Page 65 of Out of Tune
Behind a strategically placed slab of marble, the bartender is showing someone who I think is a top rookie basketball player how to shake a drink.
Once she finishes, I flag her down and order a vodka tonic for Charlotte and a soda water for myself.
I pull out my phone to check the time. God. Have I really only been here for less than an hour? Maybe I’ll finish this and leave.
“Wesley,” says an all too familiar voice behind me. Dread forms a stone in my gut. “I heard you were around for that tour of yours, but this is the first time I’ve seen you out.”
My old manager, Maddison Baron, steps around me to lean against the counter. If you were to ask around, people might say she’s the reason I had a successful solo career. While Martin helped manage the band, Maddie approached me, sayingshe could help me on an individual level to open more doors professionally.
Though, our relationship wasn’t entirely professional. Or healthy. Maddie has always been friendly with her clients. Too friendly in my case, so I shouldn’t be surprised to see her here now that she’s working out of LA.
The ground under my feet feels like liquid. There’s a pounding in my ears, and the music muddles into a thumping, warping bass.
You have no power over me anymore.
But if the way my body’s screamingrunis any indication, she does.
“It’s been too long,” she purrs.
“Not long enough,” I say with all the conviction I can muster. My gaze darts to the bartender who’s just starting to grab glasses for my drinks.
“C’mon. Our breakup wasn’t that bad. And after ten years, we can be civil, can’t we?”
“Oh, yeah. I had just ended my contract, and you decided to ruin my life. Not that bad at all.”
The moment I called it off, she reached out to all her media contacts and gave them free reign to post every picture she’d paid them not to print. Misleading things about me and actresses or models at events. Friendly exchanges that, out of context, painted me as a serial cheating piece of shit.
What use is your pretty face when you don’t know how to capitalize on it? You need me.
“Ruined your life? Look around. This all seems pretty great to me.” She laughs, a chiming deceptively light sound. “You have this, and the rest of those boys…well, it’s a shame they didn’t keep going for their own sake. But you’re here and they’re nowhere to be seen.”
“You made sure of that, didn’t you? Making sure I’d be as alone and miserable as you are.”
She purses her glossy lips. “Sure, there were growing pains, but it’s ancient history now. Seems like you reconciled with that little reunion, and I got a nice little kickback from all that great press.” Even though we haven’t worked together for years, she still makes a percentage off the revenue I make from anything I created when we worked together. I’ve put time and distance between us, but I doubt I’ll ever be entirely free of her.
“I’m not interested in walking down memory lane with you. I have a date, and it’s bad form to be caught chatting with anex.” I spit the word, hating that it applies. Hating that there was any relationship between us. “But you don’t know shit about manners, do you?”
“Here,” the bartender says. I grab Charlotte’s drink and slam it back, the bitter quinine from the tonic flooding my mouth.
“Another please,” I say. This one comes almost immediately.
“Someone’s thirsty,” Maddie says.
“If you’d excuse me, I have a lady waiting for me.”
I force my feet to move from where they’re cemented to the floor and seek out Charlotte. She’s with some people I vaguely recognize, but names escape me as the liquor starts to hum in my veins. A couple who won a reality dating show, a model, and a designer, maybe?
“Sorry to make you wait,” I tell Charlotte. As I give her the drink, my hand lingers over hers.
A shot finds its way into my hand, then another. My mind is quieter somehow, even with the music blaring so loud I feel it rattling my skull.
Charlotte brightens.
She’s pretty, smiling so fucking wide. Her hair is white-blonde, nearly silver in the moonlight. Yeah, pretty.
“How jealous do you want to make him?” I ask, whispering against her ear.
Her hand slips in mine, and the volume in my head turns down even more. It’s not normal, just numb. It’s how I assume it feels when you get shot and adrenaline cancels out the pain. Too bad when the numbness is gone, you’re still bleeding.
