WITHIN TWENTY MINUTES, the party has relocated upstairs. Only a few of the partiers from downstairs declined to join us, but the suite feels roomy despite the crush of people. The traditional décor isn’t my taste, but it’s a nice change from the MPB.
I walk to the kitchen area, open the refrigerator and take out some bottles of champagne. Popping open the bubbly, I pour several glasses and pass them around.
Once everyone has a glass, I raise mine and say, “Here’s to ‘Prowling’ being Number One! Thank you all for supporting my music. I wouldn’t be here without you!”
A rousing round of “Cheers!” fills the air in response to my toast and someone turns on the club music again. Turns out there’s a speaker dock. I doubt we’re the only ones to have thrown a party up here.
My eyes land on the dark-haired beauty. “Hey Nicole, glad you made it.”
She smiles and pulls a redheaded woman to her side. “Cole, this is Libby. Libby, Cole.”
Her friend has the dazed, fan-girl look I’ve somewhat gotten used to by now. I extend my hand and say, “Hello, Libby. Having a good time?”
Nicole’s friend latches onto my hand. Her mouth is open, but nothing comes out. Her head bobs in affirmation.
“Did you like the show?” More nods. I gently pull my hand out of her death grip. “I understand that you have tickets for tomorrow night’s show, too.” Rather than speak, she closes her mouth and nods. I glance over at Nicole, who is looking at her guppy friend with something like pity in her eyes. “Let me get you some backstage passes, okay? Wait here.”
Leaving the two women in the living room area, I enter the bedroom. The room is pristine, with the bed turned down and a chocolate on the pillow. Mom would love that. She’s always tickled by such posh little touches.
Smiling to myself, I retrieve two backstage passes from my duffel bag and sign them. Returning to the ladies, I hold out the VIP passes. “These will get you backstage tomorrow before the show. We’re leaving on the bus right after the concert, so there won’t be any party afterward.”
Nicole briefly places her hand on my forearm and takes her pass. “Thanks.”
Her friend the guppy—what’s her name? Lucy?—stares at the pass wide-eyed. After a few moments, she takes it. Clearing her throat, she says, “Thank you, Cole. You’re even more amazing in person!”
“She speaks.” Smiling at her, I lead the two ladies toward the sofa and sit down between them. “So, Nicole says that you’re a huge fan of mine. Thank you for letting me do what I love to do.”
Her eyebrows pull together. “You’re thanking me? You’re so talented, I should be thanking you.”
“If I didn’t have fans like you dragging all your friends to see me, I’d be rocking nothing but a suit.” I share a smile with Nicole.
“I can’t imagine you doing anything else but singing.”
“Thanks, darlin,’ me either.” She mouths “darlin’” to Nicole. Much better than risking a wrong name, in my book.
A hot chick in a skin-tight black dress interrupts our conversation. After giving me the once-over, she offers us all shot glasses. Holding up a bottle, she asks, “Whiskey?”
“Don’t mind if I do. Ladies?” Nicole shakes her head, but her friend—was it Lizzie, maybe?—gives me the thumbs up. “Two, thanks,” I add. The chick pours one for me and one for the redhead. I savor the burn as the liquid goes down my throat.
My attention diverts to Nicole, who is trying to hide a yawn behind her hand. Returning the emptied shot glasses to the hot groupie-cum-bartender, I ask her to bring us a soda and a beer. The redhead declines another drink. Balancing our two shot glasses with at least five other empties, she sashays off. She looks as good going as she did coming.
To divert my wayward thoughts, I ask, “Nicole, do you have practice tomorrow?”
“Yes. Our next concert is a couple weeks away.” This time she cannot hide her yawn, which makes me laugh.
“Past your bedtime?”
She smiles. “Cole, it was past my bedtime when we were down at the bar.”
“I don’t want to make your hubby mad at me.”
Her friend responds, “Her husband is cool.”
“I believe it, but I’m sure he wants his wife back in one piece.”
Nicole lets out a long breath, as if she’s relieved to have permission to blow this popsicle stand. Her friend appears annoyed, but I’m more concerned about Nicole. After all, she’s the one who needs to drive home. “How far do you have to drive?”
“We’re about twenty minutes from here.”
“Good.” The smoking hot groupie returns with our refills, which I take off her hands and pass the soda to Nicole. “Don’t think that I’m kicking you out, but you look beat. I want you both to get home safely.”
Nicole responds. “Thanks.” She looks at the redhead, and I can tell they’re going to need to hash this out. A phone starts ringing somewhere in the suite, the perfect excuse to leave them to it.
I deposit my untouched beer onto a nearby side table and say, “Ladies, I’ll be right back.” Scanning the room, I spy a hotel telephone with a blinking light sitting on a desk by the sofa. I head on over and pick up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Mr. Manchester?”
“Yes.”
A young woman’s voice stammers, “We’ve had a couple of, well, complaints about the, ehrm, noise level in your room. Would you mind keeping it down a bit? Please?”
Jeez. What a bunch of uptight assholes stay at this hotel. But the clerk’s just doing her job. “Not a problem.”
Hanging up, I walk over to the speaker system and dial it down, which gets everyone’s attention. I shrug. “Hotel got some complaints.” Everyone resumes what they were doing, only in comparatively hushed tones.
When I return to Nicole and her friend, they both stand and Nicole says, “Libby and I are going to head out.”
Libby—that’s her name. Thank you, Nicole. I look at the redhead and say, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Libby.”
She grins and gives me a program from tonight’s concert. “Would you mind signing this for me?”
“Of course.” Taking her pen, I write: To my redheaded Libby – It’s been a pleasure. Cole Manchester. I return the program to her and give her a barely-there kiss on her mouth.
“Thanks.” Her voice sounds breathless, and her fingers fly up to her lips.
Turning to Nicole, I say, “Just in case we don’t get to chat before the concert tomorrow, I want you to know that I enjoyed talking with you. I wish you all the best with your orchestra.”
“Thanks. I had a lot of fun talking with you, too. I’m truly looking forward to the concert tomorrow.” She holds up her VIP pass, and continues, “Hopefully I’ll see you again when you come back to Phoenix.” She places her hands on my shoulders and kisses my cheek. What a classy lady. I could see myself with someone like her—maybe in ten or twenty years. In the meantime, there are too many women, too many backrooms.
A little later, Jeffrey joins me in the kitchen area. “Some night, huh?”
“Yup.”
“I saw you chatting up those chicks. Getting ready for another threesome?”
I shake my head. “Nah, they left. The brunette was cool—and married. She’s in an orchestra.”
His eyebrows go up. “Cool.”
“We had a good conversation.” Noting that he’s alone, I can’t resist needling him. “So what happened to your brunette from downstairs? Scare her off?”
“She’s waiting for me in my room, asshole. I only came back here to get more champagne.” He holds up a bottle.
Clapping me on the back, he crosses the room toward to the door. Since I never retrieved my beer from earlier, I open the refrigerator for a last one. Shit. It’s empty other than several bottles of water. Closing the fridge, I survey the party’s die-hards. Roadies and groupies are grinding all over each other to music that’s crept back up. Uninterested in joining, I wander over to the sliding glass doors that lead to the suite’s balcony. Guess I’ll have one last smoke before calling it a night.
Stepping outside, I’m hit with the oppressive Arizona heat once again. I take my shirt off, toss it over the arm of the patio chair and pull out a cigarette. Before I can fish my lighter out of my pocket, a sultry female voice asks, “Need a light?”
I turn to see the “bartender” from earlier. Putting the cig to my lips, I lean in to the proffered light and puff. This chick is hot. Maybe the threesome didn’t totally wear me out after all.
“Are you enjoying yourself, darlin’?”
She looks me up and down, and licks her lips. “I’m starting to.”
“That’s good.” I take a step closer to her. Even in this dim light, I can see her pulse quicken.
“What’s your name?” Why do I bother to ask? I never remember. At least not in the situations that don’t involve much talking.
“JoJo.”
I pitch my voice lower. “Nice to meet you, JoJo. I hope you like what you see, ’cause I sure do.”
“Oh, yes,” she says, running her hands up and down my naked torso. She traces my six pack with her dark purple fingernail.
Yup, I’m definitely up for another round.