Eric fished in his pocket, groping for his phone. He only had a few minutes to hide out in his dressing room before he headed back on set—just long enough to respond to Tessa’s latest DM.
He flicked to open Twitter, and he frowned. The damn thing kept signing out of his account lately. It started acting up after the latest software update, although the glitch only seemed to affect his second username. Every time he shut down, he had to reenter his password to log back in.
He didn’t have time to worry about it now. He quickly filled out the information:
Username: @EricThornSucks
Password: password
Then he navigated over to the message thread.
Tessa H: Taylor, are you there?
Taylor: Yeah, I thought you had therapy.
Tessa H: Just finished. The show starts in fifteen minutes! Are you watching?
Taylor: Can’t do it, sweet pea. Gotta work.
Eric knew he needed to wrap the conversation up. He was performing tonight on live network TV: one of those star-studded December Christmas specials, complete with Santa hats and mistletoe. Eric was supposed to spend the final moments before airtime running through the lyrics of his solo, “White Christmas,” but his attention kept getting sucked back in to Twitter.
Tessa H: Seriously, you can’t take a break for ONE hour? Not even for Eric Thorn?
Taylor: I wish I could, Tessa…but it has nothing to do with Eric Thorn.
Tessa H: Who? Ariana Grande?
Taylor: Since when was I an Arianator?
Tessa H: I’m just guessing. You’re a guy. She’s probably your type.
Eric snickered. Where did Tessa come up with this stuff? His type? The truth was, he and Ariana were slated to perform back-to-back that night. He’d been passing by her dressing room all afternoon, but he hadn’t even bothered to poke his head in. What made Tessa think that he had any interest… Wait a minute. One corner of his mouth hitched upward as he texted back.
Taylor: Is that a hint, Tessa? Are you secretly an Ariana Grande look-alike?
Tessa H: Yep. Currently lounging in my thigh-high stiletto boots. I can send you another foot selfie if you like.
Taylor: Feel free, but I might need to see an entire leg this time.
Eric had yet to see a picture of her. He didn’t want to push his luck after the fiasco with the feet. But they’d been dancing around the topic more and more lately. He could tell he was slowly gaining her trust. It was only a matter of time before she sent him a selfie, and he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t dying to see.
Tessa H: Legs? What legs? I thought I was green and spherical?
Taylor: Then where do you put the boots?
Tessa H: OK fine. You got me. I have legs. Two of them.
Taylor: Interesting. Anything else you care to tell me about these legs?
Tessa H: Nice legs. Not gonna lie.
Taylor: Yeah. I had a feeling.
Tessa H: You should really stay online, Taylor. Who knows what other body parts I might mention in the next hour…
Eric covered his mouth with the back of his hand to wipe away the sly grin. She had no idea how much he wanted to stay and chat. That had to be the most flirtatious thing she’d ever said to him. Dammit, why did tonight’s show have to be a live broadcast?
Taylor: Oh man, you’re killing me.
Tessa H: Stay!
Taylor: I can’t. I’m late. I gotta run. I’ll catch you later, OK?
With that, Eric glanced up at the lighted mirror to check if he’d smudged his makeup. He nearly fell over at what he saw reflected in the glass. His manager leaned against the half-open dressing room door, with his feet crossed at the ankles and his hands stuffed in his trouser pockets.
Maury cleared his throat as their eyes met in the mirror. “Sometime today, perhaps?”
“Sorry.” Eric swiveled to avert his face. He slipped his phone into his back pocket and turned to leave the room, but Maury stood squarely in the doorway.
“No problem, buckaroo. You wanna let me in on who the lucky lady is?” Maury tilted his head in the direction of the phone, and Eric stopped in his tracks. How long had his manager been standing there?
“What lady?” Eric replied, striving to keep his voice light. “What are you talking about?”
“Eric, you spent the past ten minutes giggling like a schoolgirl at your phone.” Maury pulled down a sprig of mistletoe from above the doorframe and tossed it in Eric’s direction. “You know you’re supposed to disclose if you have a new girlfriend, right? The publicists appreciate a heads-up.”
The mistletoe landed at Eric’s feet, but he ignored it. Apparently, his manager was spying on him now. Good to know exactly where he stood.
At least Maury hadn’t discovered the fake Twitter account, as far as Eric could tell. He tried again to step past his manager into the hallway, but Maury didn’t budge. “Yeah right,” Eric said at last. “Like I have time for a relationship.”
“Maybe not a girlfriend, then. But definitely a girl.” Maury nudged him with an elbow between the ribs. “It’s fine, Eric. About time, if you ask me. Just tell me who she is, and I’ll pass it along—”
“It’s no one.”
“No one, huh?” Maury scratched his chin, studying Eric’s face. Eric stared back with wide, unblinking eyes, the picture of choirboy innocence. “That’s a little more serious,” Maury said. “Don’t tell me you’re in love.”
Eric rolled his eyes upward and planted them to the ceiling. He could feel his manager’s gaze on him, and he couldn’t suppress the guilty flush of color that rose above his shirt collar and worked its way up his neck.
“You know you’re the color of a pomegranate right now?” Maury’s voice shook with laughter, and Eric turned his face away, bracing himself for the coming onslaught. He knew how Maury operated. His manager would be peppering him for weeks with obnoxious jokes.
But to Eric’s surprise, Maury stopped chuckling after a moment. When Eric met his eyes again, he almost thought he saw a trace of sadness in his manager’s expression. With a sigh, Maury stooped to pick up the mistletoe and tossed it in the trash. “What happened to you, Eric?” he said softly. “You used to tell me everything. I used to be your guy.”
“Maury—”
Maury just shook his head. Eric watched him spin around and head down the long corridor toward the stage. His manager’s final words floated back to him from the far end of the hall. “It’s no one, huh? You’re a crappy liar, kid. Always have been. Only this time, I can’t quite tell if you’re lying to me…or lying to yourself.”
17
BOUND AND GAGGED
Eric steered his baby-blue Ferrari around the hairpin turns of Mulholland Drive, reveling in the purr of the engine as he pushed down on the accelerator. It felt great to be behind the wheel again. He’d spent too many nights in the back of a limo lately, and he missed the feeling of control that came from driving.
He’d bought himself a Ferrari 458 Spider a little over a year ago to celebrate his latest album reaching multiplatinum status. But so far, the odometer only registered a few thousand miles. Maybe he should bring his car along on the tour kicking off soon. Leave the tour bus to the roadies. Eric made a mental note to float the idea by Maury in the morning.