Pool Man (6 page)

Over lunch we indulged in a spirited argument on the nature of utopia, but it’s difficult to say who won, because we ended up making love on the table.

And I didn’t spare a single thought for Marlee’s china, smashed as it was on the tile, as he’d swept it from the table with an insistent arm.

At least not until we had to clean it up.

And then, that night, we made love again. We didn’t bother with the games. We went straight for what we wanted.

That day formed the pattern for the next and the next. I allowed myself to sink into it, into the passion and the power of his embrace and the tranquility of this isolated spot. I steeped myself in the present and every time I glimpsed the calendar on my phone, ticking down the days until I had to leave, I dove deeper into the now. In fact, other than to take pictures of the idyllic surroundings, I ignored my phone.

I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving here. Of leaving him.

But, inexorably, my final day arrived. I didn’t mention it to him. I didn’t want to talk about it. And I didn’t want our last moments together to be those awkward, tentative, gee-it-was-great-to-meet-you moments. Mostly I didn’t want to feel his withdrawal as, undoubtedly, I would if he knew I was leaving.

So I made love to him that last night, with perhaps a hint of desperation. But then, I felt it in him too, in his frantic thrusts, his determination to make each minute matter. It was a glorious last time. One I would remember to the end of my days.

And I have to admit, as I dressed and packed quietly the next morning, and hunted for the card to call my evil taxi driver, there were tears in my eyes.

I should have awakened him, but I didn’t want him to see.

When all my things were piled, waiting beside the door, I crept back into Jimmy’s room and stared down at him. Apparently I’d exhausted him last night. He was sprawled on his back, tangled in the dark sheets, utterly oblivious to the slow creep of dawn over his features.

I couldn’t resist. I needed this memory.

I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of him, my lover. My wildest fantasy come to life.

This picture would be mine to treasure forever.

Jimmy, of course, belonged to Marlee.

A muffled roar sounded from the front of the house and I knew it was time to go. Lucifer was here to take me to the airport hut to catch my flight.

I wanted to kiss him good-bye, but didn’t dare, lest I wake him and ruin all my carefully scripted melodrama.

With one last lingering look, I turned and walked out of his life.

Chapter Six

The trip home was torture. Not just because Lucifer seemed even more determined to chuck me off his noble steed at every turn. I barely survived the ride to the airport.

But no, it got worse. I had the
grand
fortune of sharing a ride with Billy Turner, one of my
favorite
clients, on the puddle jumper to San Juan and then, because he wasn’t finished boring me to actual death about each and every aspect of his mundane daily existence—he sat next to me from San Juan to Miami as well.

Probably a million teenyboppers would have given their right hand to listen to Billy drone on about caviar and elevator heels and snapped E-strings, for God’s sake. A million more would have sacrificed their virginity just to see him flip his golden locks.

By the time we reached Miami, I was ready to borrow a pair of scissors from the flight attendant and snip them off, those golden locks. Surely she had scissors. The world would have thanked me. The grown-up part of it at least.

But I managed to control myself. I managed to smile and nod and murmur sympathetic babble whenever it seemed necessary.

But in reality, my mind, my thoughts, my essence, were tangled in black sheets in a bed on the island we’d left. Had he woken up yet? Had he realized I’d gone?

Was he sad? Relieved? Preparing for the next…guest?

Would he ever think about me again?

Would he close his eyes sometimes at night and touch himself as he pictured his mouth suckling my foot?

I would.

Oh. I would.

Billy left me in Miami, heading for New York, which was a blessing. But not really.

Now there was nothing left to keep me from sinking deep into the mire of my thoughts. My regrets.

I was hardly as rich as Marlee, but I could have offered him something. A job. A place to stay. A phone number…

My gut soured when I realized I hadn’t even left him that.

If he wanted to reach me again, he’d have to do it through Marlee. And though we were friends, and though she’d so very generously loaned him to me, I couldn’t imagine her being pleased about that.

So he was gone.

I’d let him go.

I don’t know why the thought devastated me.

Yes. I did.

The shit hit the fan as soon as I touched down in LA. Though to be precise, the shit hit the fan, and then flung off the fan and hit me.

I didn’t check my phone when I landed, except to sneak a peek at the heart-wrenching angel sprawled on dark satin sheets, while I waited for my bags. I’d gotten out of the habit of hovering over the device, jumping each time it buzzed like a nervous slave.

I schlepped everything to my car, which I’d parked in the remote lot, because seriously? What they charged for parking?

The first order of business, after dumping my bags into a pile in my foyer, was to pick up Mitten, whom I’d left with Suzie, my neighbor and business partner.

Suzie met me at the door of her bungalow perched on the crest of the Hollywood Hills—met me at the door, as if she’d been waiting there, peering out the curtains on bated breath—and thrust my cat into my arms. “Here,” she said. “Take it.” 

I cuddled the squirming bundle of fur. “Thank you for looking after my baby.”

“Your baby is a fiend. A beast from the bowels of hell.”

“Don’t overdramatize.”

“Who says I am overdramatizing?”

Her full name was Devil’s Mitten, because she had the unfortunate tendency to reach out, with absolutely no warning, and draw a bloody line on a body. I nuzzled her adorable muzzle. She smacked me.

“How did everything go?”

“Other than your cat destroying all my houseplants?”

I winced. “Yeah. Other than that.”

“Let’s just say, you’re never going on vacation without your cat again. Or, if you do, you’re not leaving that
thing
with me.” She waved in Mitten’s general direction. The cat hissed at her. I cuddled her closer to calm her. Which really annoyed her.

“And how was work?”

Suzie shot me a grin. It was the evil kind. “You’ll see.”

I blew out a sigh. “Tell me.”

Suzie leaned against the doorjamb. “You haven’t been checking your messages, have you?”

“I was on vacation.”

“You’ve been on vacation before. You always checked in.”

I flushed. “There was no service.” Probably a lie, but I couldn’t be sure. Because I hadn’t checked in. Not once.

“Long story short?”

“Um, okay.” Long stories in our business were always bad news.

“Harlan wants you back.”

“What?”
I almost lost my hold on Mitten. She yowled as I overcompensated and hugged her too tight. “That is
not
going to happen. Not.” He was dead to me. Well, he was in my book.

Suzie ignored me. She did that. “I gave him to Sandy after your snit—”

“Snit?” It had hardly been a snit. More like a cataclysmic rampage. Then, “Seriously? You gave him to Sandy?” Sandy, who wouldn’t take shit from Santa Claus?

An inky brow winged up. “I thought it was poetic justice.”

I barked a laugh. Harlan and Sandy. She’d chew him a new one. Several.

“He’s begging to have you back as his rep.”

“No.”

“They’re threatening to pull the contract.”

My heart plummeted. The contract wasn’t just with Harlan Rivers; it was with every artist on that label. “Can they do that?”

Suzie shrugged. “Apparently. And there’s more.”

“More?”

Awesome.

“A harness broke during one of Raptor Villain’s shows and Naughty Nan took a tumble.”

“Is she okay?” I grappled with Mitten, who was suddenly possessed of the urge to wriggle free.

“She broke three ribs and can’t sing.”

“Shit.” Yeah. Hitting said fan.

“We have to reschedule the tour and redo all the promo.”

“All of it?”

“Every last interview. Each and every VIP event. All the releases. I already pulled the ads.”

Thank God for small favors. I blew out a sigh. It riffled Mitten’s fur and she growled in her throat. “Well, I better get my baby home.”

Suzie snorted. “Yeah. Good luck with that. And Paige?”

“Yeah?”

“Welcome back.”

And so it began.

I was busy, crazy, more overwhelmed than I had ever been.

Between meetings with Harlan’s people and the work required to get Raptor Villain back on track and dealing with the elephant that escaped during the Moose Knuckle photo shoot—and crapped all over the $6,000 soundboard—I was wiped.

My malaise certainly didn’t stem from the gnawing suspicion that there was something missing from my life, that something was terribly wrong with my existence.

But I couldn’t shake the notion that what had once filled and fulfilled me now just felt like—filler.

Cotton candy when I really wanted chocolate cake. Or truffles.

Being busy was a blessing in its way. I was certainly too busy to call Marlee, which was awfully rude, since she’d lent me her house and her pool and her gigolo and all. I was also too busy to return her many messages. And after a while, they thinned to a trickle.

I knew I was being a truffle turd, but I couldn’t help it. I would think about meeting her, about laughing and chatting nonchalantly over coffee and croissants, or perhaps vanilla-flavored French toast, and I’d lose it. No matter where I was. In the sleek offices of B&B Publicity, in the elevator, in the bathroom. In the paprika aisle at the grocery store.

Wherever.

I’d just break down and sob.

I wasn’t in love with him. That was crazy talk. Besides, love didn’t happen that way, over massages and good Merlot and giggled late-night conversations about how Harlan could possibly meet his maker.

I wasn’t in love. But I was obsessed. And, if I am honest, and I do try to be honest, I was feeling guilty. Feeling guilty about having feelings for Marlee’s lover.

She was my friend, after all, and envy was a hideous monster. Especially when it lived inside you, nested deep, holding on with hoary claws.

It seemed best, all things considered, to avoid her.

To make things worse, I got a hint of the flu after my return so not only was I super busy and weepy and trolling the gourmet food section of the local food market, I was throwing up. My staff made it a point to avoid me whenever they could.

I’d been back three weeks when Harlan came to see me. He poked his head into my glass-encased corner office on the twenty-third floor of the Milford Bank Building in the Wilshire District, and arranged his features into an apologetic moue, though on him it read like petulance.

I took him in. His pretentious leather and chains, his poser tats and his deliberately scruffy persona. And it hit me like a fist to the gut. Had I ever wanted him? Had I ever
liked
him?

Well, of course I had. I’d thought myself in love at one point. But now, when I looked at him, there was nothing.

He hadn’t changed.

I had.

“Harlan. Come in.” I rearranged some papers on my desk and rose to meet him, thrusting out my hand.

He gaped at it. “Aw baby,” he said in that smoky voice crowds went nuts over. “Don’t be like that.” He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight. He pulled back and met my gaze, his hazel eyes boring into mine. He reeked of sincerity. And a hint of Jim Beam. “I’m sorry for what I did, baby. I was a complete douche. Can you ever forgive me?” Oh yeah. That was why I’d adored him. He was damn charming.

But I
felt
nothing.

“Of course I forgive you, Harlan.” I tried to detach myself from his hold but he wouldn’t allow it. He tugged me back and set his lips on mine.

He kissed me for a while before he realized I wasn’t participating.

The look of confusion on his face was understandable. He was an enormous rock star. Women threw themselves at him on a daily basis. He was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it and exactly how he wanted it.

He’d probably never made a woman scallops once in his life.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I said I forgave you, but it’s over between us.” I turned away and stared out the windows of my suite at the sprawling Los Angeles skyline, but in my heart, I was gazing out at another vista entirely. One with swaying palms and sparkling waters. I always was, anymore.

He followed me and took my arm, turned me to face him. “What? It’s over? But—”

“First of all, you screwed your makeup artist.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about that. But she was hot—”

“And then you proposed to her onstage.” In front of
thousands
.

“I was drunk. She knows I was just foolin’ around. I’m always foolin’ around.”

“But that’s it, isn’t it?” I put my hand on his cheek so he would know I was deadly serious and so he would know I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t. Not anymore. “I
wasn’t
fooling around.”

He paled. Swallowed. “Yeah. I know. I mean, I knew. I’m…” His voice broke. “I’m sorry, Paige. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I forced a smile and then, somehow, it became real. “I’m over it,” I said.

“Over it?” His brow bunched. “Over me?” As in, how could anyone in their right mind ever be over
me
?

My laugh was deep, full. “Over all of it. If you want to keep me as your rep, you just need to respect that decision. Go play with your groupies. Have a good time. Enjoy yourself. But ours is a business relationship and nothing more. Am I clear?”

His face puckered up, all the way. “You’re starting to sound like Sandy,” he muttered.

“Sandy is a damn good rep.” I waggled a finger at him. “You could do a lot worse. You may want to think about staying with her.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I may be backing off on the rock-and-roll contracts.” I was getting tired of it all and while they were a large chunk of our clientele, we had good staff who could manage them. Probably with more patience than I could scrape together.

I yearned, longed, to work with grown-ups.

There had to be some out there somewhere.

“But we’re good?” he asked, whipping me into his arms one more time. I let him, but purely for old time’s sake.

“We’re golden.” I removed his hands from my ass. “But no more of that.”

His lip thrust out in a pout, but I could tell he was only playin’.

Sandy stopped in the doorway just then, carrying a pile of folders, and caught us entwined; she shot us both a ferocious scowl, which was interesting, because I was her boss and one does not scowl at one’s boss unless one finds it expressly unavoidable.