What Now? (3 page)

Shari
knocked at the door of Nick’s suite. It was one of Las Vegas’ best, of course. Nothing
less for Nick Badley. She eyed the Do Not Disturb sign that hung on the handle while
she waited for him and hoped he had only put it out so that housekeeping would
not wake him up too early.

After
a minute or two she was still waiting, so she knocked louder. Realizing there
was no way he would hear her from inside the undoubtedly vast suite, she pursed
her lips in annoyance. Taking out her cell phone, she called Lily and told her
that she was outside Nick’s door and asked if she could call him. Obviously, Shari
hadn’t been given Nick’s cell number. A person with that information could
probably retire early.

Several
minutes later, where every minute she waited added to her impatience, the door
opened and a rumpled-looking Nick propped against it lazily. He looked as if he
had literally tumbled out of bed, rubbed his eyes and came to the door. She
would have to be dead not to notice his bare, sculptured torso and the
beginning of his V-line that the black gym pants failed to cover.  She silently
acknowledged that he could be a model for Abercrombie & Fitch, except, of
course, that he had his own brand of clothing, she’d read somewhere. However, she
was there to do a job, not admire his V-line. She had to admit it, though; Nick
Badley was too sexy for his own good.

“Ms.
Shari Goodwin,” he drawled. She wished he would stop calling her by her full
name in that mocking tone. “I completely forgot that you were scheduled to
interview me today.” He made no move to invite her in. Instead, his eyes took a
leisurely trip from her ankle boots to her black leggings and travelled slowly
up the oversized black and red sweater that began mid-thigh, pausing for a
while where it swelled out and finally came to the end of his destination, her
face. She practically squirmed under his assessing gaze. She was well covered,
so why did his bold stare make her feel as if she was undressed?

“And
that’s what I’m here to do – interview you,” she prompted, deliberately
squelching the feeling.

He
hesitated long enough for her to begin counting mentally to calm herself. She
was at three when he stepped back to allow her in. Why did she get the feeling
that he was stalling for some reason?

“Look,
Lily is the one pushing for this, but I really don’t have any time for the
media or for this documentary. My relationships have been messed up more than
once by the lies you print.”

“I
don’t consider what I do to be in the same category as the gossip magazines.  I’m
a serious journalist and my job is to document your life as accurately as
possible.”

He
looked her over as if testing her sincerity. She held his gaze with a steady
one of her own.

“OK,”
he agreed, coming to a decision. “I’ll need a couple of minutes to get decent,”
he said, yawning. More like a couple of decades, she thought.

Gesturing
for her to come in, he led her past the dining room and the living room to a
circular booth with the curtains drawn back to treat them to a clear view of
the famous Strip.

“You
can set up here; it’s my favorite spot in the suite.”

“Nice
view,” she commented.

“Would
you order some coffee and breakfast from room service for me? I’ll be back soon.”

“In
case you didn’t realize, it’s past breakfast,” she called to his retreating
back as he headed towards the bedroom area.

“It’s
breakfast if I say it is,” he threw back arrogantly. “I feel like pancakes with
lots of fruit and some of that strawberry stuff.” 

Shari’s
eyes narrowed. What was she now, his housekeeper?

“You
mean strawberry compote?”

“Whatever.”

She
growled in irritation, looking around for the nearest phone, which she spotted
on a side table in the living room. In spite of her frustration, she couldn’t
help but admire the rich décor of the suite. Mahogany furniture blended well
with red side chairs and taupe sofas accessorized with red throw cushions. In
addition to the living room, there was a dining room and a wet bar. The suite
was bigger than her town house.

Fresh
flowers in elegant vases adorned most of the tables. The green of the
accompanying foliage contrasted beautifully with the colors of the room. She
had thought her room was nice, and it was, but, compared to the splendor of
Nick’s suite, it seemed almost basic, if anything in Vegas could be described
as basic.

Nick
had made himself right at home. His black jacket from last night was draped
over the back of a bar stool, an electric guitar was leaning on the wall next
to a closed bedroom door and a battered-looking acoustic guitar took up most of
the couch in the living room. Sheets of paper with chords and what looked like
lyrics scribbled on them were strewn across the coffee table as if Nick had
been trying to write a song. She was tempted to have a look, but her conscience
wouldn’t allow her to invade his privacy. Turning away, she picked up the phone
and pressed the button for room service.

“Hi, I’m
calling from Nick Badley’s suite. Mr. Badley would like pancakes with lots of
fruit, strawberry compote and a pot of - ” she broke off abruptly and her mouth
dropped open as a bedroom door opened and the two ladies (and that noun was
used very loosely) from the club strolled out wearing last night’s dresses and
holding their heels in their hands. Their hair was tousled as if they’d just
tumbled out of bed and pulled on the dresses over their heads.

The
voice in her ear jerked her out of her shock. “Would that be a pot of
coffee
?”

“Um,
yes, coffee. Thank you.” She hung up the phone as they passed the living room
without acknowledging her and headed for the foyer as if they were strolling
down the Strip and not out of Nick Badley’s bedroom, or what she assumed was
his bedroom. Both of them! Her mouth hung open in disbelief and her brow furrowed
as she sought to process what she was seeing. Nick Badley had slept with not
one, but both of them? Actually she’d be surprised if much sleeping had taken
place. She was a journalist so she wasn’t oblivious to what went on, but this
was the first time she’d seen it with her own eyes. This was what she’d be
dealing with for the next few weeks?
Lord, is this really where I’m supposed
to be? I think you made a mistake.

About
ten minutes later, Nick sauntered out in jeans, a black T-shirt (she wondered
if he wore any other color) and sporting bare feet. He looked refreshed, with
his hair still wet from the shower and his face clean shaven. All signs of the
debauchery of the night before were washed away.

“Is
my breakfast here yet?” he asked, looking around.

Do
you see it here? She thought sarcastically. No ‘sorry to keep you waiting’? No embarrassment
that two women dressed in last night’s clothes just walked out of your bedroom?
The reports about him were seemingly accurate, for once.

“No.
I ordered it less than fifteen minutes ago.”

He stopped by the
couch and picked up his guitar, strumming it idly while he strolled unhurriedly
towards the booth.  She had to bite her tongue to hold back from asking him
what she really wanted to ask. Instead she said: “Would you say that your
reputation as Nick
Bad
has been unfairly exaggerated by the media?”  She
didn’t know how she managed to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“You
know how you people exaggerate everything.” 

“Would
it be exaggerating to say that you slept with two women at the same time last
night?” she asked.

“For
the record, at the same time would have been an impossible feat,” he corrected
without missing a beat. “However, what I would say is that it’s really none of
your business.”

“Since
I’m here to document your life, in a way it is my business.”

A
knock at the door announced room service.

“You
better be careful what you document or your TV station may need a good lawyer.
I need a cup of coffee and something to eat,” he said, heading for the door.

Great
start, thought Shari.

As
soon as the waiter left the tray on the dining room table and departed with
what must have been a huge tip, judging by the smile on his face, Nick started
uncovering dishes.

“Have
you had breakfast yet? You’re welcome to share mine.” Shari was surprised by
the offer. He seemed to have lost his animosity towards her, at least
temporarily.

“I
had a late breakfast.”

“At
least have some of the fruit. There is more here than I can eat. Everything is
oversized in Vegas, even the portions.”

“That’s
very generous of you. Thank you.” Shari pulled out a chair and accepted a small
plate with fruit piled on it.

“I’m
nothing if not generous.” He smiled.

“With
yourself as well, apparently,” she muttered around a strawberry.

He
laughed. “I have more than enough to go around so why not share?” 

She
choked. She hoped that he did not mean that the way it sounded.

He
laughed. “I can’t believe that you’re shocked Shari Goodwin.” The stress was
back on the ‘Good’. “You’re a reporter, nothing should shock you.”

“I
think a threesome would shock most decent people.”

“So
are you saying I’m not decent?” he asked, putting a forkful of pancake into his
mouth.

She
diplomatically said nothing. She couldn’t believe that he didn’t see anything
wrong with how he’d spent the night. Maybe it was a common practice with him.

“Maybe
we should get to the reason I’m here,” she prevaricated.                                        

“As
soon as I finish my breakfast. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Of
course there were extra cups on the tray. After all it was Nick Badley’s room.

Nick
demolished the pancakes and fruit in short time. Shari was amazed to see him
put away such a large amount of food, considering he had no extra weight on
him. She decided that he either had a very high metabolism or he worked out,
although she didn’t know when he would have time for that. Then again, some of
these suites no doubt had their own gyms.

He got up and dropped his
napkin on the tray, leaving everything all over the table. She compared that to
how she had packed her dishes up after eating her breakfast and put the tray
outside the door for room service to pick up.

Heading
back to the booth, he sat down with a satisfied sigh. “I feel human again. OK,
I’m all yours.”

Turning
on her voice recorder she asked him: “How did you get into music?”

“You’ll
have to blame my mother for that. She was a music teacher, so there was always
music in the house. She taught me the piano and I taught myself the guitar. She
bought me my first acoustic guitar when I was fifteen and I was hooked. High
school band, small clubs, big clubs, big break.” He made it sound easy, but the
journey had been like trying to launch a rocket. The effort and energy that
went into getting the initial lift off made the rest of the flight seem almost
effortless in comparison.

“Tell
me about your family.”

“I
don’t talk about my family. They are far removed from this life and I prefer to
keep it that way.”

“I
can understand that and I’m not looking to drag your family into the eyes of
the public. I want to know about them to help me uncover the truth about who
you are.”

“If
you can do that I’d nominate you for a Pulitzer, because I don’t even know the
truth of who I am,” he laughed mirthlessly. “But, so you know, I didn’t just
emerge from the underworld…” He paused dramatically and she smiled reluctantly,
remembering the image of him coming up from below the stage.

“I
don’t expect to see this anywhere in your documentary,” he warned.  She nodded.
“My parents live in Sonora, a small town in California. It’s between Fresno,
Sacramento and San Jose. They are regular, middle class folks and church goers,
so please don’t include what you think happened last night in your story. It
would devastate my mother who is one of the few people who still believes I’m a
good boy.” 

She smiled
derisively at that.

“I
get my passion for music from her. My dad has a classic car repair shop, which
is probably where I get my love for cars. He still likes to tinker around and
restore classics. I have two sisters who live on the West Coast as well. They’re
married to decent guys and have a bunch of kids between them. I’m the anomaly
in the family.”

“Are
you close?”

“Yes,
we’re actually pretty close, considering, and I try to make it home for
Thanksgiving if I’m not on the road and definitely for the Holidays.”

“So
you’re going home next month?”

“Yeah.
I need the break. And the sanity fix,” he joked.