Page 13 of Hold Still

I can’t look at her any longer, so I walk over to the bar for a refill. Within seconds, she joins me.

“Please tell me I didn’t hear you right. You’ve been at the Jade now for well over a year. During this time, you were supposed to be doing shows and writing the songs for your next album. Remember, I was at the dinner when you and Rose came up with this plan. You really don’t have one new song written?”

I dump ice cubes into my glass. “No.”

“What the hell have you been doing? Oh wait, let me guess. You’ve beendoingevery vagina in Vegas rather than actually working.”

I bang my glass on the bar. “You don’t know anything about it.”

She stomps her newly-massaged foot. “I can guess. You get up on stage, sing youroldsongs and choose which bimbos you want to take backstage after. You’re too busy getting laid—andhigh—to do actual work.”

“I have a penthouse, thank you very much.” And I rarely touch drugs. However, having to attend a wedding the day after finalizing a three-year-long divorce certainly was a valid reason to do so, but she doesn’t deserve to know this. I pick up the rum and pour a very healthy splash into my glass.

Through clenched teeth, she responds, “Whatever. Your songs were contracted to the Project a year ago. Yournewsongs.”

I add a second pour of rum and whisper some Coke into it. Before taking a sip, I face the woman I wanted to fuck five minutes ago, and now just want to throttle. “It’s not your problem.”

“Not my problem! Are you kidding me? While you’ve been fucking your way through Vegas, I’ve been working my ass off on this project. Getting actual deliverables ready. Yours is last on my list and then I can hand it in.”

I raise the glass to my lips and take a sip. Shit, it’s strong. My eyes stray to the woman next to me and I take another swallow. Turning my back to her, I head to the bedroom. “I think we’re done here. Since we’re obviously not going tofuck, which is the only thing you think I enjoy doing, I’m going to sleep until we get back to Vegas.”

“Ozzy—”

If I wanted nagging, I would’ve stayed in Vegas and listened to Ginger. McKenna’s not my boss by any stretch of the imagination, so I don’t have to take this. Slamming the door behind me, I collapse on the bed.

If I could snap my fingers and create a whole new album, don’t they think I would’ve done so before now? It’s kind of hard to create fresh material when your own life is in the fucking shitter. Ducking deadlines from my label is exhausting. Getting hounded by all of these women is getting old.

I take another huge swallow of my drink, the ice cubes clanking against my teeth. A knock sounds. “Leave me alone.”

“Can we talk?”

I’m done talking about my failures. Failure as a husband. Failure as an artist. Failure as a client. Failure with this woman who flitted into my life and brightened it up. Finished. Through.

“Go away.” My glass sails through the air and crashes against the closed door.

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