“Justine?” I suggested. Both of us could use her right now.

“Does Justine know how to arrange a discreet procedure while on foreign soil?” She saw my expression and smiled wanly. “Hypothetically. Because I feel like she’s the one who is supposed to announce things. Not cancel things. Will you pass me those crackers?”

I did, and she nibbled on a corner, staring off into space, nowhere near ready for the show. An idea formed. I said, “Let’s get Emily to come.”

“Your dog walker?”

“She’s not just a dog walker. She’s worked for some big names, arranging things. Plus she’s not on Peter’s payroll. If you don’t want the label or management to know anything, they won’t.”

Merry finally finished one cracker. “Fine. How much time do we have until we’re on?”

Sassy Gloss IN TROUBLE?

Boy Toy Tampers Top Pop Idol

Sassy Broke Up with Him And He Took REVENGE.

Cassidy Holmes of pop group Gloss was photographed with a broken arm on the night of the Academy Awards. Her excuse? She fell down. We just learned that her ex-boyfriend Alex Hernandez, a student at Pomona, reacted poorly when Cassidy broke up with him earlier that evening. “They had a fight,” one of her close friends told us, “and the next thing I knew, she had that cast on her arm. She’s lying about falling down.”

The PA delivered a handful of American gossip rags to Ian in Stockholm, which he passed on to me after our flight touched down in Copenhagen. I started to panic, and after deleting a dozen old voice mails pertaining to stale news, eventually I received one from Joanna: “Edie told me you’re out of the country, but you have to get a handle on whatever is going on. My mom saw the accusation about Alex on a magazine at the grocery store and flipped. You’re going to refute this bull, right?”

Edie: “Hey. I know you’re touring in Europe but what the fuck is this?”

Melanie: “I thought you said you broke your arm because you fell down. I hope Alex didn’t cause it. I always liked him.”

Alex’s voice was hesitant. “Uh, it’s me. I don’t know what is going on. Did you tell people that I hit you? It’s . . . it’s really scary. I keep getting hounded wherever I go. Like, not just reporters or whatever, but regular people. I was basically driven out of a Safeway by a mob. And I know we didn’t end on the best of terms, but this is—can you do something?”

Yumi sat next to me on the ride from the airport to the hotel and overheard the message. We pulled into the parking lot and began to unload, security flanking us amid the chaos of fans that had scooped the hotel’s guest list. “Abusive men deserve to be hung out to dry,” she said, as she hopped out of the van. She was swept along the waves of arms toward the back entrance.

While I agreed with her in general, Alex wasn’t the one who had broken my arm, but I couldn’t tell her that. She was already inside and I, the last girl out, was still straining to hear my voice mail.

“Well,” I whispered coldly as I deleted his message, “you wanted to know what it was like being me. Now you do.” And I left the safety of the van.

Flashbulbs popped in my face, hands that were too quick for security dragged along my shoulders. One fan slithered through the band of security and ran up to me, screaming. Apparently she didn’t know what she wanted to do once she’d escaped the confines of security, because she continued to scream while grabbing at my hand. Someone from the team snatched her away before she could rebreak my arm and I ran the rest of the way, the tabloids clutched across my chest in my good hand, to the safety of the hotel.

When I was finally inside, I took a minute to slow my breathing and knocked on a door. Rose answered. I double-checked the room number.

“Oh, sorry. I was looking for Merry . . .” But I was pleased to see Rose, nonetheless. It surprised me, my eagerness to see her. Rose was smart, capable. She could help.

All of this passed in the split second before she answered, “Merry’s two doors down, but she’s probably dead to the world already. She told me she was taking motion sickness medicine and sleeping. Can I help you with something?”

Jittery again, I stepped into the room and dumped the magazines on the bed. “Yeah. I don’t know what to do about this.”

Rose sat on the bed and sifted through the newsprint as I paced back and forth. She popped the tab of a fresh Diet Coke, getting foam on the heel of her hand. She slurped it absentmindedly. “Is this true?” she said, pointing at the tabloids. “Did Alex break your arm?”

I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not. Why would they write that?”

She sipped from the can, head down again, her two-toned eyes poring over the papers. “They must be secure with their source. If it was just one little paper writing it—but all of them?” She raised one brow. “Which means . . . it came from someone they think was there.”

Stephen wouldn’t want to bring attention to this, especially after his threat. “Would Alex be stupid enough to say this? Maybe his dumb roommate?” If so, Joe wouldn’t have realized the hell that would unleash on Alex; he would be vilified everywhere.

“I hope he wouldn’t be idiotic enough to do that. Regardless of who shared it, this shit is out there now. We should get Justine involved, figure out what to say. I’m surprised Peter hasn’t quashed this.” She set her soda down and began dialing the hotel phone.

Peter’s phone went straight to voice mail. Rose furrowed her brow. “That’s weird.” She checked the time. “It’s not that late in L.A.”

“Maybe he doesn’t recognize the number.”

“I’ll use my cell. I think he has that number saved in his phone.”

But Peter didn’t answer that, either.

“He’s probably shmoozing or something. If I know Pete, he’s on it.” Rose slid off the bed and tugged at my hand. Her touch took me by surprise; in my memory, Rose had never reached out before. “Here. Let me raise your spirits.” She turned off the lights so we were in muted darkness and led me over to the window. “What floor are we on?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

“The . . . twelfth?”

“Fifteenth. You can still hear them. Here, let me turn off the air.” She left my side to click the air conditioner off and the room fell completely silent. I could hear the shuffle of feet throughout the hallway, the honk of car horns on the streets below. Rose brushed open the curtains and we stood next to each other in the soft light that came in through the windows—the light pollution of the buildings all around us and the night sky’s glow. And then, softly—

“Is that . . . ?” I whispered.

We placed our ears against the glass, my left, her right, so we were facing each other. Her eyes glittered, and again I remembered the last time I saw them like this—the last time we’d really been alone together, in her mother’s house.

“Yeah,” she breathed, “you hear it?”

Glosssss! We love you, Gloss!

“It’s my favorite thing,” she murmured, her palm cupping around her ear. “People down on the streets, knowing we are here, shouting our name. It’s amazing, isn’t it? Like being high.”

We were safe where we were, a soft room done up in plush silks. No paparazzi. No Jerrys. Just fans below.

My arms broke out in goose bumps and I felt my mouth stretch into a smile. “Wow.” We listened for another minute, our breath tickling our hands that were pressed against the window. She touched her tongue to her lips before speaking again. I stared at her mouth, suddenly very aware of it. The shape, the pout. I imagined what it would feel like to touch my lips to hers.

She was speaking again, and I had to refocus my attention on her voice. If she’d noticed my dreamlike stare in her direction, she didn’t acknowledge it, maybe because she was in a trance of her own. “It’s like my meditation.” She retreated from the glass and switched on a side lamp, creating a circlet of blush-colored light on one side of the bed. She snuggled under the covers, making a cocoon. “Just me, my blanket, and the background noise of adulation. Quiet enough that I can’t hear it all the time, but if I get stuck thinking about things too much I can tune back in and remember. Feel.”

I sat on top of the covers on her bed, lying on my back next to her, and stared at the muted pink ceiling. The sound still carried, a faint chant. I could hear her shifting toward me, her hair loose across her face. “What do you think?” she asked. “A little silly, huh?”

I turned toward her and raised my head on one hand. “No, it’s beautiful.”

We lay there smiling at each other, and I felt my heart skip a tiny beat. Embarrassed, I stared at the ceiling, the two of us listening to the crowd and the other’s breathing.

It felt like the days in the shared room with Yumi, all dark and quiet and secrets could be shared. I had to ask. “So you and Viv . . .”

“Yeah.” She knew what I meant.