“I don’t know his name, and he didn’t ask mine,” I said.
“Well, he knows it now if he’s paying attention,” Tina said, pointing to the article. “They have you listed right here, Jenny Gillespie, a UCSD acting major who has been seen on the arm of movie director Frankie Sharp for the past four months.”
“Acting major, whatever,” I said. “They sure did their homework.”
“Acting, liberal arts,” Tina said. “All the same to them.”
I grunted. “Did they figure out who Chance was?”
“No,” Corabelle said. “He’s just listed as a new member of the Sonic Kings, the band playing at the party.”
“He isn’t a member,” I said. “They picked him up hitchhiking earlier that day.”
“Oh, wow,” Corabelle said. “Then he really isn’t someone you can easily track down.”
“Yeah.” I dropped back into my yellow chair. “I guess we better see what this video is all about. Frankie already wrote me about it, asking if I wanted to put his people on it. He acted like I might want to take legal action.”
“Whoa,” Tina said. “That’s hardcore.”
I pulled up the website, but before I spotted the video, Corabelle pointed at the television. “I think this is it,” she said.
Just looking at the opening image, I thought I might faint.
Chapter 16: Chance
I woke with a start at Jazz’s apartment, the rough cushion of the ratty sofa imprinted on my cheek.
The front door was swung wide, drenching the cave-like living room with light.
“Rise and shine, country boy,” Paul said. “You’re famous.” He sauntered into the room with some guy I hadn’t met before.
I sat up and fumbled on the floor for my bag, pulling out a clean T-shirt. Yesterday’s jeans were still drying in Jazz’s bathroom. I’d washed them in his sink, definitely leaving the porcelain cleaner than I found it.
I jerked the shirt over my head and yawned. I normally didn’t sleep late, but something about the dark room must have kept me out.
Paul tossed a tabloid news magazine on my lap. “I was grabbing some cigarettes for breakfast and saw this.”
A giant headline pronounced that some big actor had left his bride at the altar. I wondered why the hell Paul was shoving this in my face.
Then I saw it.
In the corner, a picture from the party. Me and Jenny in the gardens, kissing.
I shoved it aside. “I knew they took that picture. No big deal.”
“I thought you said she was single,” Paul said. “Says here she’s some big movie director’s chick.”
I frowned. Jenny told me the guy was her boss.
But it didn’t matter. I was sure her little angry rant in the limo at the end had to do with making sure I didn’t follow her around. Probably due to that guy.
“I don’t exactly plan on proposing to her,” I said. “It’s in the past.” I tossed the newspaper beside me on the sofa.
Paul plopped down in a brown recliner with the stuffing falling out. His friend headed toward the kitchen. That guy had presence, and I wondered if he was a musician too.
“You getting back on the road?” Paul asked. “Because we’ve got another gig tonight. The way you rocked it, you could definitely sweeten our take. We get tips on this one, and you can get a cut of that action, since you draw the ladies.”
“Maybe,” I said. I hadn’t really thought about what I’d do next. Probably walk around a bit. Spot any smallish coffee shops that would let me play. But if the Sonic Kings gig was decent, I might make more there, maybe enough to cushion a day or two without having to worry about my next meal.
I glanced down at the picture. I tried to act all casual as I reached beside me and flipped to the page number listed by the cover photo.
“Awww, yeah, Tennessee wants to see what they’re saying about him,” Paul crowed.
Jazz stumbled into the room, blocking the light with his hand. “Shut that door, man,” he said. “You’re going to let rats in, or something.”
“Let ’em out, is more like it,” Paul said, kicking at an abandoned pizza box on the floor. “You were definitely raised in a barn. And that is an improvement over this place.”
Their sniping at each other gave me the opportunity to scan the article inside. Paul was right, it did say Jenny was a movie director’s girlfriend. And an image of his despondent face, obviously unrelated since it wasn’t even what he was wearing last night, confirmed that he was the guy who draped his arm around her at the party.
I’d been played. Dragged into some stupid publicity stunt, maybe. God. No wonder she’d been so flirty across the room, sipping her wine then disappearing like a fairy girl. Stupid pink hair. Stupid dreadlocks. Stupid me, for being stupid.
Paul kicked my shin. “You got a hate face on. Bros don’t let bros hate on themselves over dames.”