Chapter 16
I found an empty table outside the restaurant. The day had turned overcast and cool, but still nice enough to enjoy the open air. Eden walked up a few minutes later. She moved through the New York crowd as though she were cloaked in invisibility. Considering what I did for a living, it always amazed me how unfazed New Yorkers could be when lower level celebrities passed in their midst. They’d perk up at someone really famous—like Chris Hemsworth. I’d wager that Adrianna LaRue would turn some heads.
Eden waggled her fingers in a gesture so girlfriend friendly that it made me forget to get a closer look. She reached me and laid a hand on my arm. “So good to see you, again.”
As soon as she sat down, a lady wearing a visor and a fanny pack stopped at our table. “Excuse me. Aren’t you Eden Sinclair?”
Eden smiled graciously. “Yes.”
“I thought so. I don’t want to interrupt your lunch, but I just wanted to tell you I loved your CD. I downloaded it and gave a copy to my daughter. Would you mind if I got an autograph?”
“No, of course not.” She waited patiently for the woman to conjure up some kind of pen and paper, but as the woman continued to stare helplessly at Eden, I reached into my pocketbook and rescued her from the awkwardness, handing her a pen.
“Thank you!” She relayed the pen to Eden, who still had nothing to write on. “Oh, right!” She fumbled in her fanny pack for something and came up with a checkbook.
Eden asked for her name and scrawled a message on the registry while the woman nattered on about how nice it would be for Eden to come play Indianapolis.
Eden kept writing. “Yes, I played there in June. So sorry you missed that.” She added her Twitter handle and website URL to the registry. “I hope you’ll sign up for my newsletter so you won’t miss me next time.”
As soon as the woman left, I asked Eden. “Should we go inside?”
“Maybe that would be a good idea.”
We grabbed our things and found a table at the far corner of the restaurant. I hoped that nobody else would want to stop and have their moment with her. Or take pictures and post them in a tabloid.
While we waited to order, she made some small talk about how great it was that we could meet. I reached out and touched her left hand, turning it for a better view. “I’d noticed before how gorgeous your ring is.”
“Ah. Yeah. I love it. Adam surprised me at one of our shows with it.” There wasn’t a wedding band.
“I thought I saw a ring on Adam’s finger.”
She balled her fists. “Do I need to tell you this lunch is off the record?”
My cheeks burned. “Of course not. I’m sorry. Natural curiosity. A great characteristic in a journalist. A terrible characteristic in a friend.” I had an urge to come out and tell her that Andy had charged me with the task of investigating, but then she might wonder why I’d even told Andy about our lunch. I already felt like this friendship was precarious.
“Well, it’s actually no secret. My mom’s Swedish.” She said it as if that answered some mystery. That explained where Micah got his coloring, but not why Adam was wearing a wedding band.
“And?”
“And in Sweden, men wear an engagement ring. It’s actually just the wedding band, worn a little early. As soon as he heard about this tradition last month, he insisted on getting one.” She shook her head and smiled fondly. “He’s really good at sucking up to my mom.”
I laughed. “That’s a great characteristic in a future husband.”
“I should just be wearing a band now and wait to get the diamond when we’re married. Adam didn’t know that either when he got me this.” She flashed her hand. “And I wasn’t about to wait to wear it. I have no need to impress my mom.”
The waitress arrived with her pen poised on a notepad. “What’ll you have?”
Eden ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a soda. That sounded tempting. I ordered the same, but replaced the fries with a side salad and the soda with water.
As soon as the waitress left, Eden said, “So you’re going to want to know if we’ve set a date.”
The abrupt shift in topic took me off guard. “What?”
“Since we’re talking bluntly about your interest in my life, aren’t you going to ask when I plan to get married?”
“It does seem to be driving everyone crazy. You were engaged two years ago, right?”
“Yup. But we have a hard time coordinating. It’s been a crazy busy two years. It’s hard to plan far enough in advance to know for sure we’ll both be in the same town at the same time. Adam tours all the time.”
“Do you ever worry about him out on the road?” I wished I could take that back. So nosy. I wasn’t even trying to pry. “I mean. I would, but I think I might lean more jealous than you. You both seem completely smitten.”
“I used to worry. But Adam’s a keeper. I think it would kill him to cheat on me even more than it would hurt me. And then I’d kill him. He’s never been into on-the-road romance with groupies.”
“Unlike your br—” I clipped the last word when I realized how awful the question was. Did I really want to dig into Micah’s private life?
Our food came, and we fussed with settling in to eat. I could tell she had something on her mind, but she didn’t speak again until she’d taken a few bites and then a swallow from her drink.
“You think my brother’s a slut, don’t you?”
I nearly choked on a crouton. I’d always hated that word ever since the neighborhood gossips leveled it at my mom. “Look, I’m in no position to judge him. But he sure has had a lot of relationships with his fans.”
“Not his fans.”
“But—”
“His fans go out and buy his CDs. They may or may not go online to talk to other fans. They live in places like Iowa and go to community college while working a part-time job so they can eventually get a job as a manager of a Best Buy. They come out to his shows when he’s in Des Moines and scream their heads off in the audience with their girlfriends. And then they go home to their Iowa apartment and listen to his music while they study for an exam. At most, they come out after a show and try to get his autograph.”
“But—”
She waved a fork-impaled fry to punctuate her next point. “The people Micah dates are groupies.”
I held up a hand to interrupt. “But aren’t groupies just bigger fans?”
“Sometimes. There are definitely devotees of the band who live on the road, following the tour from town to town. But for a large number of them they may not even care about the music. They may not care which musician or even which band they’re in with. They somehow make friends with security and find ways to get passes backstage. They like the musician’s life, and they make it really easy for a boy who has no attachments to have something like a relationship out on the road—or even if he does have other attachments. They sometimes call themselves ‘road wives.’ ”
My food sat uneaten. I gaped at Eden while she talked, more and more unnerved. She said all this so matter-of-factly, I wondered how she sat there casually scarfing down her lunch while her fiancé currently thrived in an environment of casual invitation. “And they don’t want anything more? No commitment? Just sex?”
I thought of Kendall and her “one-night personal tour of the city.” I pushed the lettuce around my plate.
“For Micah, when the tour ends, and he goes back to his normal life, these girls don’t usually follow him. They’ll use their connection with him to work their way into the whole groupie culture. It’s not unusual for them to go out looking for another musician to latch onto.”
“He was telling the truth, then?”
“About?”
“About the girls breaking it off with him?”
“Well, it’s not as if he really cares. Once upon a time, he used to date girls who didn’t seem to even know that he was a musician. I guess it’s getting harder to find one. To be fair, he’s never cheated on his groupies. I’m not sure they ever returned the favor. He’s not a man-whore. But he’s definitely not a monk.”
I felt a blush creeping up my cheek. Eden blotted her lip with a napkin and leaned in. “But you should probably keep a low opinion of him. I love my brother, but I can’t vouch for him. I don’t know if he’s ready for anything more than the easy commitment-free relationships he’s burned through in the past two years.”
I took a sip of water, but my throat had clenched up, making it hurt to swallow. “He’s definitely a big old flirt.”
“That he is.” She sat back in her chair and watched me for a second. “Look. Micah’s got a big heart, and he’s had legitimate girlfriends—though mostly back before this whole rock star thing took off. It’s a hard life for regular people.” Her eyes bored into mine. “I don’t have to tell you how invasive the media can be, especially when it involves new relationships. And new relationships are the most vulnerable. The paparazzi drive away anyone who values a shred of privacy.”
“But you put up with it?”
She snorted. “Do I?”
We declined to order dessert when the server came, but Eden ordered two coffees. I folded my napkin absently. “My boss would be so pissed if he knew I spent an hour talking to you about Micah.”
She steepled her fingers. “You want to fuck with him?”
“What? With Micah?”
“With Andy.”
“How?”
She leaned on her elbows. “We could feed him something bogus but innocuous.”
My heart sank. “Like what?” Her eagerness confirmed my suspicion that she wanted to use me to get to Andy. And maybe she already had. Maybe the pregnancy was a complete fabrication. Would she go that far?
She cast her eyes up toward the ceiling, thinking. “I don’t suppose you could make him believe I’m Elvis in disguise?”
I snorted. Her ridiculous suggestion dispelled the nagging doubts about her ulterior motives with me. “Ooooh. Or we could say you’re in contact with our alien overlords?”
Her face lit up with laughter. “Yeah.”
A waitress cleared our cups away and spoiled the moment. “Anything I tell Andy about you will get published in my name. He’s probably not above stealing credit, but you’d most likely be messing with my career.”
“Crap. I’d really love to get him good.”
Knowing what drove the tabloids as well as I did gave me some insight on what might actually entice Andy, and I couldn’t help share with Eden. “There is one thing we could do. Is there a jewelry store nearby?”
* * *
Andy ambushed me the second I came into the office. “Well?”
“She said it was off the record.” Not that Andy would care. He wouldn’t print it, but he could mine information for gold for future research. And nothing would get him more interested than starting off by telling him he couldn’t print whatever I knew.
“What did she say was off the record? Did they get married or not?”
“She says, ‘Not.’”
He pouted like a little kid. “Did you at least get any pictures of her ring?”
“That I did.” My conscience stirred slightly. I’d told Eden this could cost me my job if Andy found out I was lying to him, and she said that would put us into a state of détente. We both knew a secret about each other.
Andy reached for my camera without waiting for me to offer it. He rolled through the pictures Eden had posed for outside. We’d gone into a boutique that sold cheap jewelry and bought a ten-dollar silver band that she’d worn with her engagement ring, flashing her hands about while I took pictures. Andy zoomed in on every picture and finally got one that came out clearer than the rest.
“Is her engagement ring a double band?” He kept flipping through pictures. Then he started looking through older pictures trying to compare. It was impressive but scary to watch him work. “Here. There’s only one band.” He zoomed in on a picture from weeks earlier.
He narrowed his eyes and went over the pictures. “Something doesn’t seem right about this. Eden doesn’t ever pose for pictures.”
I held my breath.
He stood for a minute in thought. “And she told you she’s not married? Then why would they go around wearing wedding bands in the open?” He straightened his tie and ran a hand through his hair. As he walked to his office, he muttered, “I wouldn’t put it past Eden to pull another stunt.”
So much for operation Fuck with Andy. At least he hadn’t suspected my involvement in the prank. No harm, no foul.
When he came out of his office, I made the mistake of asking him if I’d fulfilled my end of the bargain. He scowled. “Do I have a story I can print?”
He hadn’t answered my question. After I hadn’t moved, he finally said, “Are you waiting for an invitation?”
But I had to play the cards I had. “Andy, didn’t I bring you the picture of Eden’s ring?”
“Yeeeeah.” He tapped his finger on the table. “About that. I’m pretty sure she’s using you to get to me. You’d know that if you made it your mission to take candid shots instead of the ones they pose for. But she’s up to something, and I want to know what it is. I’ve asked Derek to keep an eye on her.”
He sent Derek to stalk her. My throat constricted, and I had to fight stupid unintended emotions. If I choked up now, Andy might suspect I was hiding something. And he’d be right. “What’s he going to do?”
“The fact that you have to ask that speaks volumes.” He leaned against my desk. “Go to the airport, and bring me something good. If you can show me you’ve finally discovered your edge, we’ll revisit the whole situation. If not, well then we’ll have a different discussion next week.”
I grabbed my backpack to head out of the office, but before I’d made it to the door, Andy added, “And Jo, if I see you in the paper with Micah again, I hope it will be because you’ve found me a story I can run.” He tilted his head toward me with an ominous expression. “You need to understand that nobody who works for me would fail to take advantage of that situation.”
I bolted with a growing pain in my stomach. As much as I hated Andy, I couldn’t lose this job, or I’d lose my health insurance. And then I might as well just move back to Georgia and live with my mom. But there were other departments at this paper, so on my way downstairs, I stopped in the Arts and Leisure department and asked the rail-thin Audrey Hepburn look-alike if I could see the managing editor.
She waved her hand toward a desk in the far corner, and I squeezed through the small office.
“Excuse me,” I said to the gray-haired man reading his monitor intently. “Are you Sang Moon-Soo?” The question was rhetorical. How many grizzled Koreans worked in this department?
“Yes?” He looked up, but I waited until his eyes lost their glaze and focused on me.
“Hello. My name is Jo Wilder and—”
“Have a seat.” He indicated a chair at an unoccupied desk. I rolled it over. “What can I do for you?”
“Mr.—” I stopped, unsure how to address him. I was 99 percent sure other journalists referred to him as Moon-Soo as was the Korean way of putting the first name last. Tentatively, I finished, “Sang.” He nodded, and I continued with more confidence. “I was hoping you might have some openings on your staff. I’d love to transition to Arts and Leisure if possible as a theater reporter.”
He rubbed his nose. “Theater reporter, eh? I don’t have enough staff down here to be able to hire on anyone for such a specific role.”
“Oh. Well, I could do other things, too, but I had an interview with Miriam Blackwell last week.”
He perked up. “Has it printed?”
“No. I’m currently working up in the entertainment department, and they aren’t interested in stories about theater actors.”
“Yeah. Well, shoot it to me. I can evaluate it and let you know.” He started to turn back to his monitor but glanced up over his glasses. “But I can tell you I can’t pay you whatever you’re making now. This department fights for space, and we’re usually the first to suffer cuts when the newspaper is losing revenue.”
“But would I keep my health insurance?”
“That you would keep.”
I thanked him and headed out toward the airport to collect entertainment news. Entertainment news. It was both an oxymoron and a lie. Nobody in my department cared about the creative entertainment provided by the people on the other end of the camera. It was all about their personal lives.
As the subway came above ground, my notifications buzzed, and I read the text from Micah. What are you doing today?
Working. You?
Also working.
I tried to picture Micah in a coat and tie, punching a clock. You got a nine-to-five job?
You could say that. We have a show in Asbury Park tonight. Packing up now. Wish you could come.
It’s okay. I’m on my way out of the city. Have a good show.
Have a good night. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. okay?
Yes.
It was a simple exchange, but I hugged my phone to my chest. I might have been kicked out of the office for carrying on with Micah, but it was worth it. Or so I thought.
Then I remembered that he’d be surrounded after his show with groupies throwing themselves at him brazenly for all they were worth.
And I remembered Eden’s admonition that Micah couldn’t do a committed relationship.
I deep-breathed and told myself not to get ahead of myself. He liked me. I liked him. Nothing had really happened between us yet. And besides, if he did turn up with some other man-stealing whore, I’d be among the first to know.