“Are we in trouble?” Simon smirked when I said I wanted to bring up something serious.
“You could be.” I lowered my voice, leaning forward over the table. “Remember the girl at the SLS Hotel the night of the Grammys? The one you left out in the hallway? I don’t know what happened. I don’t know that I want to know what happened. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just telling you that she was sixteen years old and in California that’s illegal and you need to be aware of that.”
Simon sobered. “She was eighteen. She said she was eighteen.”
“She lied.”
“Which girl?” Liam looked confused.
“The girl in the red dress,” Simon said.
“The UCLA girl?”
“She said she went to UCLA.”
“She lied,” I repeated.
“She had that UCLA thing. Like a school ID…”
“And a key chain,” Liam added.
I stared at them both. “She. Lied.”
“Fuck.” Simon’s hands were pulling at his hair.
For a long time I didn’t say anything, watching the two of them squirm.
Eventually Simon spoke: “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like a disappointed mum.”
“Because I am a disappointed mum. I trusted you with my daughter—”
“I didn’t touch your daughter—”
“I know you didn’t. But you need to be more careful. You realize if her parents find out or she tells the wrong person, it’s over, right? This, all of this, will be over and you’ll end up in jail. You realize that?”
Simon nodded, glum. Liam did not respond. He sat there, chewing on his plump lips, nervously twisting his hair. He looked to me like a little boy. And yet …
“Liam? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t let it happen again.”
*
“I need to tell you something. And it’s going to upset you a bit, but I think you need to hear it.”
It was late afternoon and the band had returned to our hotel in Montevideo after having taped a talk show in town. The fans outside were so loud, I could hear them singing from our suite on the fourth floor. “Undressed,” from the Petty Desires album. The lyrics twisted, titillating.
“Are you ending it?” Hayes asked. He was lying on the bed, resting. His head was throbbing, he’d said.
They were at that point nine dates into the tour. There were sixty-six remaining.
“If I were, do you think I would start it that way?”
He smiled faintly, his hand reaching for mine. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I can’t read you. What is it?” he asked. “What is it you want to say?”
“Oliver…”
“Fucking Oliver … What did he do now?”
“He’s fucking with me, Hayes. He’s fucking with you, for a reason. I think he knows.”
“He knows what?”
“I think he knows about you and his sister.”
He propped himself up on his elbows then, his eyes searching mine. “Did you bloody say something?”
“No.”
“Did you say something, Solène?”
“No. I would never do that to you. But something is up with him and I’m not going to be his pawn, Hayes. I’m not going to let him play me against you. That’s your issue.”
“Fuck.”
“I’m sorry. I just thought you should know.”
*
Friday evening found us in Brazil. Hayes and I were in our suite at the Hotel Fasano in S?o Paulo, getting ready for dinner, when Isabelle FaceTimed me.
“Are you having so much fun? Is it amazing?”
“It’s a little crazy,” I said. “There are fans everywhere. They really, really, really love them here.”
“More than they love them in the States?”
“I don’t know. I have nothing to compare it to. Hayes,” I called to him in the bathroom, “do they love you here more than they do in America?”
“Maybe,” he called. “I think they’re more enthusiastic here. But then again I can’t really understand what they’re saying. Who are you talking to?”
“Isabelle.”
“Hiiii, Isabelle.” He stepped out of the bathroom in black Calvin boxer briefs. And nothing else.
I shook my head, shooing him back inside. “FaceTime,” I mouthed.
“Byyyye, Isabelle.”
“I miss you, peanut. I miss you a ton.”
“I miss you, too,” she said.
“How’s Daddy?”
“He’s good. He’s here. Do you want to talk to him?”
“No. Does he want to talk to me?”
“Probably not.”
“Okay,” I laughed. “I love you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay.”
“Love you, too. I hope you’re having fun. Bisous.”
It was the way she said it. I could not help but feel guilty. “Bisous.”
I returned to the bathroom to watch Hayes dry his hair and brush his teeth and do all the little Hayes things that I’d come to know so well.
“What?” he asked after several moments had passed. “Why do you look like that?”
“What am I doing here?”
He wiped his face and placed his towel on the edge of the sink before turning toward me. “You’re keeping me company. Come here.”
I made my way into his arms.
“You’re missing your daughter?”
“I’m missing my life.”
He didn’t say anything then. He buried his face in the top of my head and kissed me. But he didn’t say anything.
*
That night, we had a late dinner in one of the hotel’s restaurants, along with Rory, Simon, Raj, and Andrew, the group’s new tour manager, a tall, striking thirty-something Brit with smooth, dark skin and piercing cheekbones.
“God, where do you find these people?” I’d said to Hayes upon first meeting him.
Hayes had laughed. “Beverly, our wardrobe person, calls him Idris.”
“To his face?”
“No, not to his face. But it’s caught on, and now all the women on tour refer to him as Idris.”
Afterwards, when we were all at minimum two caipirinhas in, the guys decided they wanted to check out a club in the Itaim Bibi neighborhood. With a population of eleven million, S?o Paulo was massive and the only city I could recall visiting where the skyline seemed to stretch the entire length of the horizon. I did not pretend to know where we were or where we were going. I resisted at first, because I took it to be a fishing expedition for Rory and Simon, who’d been talking about Brazilian models for at least two countries now. But when Petra, the group’s hair and makeup artist, arranged to come with us, I acquiesced.
And once again it was the coordinating of security and scheduling of a caravan and I suddenly understood what it must be like every time Obama decided to go for a burger.
*
Fuchsia lights, house music, and beautiful wealthy people reigned at the club Provocateur, where the crowd parted like the Red Sea and they escorted us to a sectioned-off area and the alcohol flowed like water. Raj immediately ordered three bottles of Cristal, and the servers delivered them with sparklers, as if we needed more attention. It took no time for a bevy of pretty young things to flock to our area and Rory and Simon were in their element and I was old and someone’s mother and six thousand miles from home.
“What are you thinking?” Hayes said. We were seated in our booth, his hand between my knees.
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying to me. I know you far too well. Let’s dance for a bit, and then, if you want, we can go.”
“We just got here.”
“I want you to be happy,” he said.