The Girl in the Comfortable Quiet (22 page)

As far as exit points go in extremely awkward
female moments, this has got to be about as terrible as they get, but I leave
anyway.

Halfway to the entry hall, Rene leans into me and
whispers, “Well, that was fucked. But maybe not. She looks ready to kill him. I
think you’ve pretty much ruined Alan’s after-party.”

She is laughing as I open the front door.

I hurry down the walkway toward my car, feeling
like a perfect fool. Like an adolescent girl making fanciful plots about
making
it happen
with a guy. That moronic Teri used to do that over Neil during
our freshman year at Cal.

But I’m a grown woman. Married with a child. I
can’t behave this way. Pathetic and little-girlish, ready to start something
new the second I’m hurt by a different guy.

Shit, what the hell is wrong with me? How could I
spend half a day at Alan’s house and never consider in my fantasies that he is
always making it happen
elsewhere
.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Inside
the car, I can’t stop shaking as we make our way from Brentwood to the concert
venue. Pre-performance jitters run rampant with all the other mess coursing
through me.

Crap, I missed sound check lying on the beach
with Rene and didn’t even realize it. Alan is going to be furious.

With everything else completely wrong in my life,
tonight I sure as hell don’t need pissed off Alan. Shit, he’s called twenty
times since two. What’s up with that? His response to me being MIA seems a
little extreme, and it definitely wasn’t smart not to call him back.

Not smart, Chrissie. Not smart doing something
that would make Alan angry with you.

I just keep making more mess in my life. Hiding
from Neil. Blowing off sound check. Ignoring Alan’s calls. At some point, I’m going
to have to pull it together enough to start reassembling my life again. Ending
my marriage to Neil. A new home for Kaley and me. Alan.

Rene gives me a fast once-over and smiles.

“You look really hot, Chrissie. Your makeup
artist is amazing. I can’t even tell you spent half the day crying. And that
outfit. Well, you should definitely let her dress you more often. She knows
where your best assets are.” She arches a brow. “And it’s definitely not your
ass. You should show
the girls
more often.”

She looks pointedly at my cleavage and I roll my
eyes. Typical Rene-ism,
all’s well for those who look hot and have big tits
.
Why the hell did I let Rene and my makeup girl turn me into a slutty-looking
Barbie, about the most obvious type of look a woman could possible select? I
never dress this way, not even on stage. This over-the-top blatantly sexual
way.

My appearance unmistakably screams
fuck me
tonight, Alan
. So pathetic.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Rene states
firmly. “No one will have a clue what’s happening in your life right now. Not
with how you look. We get through tonight, then tomorrow we figure out what to
do about Neil and everything.”

I nod.

She reaches into the bar and pours two glasses of
scotch. She hands one to me before she slouches down in her seat. “When was the
last time we got drunk inside a limo together? We should definitely get drunk
tonight, don’t you think?”

I take a sip of my drink. “We haven’t been in a
limo together since New York. 1989.”

She frowns. “Really? That long?”

“Yep.”

She settles against me in an affectionate way. I
study her. I’ve always wanted to ask her, though I don’t really need to. Deep
inside me, in the part of me that is all things Alan, I know he has always told
me the truth about this.

“Do you remember our night at The Blue Light?”

“Oh my God. Of course I remember. How could you
even ask? We were insane that night.” She laughs and then makes a face. “You
were so messed up and I met that weird guy. What was his name?”

She frowns.

“Weird guy? He was a drug dealer. Jimmy
Stallworth.”

She chuckles. “Yep, Jimmy Stallworth. I remember
him. Definitely remember Jimmy.”

She says that in a way that makes it unnecessary
to ask what she means by
remember Jimmy
and unpleasantly reminds me of
how sexually easy she used to be when we were young.

My gaze sharpens on her. “Did Alan talk to you
that night at The Blue Light?”

Her pretty face contorts with anger. “Fucker. He
shoved me into a bathroom and got in my face. Ruined our evening. Snarling at
me about needing to take you home and me being a worthless friend.” She shakes
her head with her memories. “God, he was such an asshole that night.”

Exactly the same story as Alan’s. Why did I ask
her? I already knew the truth, that Alan hadn’t lied to me.

I focus out the window. Before I’m ready for it,
the car slows to a stop in front of the private security entrance of the arena.

My eyes widen in alarm. Alan must not be here
yet. It’s packed, countless bodies deep all around the security door, and more
press mixed in the crowd than would ever wait for me. It’s never like this when
I arrive. Not ever. The hordes move with Alan wherever he goes.

Rene gathers her stuff. The door opens. She starts
to climb out, then freezes, looking back at me. “What’s wrong?”

I stare. For some reason I’m trembling in that
way when you know something terrible is about to happen. I shake my head.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”

Rene frowns. “It will be all right, Chrissie. You
look hot, like everything is hunky-dory in your world. Smile. No one will pick
up on anything.”

Then she disappears through the open door and the
cameras go crazy in repeated rapid flashing that makes my trembling increase.

I paste on a smile and force myself to climb from
the safety of the leather seat. One foot lands on concrete, and before I can
see it happen I’m swallowed up in a circle of security and there are shouting
voices and even more frenzied flashing.

I can’t catch the words, the questions shooting
at me from every direction, as I’m being pushed toward the entrance through the
jostling mob. And then I realize that I have a full security team around me,
not just my usual escort, Trey, but I am guarded on every side of me by the
hulking security team which usually surrounds Alan.

As I’m shoved through the security door into the
overly lit corridor, I hear someone bellow, “No comment!”

I rapidly search the reporters pushing in too
close and I see my manager, Brian Craig, cutting his way through bodies toward
me.

His eyes are flashing with anger and his fingers
close on my arm and, before I can say anything, he shouts up at Trey, “Not in
there, you idiot. No press. I thought you understood. No one gets near her. On
stage. Off stage. Out of here. No press. Nothing. You keep everyone away from
her.”

I’m being pushed down the corridor again. “Brian,
what’s happened?” Dread is curling all through my body, telling me that what
I’ve feared most has already happened without my knowing it.

“Not now, Chrissie.”

How Brian says that leaves little doubt that
somehow my private nightmare went public tonight.
Oh God…

As we’re ushered into a dressing room, Brian
snaps, “No one through. Understand? Absolutely no one,” and then the door is
bolted closed behind us.

“Oh fuck, Chrissie.” I’m startled from my mental
fog by Rene. I look at her and the building alarm inside me is written on her
face.

“Why the hell didn’t you call me?” Brian says in
a frantic, heavily exasperated way.

“What’s happened?”

His bushy brows shoot up. “You haven’t heard? Why
didn’t you return my calls today? We could have put together a response.
Something.” He points an angry finger at me. “When you have a problem, you call
me first. Why the hell didn’t you come to me?”

I try to steady my shaking limbs. “Will you stop
yelling at me, Brian, and tell me what is going on here?”

He jerks an agitated hand through his gray hair.
“There was a press conference this afternoon. Your husband. That’s what’s
happening here, Chrissie.”

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

He snaps his fingers, and that’s when I notice Brian’s
senior press secretary standing behind him. She starts rummaging through her
case. She hands papers to him.

He reads, “Neil Stanton, lead singer for Arctic
Hole, splits with wife, singer/songwriter Christian Parker. Sources close to
Stanton—that would be fucking Ernie Levine, Chrissie—state that Parker’s
continued involvement with rocker Alan Manzone is partially to blame for their
separation.”

“I don’t believe it. Neil wouldn’t do that.” I turn
to Rene. “He wouldn’t do that, would he, Rene?”

“Asshole,” she exclaims under her breath.

Brian’s eyes fix on me, unrelenting, angry. “Damn
it, Chrissie. Neil has already done it. It’s been out on the wire service since
two. You should have told me so I could get ahead of this. They’ve taken the
first shot. Neil’s people are coming after you. What the hell is happening?”

My snapping brain can’t begin to make sense of
this. “Coming after me for what? Neil and I are having problems, but…I don’t
understand why Ernie Levine would do this.”

“Ernie must have thought he had to get ahead of
events to protect Neil,” Brian replies grimly. “What happened? Levine is in attack
mode. He wouldn’t do that if he wasn’t afraid you’d do something to fuck with
the money and the brand.”

My heart stills in my chest.
Oh no, it can’t
be that.
Frantically, I start looking around the room. “Where’s my stuff?
My phone? Damn it, I need a phone.”

Rene rummages through her bag and holds out her
mobile to me. I flip it open, seeing all the calls from Neil in the log. I click
on one. I hold it to my ear, listening to the ring, and step away from everyone
to put distance between us to have what little privacy I can in this
humiliating moment.

My nerves grow tauter with each ring.

“Rene,” Neil’s voice anxiously floats through the
earpiece.

“No, it’s Chrissie.”

A long moment of silence.

A loud exhale of breath.

“Oh God, are you OK, baby? Where are you?”

My eyes widen, stunned.

“I’m surprised you care,” I snap with more ire
than I intend.

“I’ll always care, Chrissie. Whatever has changed,
that hasn’t and never will.”

What I hear in his voice intensifies my internal
disarray and I struggle to remain focused on why I called. “Then why did Ernie
release that statement today? How could you do it, Neil? Go public and blame me.
And how could you drag Alan into this? You know it’s not true. Damn you.”

“I had nothing to do with it, Chrissie,” he
shoots back, ragged and distressed. “Ernie Levine did that without my consent.
I swear. I never would have let him do that if I’d known. You’ve got to believe
me. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

Wouldn’t hurt me for the world?
I fight
back the flashing images of him and Andy in my bed as I choke back fresh tears.

“I’ve called you a thousand times,” he continues.
“You won’t talk to me. I admit I’ve been out of my mind, worried about what you
might do. So I called a meeting with the band and I came clean with the guys.
Told them everything. What I’ve done. The decisions I’m making in my life. They
affect them, too. Ernie was at the meeting. But I never expected him to jump
out ahead of us talking and release that bullshit statement today.”

Decisions?
What the hell does that mean?
Is he up in my house planning his future with Andy?

I shake my head, trying to maintain my reserve
and anger. “I did four interviews for you. I said not one word, not even a hint
something was going on with us, and this is how you repay me?”

“Shit, Chrissie, don’t say that. I didn’t do it,
baby. I swear.”

My limbs can no longer hold me and I sink down on
a sofa. Out of my peripheral vision I catch Brian and Rene alertly watching me.

“How’s Kaley?” he asks.

The beat of my heart grows more chaotic. “She’s
fine. Don’t try to change the subject.”

“I’m not trying to change the subject,” he
counters, letting surface a bit of anger himself. “That’s my daughter you won’t
let me see. I have a right to know how she is.”

There is too much in that for me to deal with,
with all the other things coursing through me. “I want this fixed. Now, Neil.”

“I’m going to. It’s being arranged already. I’m
going to read a statement apologizing to you tomorrow. I know it’s awful,
sweetheart, how Ernie took charge of this, but don’t say anything. Don’t
respond to the reporters. Just let it blow over until we can talk things
through.”

“There is nothing to talk through.”

“God, Chrissie, don’t say that.”

I sniff back my tears. Damn, it took Helen nearly
an hour to apply the makeup so my eyes no longer were puffy and red like a
vampire. I need to get off the phone before I break down again.

“I’ve got to go, Neil.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know. When I’m ready.”

“We need to talk.”

I click shut the phone. I drop my face into my
hands.

It’s Brian who speaks first. “Don’t trust him,
Chrissie. We need to prepare some kind of response and you need to tell me what
is happening so I can help you.”

I shift my gaze to Rene. I can tell what she
thinks. She thinks Neil is lying and that I’d be a fool to trust him after
everything that happened.

I make a snap decision. “My comment is ‘no
comment’, Brian. Maybe Neil can fix this. He says he’s going to and I’m going
to let him try.”

Brian lets out something that sounds like a
growl. “Things like this mushroom on their own. It’s better to have a strategy.
A plan.”