What Now? (2 page)

Lily led
the way into a room that seemed small because of the large number of people
hanging out in it. The band members and several other people lounged around on
chairs or on the floor. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, high on the
adrenaline that was still flowing in their veins.

“Hey,
guys. Great show as usual,” Lily raised her voice to get their attention. All
eyes swung in their direction.

“This
is Shari Goodwin and Brian Talbot from KZM Television. They’re the ones who
will be doing the documentary that I told you about. That means you’ll be
seeing a lot of them. Cooperate with them and be on your best behavior, please.”

“We’re
always on our best behavior,” one of the band members defended. The others
laughed and called out good natured hellos and welcomes. They seemed fairly
down to earth, at least on first sight. Nick Badley was the opposite. His eyes
took a leisurely walk over Shari’s body, which immediately put her back up.

“Shari
Goodwin,” he repeated, stressing the ‘Good’. “Talbot.” His voice was rough
after singing for nearly two hours. “I’d be lying if I said ‘welcome’ because
I’m doing this documentary under duress.”

That
makes two of us, Shari said to herself.

“Now,
Nick, we’ve been over this already,” Lily reminded him.

He
was slouched on a couch in a T-shirt and jeans while the trademark black jacket
was flung over the back. Tattoos covered one arm from elbow to wrist with
another one on his neck. Surprisingly few tattoos for a rock star, Shari
thought wryly.

He
had been dynamic on stage for the short time she had seen him, and that had
been from a distance. Being in the room with him only magnified his impact. She
mentally acknowledged that he had the presence that was known as star power. He
was as good looking in person as he was in the numerous photos she had seen of
him, with the George Michael (make that Nick Badley) stubble darkening his chin
and giving him his bad boy look. While she didn’t deny that he was good
looking, it took a lot more than good looks to impress her. And, so far, she
was not impressed.

With
the adrenaline dissipating rapidly, Nick was beginning to feel the effect of
pouring himself out on the stage for two solid hours. He didn’t even have the
energy to fight with Lily right now. She was well aware of how he felt about
reporters and the media in general, but he had conceded to do the documentary
only because it made for good publicity. Publicity was the only god that they
bowed to.

As
far as he was concerned, the media had played a major role in destroying both
his marriages. He had been well on the way to screwing up the first one
himself, but they had finished what he’d started, with tragic results. Even
now, the memories caused a dull ache to tug at his heart. He’d been really
trying with Patti, his second wife, though but, she’d chosen to believe the
stories being reported about him and a singer from a band that opened for one
of his concerts. The photos which were snapped of them leaving a London club
may have looked incriminating, but nothing had happened between them. He had
actually been trying to be faithful. That was more than he could say for her,
as he found out later.

He looked
Shari Goodwin up and down, trying to control his resentment at her presence. He
could almost feel the disapproval oozing from her as she returned his gaze. No one
could accuse her of being a groupie or trying to dress to attract him. Just as well,
because he really wanted nothing to do with her or her documentary. He had no
time for reporters.

She
wore her light brown hair in a natural curly afro hairstyle and he grudgingly
admitted that she was very easy on the eye. Her caramel skin was flawless and
she obviously didn’t make too much fuss about make-up or clothing. It wasn’t
that she looked shabby; far from. She looked casual but elegant in a pair of jeans,
a white camisole, which she filled out extremely well, and a black blazer
styled jacket. Low-heeled boots, more for comfort than style, didn’t do much to
add inches to her average height. The outfit was more suited for work than an
after party, but, then again, that’s what she was there for – to work.

“Someone
get me a drink. I need something to pick me up ’cause I’m about ready to crash.”

“Hey,
Nick, I’ve got some prime stuff that will pick you right up. Want some?” His
drummer, Tim Benton, offered, unconcerned that they were in the company of
journalists.

“No, Tim.
Besides, you don’t want your bad habits documented for the world to see, do
you?” Nick gestured to Shari and Brian.

“For
purely medicinal purposes, of course,” Tim added. “Can’t think of a better
energy booster.”

“Don’t
mind us. We want you to be as real as possible so that we can capture what your
life is like as accurately as we can,” Shari assured them.

“Don’t
know if that will be allowed on Prime Time TV,” joked the bass player. Shari
searched her mind for the name that went with his face. Oh yes, Simon Sayers. She
smiled slightly, thinking the same thing herself.

“Do
you really know the meaning of accurate?” accused Nick. That sobered Shari
immediately. She wondered at the animosity that she could feel emanating from
him.

“Nick
stop,” Lily cautioned. “Alright, guys. Time to be seen by your adoring public,”
Lily reminded them.

Nick
tossed back the shot that someone put in his hand and stood up, grabbing his
jacket. The brief rest and the drink seemed to restore his energy.

“Let’s
go face the music. Stick close to me, Ms. Goodwin,” he ordered, opening the
door. “You said you want to see what my life is like.”

The
security contingent lined the hallway, waiting to escort them to the limos that
were parked around the back. As they walked between the line of solid-looking
men in black, Shari wondered if she was really ready to see what Nick Badley’s
life was like.

“Nick,
Nick!” shouted women of all descriptions as they reached out to touch him.
Cameras flashed in their eyes as photographers and fans competed to capture the
image of the famous Nick Badley on their cameras and smart phones. So much for
leaving quietly through the back, Shari thought.

“Great
concert, Nick,” someone praised him.

“Thanks,”
he replied, giving him a thumbs-up.

“Who’s
the lady, Nick?” a reporter asked. He ignored that.

“Where
you off to, Nick?”

“Where’s
the after party, Nick?”

“Can
you sign an autograph for me, Nick?” He paused to scribble his signature on a
photo of himself that a beautiful girl stuck out.

“Me
too, Nick…” Another scribble.

“Nick…”

“Nick…”

Beginning
to get sick of hearing the name Nick, not to mention feeling claustrophobic as the
crowd pressed in on them, Shari was relieved when Nick’s bodyguards pushed them
back and carved a path to the limo. By the time they collapsed in the seat she
felt frazzled. Brian had apparently gone with the rest of the band.

Faces
pressed against the windows as the driver inched forward, taking what seemed to
Shari like forever to crawl through the throng. She found it miraculous that no
one got crushed under the wheels. As they turned the corner, the street was lined
with more fans hoping to get a glimpse of Nick. He lowered the dark tinted window,
leaned forward and waved to his delighted fans before the limo picked up speed
and headed towards the exclusive club.

“Got
to keep the fans happy,” he said matter-of-factly, sitting back against the
seat.

“And
what keeps you happy?” She was feeling better now that they were on the open road.

“Sold
out concerts, platinum albums, number one records, no reporters in my face…” he
listed off on his fingers.

“Not
much then,” she interrupted wryly. “I’m afraid you won’t be totally happy
because I’ll be in your face for the next few weeks.”

“I’ll
try to survive,” he replied. “And what keeps you happy, Ms. Shari Goodwin?” he
asked, once again stressing the first syllable of her surname.

“Working
on stories with depth and meaning,” she replied, without hesitation.

“So,
you’re not happy at the moment.”

“I
plead the Fifth.” His laugh startled her. She had thought he might be offended,
but, apparently, he was amused.

“I
take it that you did not want this assignment,” he persisted.

“How
honest do you want me to be?”

“Total
honesty would be a novelty. I know that you’re supposed to be professional and
keep your opinions to yourself, but I would really like you to say exactly what
you’re thinking. I’ll consider it off the record.”

His
words caused her to look more closely at him. She didn’t pursue his comment,
but filed it away in her mental notebook.

She
was saved from having to answer him as the limo pulled up to the curb of a high-end
night club with the words ZigZag, discreetly lit in a pattern befitting its name.
Crowds of people were filing into the club and a queue was building as security
verified passes. Those who didn’t have valid passes were turned away.

A
surreal feeling came over her as the door opened and two large bodyguards stepped
back to allow them to get out. Yesterday she had only read about Nick Badley,
tonight she was climbing out of a limousine and being hustled along beside him
towards the door of an exclusive Las Vegas club! The crowd parted like the Red
Sea as the bodyguards pushed through. Nick grabbed her hand and pulled her into
the club with him while the other members of the band and Brian, who had
spilled out of another limo, fell in behind them.

The
DJ must have been watching the door from his platform because, as soon as Nick
walked in, he turned down the music and shouted into his mike: “Nick Bad is in
the house! Glad to have you and the band at ZigZag, Nick.”

The
crowd erupted in cheers. Nick raised a hand in acknowledgement and followed a
hostess, who appeared at his side, to a booth on a raised dais towards the back
of the club. Men clapped him on the shoulders and back and women reached out to
touch him as he passed.

When
he and the band were finally seated, with their ever-present bodyguards settled
nearby, the music and dancing resumed. A waitress in a pair of miniscule black
shorts and a bustier that revealed almost as much as it covered, appeared at
the table to take their orders.

“What
can I get you, Mr. Badley?”

“I’ll
have an Eyeopener.”

“Sure.
One vodka and Red Bull coming up. What about you, gentlemen?” she asked the
rest of the band. They opted for the same.

“What
are you having?” Nick asked Shari, bringing her to the attention of the
waitress.

“I’ll
have pink lemonade, please.”

“Will
that be with vodka?” the waitress asked.

Shari
smiled slightly. “By itself.”

The
waitress added that to her pad and made way as a man of medium height with a
slight paunch and slicked back hair approached the dais. Two beautiful women in
short, black dresses clung to each of his arms. Shari thought he looked like
some sort of Italian gangster and wasn’t surprised when he leaned over to shake
Nick’s hand and shouted above the noise: “Welcome, Nick. I’m Marciano Ballatore.
I’m honored that you’ve chosen to grace ZigZag with your presence tonight.”

“Thanks
for throwing this party for us,” Nick responded graciously.

“Anything
you want, anything at all, you just have to ask. What is mine is yours.” With
that, he raised his arms slightly to indicate that his offer included the women
on his arms who moved from his side and slid into the booth. The nearest one immediately
sidled to Nick’s side, leaving the other one to practically crawl over his lap
to squeeze herself between him and Shari, forcing Shari to move over.

“Thank
you, Marciano.” Nick made himself comfortable by slipping his arms around both
of them. The boss smiled and excused himself.

Shari
almost rolled her eyes. She wondered if Marciano’s offer extended to food
because she was starving. Did these people ever eat or did they only drink? Still,
she was glad when their drinks arrived promptly and she gratefully took a large
sip of her pink lemonade. At least it filled her empty stomach temporarily.

Watching
the others down their Eyeopeners, she was glad that they had drivers because she
knew that the combination of alcohol and caffeine-filled drinks was not the
best idea, particularly if you were driving.

Shari
could have been invisible as Groupie #1 (as she mentally nicknamed her) began
to kiss Nick’s neck while Groupie #2 began to nibble on his earlobe. Maybe they
were high-class call girls. She hadn’t felt this uncomfortable since high
school when she was chaperoning her best friend and her boyfriend. She glanced
at the guys in the band to see what they thought about the making out going on
next to her, but they were distracted by the beautiful women who were now
swarming around the booth like excited bees. The bodyguards had obviously been
given the OK signal by the band.

She
was relieved when the girls paused from tasting Nick’s neck and ears and wanted
to dance. No doubt so that they would be seen, and maybe even photographed, with
the great Nick Badley. The drink seemed to give Nick the energy to dance, in
spite of performing for over two hours earlier.

“Excuse
us,” he murmured to Shari who thought it ironic that he asked to be excused to
go and dance but had no qualms about making out next to her without asking to
be excused. She looked at Brian as he captured photos from behind the booth. Those
should be good material for the story.

Shari’s
eyes followed Nick and his escorts to the dance floor, noting how people made
way for him. After watching them for a short while, she was convinced that the
ladies had expertise in pole dancing. They began to slide up and down Nick’s
body and wind themselves around him as if he was their pole. Soon the other
members of the band headed to the dance floor with their own partners, leaving
the keyboard player, Steve Jeffries.

She
slid along the booth towards him and asked him why he wasn’t dancing.

He
shouted above the noise: “This isn’t my scene. I don’t even like to come to
these after parties. I’d rather be on FaceTime or Skype with my wife.”

“Are
you the only one married?”

“No. Tim
is married as well.”

Shari
looked towards the dance floor to where Tim and a buxom blonde were entwined.
She turned back to Steve and raised an eyebrow.

“Makes
me understand how Jonathan Cain felt when he wrote “Faithfully”.” He shouted.

“Who’s
Jonathan Cain?” she shouted back, wondering if she would be hoarse by the end
of the night.

“He’s
the keyboardist in Journey,” he shouted. “We’ll be hoarse at this rate. Have
you had enough?” She nodded. “Ok, let’s go. I’ll tell you in the limo.”  He finished
off his drink and rose from the dais.

Shari
signaled to Brian that they were ready to leave and on the way out Steve told a
member of the contingent to let the band know. Nick and his escorts had been
swallowed up by the crowd and there was no sign of them.

Accompanied
by two bodyguards, they headed to one of the limos parked across the street,
although they didn’t really need the security. After all, Nick was not with
them.

“My
goodness, I’m tired of this pace already and this is the first day,” groaned
Shari, sinking into the leather seat.

“I
don’t think I could handle this lifestyle,” admitted Brian, “although the girls
would sure ease the hardship,” he laughed tiredly.

“It
has its ups and downs,” Steve concurred. “That’s what I was telling you about
Jonathan Cain.”

“Yes,
who is he?”

“You
ever heard the song “Faithfully” by Journey?” She did a quick scan of the music
catalogue in her brain until she recalled the song and nodded.

“Well,
he wrote it. It was about him being on the road and separated from his wife and
he wrote her a song to tell her that he was being faithful.”

He
started to sing softly, almost to himself.

Highway run into the midnight sun

Wheels go ’round and ’round, you're on my mind

Restless hearts sleep alone tonight

Sendin' all
my love along the wire

They say that the road ain't no place to start a family

Right down the line it's been you and me

And lovin' a music man ain't always what it's supposed to
be

Oh, girl you
stand by me, I'm forever yours, faithfully

Circus life under the big top world

We all need the clowns to make us smile

Through space and time, always another show

Wondering
where I am lost without you

And bein' apart ain't easy on this love affair

Two strangers learn to fall in love again

I get the joy of rediscovering you

Oh girl, you
stand by me, I'm forever yours, faithfully

“Oh, got you
now.” She nodded understandingly when he finished.

The quiet moment
was interrupted by an eruption from her stomach confirming that the pink
lemonade hadn’t made much of an impact.

“I’m
starving.” She tried to hush her growling stomach by placing a hand on it. “I
don’t suppose I can get room service at this time.” She saw that it was after
two in the morning.

“You’re
with the band,” Steve reminded her. “You can get anything you want. Besides,
this is Vegas, the other city that never sleeps.”

“True.
I forgot. I guess there are benefits. That reminds me that I’m supposed to meet
Nick for the first interview tomorrow. Make that today, at two, in his suite. Not
the best meeting place, but Lily said that if we go anywhere in the hotel he’ll
be recognized and that will be chaos.”

“You
got that right,” confirmed Steve. “We all hang out in each other’s rooms and
sometimes we share; it’s not a big deal. Anyway, you’ll be lucky if he’s up by
two,” he warned.

“Especially
if he gets lucky tonight and it sure looks as if he will,” Brian said, sounding
envious.

“What’s
so lucky about that?” Shari asked drily.

“Know
what you mean,” Steve murmured.

“How
do you manage not to get caught up with all that?” Shari asked curiously,
gesturing in the direction they had left.

“It’s
not easy,” he admitted. “I love my wife, but you have no idea how hard it is to
resist what’s thrown at you so easily. So I try to avoid the after parties most
of the time and I usually go back to my room and call her. But even so, it’s
not easy being apart for so long. I guess that’s why most of the guys aren’t
married. Nick was married twice, but the last one ended a couple years ago.”

“I
wonder why he bothered,” Shari mused.

“It feels
good to have someone to go home to. Being on the road can be lonely. Even for
Nick.”

Shari
was skeptical.  She remembered the glimpse she’d had of Nick on the dance floor
sandwiched between the pole dancers. He hadn’t looked at all lonely to her.