Текст книги "The Girl On The Half Shell"

Автор книги: Susan Ward

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Coked up? I feel instantly protective of Rene. “You’re wrong. She’s just high-strung. I’ve known her forever. I would know.”

He frowns. “You shouldn’t trust her, Chrissie.”

“People always get the wrong idea about Rene. It’s just how she comes off.”

“If you say so.” He hasn’t taken his fingers from my face and he eases into me until we are very close. “I don’t like her. She shouldn’t be your friend.”

Jeez, who would have thought that Alan Manzone and Father Morris would share the same opinion of Rene? But they are both wrong. Rene is a true friend.

He studies me for a long time and after what feels like an eternity, he inches back from me. Then I see Rene closing in out of the corner of my eye.

He doesn’t look at her. “I just got out of Rehab. That story in print is true. I would appreciate it if you don’t forget your vial on my plane, and if you go to the bathroom one more time to powder your nose, I’ll have them touchdown at the first airport we reach and have you booted from the plane. What the fuck were you thinking, carrying that through airport security? Don’t you give a shit about your friend?”

Rene’s face is candy red and it betrays the truth. With that, Alan closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

* * *

“Chrissie. We’re in New York.”

Someone is trying to wake me. I don’t want to wake. I’m in a pleasant sleep, curled into something warm. There is sound all around me. I hear voices. His voice. Yes, I’m with Alan. I’d recognize his voice anywhere.

“How bad is it?”

“Bad,” says the co-pilot. “I don’t know how they knew we were landing in New York today.”

“Shut all the window shades. Make sure the car is ready before you lower the steps.”

Alan. He is angry. Why is he angry? The snap of the window shade beside my head jerks me out of grogginess. Alan unbuckles my seatbelt and climbs from the seat. I realize that the pleasant pillow beneath my cheek was his shoulder and it’s now gone. My eyelids slowly lift and I see Rene alertly watching the fast action around us.

I find Alan standing above me, tense, and his eyes a strange mixture of concern and apology.

He lowers until he’s at eye level with me. “Chrissie, we have a problem. About half the New York Press corps is on the tarmac. I need to get you from the plane to the car without anyone noticing you.”

I straighten up in my seat. “Why? What does it matter if they see me?”

He stills and his eyes widen. “The worst possible thing I could do to you is let the tabloids see you with me. I should never have let you travel to New York with me.”

Oh my…I know why he’s worried. For the last year he’s existed in nonstop tabloid ink. Just being near him can get you tarred in tabloid ink. Oh jeez, what will Jack think of that?

Alan looks determined and grim. It’s very sweet that he’s so worried about this, but it’s not exactly something new to me and I do know how to handle this.

I gaze up at him and smile. “Alan, I know how to be invisible. Trust me. Just let me get off the plane alone and no one will even notice me. This is something I am expert at.”

Alan shifts from the flight crew to face me. “If the tabloids realize who you are, Chrissie, it will turn into a shitstorm. I don’t ever want you hurt because of me.”

I stare at him, stunned. He spoke in an intense way, as though not hurting me really did matter to him, but then how could it matter? We hardly know each other. It makes no sense. As I climb from my seat, I realize there is a lot about Alan that doesn’t make sense.

I shrug. “It won’t be my first shitstorm, Alan. So don’t worry about it. It’s going to be all right.”

His mouth presses into a hard line, but then, almost reluctantly, he starts to laugh. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never heard anyone say shit quite the way you do, without the ‘t’ at the end and with lots of ‘shhhh.’”

My temper flares. “I’m a Disney character. Remember?” I mutter, in an overly dramatic way to hide the sting I feel from his criticism.

I make an exaggerated face and he rolls his eyes. “You are never going to forget that, are you?” he says in an aggravated way, before he turns to talk with the crew again.

“Here is what you are going to do, Chrissie,” he says firmly, but he seems less worried about everything. “You are going to step off this plane without me. If you have sunglasses, put them on. Look at no one. Answer no one. And you will walk, neither fast nor slow, to the car with Natalie. Don’t stop. And don’t look back. If we’re lucky the tabloids won’t notice you.”

I shrug. “It’s what I was going to do anyway.” The co-pilot hands me my cello.

“And what am I supposed to do?”

Rene’s voice startles me. I’d all but forgotten about her. She is curled on her seat like a cat, irritated at not being the center of attention.

“You will do exactly as I tell you,” Alan says, his gaze fixing on Rene. “Exactly as I tell you. And you will be silent.”

Alan walks to the cabin door with me, carefully stopping so as not to be seen. “I’m sorry, Chrissie.”

I shrug and Alan eases forward to push my sunglasses up from the tip of my nose until they are flush against my face.

“Say nothing.” Alan runs his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture I now realize.

I step into the open cabin door and the press below spring into action. I tense like you do when you expect something to hit you, a suspended moment, and then it passes. The cameras don’t flash, I notice Natalie the flight attendant at my side, and the voices below are still mute. I touch the metal steps and the press hardly even look at me.

I cross the tarmac toward the car, surrounded by a strange kind of heavy silence. The driver opens the car door and takes my cello as Natalie disappears toward the terminal. I’m about to slip into the seat, when something makes me jump and I look back.

The cameras explode all around. Alan starts to exit the plane, his arm carelessly draped over Rene’s shoulder and Rene has that self-satisfied, Cheshire cat smile on her face.

I sink into the backseat to wait. I can hear the shouting voices and every so often I hear Alan’s. Why is this taking so long? I try to look through the wall of press, but I can’t see anything. Hopefully, Rene is keeping her mouth shut. She never should have let Alan use her that way, and for a brief moment I am angry with him.

Moments later, Rene drops in a heavy bounce in the seat across from me, all bubbly and pretty with excitement. “God, Chrissie! That was incredible,” she exclaims, rummaging through the compartments in the car until she finds a bottle of water.

I shake my head in aggravation as she downs a third of the bottle. “You didn’t say anything, did you?” I ask.

“What? No. I don’t know.” Her eyes round. “It all happened so fast. It was all so intense. I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

I lean forward into her. “Rene, think. You didn’t tell them your name, did you?”

Irritated, she pushes the hair back from her face. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know.” This time, I can see she is lying.

“Oh, Rene.”

She shrugs carelessly. “Someone asked me.” She pushes back into the leather seat and gives me that smile, the one I hate, half challenging and half superior. “What’s the big deal, Chrissie? God, are you jealous?”

I roll my eyes and clamp my mouth shut, but for a millisecond I am reminded of what it felt like to see them standing together, how right Alan and Rene looked, and how much it bothered me to see her hanging on his arm.

Rene frowns. “You have nothing to be jealous about,” she says in that generous way of the truly confident, “and I’m not dumb. Something was going on out there. He didn’t want anyone to know you were with him. Which is very strange. Why is he protective of you?”

I ignore the comment, but I do wonder: protective? He definitely is an entirely different guy when he deals with Rene, rude and acerbic and not likeable.

Rene raises her eyebrows.

“I think he really likes you, Chrissie. He’s a shit, but I think he really likes you. Spill everything. I’ve been dying since we boarded the plane keeping myself quiet. You spent the night with him last night, didn’t you? That’s where you were all night.”

I look out the window. “Yes. On the beach. We talked.”

“Talked? You didn’t just talk. I could feel the vibe in the plane.”

“No, we just talked,” I snap, hoping that will stop the questions. “He acts like we’re buddies.”

“Buddies?” Rene lets out a harsh, scoffing laugh. “God, you can’t be that dense. Did he kiss you last night?”

“Once.”

“What was it like?”

“It was nice.”

Rene’s laughs. “Nice?” She stares at me knowingly. “You like him, don’t you?”

I blush. “Yes.”

“Do you like him enough to ...?”

I’m suddenly reminded of his touch, the tenderness of his mouth and the feel of the sand.

I continue to stare out the window, but I can feel Rene studying me. “I’m glad you didn’t,” she says with heavy meaning. “He’s not the kind of guy you want your first time to be with, if you get my…”

Rene’s words die and are replaced by a sweetly contrived smile. “Speak of the devil.”

Alan drops down heavily into the seat beside me, the car door slams, and in a minute we are speeding from the tarmac.

He leans back against the headrest and closes his eyes. “Fucking Brian and his never ending publicity machine. I’m sorry about that.”

In spite of the performance he put on for the press, he’s exhausted. It shows in his voice and his posture, and it reminds me of how he’d looked last night: soulful, tired and twenty-six.

I smile at Alan. “It’s no big deal. Rene thought it was fun.”

Just when it looks like Alan has fallen sleep, he sits up, and everything about his demeanor has changed—he’s angry and edgy, energized and focused.

“No, Chrissie. It is a big deal. I nearly fuck up everything my first day back.”

Everything? How would the tabloids linking me with him fuck up everything? I’ve never seen Alan angry before and I find this new facet extremely intimidating and a little bit of a turn-on.

He grabs the mobile phone and angrily punches numbers into it. He lightly kicks the seat beside Rene. “I told you to keep silent. Fuck, you are a useless friend. Get me a water.” Alan hits the speaker button and drops the receiver into its rest. “Fuck you, Brian.”

A moment of dead air. “Ah, Lazarus has arrived in New York…” I recognize the voice. It is Uncle Brian, Brian Craig, my father’s manager and Alan’s it seems. “…if you’re pissed off and making phones calls again it means they’ve finally let you out of Rehab. And by the way, fuck you, Manny.”

“What the fuck was that scene at the airport about?” Alan growls. “That’s the last time you serve me up for publicity without asking.”

Alan opens his water bottle and downs half of it.

“Well pardon me for trying to save your fucking career. You needed the publicity. Don’t tell me how to manage the business end. Have you any idea what kind of mess you left for me? You wouldn’t have a career if not for me. You wouldn’t have the band and you sure as hell wouldn’t have the cash…”

“I think what Brian means to say is we all need to focus on business or there isn’t going to be a business,” interrupts another voice, male and less agitated. “About the tapes…”

“What Arnie is telling you is that the execs are going to shelve the tapes, Manny,” Brian warns anxiously. “You can’t do a solo release. Maybe next round, but not now. The band—they don’t have the fucking royalties. Now isn’t the time to cut them out…”

“I have creative control. I can read a contract, Brian.”

“Listen, Manny, you know me. I would never steer you wrong, and what I’m saying is that the tracks I’ve heard are genius, but they won’t sell. Cash register poison. It won’t sell, and last year wasn’t exactly the best year for you. The label has to shelve it. They’ve got to stop the bleeding. It won’t sell.”

Alan sighs heavily.

“You’ve got to mind the business!” Brian says emphatically. “You’ve got a lot of overhead. A lot of people depending on you.”

“It’s my publishing company,” Alan snaps. “My production company. Every fucking cent paid comes out of my pocket one way or another. No one is going to tell me what to produce, what to record. I own me.”

“No one is saying you don’t, but you need a strong dose of reality,” says Brian. “The only reason you still have a career is that you’re brilliant and you are a genius at self-promotion. But you’ve pushed it to the limit. You’ve got to behave for a while. And what I’m telling you is you can’t afford to piss off the fans, another year without any cash coming in, and for the critics to vomit up your next album. I’m asking you not to fuck it up again.”

“The tracks will be finished next week,” Alan says heavily, “and then I’m done. Do you hear me, Brian? I quit.”

Silence, dead silence through the phone and all around me. Quitting? Is he really quitting? Is he walking out on his career?

I stare up at him, my eyes round, unable to process any of this.

“You don’t mean that, Manny. It’s just post recovery emotionalism. I’ve seen this a hundred times,” Brian says sagely.

Alan clicks off the phone.

“Well, I think that went well,” Rene says, breaking the tense silence.

I look cautiously up at Alan. “Are you OK?”

He gives me a tired smile. “I wish I was back on the beach with you, Chrissie.”

I blush, not knowing what to make of that. He looks different, so strange, and it never occurred to me he would look different, strange, back in his life.

We are at Jack’s New York apartment and I wonder how Alan knew where to take us. The car stops and Alan lowers the privacy glass.

“Stay with her all the way to her door,” he says to the driver.

“Sure, Manny.”

Rene rolls forward in her seat. “Well, it’s been real, Manny.” She looks at me, and then she climbs from the car.

Now that we’re alone, I feel a strange nervousness claim me. I feel the pressure to say something. Anything. “It’s going to be all right. You do know that, don’t you?”

Alan laughs. “I’d walk you in, but it’s better I don’t.”

The driver has the luggage and is waiting. I stare at Alan, not knowing what to do. Shaking hands goodbye seems stupid. But should I kiss him? And where should I kiss him? A fast peck on the check? The lips? The thought that I probably won’t ever see him again enters my mind. I am prospectively depressed.

“Thank you for the lift,” I murmur, as I climb out of the car. I lean back in and laugh. “That sounds really lame considering you gave me a lift in a private plane.”

“I’d walk you up, but I can’t. It’s better for you that I don’t.”

Well, he certainly didn’t put anything in that statement to make me hope I’d see him again. I smile. “See ya, Mr. Whoever You Are.”

Alan laughs. “See ya. Good luck at your audition, Chrissie.”

“My audition.” I laugh. I’d forgotten why I came to New York.

I step back from the car and close the door. The doorman pulls open the door for me and I follow Rene into the elevator. I struggle to keep my expression blank as we go floor by floor to the penthouse.

A blast of music pulls me from my thoughts and I notice that the elevator doors are open. Rene is in the apartment, has switched on the sound system and Blondie is blasting. Deborah Harry’s voice bounces off the wood floors and high ceilings as Rene dances around in the center of the room singing One way Or Another.

The driver sets our bags in the foyer.

“Thank you for seeing us to the door.”

“You take care, Miss Parker.”

I frown. How does the driver know who I am?

He smiles. “You look just like Jack. I thought for sure those assholes in the press would notice and be on his story. They’d know where he’s been.”

Was that why Alan was afraid they’d see me? They’d be on his story; his months in California, whatever had gone on there with Jack. I realize with a start that I don’t even know what that was all about. How Jack was involved. Why Jack brought him home. And I don’t know completely what happened to Alan last year.

The driver is watching me. I smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Colin, Miss Parker.”

“Well, Colin, thank you for everything. Take care of him, OK?”

Colin smiles. I shut the door. Rene instantly darts across the room to bounce on her knees on the sofa.

Rene raises her eyebrows. “We should call him. He can get us into all the best parties.”

“God, Rene, we just left him. Besides I don’t know how to call him.”

Rene frowns, then grabs the phone. Who is she calling? I panic and then realize it’s the doorman.

“This is Miss Parker. Could you please arrange for a car to pick us up at eleven and that we are on the list tonight at wherever is currently considered the hottest night spot in Manhattan.”

Rene smiles. She listens. She nods. “Thank you very much.” She hangs up and bursts into laughter. “God, Chrissie, I’d love to be you for just one day.”

“I am not going out tonight. I am not partying until after my audition Monday.”

“Oh, yes we are, Chrissie. We are alone. It’s Saturday night. We are in Manhattan. We are going out.”

Chapter Five

Rene sloshes her Cosmopolitan all over my bedroom rug as she finishes the last touches of makeup on me. I’m not sure about wearing her black halter mini dress. I feel like an overdressed Barbie, but Rene is happy so I don’t put up a fight.

Rene hands me a tiny silk wallet.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a bra purse. Mom makes me carry one every time we’re out of The States. Put your ID and cash in there so we don’t lose it.”

I do as instructed and frown. “Do I just take it out right in front of people when I need something?”

Rene laughs. “Yes, Chrissie. It’s no big deal. It’s not like anyone is going to see anything.”

She picks up my drink and hands it to me. “Pound it, Chrissie. You need to loosen up. I want to have fun tonight. I sure as hell don’t want to sit around here all night watching you look at the phone every ten seconds waiting for Alan Manzone to call. Face it, Chrissie, he isn’t going to call. He’s not interested in you. Jeez, he’s not even interested in me.” She makes a face. “Maybe he’s gay.”

The intercom buzzes and Rene jumps to her feet. “I have a friend.”

I roll my eyes. It’s just the doorman informing us that the car is here, but Rene is in a festive mood and is going to be a wild handful to keep up with tonight.

Grabbing my hand, Rene pulls me at a running pace into the elevator and then collapses against the mirrored walls as we chug slowly to the lobby.

Our driver is waiting with Elliot the doorman.

“Miss Parker, this is David. He’ll be your driver while in New York.”

David gives me a carefully trained smile from an emotionless face.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say.

“Miss Parker.” He nods.

Somehow David gets to the car before us and is waiting patiently with a door open to the backseat. I turn to stare out the window at the passing lights, as Rene flicks on the sound system, flipping through songs before settling on Paula Abdul.

She rummages through the compartments until she finds the mini-fridge. “Look. A bar.”

She pulls out a bottle of champagne, pops the cork, and then lets it fizz all over the carpet before taking a swig from the bottle.

“We’re going to have fun tonight, Chrissie,” she orders, pushing the bottle on me. “Drink.”

I take only a small sip because, for some reason, I hardly touched my dinner and I know this is not a good idea on top of the Cosmos we had in the bedroom.

Rene gives me the look and tilts the bottle upward until my mouth is full and I have to take a large swallow.

“We’re celebrating our freedom. Just think, in another month no more boarding school…,”she makes a face, “…no more rules. No more Eliza. Freedom, utter and complete freedom.”

Trying to match Rene’s high spirits, I do a little tip with the bottle. “To our new lives.”

Rene beams. “Hopefully, it starts tonight. Face it, Chrissie. Our life in Santa Barbara is so pathetic.”

“Which club are we going to?”

Rene shrugs, taking the bottle, and laughs. “I haven’t a clue.” She rolls down the privacy partition. “David? Where are you taking us?”

David’s eyes shift and I can see them in the rearview mirror. “I was told to take you to The Blue Light, Miss.”

Rene makes a face at me. “The Blue Light?” she whispers. “Have you ever heard of that club, Chrissie?”

I shake my head.

“It’s new, Miss. Very popular. I’m sure you’ll have an enjoyable evening,” David says, somehow hearing Rene.

Rene chokes on a laugh and eagerly rolls up the partition. “I’m sure we’ll have an enjoyable evening,” she says with a heavy male voice impression.

I laugh.

Rene takes another long pull on the bottle. “God, David’s cute. Like a blond Nordic God. We’re going to have to take the car every chance we get.”

“Is there anyone you don’t enjoy messing with?”

“Nope, pretty much not.”

We’re suddenly laughing our heads off and we’ve killed the bottle of champagne by the time the car rolls to a stop. It’s impossible to go out with Rene and not have fun. She’s got such an I don’t give a crap what anyone thinks, self-confident manner.

“Are you ready to party?” Rene bellows. The door opens and David offers her his hand. She has a sweetly docile, ladylike smile on her face. I curl over in the seat laughing.

“Elliot assures me you are on the list, Miss,” David says formally as he assists Rene from the car.

“Thank you, very much,” Rene says slightly aloof, slightly stuffy.

Behind David’s back she makes a face at me as I’m assisted from the car. I bite my lip not to laugh.

This must be a popular club. The sidewalk is packed and the line well down the street, and there are plenty of tabloid photographers here. There is a little bit of everything that is New York crowding the concrete waiting to get in: the always hot; the always not; the always freaky; and the artsy.

“I’ll be waiting across the street, Miss Parker. When you are ready to leave, don’t come to me. I will come to you, Miss.”

“Yes, David,” I say obediently. So much for no rules.

Rene loops her arm through mine as we stroll to the door. “God, Chrissie, you mystify me. I don’t know why you don’t love your life. If I were you I’d be out having mad fun 24/7. It’s like having nothing but E-tickets in the pack. There isn’t any place you can’t get into. Except perhaps the White House with a Republican President.”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you always have to exaggerate? My life isn’t like that and you know it.”

“It could be like that.”

Rene gives my name to security at the door, the bouncer checks the list and we are immediately allowed to enter. Rene makes a face. “E-ticket. I hate it when you downplay thinking I’m jealous that you have the famous dad. It’s so annoying, Chrissie.”

“It’s no big deal,” I say fiercely. “I hate that you make such a big deal of it.”

“Then let’s own it for one night and have some fun, Chrissie. Let’s get into some crazy-ass trouble. Let’s show Eliza how the real hot girls roll.”

She does a loud whoop! holding up her arms and makes a sassy swish with her hips. Instead of coming off looking dorky, it draws every set of male eyes to Rene. But that’s Rene, everything always works for her.

The three-story club is hot and packed and earsplitting with the sounds of a live band. The walls are black and all the furnishings covered in blue velvet. There are strobe lights and floor steam and two levels for dancing, and Rene drags me behind her as she fights our way through the crush of bodies.

“God, Chrissie, this place is so incredible. Why don’t we have something like this in Santa Barbara? Peppers looks so small town lame by comparison.”

We finally find two free spots on a sofa near the downstairs dance floor and she plops down with a heavy drop. “We should have gone to the clubs in LA more. We didn’t take full advantage of our partying opportunities.”

Right now, I’m glad we didn’t. I’m feeling a little fuzzy, the champagne from the car finally hit me, and we’re just starting our night.

Before our first drink round arrives, Rene has already got a small court of preppy young college guys surrounding our sofa-level table. She does know how to kickstart a party. The college guys from NYU are really only interested in Rene, but by the third round of drinks I’m exhausted from laughing and dancing, and we are crowded around our table playing quarters, since the band is on break and the giant video monitors are blasting.

Rene bounces a quarter, making it into the glass, and she forces a shot on me. She holds the tequila shooter in my face. “Pound it, Chrissie.”

I pound it and Rene laughs, but her latest male conquest gives me a sympathetic smile. I can tell he can tell I’m pretty messed up at this point by the way I laugh, how wobbly I am just sitting, and the flush spreading on my cheeks. Rene has forced on me every shooter round she’s won, but the guys stopped picking on me three shots ago.

“I think we should take a break from the drinking.” Jimmy Stallworth motions for the waitress to bring me a glass of water. “Do you always let your friend get you so messed up?”

I shake my head weakly. “Never. I don’t know why she is being so rotten to me tonight. She never forces me to take every shooter.”

Rene waves off his concern. “Oh, don’t worry about, Chrissie. She’s a lightweight, but she never passes out.”

I turn my head to find Victor staring at me strangely. “Do you need to go outside for some air?” he asks.

I smile weakly at him, but Rene grabs my arm. “No, no, no! You’re not taking her anywhere.”

When the water comes, Jimmy Stallworth forces it into my hand and orders me to drink. I’m halfway through the glass when the video on the monitor changes. The moving lights cast strange colors and shadows all around me, I’m in a totally groggy frame of mind, but not too groggy to recognize the gorgeous guy one story tall on the monitor…or is my mind playing tricks on me? Is that what happens after too much alcohol? You just start imagining you see a guy everywhere.

“Is he everywhere?” I try to focus my blurry vision on Jimmy Stallworth. “It’s strange…two days ago nothing, and now I see him everywhere. Is he really on the monitor or am I imaging it?”

Rene shakes her head. “You’re all right, Chrissie. He’s really on the monitor.”

I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. “I’m already seeing double. It would be really bad if I were seeing things not there.”

Jimmy Stallworth sighs heavily and pushes the glass back up to my lips. “OK, no more drinks for you, and lets have some more water. Do you have a way home? I can get them to call a cab for you. I think you should take your friend home before she passes out. She’s really fucked up, Rene.”

Rene points to the monitor. “No, she’s not wasted. She’s talking about the video. We know him.”

Victor leans across me to speak to Rene. “You know Alan Manzone?”

Rene shrugs. “We flew to New York with him.”

“Bullshit,” says Jimmy Stallworth. “California girls are always full of such shit.”

I shake my head. “No, we know him.”

“Then who is that sitting over there giving Rene the serious fuck me stare?”

I turn my head in the direction Jimmy indicates, but I’m seeing double, so this just isn’t going to work.

“What? Are we in eighth grade or something?” Rene snaps. She looks. She frowns. “That’s Kenny Jones, Blackpoll’s drummer.”

“Well, if you know Manzone you must know Kenny Jones.”

Rene shrugs and springs to her feet.

I just want to sit and Rene is trying to pull me to my feet. I stare up at her. “Are we going home?”

“Come on, Chrissie.”

I lean into her and my thoughts fade in and out of my brain and the floor feels like it’s coming up to meet me. I am suddenly too hot and I am really glad that Rene is always here for me.

* * *

It hurts just to try to open my eyes. It’s not possible to feel as badly as I feel. The light in the room is muted, it must be morning, and I am in bed and every muscle in my body aches.

I struggle to roll onto my side. The spot beside me is empty, but the blankets are pushed down. Rene’s everything bag is lying beside me. At least I did manage to bring Rene home with me. On the bedside table there is a glass of orange juice and two Tylenol.

My befuddled brain struggles through fractured snapshots of the night before. I remember going into the club. The drinks. The NYU preppies all hot in their boxers for Rene. The drinking games, but then only bits and pieces. I don’t remember how we got home. I’m still wearing my black halter dress and panties, but I don’t have my bra on. I find it lying on the floor beside the bed.

I sit up and take the Tylenol and drink the juice. I fall back into the pillows and tug the blankets tightly around my aching flesh.

Rene runs into the bedroom. She is ecstatic. She drops on the bed with a bounce that makes my head swim. “Finally! You’re awake. You are not going to believe this. You are never going to believe this.”

I pull a pillow tightly over my head.

“I hope you don’t feel as bad as you look. I should have stopped forcing shooters on you,” Rene says matter-of-factly.

Ya think? And why is she waiving a newspaper?

She collapses beside me on the pillows. Just the motion of her body nearly makes me to throw up. She snaps open the paper.

“I’m on the front page of the New York Post, Chrissie.”

“What?”

As miserable as I feel, that gets me into a sitting position. She is on the front page. It’s a picture of her exiting the plane with Alan. I feel even more sick, but not from the alcohol. There are also pictures of her in the club last night. Did Rene really dance on a table? I don’t remember any of this, and even the single photo that has me in it has that surreal feel of not being me because I don’t remember any of this.

“Let me read the caption. ‘Manzone, the edgy rock superstar lead singer of Blackpoll touches down at JFK with Rene Thompson, daughter of legendary civil rights attorney George Thompson…blah, blah, blah, the couple has no comment on the singer’s unexplained six month absence.’”

Rene slaps the newspaper and grins. “The New York Post, Chrissie. Eliza is going to die.”

I curl in a ball and hug the blankets more tightly around me. Things just seem to work out for Rene without her even trying. Front page of the New York Post. Eliza thinking we’ve taken Manhattan by storm. At the club last night, every man in the room after Rene.