Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel) (22 page)

Chapter 23

“HEARTBREAK HOTEL, SWEETHEART,” THE CAB
driver said as they pulled into the driveway. Delaney had the presence of mind to marvel at the perfection of the name. Heartbreak Hotel, indeed. Hers was most certainly broken, shattered into pieces and tossed in a Dumpster. And judging by Grant’s expression back at his aunt’s house, his was frozen solid. He was furious, but worse than that, he was hurt because of what she’d done, and what she had failed to do. Regardless of her reasons, justifiable or not, he had loved her and she’d ruined it.

She paid the driver, climbed out, and went into the hotel lobby. It was more crowded than she’d seen it before. Another flood of revelers to celebrate Elvis and his birthday had arrived, no doubt, although there were no jumpsuits this time. Maybe it was just too early in the day. It wasn’t even noon yet.

“There she is!” someone said, and a flashbulb blew up near her face. Delaney blinked and took a step back. Suddenly the room was full of flashing lights, with microphones and iPhones being waved in her face. And people calling her name. Her real name.

“Delaney! Over here! Tell us why you ran away!”

“Delaney, is it true you’re caught up in a love triangle between a cameraman and a musician?”

“Delaney, how much money have you made from the sale of your video with Boyd Hampton?”

The flashes, and the shouting, and the arms reaching forward made her head spin. She was drowning in the sea of bad press. She tried to turn to go back outside but her way was blocked by a mangy-looking piece of paparazzi.

“Folks, folks, folks! Give a girl some room!” It was Finch’s voice she heard, and then his hand was on her arm and he was pulling her from the crowd. Humphrey was there too, moving in to protect her, blocking people as they tried to follow her toward the elevator, past the Elvis ’69 poster.

“Is that him?” someone called out. “Is that the musician? Or the cameraman?”

She was quaking, inside and out, as Finch punched at the elevator button. More questions were shouted out.

“Are you hoping for a spin-off show of your own?”

“Will there be any new videos?”

Finally the elevator doors slid open, and Finch rushed her inside as Humphrey blocked a reporter from forcing his way on.

“Aw, come on now. Don’t be pushy.” Humphrey’s voice was as mellow as ever, and the doors closed with just the three of them inside: her, Finch, and Humphrey.

Finch brushed her hair back from her face. “You OK, sweetness?”

She looked at him. It sounded as if his voice came from deep underwater. There was rushing in her ears. She was hot and cold and prickly all over with nausea rolling through her. She felt the walls close in, and then everything went black.

Delaney came to with a cold washcloth pressed against her forehead and the smell of Sissy’s overly sweet perfume stirring up another round of nausea. Delaney opened her eyes, and there they all were in a circle around her, Reggie, Humphrey, Finch, Sammy, Sissy, and Clark. She felt like Dorothy after returning from Oz, but Delaney wasn’t in Kansas. She was in the Graceland Suite of the Heartbreak Hotel. She could tell by the lemon-yellow and navy-blue decor. This was a replica of Elvis’s TV room.

“Here she comes,” Finch said. He was next to her, holding the washcloth in place.

Delaney tried to sit up but he pressed a hand against her shoulder. “Hold on there, sweetness. Give yourself a minute. And give me a minute too because you damn near made me wet myself on that elevator. You scared the livin’ bejesus out of me.”

“What happened?” she asked faintly.

“The press swarmed you like a hive of angry bees and you fainted. How are you feeling now?”

“Oh, God. The press.” She glanced up at Reggie. “They called me Delaney. How did they know I was here?” She closed her eyes as dizziness spun her again, and when she opened them, she realized the rest of them must know now too. They must despise her, although she saw nothing but concern on their faces.

Reggie shook his head, his dark eyes peering intently at her face. “I don’t know, but obviously somebody told them.”

“Did you come back alone? I didn’t see Grant in the lobby,” Humphrey added.

More nausea. That whole panic attack thing—she’d kind of been kidding about that before, but now she was damn certain this was what one felt like. Either that or she had food poisoning. And coronary artery disease. And tuberculosis. Or maybe it was just that her life had completely fallen apart in the space of a few hours.

She tried to breathe, deep and slow, and stared back at Reggie. If she kept her eyes in one place, maybe the room would hold still.

“Grant is back at his aunt’s house,” she said through the breathing. “He’s really upset with me. He knows everything.” Numbness was slowly replacing the panic, and that was preferable because otherwise she was going to start crying, and crying never did anybody any good. Plus if she was about to face the press, she didn’t want her eyes to be all puffy and red. That was just the kind of thing a girl like Delaney Masterson had to worry about.

Finch flipped the damp washcloth over and put it on her forehead again so it felt nice and cool.

“Don’t worry about Captain America,” Reggie said. “He’ll get over it.”

She struggled up to a sitting position on the lemon-yellow sofa and let the washcloth fall. “I don’t think so. He thinks I did all this as a publicity stunt, and the press being here is just going to convince him he’s right. He’ll think I called them myself. I need to get out of here.”

She put her hand on Finch’s shoulder to stabilize herself as she stood, and Clark reached over and took her elbow, steadying her. My God. When had she gotten so fragile? This was not who she was. Or . . . at least it wasn’t who she intended to be.

“You want me to walk you back to your own room?” Humphrey asked.

“No, I don’t just mean get out of this room. I mean out of this hotel. Out of Memphis.”

“Oh, well now you’re just talking silly talk, darlin’,” Sissy said. “You sit back down and let me get you some soda pop. You’re white as Clark’s buns, and you still need to catch your breath.”

Delaney wanted to argue, but she couldn’t, because gravity had dragged her down and she found herself sitting on the lemon-yellow sofa again.

“I’ll get you something to drink,” Humphrey said, turning and walking into the mini version of Elvis’s glass-and-mirror bar.

“Maybe you should just go have a nice little chat with those reporters, and tell them your story. And we’ll all get our picture taken,” Sissy said, patting her stiff helmet of hair.

Delaney shook her head. “No. No story. No pictures. Those reporters aren’t looking for the truth, they’re just looking for something they can twist into sensationalized headlines. You heard them, didn’t you, Finch? A love triangle? Where the hell did that idea come from?”

Humphrey handed her a glass of something fizzy. “Here. Drink this.”

Delaney gulped it down. Apparently fainting made her thirsty. Then she looked around at all of them. All the men had sat back down but Sissy was standing up. Even so, all of them were staring at her as if she was about to sprout moose antlers or turn into a pillar of salt.

“Listen,” Delaney said. “I owe each one of you an apology. I’m sorry I lied about who I was. I was just trying to keep things simpler.”

Clark pushed his hat back on his head. “Aw, shucks, don’t you go give no nevermind about that. We understand. Sissy told me yesterday about all your troubles.”

Sissy tapped him, none too gently, with the back of her hand against his shoulder.

“Yesterday?” Delaney looked up at the other woman. “You knew who I was yesterday?”

Sissy’s already rouged cheeks deepened to a bright cherry red. “Well of course I knew. I’m not a simpleton. I knew who you was just as soon as we came back here and you tried on some of my shirts. You got that little hummingbird tattoo right there.” Sissy tapped her own shoulder. “If I wasn’t certain already, that pretty much gave it away.”

The tattoo. Great. That meant Sissy had probably seen the video too. Not that any of that mattered at this point. What was done was done.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Delaney asked.

Sissy shrugged, making her enviable breasts jiggle. “I don’t know. I guess I figured you was keeping it a secret for a reason, and if I went and blabbed, you’d just run away again. But . . .” she paused and her face rose to a whole new level of red.

“Aw, Sissy.” Clark shook his head. “You didn’t keep this a secret, did you.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Sissy started to cross her arms but that was physically impossible so she just harrumphed and her hands landed on her hips. “Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not as if Reggie didn’t know too. And her picture was on Facebook for goodness’ sake. Maybe I’m not the reason the press found her here.”

“Who’d you tell, baby?” Clark asked. “Please don’t say your momma, ’cause we all know your momma couldn’t keep a secret if the dear Lord Hisself had a hand over her mouth.”

Sissy’s gaze skittered around the room, not making eye contact with anyone.

“Aw, Sis,” Reggie said. “Even I know your momma can’t keep a secret. What were you thinking, telling her?”

Sissy started to visibly bristle as she stared down at Reggie. “I was thinking that I was sitting around eating catfish and ribs with
t-h-e-e
Delaney Masterson, and even though my momma has never been impressed by anything I’ve ever done in all my life, she might be impressed if I told her that the same Delaney Masterson was in my hotel room, and wearing one of my blouses. So there. That’s what I was thinking.”

Now all the men were frowning at Sissy and Delaney knew that wasn’t fair. “Hey, it doesn’t matter, you guys. It wasn’t anyone’s responsibility to keep my secret, and Sissy’s right. I was on Facebook. I was playing piano. I’ve been around in the lobby. Anyone could have seen me and figured it out. Trust me. If the press wants to find you, they find you. So now it is time for me to face them, but on my own terms.” Delaney stood up, feeling just slightly stronger than she had a moment ago. “I think it’s time for me to go home. I’ve finally got my wallet and phone and computer. There’s nothing keeping me in Memphis.”

“What about the cameraman?” Finch asked.

Hot tears sprang to her eyes but she wouldn’t let them fall. Not here in front of everyone. But it was a fair question. What about the cameraman? What was she going to do about Grant?

“I think I’m on my own, Finch. He told me he was going back to Michigan with his mother. And since I’m heading to Beverly Hills, well, I guess that’s that.”

She didn’t believe that, though. Not for a second. Her heart wouldn’t let her. Grant might have said he didn’t care, but she knew he did, and he’d come back. He’d come back to the hotel so they could talk this through and she could make this right. Everything would be fine just as soon as he’d calmed down.

Delaney Masterson may have underestimated how long it would take for Grant Connelly to calm down. She’d heard nothing from him by late afternoon, and the longer she waited, the more awful she felt. Like
ten-fatal-illnesses-all-at-once
kind of awful. This was dread on top of regret on top of heartache, and it sucked.