Rock Bottom (20 page)

Barb’s face lit up. “You write that blog? I check it every day.”

“Seriously?” Didn’t anyone have better things to do?

“We both do. It’s wonderful. Yes, please take our picture. Come here, Sue.” She linked arms with her friend, cheeks touching with wide smiles.

Billie snapped three shots. “Thanks. It’ll be up today.”

Sue squealed, “Oh, you’re so lucky. What’s Jet like, really?”

Good question. “I don’t know.” She wished she did.

A frown tinged Barb’s smile. “But you must, you’re with him every day, aren’t you?”

“Not really. Sorry.” Each time she thought she had a handle on him, a new facet emerged. It felt like looking into a prism, light refracting everywhere. All an illusion.

“Oh, right. You can’t talk about it. That’s all right.” Nodding, Sue pressed her lips together and nodded at Barb knowingly. “But tell him we’re his biggest fans.”

“I’ll be sure to.” How could she explain--she only knew what he projected to others. They might know him better than she did. She said goodbye and walked on.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she’d only had a coffee and yogurt all day. Three thirty. The Hard Rock Café might not be overcrowded at this hour. Stepping back into the heat, she hailed a cab and arrived there in twenty minutes.

* * * *

Jet knocked on the cottage door and shifted nervously. If any of the girls saw him, they’d raise a fuss. He had no handy excuse. Other than he needed to see her. It took everything he had not to follow her last night.

Except that she’d seemed to want him not to. Her mixed signals drove him crazy. He knocked again, but no sound came from within. Shielding his eyes, he peered in the window. No sign of movement.

Maybe Cindy knew something. He shoved his hands into his shorts’ pockets and strode inside.

As always, Cindy sat at her desk. “Hey, Jet.”

“Hey. Any idea where Billie is?”

A knowing look flicked across her face. “I believe she went out.”

He gripped the edge of the desk. “When? She didn’t have suitcases with her, did she?”

“I didn’t actually see her, but it seems unlikely. She’s not the type to leave without saying goodbye.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.”

The office doors opened and Julie emerged, followed closely by Stu. “Jet. What time are you going today?”

“Going where?”

Julie tilted her head. “LA. You promised the other night.”

“Weren’t they just there?” They could go back by themselves. And when did Julie convert to bimboism?

“Look, Jet,” Stu droned. “The producer’s been at me. You’re not getting in enough camera time.” He ended with that falsetto enthusiasm that turned Jet’s stomach.

He could care less. His heart wasn’t in the show. “Fine. We’ll go to LA.”

Stu gave a sickly smile. “Great.”

For you.
Jet would need Herculean strength to get through this day.

* * * *

Inside the Hard Rock Café lobby, a sequined Elvis outfit dominated the display case. Albums, photos, jackets, jeans and scarves, lyrics scrawled on scraps of paper or whatever had been handy, guitars and other instruments lined the walls. The hostess greeted Billie and led her to a semicircular booth. Sliding in, Jet smiled at her from the display behind her seat.

Billie gave an exasperated sigh. “Great.”

The hostess handed her a menu. “You don’t like him?”

“Oh, sure.” More than she cared to admit. When she didn’t want to strangle him, that was.

Gazing at the photo, the hostess hugged a menu to her chest. “This is my favorite booth. Those lyrics make me want to cry every time. Sometimes I sit here after the place closes and read them.”

“Lyrics?” Sure enough, his scrawling handwritten draft of
Need Your Love
. “Do you mind if I photograph them?”

“So you are a fan.”

“A music journalist. I write the
Rock Bottom
blog, and--”

She gasped. “Omigod. You’re Billie Prescott!”

At nearby tables, patrons turned with curious stares.

Lowering her voice, Billie held up a hand to tone down the hostess’ excitement. “Yes. I’d love to have a photo for the blog.”

“Could you take one of me by it?” Leaning close, she confided, “I lost my virginity because of that song. I imagined he was Jet and--”

Not what Billie wanted to hear. “Sure. After I eat, though? I’m starving, and I don’t want to cause a scene.” Not before she could beat a hasty retreat if necessary.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll send your waiter right over.”

She might need more than one glass of wine to get through this meal. Feeling conspicuously alone, she took out her laptop and drafted the blog post in between bites. The hostess checked back twice, and Billie surrendered and took out her camera so the girl could pose at the display. After jotting down the hostess’s name, Billie asked for the check.

Only five thirty, too early to return. Grauman’s Chinese Theater might have some photo ops, and she could stroll around the city from there. In the cab, she passed a familiar white stretch limo parked outside a designer boutique, unnaturally brightened by spotlights. Sure enough, Danny stood inside, camera pointed at Ashley and Brianna.

Billie groaned. She’d come to LA to escape Jet and his entourage, but she ran into reminders at every turn.

Not that she’d needed any. The image of Jet seemed to have been tattooed on her mind. His ice blue eyes piercing hers. Bending to kiss her.

Her pulse surged and her cheeks burned, sure passersby knew what she’d thought. How foolish could she be? Getting caught up in a reality show. Nothing could be further from reality than that.

Wandering aimlessly grew tiresome. She might as well be back in the cottage, posting the blog and responding to emails. Reluctantly, she called another cab. When it dropped her off at the gate, she hurried down the walkway without seeing anyone. Music sounded from Jet’s studio, so he must be there. The bimbos must still be out shopping, and with them, the camera crew. With a sigh of relief, she shut the door to the cottage behind her.

Glancing at her watch, Billie calculated. Everett would be finishing his dinner about now. Should be a safe time to call.

Counting down the seconds after dialing, she figured about one more and his voice mail would kick in. She didn’t want to leave a message, and readied to press
off
.

Breathless, Everett answered. “Billie. What’s up?”

“Checking in. Did I catch you at a bad time?” Had he taken up working out? Not likely. Everett’s only indoor sport seemed to be chasing women.

“No.” His voice strained.

The liar. To prove it, a girl giggled in the background. One of those breathy giggles that said
Come back to bed.

“Are you sure?” she deadpanned.

“I’m finishing up a late meeting. What’s going on?”

Late meeting her ass. “Not much. We haven’t spoken in a while, and I wanted to get an update.” She needed something to take her mind off Jet. No matter what she did, he intruded on her thoughts. What would have happened if she’d kissed him last night?
Get real,
Willamina
. He’d have kicked you to the curb the next morning.

Everett said something, but she’d missed the first part.

“Uh-huh. But isn’t it time to wrap things up here? Readers must be tired of the same old story.” She sure was.

“Not at all. Our readership’s gained steadily since this series started. We’re on the right track.”

Soft murmurs sounded. Urgings. He whispered something inaudible to…who, the journalist? Could he be serious about someone so young? Somehow, she no longer cared. Maybe if she told him that, he’d let her come home. “No, Everett--”

“Listen, we’ll talk more on Monday. Keep up the good work.”

Her phone display darkened. He’d hung up.

“Right. While you merely keep it up for your latest conquest.”

The best she could do, she thought, was keep herself together. The Bimbo Brigade lessened one by one, bringing her closer, theoretically, to returning to Philadelphia.

The sooner the better
, she thought with little conviction. Sure, she wanted to go home. But facing Everett would prove a challenge, though he’d long ago moved on. And on.

And on, according to Zinta, who called the next day. “Should I tell you? Or don’t you want to hear?” Zin’s tone left little doubt as to the topic.

Billie gasped. “Again? Seriously?” Had her absence left him in such a frenzy he couldn’t deal any other way except by sleeping with someone, anyone? Yeah, right.

“Closer to his age this time. And IQ, surprisingly.”

Sounded serious. Curiosity prompted her to ask. “A writer? Performer?”

“Singer.”

“Get out.” He’d always said he’d never get involved with one.

“He had me go to her concert. Write a feature on her.” She spat
feature
as if it left a bitter taste.

“Ugh. Bad form.” The worst kind of nepotism.

“Judge for yourself when it’s released.”

“I’ll be among the first to read it. So…you and Caleb doing better?”

A pause, then a sigh. “He moved out.”

“No! Zin, why?” Not the quintessential couple. If Zin and Caleb couldn’t make it, no hope remained for anyone else.

“I confessed to the indiscretion, and he screamed at me, called me a bitch and said he couldn’t stay with someone who placed so little value on his feelings.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Ironic it doesn’t work both ways.”

That didn’t sound like the sweet Caleb she knew. But then, maybe she didn’t know him as well as she thought. Or maybe his emotions overtook his sanity. Seemed to be a lot of that going around. “He loves you. He’ll be back.”

“I don’t know. I can’t think about it.” Zin’s voice crumbled.

Billie wished she could say something to lessen Zin’s pain, but only Caleb could do that. She had no idea who could lessen hers.

* * * *

Billie puttered around the cottage on Monday morning, procrastinating as long as she could. When she read Everett’s email, anger obliterated all else. He praised the reader response to yesterday’s LA outing, then wrote:
But keep it focused on Rock Bottom from now on, will you?

Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
I could have just taken the day off as I’d planned. If you want someone to work 24/7, hire a damn robot.

Shutting down the laptop, she packed her messenger bag and set out to find Cindy.

In the hallway, Justin stood by Cindy’s desk. “Hey, why didn’t you tag along with us yesterday?”

“Thanks, but I didn’t want to get in your way. Besides, the contestants didn’t seem interested in seeing the same sights.”

Justin nudged her. “No, but I’d have loved to have seen you in some of those outfits.”

A nervous laugh escaped. “Ah, well. I’m guessing they were out of my price range, anyway.” She moved toward Cindy. “Hey, do you have this week’s schedule?”

Cindy handed her a folder. “You’ll be happy with it, I think.”

“Yeah?” She opened it. “Oh, the Getty!”

“This afternoon.” Justin sidled uncomfortably close. “I’ll be in the limo, but Danny’ll give you a lift.”

“Great.” After his comment, especially great she didn’t have to ride with him. She wandered through the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, then headed outside. Cindy had included background info on the museum and J. Paul Getty, though she’d have to double-check it, it would simplify her post.

“Hey.”

Billie froze at Jet’s voice coming from the table near the hedge where they’d nearly made an escape from
Rock Bottom
. She couldn’t ignore him. Turning, she waved. “Hey.” Aviator sunglasses made it impossible to tell whether he stared at her or something else.

* * * *

Legs splayed, Jet leaned back in the wicker chair. “Interesting blog yesterday.” He’d cursed himself when he read it. In LA at the same time, almost the same place.

“Thanks,” she said uncertainly.

“It’s kind of weird, being stalked remotely.” Heat pricked at his neck.

Shielding her eyes against the sun, she moved closer. “I’d hardly have to go to LA to stalk you.”

“Your day might have been more informative if you’d had inside information.” His day would have vastly improved.

After a beat, she nodded, then flashed a smile. “Maybe next time.”

“Mmm.” Clenching his teeth, he suppressed a growl. If she meant to tease, she was doing a good job of it.

“Well. Guess I should be--”

“I’m looking forward to the Getty today.” After rising, he stepped onto the patio.

“Yes. Me too. I’ve been wanting to go.”

Ducking his head, he grinned, remembering her outburst on set. “So I gathered.”

Her cheeks tinged. “Sorry about the other night. I didn’t mean to interrupt taping.”

“Oh. That other night.” Standing within arm’s reach, he suppressed a surge of something indefinable rising in him.

She stepped closer. “Yes. What I wanted to--”

Stu barged through the backdoor. “Jet? Oh, there you are. Morning, Miss Prescott. Can you excuse us?” Guiding Jet by the elbow, he steered him away.

“Sure.”

Damn.
Every time he and Billie seemed about to have an actual conversation, someone interrupted. Everyone wanted a piece of him.
Because you’re the star of
Rock Bottom
.
He didn’t feel like a star. Hell, didn’t even want to be one. He played rock, and it was all he wanted to do.

My world’s become too small. Everything’s distorted.
A feeling of isolation washed over him.

Glancing back, he broke from Stu’s grasp. “You’re coming today, right?”

“Yes.” She seemed surprised he’d asked. And pleased.

Something released inside him. “Good.”

* * * *

The van sped down the Pacific Coast Highway to the Pacific Palisades just outside LA where the J. Paul Getty Museum sat. Billie’s excitement rose as she gathered her bag, and reminded herself to follow, not race ahead into camera range.

The group entered the museum, open to the outside and scented with fresh eucalyptus and pine. When a woman greeted Jet’s party and announced she’d be their private tour guide, Billie pressed as close as she could. The woman spoke too softly to hear clearly, and only Jet and Julie paid attention and asked questions. The only discussions Billie could hear were Ashley, Brianna, Amber and Cat’s, who remarked on the anatomy of the oversized statue of Lansdowne Heracles and the statues of Orpheus and the Sirens. They seemed unimpressed that the pieces came from Italy in 1790, or with their detailed craftsmanship. Billie snapped photo after photo. Getty himself had most treasured these items, after admitting, “I buy the things I like, and I like the things I buy. I never like to follow the crowd.” Billie’s kind of guy. Classy and intelligent, interested in the world beyond himself.