Page 10 of Country Heat

We follow the noise into the mansion’s inner sanctum. My pulse is racing. The main living room is packed and the party continues into the backyard, around the lit-up inground pool, beside the numerous bars, and scattered around the ranch out back with the view of the dark mountains under the starlit sky.

DJ Jonkie—theDJ Jonkie who has the hit song of the summer—is standing behind a set of turntables surrounded by a gaggle of beautiful women watching his every move.

Gray Ridley—the huge movie producer—is in the corner deep in conversation with Angstrom Briggs and Kristen Adler—two of Hollywood’s biggest stars.

Paparazzi would kill to be in here. Everywhere I look, I’m met with familiar faces. And not familiar because I know them in real life, but because I’ve seen them on TV and online.

“This is wild,” Rachel says as she grabs my arm. “Look by the piano. It’s Tristan Rowe.”

I smile when I look over and see the singer for the indie rock band Stranger Danger. “Go talk to him.”

“I couldn’t,” she says, cringing. “I’d die.”

“This is the kind of night where anything can happen,” I tell her, hoping I’m right. “Tristan would be lucky to have a girl like you.”

“Yeah, right,” she says, still staring. I can tell she’s thinking about it. The night is still young. Maybe after a drink or two, she’ll get the courage to go over there and talk to him.

“Where did Clyde go?” Sasha asks, looking around in panic.

My stomach drops when I see that he’s missing. Clyde is lucky he’s a master on the bass guitar or I would have fired him a long time ago. He’s one of those clueless creatives who lives in his head and just goes around crashing into the real world.

We hear a crash like a tray falling down and breaking glass and of course, there’s a commotion, and of course, Clyde is in the middle of it, apologizing to the red-faced waitress.

“I’ll go get him,” I say with a sigh as I start to walk over there.

“No,” Rachel says, gripping my arm. “You go find Cash. I’ll deal with the klutz.”

She’s such a good friend. I smile at her as she heads over, about to tear Clyde a new one.

“Lola!” Graham says when he sees me. “You made it!”

I’m in a state of surreal shock astheGraham Marshall—rock and roll legend—walks over with his arms out and a big welcoming smile on his face. He kisses me on both cheeks, leans back, and gives me that big beautiful smile of his.

“I’m so happy you could come,” he says. “Make yourself at home. Take whatever you need.”

What I need is a roll of paper towels and a broom to help Clyde clean up the mess he made, but I don’t mention that.

“Thank you for having us,” I say, smiling back at him. “I brought my band. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course!” he says, grinning. “Without our bands, we’re nothing.”

“That’s what I always tell her,” Sasha says, butting in with a flirty grin. “I’m Sasha. Her lead guitarist.”

They shake hands and I can see a spark igniting between them. They start talking about guitars and I start to feel like an uninvited third wheel.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” I say, backing away as they playfully argue about which is better, a Gretsch White Falcon or a Collings D2H. They don’t even notice me leaving.

I’m looking around for you-know-who as I head over to the bar. Rachel catches up to me as I order a white wine and she tells the bartender to make it two.

“That boy is so embarrassing,” she says, shaking her head. “We should have left him in the car.”

“He probably would have found a way to drive it into the pool,” I say, chuckling.

We get our wine and wander outside. It’s a warm night with a cool breeze, the galaxy of stars shining over our heads while Earth’s stars mingle and chat all around us. It really is surreal. If the kids in high school could see me now…

“There he is,” Rachel whispers. “Over by the campfire.”

I take a deep breath, trying to slow my beating heart before I turn around.

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