Chapter Thirteen
“All I want to do is impress Zander,” Kayla confided to Stormy as they settled the kids in for the trans-Atlantic flight to Europe, “and prove that having families on tour isn’t disruptive.” She tucked a blanket over her baby son, who slept soundly¸ oblivious to the excitement, buckled into his special seat on Zander’s private jet. “He won’t even notice the kids are on board.”
Stormy looked at her doubtfully. Entertaining two small children for thirteen hours was enough of a challenge without doing it cooped up on a private jet, however luxurious. Crossing time zones already meant Madison was up way past her regular bedtime. But this was Kayla’s first trip out of the States and Stormy was still feeling her way.
So she only smiled as she pinned the tiara in Madison’s hair. “There,” she said, sitting back to check her handiwork. “Now everyone knows you’re a princess.”
“Lemme see.” Madison dug into her backpack of books, crayons, snacks and toys, to find a looking glass. As she preened, Stormy exchanged smiles with the little girl’s mother.
Kayla still seemed dazed whenever she looked at Stormy, probably wondering how she’d said yes to employing her. Stormy could answer that in one word—Elizabeth. The biographer had come to the interview and somehow convinced Kayla that she was far too sensible to be influenced by celeb gossip and appearances.
In retrospect, Stormy felt she’d almost been presented as someone with special needs, which come to think of it, wasn’t far off. She especially needed this job. So even though it was hellish awkward to tour with Zander, she was following his approach of brazen unconcern.
Kayla wiggled in her seat. “Squeezing into pre-pregnancy jeans was a mistake,” she said ruefully, “and I thought this navy blazer was da bomb when I saw it at Nordstroms but next to your pink leather jacket I feel like the little drummer boy. I still have a lot to learn about dressing like a rock chick.”
“Let’s swap.” Stormy shrugged off her jacket. “I haven’t cracked the nanny dress code either and your blazer might make me look more the part.”
“Sure.” Delighted, Kayla traded. “But it will take more than brass buttons to stop you looking like a porn—pretty woman.” Her olive skin reddening, she fussed with her sleeping baby’s blanket, then looked up ruefully. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… It’s just you’re so incredibly sexy.” She laughed a little, her sherry-brown eyes apologetic.
“Like Dolly says, ‘it takes a lot of money to look this cheap,’” Stormy said lightly. “But I am really good with kids.”
“I wouldn’t have hired you if they didn’t like you.”
But you’re still not sure. Stormy smiled. “I like your kids too. You’ve got my perfect life, you know that? Married to your high-school sweetheart, two beautiful kids. And I love your story. The working wife who supported her struggling musician husband. Jared looking after his kids by day and gigging at night. Neither of you giving up on the dream.”
“I worked for the health insurance benefits,” Kayla said, amused. “It was a practical decision, rather than a romantic one.”
“Give yourself credit. You’re the one who submitted the demo tape to Zander.”
“Yep.” Kayla sighed. “Be careful what you wish for.” She registered Stormy’s confusion and shrugged. “The separations have been tougher than I expected. And moving to LA, away from our families…” She stopped. “Hey, I’m turning into one of those whiny Hollywood wives. I can grow into this job!”
They both laughed.
Madison tore her gaze away from the mirror. “Momma, I need to go to the bathroom.”
Stormy unbuckled her seat. “I’ll take you.”
The luxurious interior of the Boeing Business Jet was comprised of five rows of first-class seats opening into a lounge of circular couches, lacquered coffee tables, and semi-partitioned workstations. Beyond the lounge, a hostess set up an eight-seater dining table.
Seth looked up smiling as she shepherded the little girl past his seat, but as Rage’s drummer wore headphones, Stormy didn’t stop to chat. Of the new band members she liked him best, sensing a kindred spirit in the Kiwi. Though he’d been single since the band’s first tour, Seth still gave off the vibe of being taken, which meant—unlike Moss—he was safe.
Moss had grown up with deprivation and acted like a kid let loose in an adult candy store. Having come from a similar background, she knew nothing and no one would satisfy his emptiness for long.
Hiding a hangover behind shades, he sprawled unshaven on one of the couches. Madison stopped to stare at him. “Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”
“My eyes fell out.” His voice brought to mind a smoky bar.
“Did not.”
“Sure feels like it.”
“Show me,” the little girl ordered.
Moss lifted his shades. His eyes rolled back ghoulishly, the whites bloodshot. Stormy recoiled, but Madison laughed. “You’re funny. Can I come sit with you?”
“No, but your nanny can.” He refocused on Stormy, his irises the same color as the green, green grass of home. Except she had no good memories of home.
“Not interested,” she said wearily. “Bad boys are so last week.”
“And she’s my friend.” Madison tightened her grip on her hand.
Moss lowered his shades. “Then move on, ladies, ’cause there’s nothing to see here.”
A feminine voice murmured, “Looking for a new mark?” Stormy turned to meet Dimity’s cynical gaze.
“Excuse me?”
Dimity smiled, all sweetness. “I said, ‘are you looking for something?’”
Stormy hesitated. Maybe she’d misheard.
“Yes,” she said, “the bathroom. But I know the way.” She hustled Madison past the PA. Dimity always made her want to look busy; the woman never relaxed.
The rear of the aircraft had rooms boxed off a narrow corridor. Dimity rematerialized as Stormy turned the handle on the first door. “That’s Zander’s suite.”
“Oh…right.” Mortified, she dropped her hand. Out of bounds now. “So where do we…?”
“I’ve allocated this room to the children.” Her careful emphasis on “the children” implied wild animals, which was odd, considering the woman worked with rock stars. She opened another door.
Elizabeth lay sprawled on the double bed, hands behind her head, gazing at the ceiling. Grinning, she sat up. “You’ve caught me. I wanted to see what it was like lying in a bed on a jet plane.”
Stormy returned her grin, but Dimity rolled her eyes. “You are so uncool,” she informed the biographer.
“So my brother tells me.” Cheerfully, she climbed off the bed and slipped her shoes on. Maddie clambered on in her place.
“It’s just the same,” she complained and started bouncing on the mattress. Stormy caught her mid-jump.
“Not at home, not on the plane,” she reminded her.
“And how many people get to say that?” said Elizabeth and they both giggled.
“Shouldn’t you be preparing your questions or something?” Dimity interrupted. “You have an interview scheduled with Zee in fifteen minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, she said to Madison, “Here’s the bathroom, little girl,” and opened the adjoining door.
“Oh my Lord!” Elizabeth nudged past the PA and checked out the gleaming fixtures. “I’m going to have a shower mid-air too.”
Stormy liked this woman. Which made her wonder if she should warn her that she was in Zander’s sights. It had been a shock to see the predatory interest in his eyes when he looked at his biographer. It reminded Stormy that she didn’t like her ex much, for all that she loved him.
She was still pondering her dilemma ten minutes later in her seat when Dimity appeared with a tray holding flutes of champagne. “From Zander.”
As she offered the tray to Kayla, she eyed the kids with the wary fascination of a tourist watching a snake-charmer’s cobra.
“Why, thank you!” Kayla took a fragile stem carefully. “I don’t know why I thought Zander didn’t want us coming on tour. He’s been nothing but polite since check-in.” Stormy decided not to mention Zander’s polite/pissed ratio.
As she reached for a champagne flute, Dimity moved the tray away.
“Sorry. Staff don’t get to drink on duty.”
“Of course not.” Stormy hid her embarrassment under a laugh. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“One won’t hurt,” Kayla protested.
Reluctantly, Dimity offered the tray again.
After she’d left, Kayla frowned. “What the hell is her problem with you?” she murmured, after making sure Madison wasn’t listening.
Stormy sipped her champagne. “I don’t know and I don’t care.”
Madison looked at her mother’s drink. “Mommy, I want soda too.”
“This is champagne—alcohol—and it’s only for grown-ups, honey.”
Sticking out her lower lip, Madison unbuckled her seatbelt. “I’m gonna ask Daddy.”
Kayla caught her arm. “Daddy is working.” The band was finalizing the first concert’s playlist. “We talked about you being a good girl, remember?”
Madison’s lip trembled. “But I want bubbles too.”
Stormy handed Kayla her flute. “Let me ask Dimity if she can rustle up some Sprite.”
“Wouldn’t you rather wait for the hostess?”
“Helping you with the kids is my job,” she said firmly, “and I’m sure Dimity’s attitude will improve if I’m courteous.” She added shyly, “Child psychology. Ignore the bad behavior and reward the good.”
Kayla didn’t look convinced. “Doesn’t that rely on having good behavior in the first place?”
“I’ll be fine.” It was time she fought her own battles.
“I’ve noticed that Dimity is nervous around the vertically challenged,” Kayla said. “Take Madison with you.”
Stormy’s eyes widened and she laughed. “Human shield?”
“I was thinking more weapon of mass destruction.” Kayla grinned. “But I’d hate to put you off my kids this early.”
* * *
Zander was right. Frowning, Elizabeth stared through the porthole as she waited for him to join her for their first formal interview since the barbecue.
She’d caused a disturbance in the space-time continuum and it was coming back to bite her.
The plane’s wing-lights flashed red, briefly illuminating the swirling clouds outside and the rain glistening on the glass.
In hindsight, she wouldn’t have interfered… Who was she kidding? Stormy had needed help and so she’d helped her. But in doing so, she’d changed the dynamics of her relationship with Zander.
Sliding the window shade down on the blinking lights, she took a nervous sip of her Bloody Mary and carefully replaced it on the mahogany table that divided two pairs of armchairs. Flying was something she endured rather than enjoyed, and over the years she’d developed a coping ritual. A prayer, one Bloody Mary and drops of Rescue Remedy.
A privacy partition separated the area from the main lounge, but she could still hear Rocco crying. Poor Kayla had been having a hard time with him since he’d woken an hour earlier.
Her thoughts returned to her own problem.
Over the past few days, as she’d watched Zander marshal his tour generals and make last-minute strategic decisions from his library armchair, his careless slouch belied by the battle light in his blue eyes, she’d been…turned on.
There, she’d admitted it. Elizabeth sighed and picked up a pimento-stuffed green olive from the plate of hors d’oeuvres.
She’d had that damn electric eel thing under control before Vegas and now—annoyed, Elizabeth chewed on the olive—now, something about the way Zander looked at her was giving her heated, naughty and entirely inappropriate thoughts.
She needed to regain her objectivity and the start of the tour was the perfect time to reinstate some professional distance.
So when Zander walked in with his sly, sexy smile, she picked up her notes and said briskly, “You’re late.”
“Are you going to spank me?”
Now see, this was exactly the problem. Not that this man ever respected social conventions, but there’d been a subtle vibrational change between them since Vegas—and it was sexual.
Formally, she gestured to the seat opposite. “How about we get started?”
He sat down and smiled at her. “I’m in your hands.”
Zing, zippity-zap. Hell. Crushing the mental image his comment provoked, Elizabeth punched the record button. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to follow up. Is fronting Rage really enough to satisfy you for the next ten to twenty years?”
Zander steepled his fingers, mimicking her. “Name me a better job.”
Casually, Elizabeth placed her hands on the armrests. “Aren’t there other things you want to do in life?” she persisted.
“I’ve been in a band since I was fourteen. I don’t know how to do anything else.”
The aircraft rattled and her grip tightened on the armrest. “It’s remarkable that you’ve succeeded not once, but twice in such a volatile business. But, hypothetically, if it all ended tomorrow—”
“Hypothetically doesn’t interest me,” Zander interrupted. “I make my own reality.”
His arrogance was breathtaking.
The plane shuddered and she grabbed her notes before they slid onto the carpet. “You’re still subject to the law of physics,” she said dryly, and promptly wished she hadn’t. What goes up…
Glancing down at her bag, which held the Rescue Remedy, Elizabeth reframed her question. “You live in a rarefied world, some would say a narrow one.” Zander didn’t seem to notice the turbulence. She tried to emulate his calm, but felt herself starting to hyperventilate. “Don’t you want wider experiences?”
“As a lead singer of a famous rock band, I experience what few people ever do. And what could possibly match the adulation of a crowd?”
Her fingernails dug into the armrest. “I guess it depends on how many people you need to love you.”
“A stadium feels about right,” Zander said.
Weathering another bone shaker, Elizabeth had stopped listening.
Her relief when the stewardess appeared was short-lived. “Moderate turbulence ahead, buckle up please.” With brisk efficiency, she cleared Elizabeth’s drink and hors d’oeuvres and stowed her bag and recorder in a cunning side panel. “It could last some time, I’m afraid, so dinner will be delayed.”
“That’s fine,” Zander said, buckling his seatbelt.
Swallowing a whimper, Elizabeth wrenched hers tighter. Why hadn’t she sculled her drink before it got taken away?
“Are you afraid of flying, Doc?” Zander said curiously.
“I’ve overcome it. It’s only through really rough turbulence that…” She gasped as another jolt hit. Flinging open the side panel, she fumbled in her bag for the Rescue Remedy. The bottle fell onto the floor and rolled toward Zander. He picked it up and read the label before handing it to her.
“You want something stronger?”
“I’ve got this under control,” she insisted. Throwing her head back, she drank from the bottle instead of the dropper. “Some people take sleeping pills,” she added nervously, “and while I know a plummet would wake me, I want to be clearheaded either meeting my Maker or climbing into a life raf—” She broke off and stared at him. “There is a life raft, isn’t there? Like on a proper plane? Some of us know we can’t walk on water.”
“Yes!” His amusement faded as he studied her. “Need me to sit beside you, Elizabeth,” he asked quietly, “and hold your hand?”
God, yes. Then she remembered—re-establishing boundaries—and moaned, “No.”
The plane dropped, taking her stomach. With a yelp, she bowed her head, squeezed her eyes shut and started praying. “Our Father, who art in heaven—”
A couple of minutes later, she felt cold plastic against her hand. “Here. The Lord helps those who help themselves.” Her eyes blinked open. Zander sat beside her with a water bottle and two pink tablets. “This will calm you down.”
“I don’t do drugs.”
“I’m not offering you LSD, Doc,” he shook the bottle. “It’s benzodiazepine—prescription. Are you on other meds?”
“Only the Pill.”
“Excellent. So we have no problem mixing.”
Even praying for her life, she heard double entendre. Ignore my reaction, Lord, crossed wires. “What are the side effects?”
“Only drowsiness. It’s also recommended you don’t operate heavy machinery.” His mouth twitched. “Which means you won’t be able to crash-land the plane.”
“Bastard!” She grabbed the pills. Even with sips of bottled water, her throat was so tight she nearly choked on them. “How long before they work?”
“Inside thirty minutes,” he reassured her.
That long? The next tsunami of turbulence hit and she groaned. “Promise you’ll carry me to the life raft.”
“Can I cop a feel on the way?”
“No. Hold my hand!”
“Mixed messages, Doc.” But his warm palm covered her clenched fist. Elizabeth loosened her grip just enough to seize his fingers.
Zander’s other hand covered hers. “Hell, you’re shaking.”
She hated showing weakness. “It’s lust.”
He tucked her arm under his. “Completely understandable.” The unexpected kindness in his voice shredded her. Elizabeth closed her eyes.
“Is it half an hour yet?”
“Only twenty-eight minutes to go.”
If she talked, she wouldn’t scream. “Those pills were yours?”
“God, no. I’ve got enough meds in my system. Moss sometimes gets panic attacks before performing.”
“I can’t imagine Moss losing his cool.”
Another vibration shook the plane and she gritted her teeth. When Zander put his arm around her, she didn’t protest.
“What meds do you take?” she said, resisting the urge to crawl, whimpering, into his lap.
“I have an idea.” Keeping arm around her shoulders, Zander loosed her death grip on his hand and reached into his seat’s side pocket. He pulled out a brochure. “The Aviation Safety Management Systems Manual.”
Giving up all pretense of dignity, Elizabeth burrowed closer. “Read it.”
Resting his cheek on her hair, he began soothingly. “Our pilots hold an Airline Transport Pilot License—ATPL—and are specifically trained for this aircraft type. They also have to pass comprehensive and exhaustive technical, medical and psychological tests.”
“Wait!” Wild-eyed, she raised her head. “So they don’t panic when they lose control of an aircraft?”
Zander pulled her head firmly against his chest. “This plane also has its own dedicated flight engineer, who keeps meticulous maintenance records.” On and on, his voice so melodious that gradually Elizabeth relaxed her muscles. The jolting was still as bad, but cocooned against his warm body she began to believe they’d survive.
As her panic slowly subsided, she became aware of Rocco’s wailing. “Need to go see if somethin’ I can do for that baby,” she fretted drowsily and felt what could have been a light kiss on her hair. Nah…
“You sleep and I’ll go.” Gently easing her sideways, Zander unbuckled and staggered forward.
“Miss you already,” she murmured. Okay the drugs were definitely kicking in.
“Mr. Freedman, please return to your seat.”
Good luck with that. Smiling, Elizabeth snuggled deeper into her seat and closed her eyes. My hero.
Phph! And he’d said they weren’t hallucinatory.
* * *
Rocco screamed and screamed. The sound slashed at Stormy’s tender heart like razorblades, so she could only imagine how bad his parents were feeling. Peeping through the gap in the seats in front, she saw tears running down Kayla’s cheeks as she and Jared stroked their inconsolable baby’s rigid limbs.
The aircraft shuddered again and she refocused on her task; making a game of every violent buck and bounce. “Giddap, horsey,” she encouraged Madison.
Rocco’s big sister took her fingers out of her ears and hollered happily, “Giddap, horsey!”
They both started when Zander loomed over Kayla’s seat. Oh great, Stormy thought, just what the poor woman needs. But he surprised her.
“What’s wrong with my guy?” he asked over the howls.
Kayla made an effort to brush away tears, but the pink leather sleeve only smeared them across her face. “I’m not sure, it could be earache,” she yelled. “He keeps touching them. And being strapped in isn’t helping.” She gulped. “I just hope he isn’t coming down with something.”
Stormy winced. Don’t tell a singer on the eve of a major tour that your kid is coming down with something.
But Zander surprised her again by laying a hand on Rocco’s forehead. “No fever.”
“He could be overtired,” Jared yelled, “but like Kayla said, he keeps touching his ears.”
Zander crouched to eye level. “C’mon, buddy, pull it together, no one likes a crybaby.” Rocco gave him a toothless grin through his tears, then batted at his ears and began to wail again.
The turbulence stopped as suddenly as it had started.
“Awww,” complained Madison.
Stormy opened the child’s backpack and pulled out crayons and a drawing pad. “Let’s draw pictures of our broncos,” she suggested, setting up her tray table.
The seatbelt sign pinged off and Kayla fumbled to unbuckle Rocco, pulling the baby close to murmur nonsense words of comfort. His wails subsided to sobs.
“I’ll organize a bottle,” Jared disappeared toward the galley.
“Dimity.” Zander gestured to his PA, who sat further down the aisle. When she arrived, he said, “Can you research babies and flying?”
For a moment her eyes met Stormy’s in mutual astonishment. “Sure.”
“And if nothing comes up, arrange for a doctor to meet us at the hotel.”
With a last pat of Rocco’s downy head he left. Dimity looked at Kayla. “The baby’s not Zee’s, is it?”
“No!”
“Just checking.” Pulling out her cell, she trawled parent sites. “I probably should have done this when you confirmed, except I ran out of time… Sorry.”
“I should have checked myself. Hush, darling, Mommy’s here.” Kayla swallowed a sob.
Through the gap in the seats, Stormy touched her shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t panic yet. It could be something simple.”
Madison tugged on her jacket. “You’re s’posed to be drawing something with me!” For all her cheer, she was pale with exhaustion.
“And then we’re putting you to bed,” Stormy said firmly. The last thing Kayla needed was her firstborn having a major meltdown.
“Okay, this might be the problem,” Dimity looked up from her screen. “Some babies have trouble equalizing ear pressure. Has he been drinking or swallowing anything since we took off?”
“No, he slept through takeoff.” Kayla brightened. “Jared’s getting a bottle.”
“Haven’t you got a nanny for that?”
“Stormy’s keeping Maddie happy.” Kayla added loyally, “She’s been a godsend.”
“If only God would take her back,” Dimity muttered as she walked past.
Stormy pretended not to hear, but her fingers tightened on her crayon. Reinforce the good behavior, ignore the bad.
Jared returned with a bottle and Rocco settled immediately.
“That’s not a horse.” Madison inspected Stormy’s drawing with interest. “It’s a lady monster.”
“Yes, it is.” Stormy added horns.