always make plenty. I never know who might show up.” Sue smiled and inclined her head.

Something registered in Billie. Probably the family resemblance.

Guiding her inside, Jet said, “Sue, this is Billie Prescott. Billie, Sue.” Grasping the older boy’s shoulder, he added, “This is Jeremy. And Kyle.”

“Billie. What an unusual name.”

“No more than Jet,” she joked.

Laughing, his sister led them through the family room. “I never could call him Jet. It sounds so silly.”

Jet slid his hands in his shorts pockets. “Jeff called me that long before the band.”

“I don’t care. It’s just not you.” She walked ahead through the dining room toward the kitchen. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

Kyle knelt on the sofa. “How come you’re here?”

Jeremy stood beside Jet. “Yeah, what happened to
Rock Bottom
?”

Sue’s voice carried from the kitchen. “You better not be watching that. I told you not to.” She emerged wiping her hands on a towel. “Those reality shows are the furthest thing from reality. Someone should sue them for false advertising.”

“Why don’t you, Mom?” Jeremy teased.

“Well, I just might.” She grinned at Billie. “I have to finish up in the kitchen. Want anything to drink?”

“Sure.” Billie paused to take in the scene.

Jet plopped on the sofa beside Kyle. “Hey, what new video games do you have?”

“Guitar Player Four.” His voice held a hint of Jet’s when he spoke of something he loved.

Jet widened his eyes. “I’ve been wanting to try that.” When both boys clamored to be first, he promised each would have a turn. He winked at Billie before she followed his sister into the kitchen. He silently congratulated himself on such a great idea.

* * * *

Billie wished she’d had time to prepare for this. Meeting his sister and her kids? Why hadn’t Jet warned her? No big deal, apparently. To him.

Sue opened the fridge. “So are you a wine drinker, or beer?”

The thought of wine made her stomach churn. “I’d love some milk, actually, if it’s not too much bother.”

“None at all.” Relief sounded in her voice.

When Sue handed her a glass, Billie wondered how many times Sue had to entertain Jet’s friends.

His sister poked at a dish in the oven. “It’s just chicken casserole, nothing fancy but the boys love it.” She wrinkled her nose.