Groupie/Rock Star Bundle (10 page)

And after four months I felt ready
to put that resolve to the test.

Iris called to invite me to the
world premiere of the video for “Wanting Her,” which I initially
wanted to skip entirely due to the lingering resentment and
disappointment I had regarding the song. But then she dangled a
paying gig over my head. Jasper was so pleased with everything I
had done, especially (and ironically) the piece I wrote on Lourdes
and Vanni. It ran in several different gossip “lifestyle” magazines
and was even featured on a prominent entertainment website. So he
had requested me specifically for the assignment, and was giving me
an all-expense-paid trip to New York as a perk. This was my chance
at another byline in a major music publication – Jasper’s of course
– and a fairly nice paycheck to boot.

For my portfolio’s sake alone I couldn’t say
no.

After four months to gain some perspective and
heal my wounded pride, I figured that I could go to New York, be
around the band and most importantly Giovanni and Lourdes, and not
be tempted by an old pipe dream that deep down I knew was too good
to be true.

This was just business.

At least that’s what I told myself when I
checked into my hotel. Again there was a huge bouquet waiting for
me but I didn’t even check the envelope. I already knew only Jasper
would think to send a spread like that.

Iris met me that afternoon and
insisted we go on a major shopping spree. It was as if she didn’t
trust me to pick out my own clothes for the soiree she and Jacob
had toiled for two months to organize. They had opened it to the
fans that would get a special sneak preview, with an after party
that would cater mostly to the elite music
professionals.

And, of course, me.

I didn’t bother packing anything special for
the trip because I had already made peace with the idea Iris was
going to dress me. Jacob threatened to overhaul my wardrobe too
when he listened in horror at what I had in my closet to
bring.

My comment, “It’s not like I’m a supermodel,”
did not warrant a response from the man who really became the
closest thing I had to a confidante in my immediate circle of
friends.

He had asked about my night with
Vanni but I lied my ass off. Somehow I got the feeling he didn’t
buy a word I said, especially since I made a beeline for home the
very next day. So far, though, he let it go by
unchallenged.

Neither of us spoke of Vanni or Lourdes, but it
felt a bit like the 800-pound gorilla in the room. Sometimes I
wondered if he had a few secrets of his own.

As a present to myself after I returned home in
December I dyed my hair platinum blond with an intense blue streak
along the front. I needed a change, and you really can’t get more
drastic than that. Iris squealed when she saw it, and then
proceeded to pick out a wardrobe that fit the theme: Dreaming in
Blue.

I groaned when she made the
connection, because that wasn’t why I did it.

At least not intentionally.

She insisted I get a two-toned halter dress
with an empire waist. The top was in a deep sapphire blue, the
bottom was a flattering black. With nearly platform height black
pumps it made me look sophisticated and sexy, which boosted my
confidence for the task ahead.

It had been easy to put Vanni in the
mental rearview mirror while he was nearly a thousand miles away. I
traveled even further, to the west coast and even out of the
country to put as much distance as necessary between us until
memories of the debacle no longer stung.

It felt so good – or at least safe – to cleanse
him right out of my system, but the thought I would soon see him
again had me slightly concerned. My heart raced. My blood pumped.
Little butterflies all wore wooden shoes and happily clog-danced in
the pit of my stomach.

Was Vanni like some sort of drug? Did I only
need one hit to be addicted again, unsatisfied until he once again
threw my heart in a blender?

Maybe distance had cooled him off the hunt as
well. He’d been feasting at the table that was Lourdes for four
blissful months already, and from what I understood things were
going along very well. The video was “beautiful” and “romantic” and
sure to make him a hit with all the ladies.

All but one, anyway.

I flew in the day of the event, to
avoid the temptation of hanging out with the band at Iris’s behest.
That night would be the concert along with the video premiere, then
the after-party. I could spend the rest of the weekend sequestered
in my hotel room writing, using that as an excuse to avoid any kind
of socializing at all should the experience prove too painful or
discomforting.

Or so I kept telling myself. I had a sneaking
suspicion that neither Iris nor Jacob were too keen to let that
happen.

Only Alana seemed content to see me away from
the gigs. I somehow sensed she knew more than she let on but had so
far decided not to call me on my bullshit that nothing had gone on
with Vanni in New York.

But Alana was also one with experience with
fickle musicians so maybe she didn’t need a whole lot of writing on
the wall to see what was going on. Whenever we talked there was an
underlying tone of understanding for things that weren’t being
said. Maybe she instinctively knew I learned my lesson and I had
decided to quit my rock star habit cold turkey. Maybe her silence
was just giving me the space I needed to heal, with the silent
permission that it was okay no matter what I had, or hadn’t,
done.

I loved her for that.

She also wasn’t a big fan of Lourdes. During
one of our epic, five-hour conversations that ended solely because
one or both of our cell phones died, she confided that Lourdes
treated the rest of the “girlfriends” as though she were better
than anyone else. She knew Jasper first and well, and it was her
friendship with him that helped the band get so many
perks.

Either way, it didn’t involve me. I wasn’t one
of the “girlfriends” and I was really only the low end of the totem
pole: the writer who showed up every few months when something
major happened with the band.

I wasn’t even a fan anymore, even though I had
once loved their music enough to listen to it every day. There was
no question that even now I believed in their talent. But when I go
cold turkey, I go cold turkey, by God.

These were the bold declarations I could make
when temptation wasn’t figuratively or literally knocking at my
door.

I think there was a part of me very
deep down that understood that ignoring Vanni was really my best
defense to keep my resolve. I didn’t know how that was going to
work after the video premiered and “Wanting Her” started to play in
heavy rotation both on the radio and on music
television.

I’d just have to cross that bridge when I came
to it. I hadn’t really researched the Amish yet but it was
certainly as viable an option as any.

By six o’clock that evening I settled in the
limo with Iris and Jacob as we headed toward the concert hall that
was hosting our concert/premiere. Iris got us seats right down in
front in the reserved section that included Lourdes, Jasper, his
wife Athena and a handful of other moguls, the girlfriends – which
included Alana – and the grunts of the operation, the two of
us.

Some fans won their chance to sit in the front
row, and they were easy to spot by their giggly exuberance. I
overheard their whispers about Vanni, how hot he was, how they
couldn’t wait to see him, if he touched them they’d just die. I had
to smile to myself.

You could live through being touched by
Giovanni. You’d just be mortally wounded for about four
months.

The roar of the excited crowd grew
louder as the clock ticked down to the eight o’clock concert, which
was to begin with the video footage broadcast over the stage on a
huge screen that could be seen from the very last person in the
nosebleed section. The audience grew antsy as the lights beat down
on an empty stage full of equipment just ready to be
played.

Despite all my intentions otherwise I grew a
little nervous myself. I was almost right dead center of the front
row, there’s no way he’d miss me or I him. I hadn’t seen him since
that disastrous interview in December, and if I was really, truly
honest with myself (and let’s face it, who really is?) I had just
gotten over the look in his eyes or the curve of his full mouth
about two weeks ago.

He was a hard man to forget, and an even harder
man to ignore. My thousand-mile buffer zone had just shrunk to
twenty-five feet. The longer I sat there waiting for him to jump
out on that stage right in front of me the more I knew that despite
all my bluster otherwise I hadn’t gotten as far past my addiction
as I had hoped.

I just closed my eyes and prayed for
strength.

I glanced down the row at Lourdes where she sat
next to Jasper and Athena. Seeing her would fortify my resolve. No
matter what I thought of her personally it wasn’t fair to indulge
any fantasies of her man. That’s not the kind of woman I
was.

But that didn’t stop my heart from beating like
a wild animal against my chest when the lights dimmed and the video
started to roll on the big screen.

Vanni was walking on the beach at sunset, his
feet bare, wearing only loose fitting white pants and an open
shirt. His hair tousled around his head with the wind and he ran a
hand through his scalp to brush it away. That same big strong hand
with long fingers adorned with silver rings that had once caressed
the smooth, full curve of my breast…

I shook my head free of such
thoughts.

The song started as soon as he saw Lourdes
running down the beach in a tiny bikini. Shrewd, I thought. Eye
candy for the girls, and some good ol’ fashioned T&A for the
boys. Jasper hadn’t missed a trick.

“The curve of her face, a wisp of
her hair, I knew when I saw her standing there, I wanted her,” he
crooned, and I heard the fans giggle close by. No doubt they
pretended he sang those lyrics about them.

I did that once upon a time.

On film Lourdes glanced at him with a coy
smile, which he returned with that damnable smirk that still made
my heart race. It was much more potent, however, when I was the
recipient, so I figured I could be thankful that those days were
over.

He began to run after her on the
beach, and then the film cut to shots of them falling in love in a
tropical paradise. They were on a boat, they were on a blanket in
the sand; they were in the clear waters of the sea wrapped in each
other’s arms as he brushed her wet hair out of her face so that
they could kiss.

“Seeing her, wanting her, what I’d give for
just one kiss.”

With that line lights rose on the stage and the
band was in place. Vanni stood there in the same white pants and
open shirt from the video. He was barefoot, with his long hair
falling in unruly curls around his shoulders.

“Does she know how I feel,” he
crooned to the fans in the front row, and I could have sworn at
least one of them swooned. “How much I want this to be real,” he
sang to the next girl down. “An angel from a dream I can’t claim,”
he said as his eyes landed on me, and for a moment I wondered if he
even knew who I was before he went on down the line to someone
else.

I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was
holding. My palms were sweaty and my hands trembled as I lifted my
hand into my hair. Maybe he didn’t recognize me. Maybe he thought I
was just another fan.

It meant nothing, just like everything else
that passed between us.

I watched his interaction with everyone else,
even Lourdes, as he sang. He didn’t pull her out of the crowd,
which I semi-expected. Instead he casually strolled back to center
stage and finished the song. “Someday I’ll wake from this dream and
hold my angel in my arms. And she’ll know all along I’ve wanted
her.”

He let the music softly play out as
he put his head against the mike stand, and when he lifted up and
scanned the crowd there were actual tears in his eyes.

That was when our eyes met again, and as the
lights went down he blew a slight, imperceptive kiss in my
direction.

What nerve, I thought to myself. If he didn’t
know me then he’s just playing with a random fan in a way that
could make her think there was some connection when there
wasn’t.

And if he did know who I was then he
was just playing with me, and that’s just wrong. He hadn’t
contacted me since I left in December. He had been perfectly
willing to leave things as they were.

If he thought that I was going to fall back
into my arms like a lovesick groupie then he had another thing
coming.

My mood soured after a quick costume change. He
reemerged in his leather pants and abandoned any shirt entirely.
The band brought out their heavier, sexier material which had him
playing the audience like a finely tuned instrument. Girls squealed
and screamed from all around me every time he stalked to the edge
of the stage like a sexy, muscular cheetah on the hunt.

If only they knew he belonged to someone
else.