Page 364 of Rock Me All Night
Wow. It's beautiful here. There must be a hundred different kinds of roses. The air is crisp and clean. It even smells of flowers.
I shift away from Tom's grasp so my eyes can lead me. There's a perfect red rose. Deep crimson and flush with petals. A white rose, as pure as snow. They're all beautiful and alive.
Tom presses his purple converse clad foot against the grass, testing for mud. "No fresh air on the damn bus."
"You must be used to that, living in Los Angeles." I follow Tom along a stone-lined path. "You seem like you'd fit in there."
"Fuck you very much, too."
That's an insult? "I didn't mean—"
"It's okay. I do seem like that. I'm vain, I go to clubs, I sleep with models and actresses. I'm your typical Los Angeles B-list celebrity douchebag." He presses his palms against a concrete railing. "It's what everybody thinks of me."
I'm sure it's not the most opportune time, but I have to capture his expression. I pull out my camera and take a few photos of Tom.
He looks away, at the ground.
The pictures are beautiful. The soft lighting, the tranquil scene, the hint of pain in his eyes—but they don't tell me why he's upset.
I put the camera down and move closer.
The concrete is cold against my skin. I stare out at the next level of the garden. It's flush with roses, but it's the deep green petals and thorns that dominate the picture.
"What's inaccurate about that image?" I ask.
"Nothing." He looks up at the sky. "I'm shallow. Don't know when to mind my own business. Only care about money. Only in it for the pussy."
"I've seen you turn down three or four women."
"Only cause I can't come."
"I don't believe you."
He shrugs. "Guess we'll see in—"
"Nineteen days?"
"Don't count. It will give me ideas."
"Oh."
"Fuck this serious shit." His fingers curl around the railing. "There's nothing I can do now."
"Are you okay?"
"Will be."
I move a little closer. "What happened?"
"Nothing." He's quiet for a while, his gaze on the flowers below us.
I break the silence. "You're not a typical B-list celebrity douche-bag."
He says nothing.
"More like C-list."
That elicits a smile. "Would you prefer someone more famous?"
