The Culmination (19 page)

“Don’t question it. Just roll with it. How many guys before your husband?”

“Four,” I say. “Two long-term boyfriends, two drunken one night stands.”

“And you never got off with
any
of them?”

I shake my head. “Never.”

“But did they... try? I mean, you know, did they go down on you? Did they touch you where it counts? Did they at least...
try
?”

I shrug. “Yeah, they tried—as best they could, I guess. But even when they tried their damnedest, it didn’t happen. And lots of times, I faked it, so they probably didn’t realize it wasn’t happening for me, which is shame on me, in retrospect. But then my magical fuck wizard of a husband came along and changed everything.”

“Your magical fuck wizard?” He laughs.

“Oh.” I put my hand over my mouth. “I really shouldn’t have said that. I’m so effing drunk. Please pretend I never said that. I need to stop talking now.”

“No, no. Don’t stop talking. I’m a vault, OAP. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“Did your husband succeed on the first try?”

I shake my head.

“Second try?”

I shake my head.

“Ah, he was a persistent motherfucker, huh?”

“My husband believes in sexual excellence.
Sexcellence
he calls it.”

“Holy fuck.” He shakes his head gleefully for a moment. “I’m putting that into my next song. Can I have that?”

“Be my guest. From our home to yours, dear friend. Hmm. I might have to create a greeting card for that one.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Drunk rambling.”

He laughs. “This is amazing.” He’s practically wiggling in his seat, he’s having so much fun. “So what did Jonas do to you that finally did the trick?”

I bite my lip. This is not a normal conversation. I haven’t even talked about this stuff with Kat. This mega-superstar is the last person in the whole world I ever thought I’d get to
meet
in my lifetime, let alone have even a five-minute conversation with, let alone talk to about
this
. How did we get on this topic in the first place?

“Aw, come on, OAP. Did he do
Fifty Shades of Grey
shit on you? He figured out you like getting whipped or spanked with a paddle or some shit like that?”

“No, nothing like that. No accessories. Jonas emphatically doesn’t do accessories. He just uses what God gave him and he uses it well. He just ... figured me out. Or, more accurately, he helped me figure myself out.”

Will’s eyes are blazing. “That’s really, really sweet.”

“Thank you.”

“But it’s a big ol’ bunch of bullshit.”

I’m aghast. “No, it’s not bullshit.” I jut my chin at him. “It’s the God’s truth.”

“Well, okay. Not bullshit. I mean it’s not
specific
enough to be the truth. It’s like, you know, the kind of bullshit you say when you don’t want to tell the
whole
truth. The truth lies in
details
.”

I nod. Well, yeah, that’s true.

“Gimme details, OAP.
Details.
” He claps his hands excitedly. “What
exactly
did Mr. Sexcellence do to you that was so different from all those who came before him? Why were you able to have an orgasm with
him
and not the others?”

I glance at Jonas and warmth spreads throughout my body. God, I love that man. “Why are you so interested in this, Will? I think you’ve barreled right into it’s-none-of-your-business territory now.”

He scoffs. “Take one hundred random guys—a
million
random guys—and every single one of them, without exception, would want to know exactly what I’m asking you right now:
What the fuck did that motherfucker do to you to set you off
? If he knows something I don’t know about how to get a woman off, then I wanna fucking learn it and do it, too.”

I shrug. “He’s just talented, that’s all. I’d even say gifted.”

“No, no. Don’t give me some kind of soulmate bullshit, OAP. We’re too good of friends for you to do me that way.”

I laugh.

“You had sex with four guys and flatlined, and then this guy comes along and you explode off the charts. Was it his looks? Because I can plainly see he’s not an ugly dude.”

I glance at Jonas again and sigh. “Yeah, he’s gorgeous, isn’t he? But, no. That wasn’t it.”

“Okay, then, what? I want specifics. This is the most interesting conversation I’ve had in a very long time. All I need is a tub of popcorn and this would be better than watching the fucking
Avengers
.”

“Sorry, Will. I’ve already told you enough. I’m married to the man of my dreams, and he figured me out—emotionally, physically, and spiritually. He loves me more than life itself, and giving me pleasure is his top priority. The End. Okay, now back to you. What part of fame has been the hardest on you? Now that you’ve achieved what you’d probably dreamed about, literally, what’s next to shoot for? And, as an artist, when you reach the stratosphere, as you’ve now done, do you feel pressure to live up to your fans’ expectations, or do you keep your sights set on your own artistic fulfillment?”

He belly laughs. “Oh hell no, OAP. From now on, I’m the one who’s going Oprah on your ass, not the other way around.”

“Nope. I’ve told you what I’m gonna tell you. End of fucking story. Now stop being a pervert and order us some more drinks, Mr. Fancy-Pants. My buzz is wearing off.”

He laughs again. “Damn, girl, you don’t take any shit, do you?”

“I’m Latina, I told you. Taking shit is antithetical to my molecular structure.” I make a motion like I’ve locked up my mouth. “I’m done being a drunken blabbermouth. The novelty of your fame has worn off, and now you’re just some rich, charismatic guy asking me personal questions that are none of his effing business.”

“Whoa. OAP Cruz just laid down the fucking law.”

I laugh.

Will looks over at Jonas. “That’s one lucky son of a bitch right there.”

“No, I’m the lucky one,” I say. “Believe me.”

Just as Will is clinking my glass and officially christening me as “OAP Cruz,” Reed and Jonas walk over to us. Jonas leans down to my ear. “All good, baby?” he asks. His eyes are intense. Smoldering.

I nod. The hair on the nape of my neck is standing up at the look on his face.

Reed pulls Will aside to say something into his ear, and Jonas assumes Will’s newly vacated seat next to me. “You were talking to that guy for a long time,” Jonas says, putting his arm around me, his jaw muscles pulsing. “What were you two talking about for so long?”

“Oh, gosh, lots of things. Let’s see. Josh. Tattoos. How he’s still totally hung up on his ex-girlfriend, Carmen. The fact that I’m married to the most incredible man alive. I dunno. Everything. Nothing.”

“You seem pretty buzzed,” Jonas says. “Are you okay?”

I give him two thumbs up. “Freaktastic, baby. Having a blast, actually. I told you—I’m on a mission to accomplish complete and utter irresponsibility tonight. So far, so good.”

Will nudges Jonas on the shoulder and puts out his hand. “Hey, man. Nice to meet you. I’m Will. Sarah was just telling me about you.”

“Great to meet you,” Jonas says, shaking Will’s hand. “Congrats on everything.”

“Thanks.” Will motions to me. “That woman of yours takes zero shit.”

“You already figured that out?” Jonas beams at me. “Yeah, she kicks my ass pretty hard when I need it.”

“I’m sure it’s pleasant when she does.”

Jonas looks at me, like he’s trying to figure out what Will’s referring to. “Yeah. Always,” he finally answers. He squints at me.

“So, hey, I gotta do a couple songs downstairs in a few minutes. You two wanna watch from the VIP section at the front of the stage?”

“Awesome!” I exclaim, leaping up from the couch with excitement—but then I look at Jonas and it’s plain we’re not on the same page. I sigh. Duh. What am I thinking? Asking my sweet Jonas to stand on a crowded dance floor watching a frickin’
hip-hop
performance is tantamount to asking my sweet fishy to climb a tree. “But, actually,” I say, backtracking, “I think Jonas and I would rather watch your performance from up here on the balcony. Fewer people.”

Jonas squeezes my hand. “No, baby. Go. Have fun. Hey, Reed,” he says. “Would you mind taking Sarah downstairs to the VIP area with you? Keep her safe?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem. Actually, Sarah can watch the show from the wings with me. And Barry will be with us, too. She’ll be well taken care of.” He points to the large black guy with the massive arms who’s been keeping watch throughout most of my conversation with Will.

“Just return her to me safe and sound, okay? She’s irreplaceable,” Jonas says, squeezing my hand.

I can’t stop myself from squealing with excitement.

“I’ll bring her right back to the balcony when Will’s set is over,” Reed assures Jonas. “I promise.”

“But seriously, Reed,” Jonas says. “This place is really crowded. Keep her close, okay?”

“Yeah, of course. No worries.”

I throw my arms around Jonas’ neck and kiss him deeply. “I’m so excited. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Have fun, baby. But be safe. Be smart.”

“I will, baby. God, I love you, Jonas Faraday.”

Chapter 18

Sarah

It turns out the Thai hip-hop group Will collaborated with on a new song is called “Time’s Up,” spelled for American audiences as “
Thai
me’s Up.” (Clever, right?) And right now, all five of the
Thai
me’s Up boys are bouncing around the stage, rapping out clipped syllables and sounds that mean absolutely nothing to me (but which apparently mean a whole lot to the screaming people from Thailand in the audience). Will is standing right in front of Reed, Barry, and me offstage in the wings, waiting patiently for his cue to burst onstage and blow the roof off the place.

“This is their biggest hit,” Reed says into my ear about the Thai group. “These boys are
huge
here in Thailand.”

I nod. The crowd’s reaction to them has made that abundantly clear.

I’ve never watched live music from offstage before, and I have to say, it’s the best view in the joint. Not only can I see the performers up close and personal (though from slightly behind and to the side), but I can also simultaneously see the audience members’ faces as
they’re
watching the show, too—and it’s a pretty damned cool way to watch live music, I must say. It heightens the musical experience to see so many expressions of rapture all at once.

I glance up toward the balcony and easily spot Jonas’ hulking frame among the few people remaining up there. I wave at him from behind Will’s shoulder and he immediately waves back, smiling at me. He’s virtually alone up there now—pretty much everyone else from the VIP area came downstairs to watch the show—and I’m sure that’s just the way Jonas likes it.

The song ends and one of the hip-hop guys says something singsong-y into his microphone. The crowd cheers and applauds enthusiastically.

A new bass-heavy beat begins playing, and the crowd explodes yet again, this time in obvious recognition of the forthcoming song. One of the Thai guys shouts, “2Real!” into his microphone, and Will’s body in front of me visibly pumps up, instantly transforming into the swaggering rapper the world expects him to be. When the Thai rapper onstage yells, “2Real!” into his microphone a second time, Will bursts onto the stage with maximum swagger, spewing a rapid-fire string of percussive rhymes as he goes—and the crowd goes freaking ballistic.

I don’t recognize this particular song—I’m guessing it hasn’t been released in the States yet (if it’s ever going to be?)—but, oh my God, I already love it. Or maybe I’m just mesmerized by Will’s performance, regardless of the song, because the boy is magnificent. Will’s rapping in English while the hip-hop group raps in Thai—all of it to an infectious beat thick with unusual horn riffs and heavy bass—and the result is like Asian-infused crack for my ears. For the first half of the song, I seriously cannot peel my eyes off the stage or stop my body from shaking and gyrating, but midway through the song, I’m suddenly aching to share this enthralling moment with Jonas. I peel my eyes off the six men bouncing around onstage and look up to the balcony, hoping Jonas is enjoying this as much as I am.

Wowzers. Jonas isn’t bouncing and gyrating to the music, not even a little bit. He’s standing stock-still and staring at me, his eyes smoldering even from this distance. Clearly, I’ve done something—though
what
I have no idea—to turn my sweet Jonas into Jonas the Great White Shark.

The song ends and the crowd cheers fanatically.

“You ready to ‘Crash’ into me?” Will yells to the crowd, and the familiar beat of Will’s massive hit begins blaring over the sound system.

Every person in the club suddenly loses their effing minds, including me. I’m screaming, jumping, shaking my ass—I’m a dancing fool, peepscicles!—just like everyone else under this straining roof.
Oh my fucking God!

Will begins rapping the now-ubiquitous words to his song, and I rap them right along with him, word for word, just like I always do in spin class. And in the car. And the shower. And while jogging. Oh my God, this song is my jam!

When Will reaches the hook of the song, the
Thai
me’s Up boys chime in, along with every person in the audience.

This song is catchy as hell. Infectious! And singing along in unison with so many people, in
Thailand
, no less, is making me feel light-headed with glee. Only music can unite people all over the world like this. Oh my God, I feel like I’ve been injected with a very illegal substance. This is the divine original form of elation.

The song is drawing to its bone-vibrating finale, but Will stops short of launching into the final hook, in sharp divergence from the recorded version I know so well. “All right, all right. Keep that beat going for me, DJ,” he says, pointing up at the DJ booth. He lets the music settle and simmer for a minute as he swaggers around the stage, working the crowd. The crowd begins cheering and clapping in unison at his slightest suggestion. “Hey, do you guys like this song?” he asks the crowd, and they cheer their response. “Thanks for making this song number one.” They cheer again. “Guess what? I got a special treat for you tonight.” Everyone screams with anticipatory excitement at whatever Will’s about to say. Will lets the beat continue for a moment, building anticipation. “We got someone special in the house tonight.” He glances behind his shoulder in my direction, and when he catches my eye, he smiles broadly.