Chapter Nine
They stopped for gas in Barstow and Zander stayed in the car to avoid recognition. He’d told Luther no bodyguards until the hotel. In the side mirror, he watched Elizabeth carefully reading the instructions on the pump station. An attendant ambled over and she waved him away. “It’s okay, I’m having fun.”
Fun. Really? Admittedly it was a hell of a car, but… Her hair caught the sun. She’d fastened it into a twist with a tortoiseshell clip and fine strands danced across her face in the hot wind. But nothing could tame its color, the raw fiery orange of a Nevada sunset. Maybe that’s why she dressed in muted colors—today an olive-green skirt and a bronze tank—because her hair provided its own glory. Her John Lennon-style sunglasses were useless in desert sunlight.
Zander had been pissed when she’d burst into his bedroom and started laying down the law. But she was right. Distracted by his voice issue, he’d dropped the ball. Obsessing over his future wouldn’t change it; he’d manage this latest setback like he managed every other—with bullshit and his own particular superpower, denial.
If the worst happened and his voice failed, it was even more important to secure his legacy with a kickass memoir.
And okay, maybe it was time to look at their project from Doc’s point of view. His wasn’t the only career to consider.
Elizabeth finished refueling and strode inside to pay, unconscious of several interested male glances. Nothing was as sexy as confidence.
Inside, she made some smiling comment to the dour cashier and Zander watched the other woman gradually soften under the doc’s friendliness until they chatted like old friends.
She had a way with people. Zander was so practiced at deflection it hadn’t occurred to him when he’d pursued her, hired her, that Elizabeth might have a way with him.
But she listened with such intelligent objectivity that he found himself opening closets he’d intended keeping shut. There were even odd moments when she seemed to be looking past his stories to him. Seeing him.
He squirmed in his seat. His biographer was good; hell she was very good. But that’s why he’d chosen her. Her idea for structuring the memoir under the seven deadly sins still made him chuckle. He liked her, she made him laugh, and more than that she surprised him and Zander had considered himself beyond surprise.
At times their clashes threw up sparks he would have called sexual if they weren’t such different people. On the downside, she kept trying to crack the ice on subjects he preferred to skate over. Zander could talk about anything glibly. Feeling something, the aches and pains, regrets and sadnesses… No.
Heat built in the car and he turned the ignition for the air-con. The engine roared to life, and cold air blasted against his face. He’d done some unforgivable things and buried them under a shitload of repression. Zander had no intention of allowing this professional retriever to dig them up. If they were going to spend more time together, he needed a diversionary tactic.
Elizabeth returned with two bottles of water and a paper sack. “Do you think we could make a quick stop at the Zzyzx Road sign when we pass it in another hour?” she said, handing one over.
“What the hell is that?”
She fastened her seatbelt. “Alphabetically the last place name in the world.”
Zander uncapped the water bottle and thanked her. “I’ve been driving this highway forever and never heard of it.” The water was deliciously cool. He should have brought some with him; he couldn’t afford dehydration.
“I won’t even ask you to detour to the Desert Studies Center or Lake Tuendae,” she coaxed. “Just stop at the road sign so I can take a picture.” She added hopefully, “Unless you want to see the habitat of the endangered Mohave tui chub?”
“You’re making this shit up.”
“It’s a fish.”
“That’s just sad. What’s in the paper sack?”
“Candy. Tootsie Rolls and Jolly Ranchers. I got hooked on them when I studied here.”
“I haven’t had those since I was a kid.”
“Want some?”
Tootsie Rolls were chocolate. Chocolate was bad for his voice. Zander sighed. “A Jolly Rancher will bribe me into a stop at the road sign long enough for one photo.”
Over the next hour they chewed their way through the packet.
“What saved you from the addictions that have tripped up so many others?” she asked.
“My biggest drug was ambition. I knew if I wanted to stay famous I had to exercise some self-control.”
They found the road sign in the middle of nowhere. Zander pulled off the highway onto gravel and looked at the shimmering heat and a vista of distant hills. Elizabeth’s pale skin would fry. “Wear my hat.” He plonked his Stetson on her head. “It adds authenticity to the desert look.”
As he lined her up for a photo, a Winnebago parked inexpertly beside his Viper, covering the gleaming paintwork in a haze of dust. Great.
His biographer struck a pose and Zander smothered a grin as he took the shot with her cell. Honest to God, this woman got a kick out of the strangest things. It gave him a kick, watching her.
“Would you mind taking a picture of us?” called one of the Winnebago occupants, an elderly woman whose checked shirt matched her husband’s.
Depends on whether you’ve stone-chipped my paintwork. “Sure.” Zander enjoyed the novelty of being on the other side of the camera as he lined up the talkative Winnie and taciturn Bob, Midwesterners on a retirement trip.
“You want me to take one of you and your wife?” Winnie offered when he returned her camera.
“Oh, we’re not married,” Elizabeth said.
“Boyfriend, then.”
Doc went to correct her, but Zander got in first. “Give her your cell, honey. We’d love a shot.” He steered her toward the sign. “Most people would be delighted to get a photo with me.”
“Exactly. And this is your day off.”
He was touched. “Thank you, but I’m very happy to be photographed at the end of the alphabet with a pretty woman.”
Under the brim of his hat, her skin tinted pink, but she said mildly, “I expect you want your Stetson back.”
Flirting, Zander thought. That’s my diversionary tactic. Sexiness was something he could shrug on like a coat of many colors—a slow smile, holding eye contact, adding more huskiness to his voice.
Enough surely to derail an awkward conversation. “Keep my hat for the shot.”
“Closer,” Winnie hollered.
Perfect. The bronze silk of Elizabeth’s tank slid under his palm as he dropped an arm around her shoulder. When she glanced up, startled, he launched one of his killer smiles.
“Oh…um, sure,” she said and tentatively looped an arm around his waist. Her skin still held the residual coolness of the car’s air-con and she smelled of candy.
Winnie fiddled with Elizabeth’s camera. “It’s not working.”
“You must be pushing the wrong button,” said Bob and the two bickered amicably.
Elizabeth peeked up at Zander under the brim of his hat, her eyes dancing, and they laughed. The inside of her mouth was stained Jolly Rancher grape and he had a sudden desire to bend down and taste all that sweetness. Where the hell had that come from?
“I’m sure it won’t take too long,” she soothed, misreading his frown.
“Sure.” A 4WD pulled up, rock blasting over the stereo. Two young couples piled out, one of the women holding a camera.
“This is lame,” her guy complained as they mooched around waiting their turn for a shot. His gaze skimmed over Zander and then returned.
Wearing sunglasses might save him from being recognized. Zander dropped his hand from Elizabeth’s shoulder in case it didn’t—she didn’t need paparazzi speculation again—and stepped away from her.
“Sorry, I’m getting clammy,” she apologized, and called to Winnie, “Need some help there?”
“No, I’ve got it.” Winnie found the right button and took the shot.
When he and Elizabeth rejoined them, Zander turned his back to the new arrivals.
“Oh dear,” Winnie said, as she and Elizabeth checked the picture. Zander had hat hair, Elizabeth looked all head in the Stetson and the Zzyzx Road lettering was out of focus.
“I’m sure it’s him,” someone muttered behind him.
“Let me try it again,” Winnie offered.
“Thanks, but we need to get going.” As Zander steered Elizabeth toward the Viper, she took off his hat.
“Thanks for the Stetson.”
“Holy shit,” shrieked a female voice. “It is Zander Freedman.”
It took another twenty minutes to leave. Photos had to be taken, then a T-shirt unearthed from the Winnebago to be autographed for Winnie’s grandson. Passing vehicles started slowing down to see what all the fuss was about. A few stopped.
“I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth said when they finally hit the highway again. “I shouldn’t have asked for a detour.”
He shrugged. “Nothing is more important than my fans. That sounds like lip service, but it’s true.”
“And loss of privacy is the price… I thought growing up a minister’s daughter was tough.”
“When Rage toured Africa, we did a safari in Kenya,” Zander commented. “In one village, the kids broke into an impromptu version of ‘Summer Daze’. They were word perfect. The price is worth it.”
Fans told him his songs provided the soundtrack to their highs and lows and added meaning to their lives. Not realizing their love gave meaning to his.
* * *
They ate takeout in the Viper overlooking Vegas.
As Zander dug into his McDonald’s chicken salad, trying not to get ranch dressing on the leather upholstery, he still couldn’t work out how Elizabeth had talked him into this.
In some ways she was like a kid, excited by everything. Even the city below, slowly twinkling into a constellation against the backdrop of a desert sunset, couldn’t match the shine in her eyes as she munched her hamburger and fries and sighed over the view.
He sighed too, because damn, her fries smelled good.
“I’ll give you twenty bucks for three fries,” he said, but she waved the cash aside and put the carton between them to share.
“Thanks for doing this,” she said between mouthfuls. “An overview gives me my bearings in a new city.”
“You’re a strategic thinker, like me.” Once Zander had set his heart on Dr. Elizabeth Winston writing his memoir, he’d cherry-picked Dimity’s research for a battle plan. Working around the university’s semesters, he’d come up with an offer no poorly paid academic could refuse.
The first crunch of salty fry was an oral orgasm. Zander ate five and reluctantly returned to his salad. He knew Doc’s professional background, but very little about her personal life, and he needed more insight into this woman if he was going to steer her in the right direction.
He’d hired her for her literary cred and to lend a ring of truth to a memoir that would secure his place in the pantheon of rock ‘n’ roll greats. Not bare his darkest secrets. Because if people knew him for who he truly was, they’d despise him.
“What’s that?” Elizabeth pointed to a tower on the skyline. “It reminds me of Auckland’s Sky Tower.”
“The Stratosphere Tower.” He glanced at her. “Does it make you homesick?”
“Much as I love living close to my family again, I miss living abroad.”
Vaguely he recalled she’d had a scholarship in the States, and then worked for four years at an English university while she burrowed into Anglo-American history. “Why did you leave the UK?”
“Going home was only supposed to be temporary.” Carefully, she separated the pickles from her burger and dropped them in the paper sack. “My grandmother was dying and I wanted to spend time with her before she passed. Then my younger brother announced he was getting married, so I accepted a semester’s work at Auckland University and stuck around for his wedding, and then my youngest sister begged me to stay an extra couple of months and be godmother to her second child, so I extended the contract.”
Sweet Jesus, it’s another world.
Absently, Elizabeth wiped her mouth on a paper napkin. She had a nice mouth, wide and generous. “Somewhere in all that, I bought a house because my middle sister—Marti, the rebel,” she shot him a mischievous look, “is also a hotshot realtor and swears it will be investment gold in ten years.” She chuckled. “More importantly, according to my sis, it gives me a”—she drew quote marks in the air—“nest egg, which is very important for my”—more quote marks—“old age, which apparently is fast approaching.”
He laughed. “Did you tell her to butt out?”
“No, she’s a financial whiz who’ll make my fortune.” She finished eating and wiped her hands. “So somehow I’ve found myself with a permanent job and a permanent mortgage.”
Frowning slightly, Elizabeth gazed out over the skyline, the last rays of the sun making copper of her hair and gilding her brows and skin. Over the day her makeup had faded and freckles dotted her nose like friendly fire. Not beautiful, but she didn’t need to be, she had plenty of other things going for her.
“Ever been married?” Many guys would find her compelling.
“A husband would be another responsibility.” She started bagging the remains of her meal. “Staying single gives me the freedom to lose myself in the past without worrying about neglecting someone in the present.” She offered him the remainder of her fries; Zander shook his head. She ate two and dumped the rest.
He closed the clear plastic lid on his salad and dropped it in the trash bag she held open. “I’ve never cared about anyone more than I’ve cared about my career either. So every girlfriend tells me,” he added ruefully.
Elizabeth smiled. “We’re two hopeless workaholics.”
It was almost full dark now, the lights of Vegas at full brilliance. The darkness accentuated the melodic qualities of her voice. “No guy has ever tried to change your mind?”
“A couple,” she admitted, “and things got messy. Hence my rule.”
“Rule?”
“One of us has to be leaving town, and preferably the country, within three months of starting a sexual relationship. No one gets invested, no one gets hurt. And we keep it secret. My family, bless them, are intrusive enough.”
“And your lovers agree to this?”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“Sounds like a hell of a lot of effort to get laid if you ask me.”
“Periods of celibacy are a small price to pay for peace of mind.”
“My concern was for the guys.”
“I’m worth it,” she said.
Zander laughed. She returned a look equal parts confidence and playfulness and he had a brief disconcerting sensation of being a novice in this game. Which was crazy.
“Anyway, it’s great being back in the States.” She finished bagging the trash. “I was ready for new horizons again, new challenges.” Her dry emphasis on the last word was easy to decipher. Well, he had warned her he was difficult. Zander resisted the urge to ask if he’d outstripped the toddlers yet.
“Happy to be your Prince Charming, Cinderella,” he said instead and Doc snorted.
He started the engine and switched on the Viper’s lights. “But for now, it’s back to reality. Your monarch still has work to do.” He pulled out of the parking lot, following the curved road down the ridge.
“Conquering the world,” she supplied.
“Yeah.” The thought always fired his blood.
“There’s a question I haven’t asked you yet. What kind of life do you see for yourself when all this is over?”