What Now? (7 page)

Nick obliged.

“You do know that you were over the
speed limit, don’t you?”

“I didn’t realize, officer. Sorry.” The
last thing Nick needed was another ticket. It was just as well that he didn’t
have time to drive often. He hoped that his humility would go down well with
the officer.

“Nick Badley,” the officer said, reading
the name on his license. Nick knew from prior experience that this could go
either way. Some policemen would give him the ticket just because it was him
and others might let him off for the same reason.

“My wife is a big fan of yours. In fact,
she has a ticket for your concert tonight. Could you sign an autograph for me?”
Fishing in his pocket he pulled out his wallet and found an old ATM slip which
he gave to Nick.

“Sure.” Nick signed the slip, feeling
hopeful. “What’s your wife’s name? I can arrange a backstage pass for her.”

“You wouldn’t be trying to bribe an
officer of the law, would you, Mr. Badley?” the officer joked.

“Not at all, officer,” Nick replied with
an innocent smile.

“OK. I’ll let you off with a warning. And
her name is Casey Patton.”

“Thank you, Officer Patton.”

“Have a good concert.” He said with a
brief salute. Nick responded in kind.

Restarting the engine, Nick drove off at
a speed that Shari could live with. She could scarcely contain herself.

“And is that something that happens
often?” She asked, exasperated. If it was her or any lesser mortal they would
probably have gotten a ticket. 

“Are you sorry I didn’t get a ticket?”
he asked instead, amused.

“Well actually, yes. I would like to
think that the justice system in our great country is working.”

He laughed, adding to her ire. “Lots of
people get let off from tickets. It works the other way too, you know.
Sometimes I get an officer who can’t stand celebrities or think we have too
much money and takes great pleasure in writing out a ticket for me.”

“What a hard life,” she said
unsympathetically. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Estes Park. It’s on the way to the
Rockies so we can stop there for a bite to eat and stroll along the Riverwalk
for a bit since we don’t have time to drive all the way out to Rocky Mountain
Park. You can question me to your heart’s content there.”

“Sounds great!” Shari relaxed and
enjoyed the rest of the drive in which Nick managed to stay within the speed
limit. He seemed to lead a charmed life.  What was it they said? The devil
looks after his own.

A sign welcomed them to Estes Park
fifteen minutes later. Nick had managed to keep the Porsche to about 70 mph,
but Shari could see that the restraint cost him some of his enjoyment.

They found a small café which,
thankfully, had only a few people in it. The waitress was friendly but not
ingratiating as she greeted Nick by name and led them to a small table, deep in
the café, where they could not be easily seen. She took their drink orders and
left them with the menus as well as her verbal list of the day’s specials.

“Do you drink all the time?” Shari asked
as Nick took a large sip of his vodka and cranberry juice that the waitress
returned with in minutes.

“Don’t worry. I won’t be over the limit
with one drink. I’ll get you back safely.”

“That was only part of my concern. I’d
be concerned for anyone who has a problem with drinking.”

“I don’t have a problem with drinking,”
he protested defensively. “I drink because I enjoy it, but I don’t need to
drink, mother,” he added the last word sarcastically. “I’m touched by your concern.
Most people are only concerned that I’ll be able to make records and perform at
concerts to keep the dollars rolling in.”

Shari felt an unwanted and unexpected
twinge of compassion for him.

“What shall we have to eat?” She asked,
deliberately changing the subject. She didn’t want to be feeling sorry for him.

She wasn’t sure how to deal with this
Nick Badley. She could handle the sarcastic Nick Badley, the arrogant and
over-indulged Nick Badley and even the depraved Nick Badley, but this one made
her uncomfortable. This one, who unemotionally admitted that he knew he was
nothing more than a purse-liner for many people. He delivered the words with an
emptiness that pricked her conscience and gave her the uneasy feeling that it
wasn’t going to be as easy to pigeon-hole Nick Badley as she had thought.

Nick, totally unaware of the effect his
words had on Shari, studied the menu and then announced: “I’ll have the ten-ounce
steak with twice-baked potatoes.”

Shari looked up surprised. “I don’t
think I’ve seen you eat anything since breakfast in Las Vegas.”

“Oh I eat, all right. But, according to
my mother, not enough. What are you having?”

“The soup of the day sounds good and
I’ll have a spinach salad.”

“Hope you’re not watching your weight.
You look perfectly proportioned to me.” He couldn’t help his eyes being drawn
to her surprisingly full bosom, given how slim she was.

Shari narrowed her eyes at him and said:
“Don’t go there, Mr. Badley. You’ve almost redeemed yourself for your insulting
comments in the limo today so don’t spoil it.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t really sound
repentant. Teasing Shari Goodwin could become fun. Was he teasing? She
definitely was perfectly proportioned to him and as for the mile high club...better
not go there for real.

He gestured to the waitress who appeared
right away to take their order.

“So tell me about yourself, Shari
Goodwin.” So the “Goodwin” was back again.

“I would have thought you’d want to talk
about yourself.”

“We’ll be doing enough of that. I’m
curious to know why someone so young has a bucket list. What are you…twenty-five,
twenty-six?” She nodded and gestured with her hand to indicate that she was
around there.

“Don’t you have a bucket list?”

“I don’t need a bucket list. I’m living
it. Sometimes I wonder what else there is to do and I’m only thirty-two.” He
smiled ruefully.

Most people would love to have your
problem, thought Shari unsympathetically. She would not let Nick Badley’s “poor
me” comments fool her. She had experienced both his Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Nick settled the bill and left a
substantial tip for the waitress who smiled her appreciation. Holding the door
open for Shari, he gestured in the direction of the Riverwalk.

In spite of the brilliant sunshine, it
was a cool day and the number of people sharing the walk was few. Shari sent up
a silent prayer of thanks since that meant she would be able to talk to Nick
without being overheard or interrupted.

They strolled along in a comfortable
silence for a few minutes, enjoying the relaxing sound of the water cascading
over the rocks. Shari paused to take a few shots with her camera for her own
collection while Nick waited patiently, surprisingly for him. He seemed as
relaxed as when they were watching the fountains at Bellagio and she fervently
hoped that no one would intrude on this time.

“There’s a bench a little further along
where we can sit and talk,” Nick informed her.

The bench was in a cozy spot overlooking
the river. It was sheltered by some trees, giving it privacy.  It felt a little
too intimate for her liking, but she made no protest. After all, it wasn’t as
if Nick was going to try anything.

"I'm going to record our
conversation rather than rely on my memory, OK?"

"Good. Then there should be no
inaccuracies." Shari didn't comment. Nick took every opportunity to make
it quite clear how he felt about reporters.

"Why exactly are you so opposed to
reporters?"

"How much time do you have?"
He asked sardonically. "Since we have to get back for the concert in an
hour or so, I'll give you the short version. They print lies and whatever will
sell papers or magazines and they don't care who gets hurt in the process.”

She was almost sorry she had asked
because some of the peace that the river had induced in him was lost as he
responded to her question. However, having started down that trail, the
journalist in her had to continue until she got the answer she was looking for.

"This is from personal experience,
I take it?"

"Yeah, but I also know a lot of
people in the business whose lives have been messed up by the media."

He focused on the river, apparently lost
in thought. She waited patiently, hoping that the charge on her recorder would
last. The sound of the river rolling over the stones was soothing, but she
wasn’t here to make a Nature’s Sounds CD.

"My first wife and I got married
quite young. I was about twenty-four and she was twenty. She's from the
hometown I grew up in, Sonora. I was just starting out and beginning to get
noticed in the bigger cities nearby. We'd been married for about three years
when I got signed by my current record label and things really began to take
off. My first tour was an unbelievable experience! I couldn't have dreamed it
up. The crowds were amazing, the parties were wild and the women were easy. It
went straight to my head.

"At first I resisted, but by the
time the tour was halfway through it was getting harder and harder. Then one
night, after too many drinks, I slept with another woman. I don't even know her
name. She came on to me at a party and the rest is history. Pictures of us
leaving the party were in the press the next day and my wife saw them. As if
that wasn’t bad enough the media started hounding her, asking all kinds of
stupid questions. She was trying to get away from a particularly persistent
reporter when she crashed her car. She was two months pregnant and I didn’t
even know. She was planning to tell me when I came home at the next break. She
lost the baby.” He drew in a shaky breath and looked out over the river.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” Shari
said quietly, turning off the recorder. This was too intimate to record.

“Not many people do. I left the tour and
flew home but it was too late. If I hadn’t been living such a wild life, it
never would have happened. I couldn’t even deny the story when she asked me
about it. Not only did she lose the baby but I permanently damaged our
relationship and it was too much for her.  I didn't fight it when she filed for
divorce.”

"I can understand why you hate the
media but they weren’t the only cause of your marriage failing,” she pointed
out fairly.

"No. You're right. I started it,
they just put the nails in the coffin. But I was really trying with my second
marriage."

"I’m surprised you got married
again,” she commented turning back on the recorder.

"Why? Because I made a mess of the
first? I actually believe in marriage. My parents have been happily married for
thirty-five years and my sisters seem to have great marriages. I wanted to have
that too. I still want to someday."

Shari felt a pang. She had wanted that
too, but it didn't happen that way. At least she hadn't gotten as far as
getting married. She was now grateful that Rob had walked out before it had gotten
to that point.

"So, what happened the second time
around?" she asked, coming back to the present.

"I married someone totally
different from my first wife. She was in the business as well – a singer who
was trying to get signed to a major label. We had a lot in common so I figured
we'd do well together. I was faithful to her for the year we were married. More
often than not she was on the road with me, but then I had a concert in London
and she had the opportunity to record an album with a fairly decent label that I’d
hooked her up with, so she didn't come."

"So you slept with someone else
again?"

"That's the hell of it. I didn't,
but the press published a photo of me and the singer who opened for me with our
hands around each other as we walked out of a club. We were just high on the
success of the concert and other stuff, but that was it."

"Your wife saw it?" He nodded.
"And she didn't believe it was innocent?"

"No."

"She didn't give you the benefit of
the doubt?"

"As much as it crushes my ego to
admit it, I think she just wanted out of the marriage and used it as an excuse.
I discovered later that she’d been sleeping with a good friend of mine when I
was on tour. Or someone who I thought was a good friend. I’d helped to get her
signed to a label so I had served my purpose." Cynicism coated his words
but Shari could hear the pain and betrayal underneath it.

"Ouch! That’s brutal."

"You probably think I deserved
it."

"No-one deserves to be betrayed
like that," she empathized. "I know that break-ups are never easy,
especially marriages, so I don’t wish that on anyone."

"You ever been married?"

"No. I came close, but it didn’t
happen. Thank God." She didn't know why she told him that. “Your life
hasn’t been as wonderful as it looks,” she acknowledged.

“You got that right.”

She was surprised that he’d revealed so much to her, probably
more than he’d intended, so she wasn’t surprised when he said: “Anyway
I've talked more than enough for the day. Have to save
my voice for the concert."

How was she to argue with that? He’d
trusted her with intimate details of his life that she would treat with the
utmost of discretion. She’d discovered another side of Nick Badley. One that
had experienced loss, hurt and betrayal. One that was very human.

"OK,” she said, turning off the
recorder. “Thank you for sharing your stories with me. Contrary to your opinion
about reporters, I will keep what you said in strict confidence. It won’t
appear in the documentary.”

“I guess I must instinctively trust you
at some level to have shared that.” Shari smiled briefly in thanks. 

“I was thinking to talk to Tim Benton
next and get him out of the way first. I have to admit that he makes me a bit
uncomfortable. He seems a bit intense."

"Tim has some anger issues, but I
think he’s pretty harmless.”

“What’s he angry about?”

“I really don’t know. He has his own
demons to deal with.”

“And you have yours.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “Mine probably
make his seem like lightweights.”

“Don’t worry; my mother has added you to
her prayer list. I mentioned you to her since she likes to know what I’m
working on. I hope you don’t mind.” He shook his head.

“She doesn’t even know me and she’s
praying for me? Thank her next time you speak. But warn her that my demons can
only come out by prayer and fasting.”

“What do you know about prayer and
fasting?” she asked in disbelief.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not a
total reprobate, you know. Are you praying for my sorry soul too?”

“I suppose I should be,” Shari said
almost guiltily.

“Please do. I need all the prayers I can
get.” He sounded almost serious.

“I’ll start, then. Getting back to Tim,
do you think he’s jealous of you, in light what he said before he stormed out
of the rehearsal in Vegas?”

"What's there to be jealous about?
Some days I'd trade this life in a heartbeat. And other days I can't imagine
anything else. I'm beginning to think I’m bipolar.”

“I’ve already come to that conclusion
and I’ve only known you for a few days.”

He put up his hands as if to block a
blow.

“You don’t pull your punches, do you?”

“Maybe this is my delayed reaction to
the unprovoked attack in the limo today.”

“Whatever happened to ‘turn the other
cheek’?” 

Shari was immediately ashamed. She
should know better.

“I’m sorry about that,” Nick apologized.
“I have no excuse for lashing out at you like I did.” His apology was totally
unexpected. She wondered how long Dr. Jekyll would be around this time before
his alter ego showed up again.

“No, you don’t. I’ll put it down to your
split personality and I know I’m supposed to turn the other cheek, but I’m not
going to take your abuse just because you’re Nick Badley.”

Nick nodded. He had a new respect for
Shari Goodwin. She was more straightforward than any other woman he had known
before and he found that very appealing.

The
drive back was thankfully uneventful. Nick managed to keep within the speed
limit and seemed lost in thought. She assumed that he was mentally preparing
for the concert and didn’t try to start any conversation.

They
pulled into the driveway of the hotel and Nick got out, handing his key and a
hundred dollar bill to the valet parking attendant who had opened Shari’s door
for her.

“Look
after her for me, buddy,” he said, giving him a knock.

“Sure
thing, Mr. Badley. And thank you!”

“Nick,”
he corrected.

“Sure
thing, Nick,” the valet repeated with a smile. Shari smiled as well. She liked
this Nick.

“Thanks
for taking me on the drive and for sharing your stories with me,” she said again
as they walked towards the elevators.

“No
problem. I find you surprisingly easy to talk to. I have to remind myself that you’re
a journalist,” he joked.

“We’re
making progress, then. What’s this? We actually have to wait for the elevator?
I guess you need to remind the universe that Nick Badley is back in the hotel
and that you don’t like to wait,” she teased him. He smiled slightly.

“Is
there a party after the concert tonight?” she asked, getting into the elevator
that had finally reached the ground floor. Thankfully they had it to
themselves.

“Nothing
organized, as far as I know, but if there isn’t we’ll probably go to a club or
something. You game?”

“I
don’t think so. I think I’ll have an early night. Brian and I plan to go into
town and do some interviews with your fans tomorrow. Find out what they thought
of the concert, that sort of thing.”

“Well
I hope they have good things to say.”

“I’m
sure you can do no wrong in their eyes. If you guys are partying tonight I
don’t think I’ll talk to Tim. I need to talk to him when he’s been sober and
drug-free for a whole day.”

“I
guess you won’t be talking to him at all, then. Maybe Steve is a better bet. He
probably won’t be going to the party. He’s trying to be faithful to his wife
and I admire him for that.”