European Tour (Rocking the Pop Star Book 1) (8 page)

Day Sixteen

There’s something about Paris that’ll fuck you up if you’re a commitment-phobe. The quaint hotels, restaurants and shops are designed for couples seeking romance in The City of Lights, and if you’re not fully cognizant of it, you’ll buy right into that shit. I did, right after we finished the concert there and we had a couple of days before flying to Berlin.

Our routine for each city already established, Sky and I dine at an oyster bar near the Arc de Triomphe on our final night in Paris, feasting on dozens of the aphrodisiacal bivalves and a couple of bottles of crisp white wine which masquerades as something light, but packs quite a punch, then we share a dessert called a brioche
feuilletée. The only way I can describe it is a cinnamon roll without the cinnamon served with candied fruit and homemade vanilla ice-cream.

Sky’s eyes roll back when she bites into it the first time. “Oh my God, this tastes like an orgasm.”

It’s kind of a “When Harry Met Sally” moment, because a few people around us hear her clearly and laugh.

Sky’s freckled face turns beet red. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

I nod and take another bite of the confection. “Yep.” She is adorable when she says or does something totally unexpected.

An elderly couple just leaving stops and the little lady says with a wink, “Your girlfriend is right.”

Sky cringes, as if she expects the other shoe to fall, but we’re incognito, so they don’t know she’s the American pop singer who just filled the city with thousands of rabid fans a couple of nights ago.

“I just might take offense to being upstaged by a dessert,” I say, and the couple laughs.

“Tell me about it,” the little old man agrees and they shuffle out of the restaurant, still laughing.

Sky ducks her head and digs in again. “I’m just going to pretend that didn’t happen.”

The couple’s insistence that Sky was my girlfriend careens through my head. What the fuck? In their defense we have been acting like that’s what we are. My chest tightens, my lungs squeezing painfully as I breath in.

A girlfriend.

Maybe in another lifetime, if I hadn’t fucked up my life and Kim’s the way I had. But just three weeks into this European Tour and I was romancing a woman again, and I didn’t know how to stop. Especially, here in Paris. Or maybe I just didn’t want to stop, regardless of where we were.

I was drawn to her, and it was damn near instinctual the way I responded to her. She made me feel things I haven’t allowed myself to feel in so long, things I resisted out of some kind of fucked-up shame because the last time I’d loved a girl, she died.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Her voice brought my eyes back to thoughtful eyes that covered me, pulled me in, and dragged me under.

“Sky.” I uttered her name toward the ceiling, my reply hoarse with a sadness that threatened to overwhelm me. I searched inside myself to ascertain my next move, a way to resolve the feelings warring inside me—to exercise that partially-won integrity I operated under now. “I’m no good for you.”

Eyes not leaving mine, she slowly leans toward me over the small table. “Don’t I get to have a say in that?” she murmurs.

“Of course you do.”

“Then I already did the night of the party. Nothing has changed.”

“You must want…” I shake my head, “more.”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.” She lays her hand in the center of my chest. “It would be great if besides your body, I could have your heart.”

Sky doesn’t pull any punches, she lays herself bare, not knowing if I’m going to go running for the hills and leave her in the lurch for another PA, part-time lover, and whatever the hell else I’ve become to her.

“I don’t think I can give you that.” The words feel hateful coming from me after everything we’ve shared, but it’s the truth. My ugly truth. “I’ve got baggage you wouldn’t believe, Sky.”

She caresses my cheek, her eyes going softer. “Don’t you think I’ve seen your pain?”

“But I haven’t shared it with you in words. Aren’t you just a little bit curious about my past?”

“You’ll share the details when you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You might just want to when you finally get to know the real me.”

Anger flashes in her eyes. “Stop trying to warn me away from you, Brody. It’s not working.” She sucks in a breath. “Being with you has awakened things in me I didn’t think I could ever feel.”

“But I don’t know how to make this work between us without breaking you, maybe myself, too.”

“Do you want things to work between us? I mean, outside of this—arrangement we have?” Her query was soft and hopeful.

“What I want and what will ultimately happen are two entirely separate things,” I rasp, quiet but sharp with implication. “Being with you for just three weeks, making love to you, has shown me how fucking impossible it’s going to be to let you go at the end of this tour.”

“Who says you have to let me go at the end of the tour?”

For the first time in a long time
I
feel hopeful. If Sky is willing to strip herself down and become vulnerable for me, it was the least I could do for her.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t seduce you when I came on board, but now that I’ve had you, I don’t think I can stay away, not while we’re in all these romantic cities together.”

“Then I guess LA will be the real test of our longevity,” she says with a smile.

Sky is relentlessly optimistic, and I know I can never tire of her lovely smile—of making love to her, but it’s unlikely I’ll be a permanent fixture in her life long enough to test that theory when she learns the truth.

We take an after-dinner stroll on the Champs Elysees, holding hands, or linking arms as if we are joined at the hip. Seeing other couples embracing and locking lips unabashedly leads us to do the same, and soon the bout of melancholy I felt at the restaurant is forgotten.

SKYLAR

DAY TWENTY-THREE

Brody has made this tour the best ever. Our exploration of the tour cities has been the most fun I can ever recall having other than when I first began my music career. Not only has he made my work life easier by day, but he’s also made my personal life exceptional by night.

Alyssa and I are seated together on the plane to Madrid with Brody and Malik across the aisle from us.

We’ve finished the concerts in London, Paris and Berlin. Alyssa is showing me a tiny reference about Brody and me in one of the gossip rags. Some douchebag “reporter” is forecasting that sales would not be as brisk in the last leg of the tour because I wasn’t “on my game.”

Skylar has been spotted in London and Paris canoodling with a gentleman suitor we have been unable to identify,
the article went on to say.

“Why do gossip magazines love using the word ‘canoodling’ to describe celebrities getting cozy with someone of the opposite sex?” I ask Alyssa.

“Because they think you’re kissing and cuddling so amorously, it’s newsworthy or some shit. Canoodling means you’re probably banging.”

“How do you know this?”

She tosses her natural curls back. “Because I’ve been accused of this numerous times,” she says. “And I looked that shit up.”

I laugh. “Who’ve you been accused of canoodling with?”

She ticks them off on her fingers. “Randall, the R&B Singer. Corey Main, the country singer. Oh, and Princess Danai, the rapper.”

“Princess Danai is a woman, right?”

“Yeah, but gossip rags are equal opportunity dirt diggers.”

We both laugh.

Alyssa is twenty-two, and she’s been my friend since our television days together. I can’t for the life of me understand why her career hasn’t taken off. She has an amazing voice. Her agent tells her it’s because she’s opening for me and not pairing herself with a hip-hop group or R&B singer, to which she calmly told him, “Go fuck yourself and leave me alone, unless you want to be out of a damn job.”

She is fiercely loyal to me and I love her for it.

“So what’s Mama Samuelson got to say about this new development in entertainment news?”

“She called me, livid of course.”

“Of course.”

“She accused me of allowing a tawdry fling to purposefully damage my reputation irreparably.”

“As opposed to reparably?”

“I don’t know. Mother can’t abide scandal, despite how much my PR firm tells her that good press and bad press are equally good for a celebrity’s career.”

“I told you, your mama is a cockblocker.” Alyssa leans close to my ear. “Speaking of cock,” she says in a much quieter voice, “how is Brody of-the-bluest-blue-eyes-I’ve-ever-seen Kent in bed?”

I suck in a breath to imply that I’m scandalized. I’m not.

“On a scale of one to ten, just flash me some digits, girl,” she says.

I hold up all ten of my fingers and quickly flash five more.

Alyssa squeals like a sorority girl.

Cringing, I clasp my hand over her mouth.

Malik and Brody turn their heads simultaneously, their eyes questioning.

I wave them off. “We’re okay,” I say loud enough for them and the flight attendant coming our way to hear me. “Nothing to see over here.”

Alyssa pries my hand away and gives me the death glare. “If your clammy hands have fucked up my makeup, Sky…” She reaches into her purse, probably for her compact.

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me, girlfriend, but you were causing a scene.”

She looks at me and laughs. “Your face is red as hell.”

She eyes herself in the mirror, turning her face to and fro. “No irreparable damage done.” She laughs again, and I remember she’s taking a swipe at my mother’s words and I laugh, too.

When we recover from this new fit of laughter I share more of my mother’s words, using her voice. “The repercussions are going to be far-reaching, young lady. You mark my words.”

“They are certainly going to be far-reaching, because Brody’s going to keep putting that number fifteen thang on you for the next four weeks.”

We’re in tears from laughing.

Brody and Malik stare back with clueless expressions.

“Mother has always had a flair for the dramatic,” I say. “Surely my fans can’t expect me to never have a private life. Can they?”

“They’ll get over it,” Alyssa says. “It’s your Mama I’m worried about.”

Brody and I decide not to do the sightseeing thing alone in Madrid. We take Malik and Alyssa with us whenever we go out, and we’re very careful not to display a lot of PDA. I also wear my Skylar face, because what’s the use of being discreet? The tabloids now have a relatively clear shot of me sans The Face, and I want that shot buried so deep in their archives they’ll never find it again.

This time, we have four days before the show, so we go out the first day and half frequenting places that the locals do and staying away from the trendier bars and restaurants, which are more likely to have paparazzi camping out at them. Other places back home try to imitate them, but there’s nothing like the tapas in Spain. I have my fill of them because I know my choreographer, who flies in at my request, is going to work the rich food I’ve been consuming right off my thighs.

I need different movements and staging to make the live concert fresh for this new audience and the media outlets following us. I’m getting the new routine down while Brody teleconferences with the marketing team to work on some new print ads and commercials. He’s become very good at his job because he’s done all this before and knows the business intimately.

Brody seeks me out wearing an ambivalent smile during a break from choreography.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ll never guess who your mother’s managed to get to play with you for the last three venues.”

“Who?”

“Pit Viper,” he says.

I’m stunned by my mother’s ingenuity. “How on earth did she manage that?” Pit Viper is a premier guitarist and frontman of The Snakes, a rock band from Sydney, Australia. His appearance on my tour could help my numbers considerably.

He shrugs. “Connections.”

My excitement flags when I think of my current guitarist. “What are we going to do with Nick?”

“She says he’s to sit Madrid, Rome and Athens out.”

“He’s going to flip his shit. He may even walk. For what? Only to get Pit Viper for three shows?”

“I understand her reasoning behind this. It’s not the first time a pop singer has used a rocker to play for him. For example, Michael Jackson had Slash on his
Dangerous
album.”

I love how Brody is playing devil’s advocate and supporting my mother’s side of things. She’s up to more than just hiring Pit Viper to boost my standings on this European tour, though. Mother doesn’t make changes to my band like that without having something up her sleeve. The last time she pulled something like this, she cleaned house. It took me months to audition and hire new people. I’m going to call her first chance I get to see what the hell she’s up to.

“If the King of Pop, God rest his soul, used a rocker successfully, then I suppose the Queen of Pop can do the same thing,” I say with a smile.

“Oh, and your mother is flying in Friday morning for the show Friday night,” Brody says and backs away.

“What the fuck?” Everybody in the room stops and looks at me. I understand why. I rarely curse at random.

Brody is in stitches and his shoulders are visibly shaking as he walks away.

Cyndi, the choreographer—or maybe I should call her “slave driver”—calls the dancers and me back to our task.

I return to the hotel after the first grueling day of practice, sweaty, gross, and irritable. I don’t really want to go out because I’m tired. All I really want to do is take a hot shower, have Brody fuck my brains out, take another hot shower, and fall into bed.

Scrubbed clean, I cross the threshold of my suite over to Brody’s to seek him out, but he’s hunched over his MacBook working.

I kiss him on his neck trying to get him interested in a little late afternoon delight, but he’s too preoccupied with something to respond.

I peer over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Writing a song.” He goes to elaborate lengths to shield it from me, even holding his big palm over the screen.

“Why don’t you want me to see?”

“Because it’s not finished. And, it might be something for you.”

I grin. “Oh yeah?”

He grins back. “Yeah.”

“How much longer are you going to be?”

“Maybe another hour, then we need to get ready to go out to dinner. There will be another surprise for you at dinner,” he says cryptically.

“Do we have to go out to dinner?” I grind out in a mulish protest.

He pulls a face that can only be described as a pained grimace. “Yeah, we sort of do. It’s a P.R. thing.”

“Well, I’m going to take a nap, and I won’t even be upset if you forget to wake me.”

I go back and jump into my bed, and don’t bother to set an alarm.

Brody shakes me awake before I’m ready and I practically bite his head off. “Couldn’t you just let me sleep a little while longer? God!”

He recoils as if I’ve struck him, and I see the hurt in his eyes even as he straightens up. The consummate professional.

“The P.R. company set this dinner up, Skylar. You have to meet Pit Viper tonight and there will be photo ops for the advertising stills.”

He never calls me Skylar. I fear he’s doing it purposely to distance himself from me, because I snapped at him. “I’ll give you some space, so you can get dressed.” He turns on his heel to leave.

Remorseful for taking out my frustrations on him, I jump out of bed and run over to block his exit. “Brody, I’m
so
tired. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

I throw my arms around him and pull him close to me. “This tour is exhausting and I’m worried my mother is up to something with my band. The last time she made changes like this behind my back, I was a minor and she had more control.”

He sets me away from him and holds me at arm’s length. “But you’re an adult now, Sky. If you want to take creative and business control of your own career, you can do that. Nobody’s stopping you.”

“Nobody but me,” I say, defeated.

“What do you mean?”

“On some level, I suppose I’ve let my mother have control because I’ve never wanted it. I want to do the artistic stuff, but the business part of this doesn’t interest me. Not one bit.”

“That’s unfortunate because you have the most to lose. You have to be the adult and own this. You should have been taking a little of it at a time until you could eventually handle it on your own already.”

“I know.”

“You need to pay attention, Sky, because your mother’s not going to always be around. A manager more insidious than your mother could someday take you for everything you’ve got and you’d be none the wiser.”

“I am going to start paying attention, and I’m going to stand up to her. I
promise
.”

“How?” He asks.

“Well, first off, I’m going to let Nick play backup on electric or acoustic. He’s not sitting the next three concerts out. He’s been loyal to me.”

Brody smiles. “That’s exactly what I would do.”

“And I’m going to figure out why she’s coming here all of a sudden,” I say, my courage building.

“I think I know why,” Brody says.

“Why?”

“Your mother’s attempting to push me to perform on stage with you.”

“Did she tell you that when you talked to her?”

“Well, not in so many words, but she’s sending Pit Viper, a rock star, here either to send me a message, or to appeal to my vanity. But it’s not going to work because she has no idea what motivates me.”

“But you said this was a good move because the King of Pop did it.”

“And I meant it. It
is
a good move, but we’re going to make whatever scheme your mother is planning backfire on her. Get dressed. We’ll meet outside our suites in thirty minutes, okay?”