But that wasn’t her in the crowd, and other girls got all up on me, each of them wanting a piece of the Ash Black show. I’d heard guys say it, once you were off the market demand surged up for you even higher than before. I didn’t need any more demand. I was already neck-deep in demand. What I needed was Ana.
“You’re so amazing, Ash,” a girl yelled into my ear to be heard over the music.
Not to be outdone, her companion yelled, “I want to suck your dick!”
Had this appealed to me, just a few weeks ago? What a sad life I’d been living. I thought I’d been on top of the world. Now I realized I’d been lolling around in a trough.
Shit, now I saw her for sure, the sweetly-cloaked manipulator that was Mandy Monroe. What was she doing here? I guessed half of L.A. was in Vegas for the night. Mandy always followed the spotlight, then managed to look coy and surprised as she stood there illuminated.
She made her way over to me. People made room, standing around us in a circle. Everyone wanted to see what would happen next. I knew some had their camera-phones trained on us, ready to capture the crazy. It was up to me to rein it in and not give them a show, no matter what she said or did.
Giving me a glittering, cold smile, Mandy reached up to give me a fake hug and air kiss on each cheek. I let her do it, not smiling back.
“She’s sweet,” she cooed to me, letting her nails drift slowly down the nape of my neck before she pulled away.
“Who?” I asked, dumb and gruff.
“Your librarian.” She smiled, smug.
“Where is she?” I looked around. Ana had to be nearby.
“Gone if she knows what’s good for her. I warned her about you.”
Deep breaths, I reminded myself. No hot-headed Ash Black explosions. Not just because of the flack I’d get, but because Ana wouldn’t want me to fall for it. I remembered how she’d talked to me in the hotel room, told me having a tantrum wouldn’t fix things. She was right.
“You don’t play fair, Ash,” she pouted.
“Oh, and you do?” Her eyes lit up with a gleam at my response, ready to tuck into a big, public scene with me. “Have a good night, Mandy.” Dismissing her, I delved back into the crowd to search for Ana.
“Don’t you turn your back on me!” I heard her screech as I turned my back on her.
I didn’t get far. “Ash, we should talk,” a guy breathed into my ear. “Seriously, man.” Oh Jesus, that’s all I needed, a drunk movie star hanging off my arm.
“Yeah, give me a call.” I tried to brush the guy off.
“Seriously, there’s this thing. And I want you to be in it.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He could be talking about anything. A self-styled renaissance man, this star was famous for trying it all—painting, music, writing, acting. If you asked me, he should stick to acting.
“Once in a lifetime chance, bro.” He grasped my arm, dead serious. Was he on something? His pupils looked dilated. “Carpe dodum!”
“Carpe diem,” I muttered. Renaissance man, my ass.
There Ana was. Was she dancing? Did that guy have an arm around her waist? It looked like she had her hand up on his shoulder, but was it her? I tried to head over, but another mega-celebrity stepped into my path. This party was like a giant pinball machine of uber-egos and I kept pinging around between them.
“Marriage, dude!” He grabbed me by the shoulders to communicate the import of his words. He was the lead singer of a band like mine, only fifteen years older. They were on a comeback tour. I wanted someone to stick a fork in me before I ever put myself through that kind of torture. In this crowd, average age around 25, the guy was a freaking dinosaur.
“Yup.” I nodded, trying to see past him to Ana. It seemed every woman in Vegas was wearing a shimmering gold dress. No one looked as good as her, though.
“Dude, marriage!” He gave my shoulders a shake.
“Marriage,” I echoed. This guy needed to sit down in front of a classic stoner movie like Friday or Half Baked with a box of Oreos and a giant bong. His eyes all glazed, his hair tufted out, what was he doing in the middle of this party?
“I mean…” He drifted off, maybe forgetting what he’d been about to say.
“Marriage,” I finished for him. “Listen, let me set you up someplace where you can chill out.”
“Yeah, man. Yeah.” I led him over to one of the side rooms, got a place for him on a couch, made sure the TV was on something nice. Then I turned back to try to find Ana.
There she was, over in a corner with a couple of groupie-looking girls.
“Ana!” I pulled on her shoulder, only to have someone very much not Ana turn around and put her arms around my neck. She pulled me down to a kiss and I was so surprised I almost let her, and of course it was then when I actually saw Ana. Standing over with Johnny, our drummer. And of course she looked over exactly when the girl had her arms wrapped around my neck, her lips up and seeking mine.
Sometimes it helped to be over six feet tall with some muscle to you. I got over to Ana in no time flat.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” I said, sounding guilty and out of breath.
“I could see that,” she responded wryly. Wry didn’t suit her. Sweet, excited, occasionally stern, those she did well. Wry hung on her like a borrowed coat, ill-fitting and awkward. I hated to think I’d put it on her.
“How’re you doing? You enjoying the party?” I didn’t know why I felt so nervous. I didn’t do nervous. I was Ash Black. People got nervous around me. But suddenly I felt really worried about Ana. She didn’t look like she was enjoying the party.
“I think I’m going to head out.”
“No!” I protested.
“What’s that now?” Johnny leaned over to Ana. “Did you say you’re heading out? No, you can’t do that.”
“Yeah, I think I’m going to fly back to New York tomorrow. Or today, I guess, later on today, so—”
“What? Fly back?” Worse and worse, what was she talking about? Lola had us on a schedule. I didn’t have any shows at all over the next week, but she had us booked with a variety of romantic sightings around San Francisco plus a getaway in Napa. I cared less and less about how Lola wanted things to play out, but I definitely had been looking forward to more time with Ana. I had a grand piano in my living room overlooking the bay. She wouldn’t have to wear clothes at all. It would be perfect.
“I thought we had plans.” I made a vague reference to our PR-firm designed itinerary. Johnny looked pretty out of it and he was a good guy, anyway. We could probably discuss the whole scheme openly in front of him right now and he wouldn’t listen to a word of it. If he did, he wouldn’t care. And if for some strange reason he did retain the information, I knew he wouldn’t mention it to anyone. But in a party like this, the walls had ears. And eyes. In fact, I could see Mandy over across the room staring daggers at me.
“I thought maybe we could catch up in New York. Later in the week.” Ana wouldn’t look at me. Great, the woman I wanted to be rid of wouldn’t stop staring and the one I wanted more of wouldn’t start meeting my gaze.
“Hey, Ana.” I reached down to take her hand. She let me, but it hung limp in mine. Except for the ring on her finger. Holy fuck, Lola had reeled in a big fish. It was almost grotesque, bulging off of Ana’s long, slender, piano-playing fingers. Her hands were so gorgeous all on their own. It looked garish and silly to pop that big thing on her. I’d known what Lola picked out wouldn’t be right.
“Let’s get out of here,” I suggested, leaning down into her. I brought my hand to her waist, but her body remained stiff. Not a trace of the heat that had burned her up not long ago backstage. What had happened?
“Are you OK?” I asked, taking a strand of her hair between my fingers. It felt stiff. They’d styled her within an inch of her life tonight, prepping her for the spotlights on the stage.
“Yeah, Ash, I’m just done with all of this.” She gestured around. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to be having in
a large, crowded hotel suite with 500 of my bestest friends, including my vendetta-wielding ex-girlfriend. When she said she was done with all of this, did she mean this as in stupid drunk celebrities? Or this as in me? Because technically I fit under the stupid drunk celebrity umbrella. I didn’t have a college degree like her. I’d just done a bunch of shots standing up on a bar. But I didn’t feel drunk. Standing next to her but still feeling so much distance between us, I felt dead sober.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” I suggested again, and this time she looked up at me as if she were about to agree.
That’s when Lola’s claw wrapped around my shoulder. “Huge news, Ash. Huge. You’ve got to come with me.”
“Can it wait?” I looked at her with all the pleasure of finding a viper nesting in your sink.
“No, it can’t wait! He’s here!” She looked at me significantly, and I knew exactly who she was talking about. What mattered most to Lola? Money, aka the value of me, her key asset under contract. And what was the biggest moneymaker I had on the near horizon? The Super Bowl.
Lola had filled me in on the details. The main holdup on approving my playing the halftime show was the owner of one of the teams. He was a born-again Christian and didn’t want any Janet Jackson type wardrobe malfunctions. This was a family event, he wanted family friendly entertainment and apparently he wasn’t convinced that I could deliver. As if my track record of sold out shows worldwide over the past several years didn’t speak for itself.
At any rate, Lola had told me that there was a chance this owner might stop by the party tonight and say hello. I didn’t ask what a born-again family man was doing out partying in Vegas without his family. In my world, I was used to hypocrisy. The shocker was when you met someone who really was exactly as they seemed. Like Ana.
“You have to come say hello.” Lola tugged at my shirt.
“Ana, too.” I threaded my fingers through her hand, not wanting to leave her.