I ducked into a coffee shop. My buddy Vance lived around here in SoHo, or at least he had when we’d last partied, which now I realized had been a year or so ago. Things got hectic in the Ash carnival. I texted him again:
You around?
Two o’clock on a Friday afternoon, I guessed Vance would be into hanging out. Vance was the kind of cavalier rich kid I’d grown up with, the type who drank Krystal for breakfast and ate pussy for lunch. Right now he was probably flanked by hot chicks, one to the right, one to the left and one right between his legs. He was always up for a party.
I’d flown in from S.F. last night and checked myself into a hotel because I’d be damned if I’d see my family any more than I had to. I’d headed out, figuring I could meet up with Vance, and now I guessed I might as well grab a coffee. Baseball cap down low over my face, I got in line like the rest of the poor schmucks in New York, standing around and waiting to order.
Day four of Mandygate as my agent, Joel, had started calling it, and this thing wasn’t going away. It wasn’t getting any better. If I were honest, it was getting worse. I’d lost a sponsor, our biggest one for the New Year’s show.
Before the video, I’d been all set to headline the Super Bowl halftime show. The t’s were crossed, i’s dotted, the big news was going to be announced in a couple of weeks. But now they were having second thoughts. Was I family friendly enough? As if before I’d broken up with Mandy Monroe I’d been a cuddly teddy bear, but now the world saw me as a grizzly.
Yesterday Mandy had leaked 30 seconds of a new song, all about her heart twisting and aching and breaking. Over-the-top bullshit, all of it, but people were eating it up. And sending me hate mail. With death threats on Facebook, “#DieAsh” was gaining alarming popularity on Twitter. I didn’t spend a lot of time with my fan base on social media—make that any time—I had people to handle that. I was too busy out living life and actually doing the shit that made me fans. But the last couple nights I’d stayed up late, alone and sober, watching the waves of hate roll in. Because something about it, all that trash talk, a strange, small part of me had to agree. I was an asshole. How had it taken the world so long to realize it? I’d known it all along.
Shit, someone in the coffee shop recognized me. The worst kind, a girl, maybe around 17. They didn’t hold back, the young ones, like wild tigresses after a meal. I popped the collar on my jacket and tucked my chin into it. Brim pulled down low, hands in my pockets, everything about me gave off the “stay the fuck away” vibe.
She started whispering with her friend. I took my phone out of my pocket. Nothing back from Vance. Something from my agent Joel, of course.
Find her yet?
I rolled my eyes. He’d cooked up some half-baked rescue plan last night, something about getting back at Mandy with her own medicine. I hadn’t followed all of it, told him he’d lost his mind. This had to blow over soon. Not yet, though.
By the time I got up to the counter, I could feel a rumble behind me. Like the start of a small earthquake, a tremor building up. Whispering and phones clicking, the girls were snapping photos of me and spreading the word.
“Double tall latte.” I leaned in close to the girl behind the counter so I didn’t have to speak loudly. That was the problem with having one of the most recognizable voices in the world. My deep, gravelly snarl had made me famous, working my way into bedrooms and hearts all over. Now it made the barista scowl.
Giving me the stink-eye, she punched in my order. Then she turned her back and whispered to her co-worker by the coffee machines. The other one looked over her shoulder at me like I’d committed war crimes. They must be raging Mandy Monroe fans. God knew what they’d do to my coffee.
My phone rang. Joel again. I’d already ducked three of his calls.
“Hey, man.” I tucked myself into a corner, trying for inconspicuous. A couple more people walked into the coffee shop, joining the girls in line, staring over at me.
“I almost got you on Good Morning America.”
“Cool.” I didn’t really mean it. I hated morning shows and all the smarminess that went along with them. But I knew if I wanted to hold onto all this, keep the Ash Black brand on top of the world, I needed to do it. I needed to hang my head and show America I wasn’t such a bad guy after all. But the strange thing about all this crisis was the part of me—a growing part of me—asking why exactly should I give a shit about any of this? Why did it matter so much for me to stay so famous? Why did I have to care if I did Good Morning America or not? What was the point?
“I said almost, Ash. They booked Mandy instead.”
“Huh.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw a crowd gathering, the line becoming more of a swirl, the doors of the coffee shop now forced open due to incoming gawkers. Someone had tagged me, released my location, and now the hounds were on the hunt.
“Have you found her yet?”
“Listen, man, this isn’t really a good time.” I knew he was trying to reference our conversation from last night, keep after me about some idea he’d had, but right now the crowd gathering behind me was starting to feel like an angry mob.
“Don’t you tell me it’s not a good time to talk, Ash. You need serious image rehab. America likes bad boys, but not like this. You need to clean this up.”
A giant, hulking slab of beef lumbered over to me, baseball cap on backwards. “What, do you think you’re cool, bro?” he asked me, his face round and pale like a rising full moon on a cold, clear winter’s night. “You think you’re a big shot?”
A few girls flanked him, angry heat in their eyes. A growing, vengeful army started to form behind them. The linebacker was clearly trying to score some points by sticking it to the guy who’d dumped America’s sweetheart. Not that he cared a flying fuck about Mandy Monroe, I could guarantee that, but he definitely cared about impressing the girls behind him.
Side entrance. I ducked out quick, pushing my way through a throng forming on the sidewalk. I could imagine the barista tweeting right now, letting everyone know how I’d skipped out without paying for my coffee. Add it to the list of my sins. Brim down, I hustled along the sidewalk, but then it happened. The blinding flash of a professional camera. They’d found me, the paparazzi. Never far away, like a biblical plague of locusts raining down on my head from above. This guy seemed to be perched up on the rooftop of a storefront across the street. You wouldn’t believe what those guys would do for a shot. One time a guy had lowered himself down in a harness wearing full-on climbing gear to get some shots into my hotel room in London. Sexy pics he got, too. I bet they made him a bundle.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!” Joel’s voice blasted through the phone I was still clutching. I forgot I was still on the call.
“Right, just heading out of a coffee shop.”
“Listen, I’m serious about what we talked about yesterday.”
“Yup.” With a slight turn of my head, I checked out the scene behind me. At least ten people were heading out of the coffee shop on my tail. Quickly, I ducked into an alleyway which, thank God, wasn’t a dead end. Who knew celebrity stardom would involve such cloak-and-dagger shit?
“Have you thought about it?”
“What?” Tucking around the side of a large dumpster, I hunched down in its shadow. Such glamour in my rock-n-roll lifestyle.
“The kindergarten teacher. The nurse.”
“Right, right.” He’d pitched me something yesterday, an idea he and Lola had come up with. Probably Lola, my main point-person from the PR firm representing me. She was a schemer, that one.
“We’re working on a few leads, but it’s better if it’s someone you know. From your circles.”
“My circles?” I peeked my head around the corner. No sign of the angry mob, but you never knew with these types of things. One minute, nothing. The next minute pitchforks, torches and your head’s on a spike.
“You must know some wholesome girl, some goody-two-shoes who’d play along for a month. Then dump you in public.”
That was what they’d come up with, taking Mandy’s idea right out from under her. I needed to get my heart stomped, publically, by some young sweet thing. Because what could humanize a demon? Seeing him get his come-uppance.
It was the holiday season, the time when everyone wanted to cozy up fireside with a loved one. What better time for me to launch a highly publicized romance? They wanted me to pull out all the stops with staged visits to a tree-lighting, ice skating at Rockefeller Center, a snowball fight in Central Park. They even wanted me to declare my love and propose to this lucky girl at my New Year’s Eve concert. It would play out like every woman’s dream of a whirlwind romance. And then she’d dump me even more heartlessly than Ash Black. On camera.
It was a good idea, I’d give them that. The problem was the woman. She had to be legit, no actress pretending. Celebrity hounds would be on that in a second and it would all turn on me, the asshole who’d hired someone to make him look better than he really was. No, we had to find someone real. She had to be pretty in that wholesome, classic Ivory soap girl kind of a way. She had to be sweet and kind and giving and adorable with not a single black mark to her name. And she had to be willing to be my fake girlfriend for a month, then dump me heartlessly and preferably on live TV.
“A nurse would be good.” Joel was still talking, brainstorming.
Hmm. I’d played naughty nurse with some girl a few weeks ago. But I think she’d been a stripper.
“Naughty nurse won’t cut it.” It was like Joel could read my mind. He knew me too well.
“I could adopt a puppy?” And hire someone to actually raise it. “That could be good for a few photo ops, right?” Maybe a golden retriever puppy, and we could put a big, fat red bow on it.
“You’d need to adopt every puppy in the country. And you’d still fuck that up. Did you know Mandy’s writing a song about you now?”
I pressed the palm of my hand into my eye socket. Yes, I did know.
“She’s posting about it. It’s called ‘Ride.’”
I nodded. “As in, you took me for a—”
“Ride, yeah,” Joel confirmed.
Just then a couple of celebrity rats came swarming around the corner, cameras in hand. On the hunt, somehow they could smell my blood.