Chapter 22

Rock entered the trendy nightclub where he was supposed to meet Carla Dawson. It was early in the evening and the club was half-filled with the after work crowd. The masses of partygoers would arrive later.

A scantily clad waitress led him to the private booth, where Carla already waited for him. She was so busy giving autographs and flirting with her fans that she didn’t notice him at first. She looks tired.

“Hello, Carla.” Rock greeted her as he approached the booth and slid in beside her. Carla pouted because he didn’t greet her with a kiss, but Rock ignored that fact and dove right into business.

“I assume you’ve seen the details of contract, Carla. You’ll be announced as the special guest of the triathlon and your image will become the face of the event for this year.”

“Whatever,” she agreed with a wave of her long fingernails. “The only reason I’m doing this is because my agent thinks I need to clean up my image.”

 He’d hoped that she honestly wanted to change her ways, but apparently it was all for show. He didn’t need someone like her to represent the foundation. Even if nobody found out, it felt so wrong – almost as wrong as going out with her. He knew his next words would sound harsh, but maybe tough love was what this young woman needed to find her way.

Rock leveled her with a stare. “Your image is a product of your own stupidity.”

“There isn’t anything wrong with what I did,” she said, glaring at him. “And don’t you tell me what to do!”

Rock suppressed a grin, as the image of Vivian saying those same words flashed through his mind. He seemed to have a penchant for telling people what to do. It had become worse after Tristan’s death. He vowed to be more sensitive.  

“Let’s not make a scene here,” he said, “I’m just trying to help.”

“I wish people would stop trying to help and let me live my own life,” she murmured and suddenly Rock saw the insecure young girl beneath the glamorous shell of the famous actress. It tugged at his heartstrings, but he also acknowledged that he wasn’t the person who could make her realize that she was on the wrong path.

He also noticed the slight tremble in her hands and felt sorry for upsetting her. Carla Dawson clearly wasn’t the strong and self-reliant person she presented to the world. Something about her was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He put on a good face for their audience, while discussing the details of her participation in the triathlon.

“My agent said you’ve run a triathlon before?” Rock asked her.

Carla’s eyes lit up. “Yes, before I had my breakdown. I actually was in a pretty good shape and finished the Chicago triathlon in sub-three-hours.”

Rock raised his brows. Sub three hours was a great time for a fit person, while professionals like him needed less than two hours.

“I love running,” she continued. “It takes me away from everything, clears my head, lets me leave the problems behind. The part I like least is the biking.”

“That’s actually my least favorite part, too,” Rock admitted. He actually started to like her a tiny bit, maybe not all was lost and with a slight change of attitude, she’d become a great figurehead for the race.

Carla’s eyes suddenly darted around nervously and the trembling in her hand intensified.

What’s wrong with her? Is she afraid of someone? “Are you okay?” Rock asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just, I have a bad headache. The music…” she dropped five white pills out of  a bottle into her hand and tossed them back with a big gulp of the wine from her glass.

“What did you just take?” He demanded to know, leaning forward to scrutinize her face.

“Aspirin. Told you, I have a bad headache,” Carla said, brushing him off and leaning back to close her eyes. The trembling subsided and when she opened her eyes again, she was back to her former self.

“Don’t lie to me. What did you just take? No one takes five aspirin at a time.”

Carla eyed him and cast her eyes away, but he slapped his hand down on the table top between them and bit out the question again. “What. Did. You. Just. Take.”

“Easy, there pops. I took a couple of pills. No biggie.” Her smile was as dazzling as on her latest movie poster. The Carla Dawson everyone knew.

“It is a biggie, now tell me what they were, or…” Rock pressed through gritted teeth. He had zero tolerance for drug abusers or doping athletes.

“Or what?” Carla challenged him.

Rock leaned so close he could see the carefully covered dark rings around her eyes. “Or I search through that purse you’re clutching to your chest and find out on my own.”

Carla gripped her purse tighter and then seemed to come to a decision. She sat back and said, “Just painkillers mixed with some meth.”

“As in methamphetamine?” Rock swallowed hard and ran a hand through his hair. He’d seen that infernal stuff ruin more than one life.

“Yes, methamphetamine. What else is there?”

“Nothing! There’s fucking nothing and that’s what you’re supposed to be taking. Nothing!”

“Come on, you sound like the people at rehab. You should try that stuff, it’s awesome. Keeps you on your toes.” Carla actually seemed to believe the bullshit coming out of her own mouth.

Rock excused himself for a moment and went outside to dial Tommy’s number.

“How’s the date going?” Tommy asked as soon as he answered the phone.

“Bad. Really Bad.” Rock recounted what had happened and then said, “We’re raising funds for a rehab center for amputees. How can we have someone with an active drug problem acting as the publicity face of the campaign?”

“Com’on. Are you sure? She just came out of withdrawal. It probably was aspirin.” Tommy tried to downplay the incident. “Listen, we’ll keep it quiet. Nobody needs to know what’s going on. As long as she runs that race, everything’s fine.”

Rock fought a hard battle with himself, but in the end he agreed and hung up. Then he stared at the phone, hating himself for the fact that he’d caved in. Again. What kind of man am I? If I condone this, I’m actually no better than she is.

His steps grew heavy as he returned to their booth, where a dazzling Carla was once again beleaguered by, mostly male, fans. The moment he arrived, she turned her entire attention on him.

“Rock, darling, can I help you?” she asked and even stood to help him stash his crutches.

“Stop it!” he hissed at her, not wanting to cause a scene with so many eyes on them. “My ankle is killing me. Do you mind if we leave?” he asked in a loud voice and smiled at her.

Carla’s response was to hug him, which almost threw him off balance. The sooner he could return to Vivian, the better. He and Carla stepped outside the nightclub and were surrounded by paparazzi. Rock groaned, surely, Tommy or her agent had tipped them off.

They asked about her running the charity triathlon and he dutifully answered all their questions about their business partnership.

“Are you two more than business partners?” a blonde reporter asked and the question sent him off-kilter.

“Rock is the most wonderful man I’ve ever met,” Carla answered in his place and looked up at him with her best lovesick glance. Then she snuggled against his chest with a bright smile.

“Is it true Mr. Martens? Since when are you two a couple?” The questions lashed down on him and all he could do was grit his teeth to keep from screaming the truth.

“No comment,” he finally managed to clip out.

When he’d seen Carla off, he hobbled to his car, slipped inside and dropped his head onto the steering wheel, thankful for the darkened windows that wouldn’t allow anyone to peek inside.

God, Vivian…I’m so sorry. You deserve better than me. He had the sudden urge to hear her voice, just to make sure she was still there, and dialed her number, but the call went straight to voicemail. She’s probably in bed already, after I kept her up most of the night before. An unfamiliar longing occupied his heart. It was much more than simple desire, but he couldn’t quite define what it was.

He typed a quick message to her and then drove home.