What Now? (6 page)

Pushing herself off the bed, she crossed the room to the
bathroom and opened the door to luxury. “Now this I appreciate,” she said aloud
as she eyed the deep soaking tub and the luxurious marble finishes. “I’ll
definitely test you out before I go,” she promised the tub as she took the
wrapper off the soap and washed her hands and face.

The concert at The Pepsi Center was due to start at 7.
That gave her about four hours to kill before they were scheduled to leave the
hotel. She would update her journal which she’d neglected for a few days. Then
she would begin to compile her story and have a soak in the tub before she had
to face the music again, no pun intended. She was not looking forward to the
concert, to tell the truth. She didn’t like crowds and 20,000 people were more
of a crowd than she was comfortable with.

Picking up her phone, she touched the screen a couple of
times until a phone on the other end started to ring. After about the fourth
ring, the call connected.

“Hi, Ma. I was just about to hang up. Where were you?”

“In the kitchen, of course! I’m baking some cookies for
some of the kids in the neighborhood.”

Shari smiled to herself, feeling better just from hearing
her mother’s voice.

“Did you get my voice message to say I had gotten to
Vegas safely?”  Her mother still liked to know that she arrived safely when she
travelled and Shari didn’t mind humoring her, even though she was twenty-six.

“Yes. Thanks for keeping your old lady happy. How is it
going? Is Nick Badley as bad as you expected?”

“Oh Mother, he’s worse! If I told you about his lifestyle
you would begin to pray for him immediately, but I won’t shock you.”

“Nothing can shock me at my age. Maybe you should start
praying for him. He’s probably not a very happy person.”

“He seems quite happy to me, Ma, so I’ll save my prayers.
Well, he seems happy some of the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there are times he can’t seem to relax and he
can’t walk about without someone recognizing him and wanting an autograph or to
take a photo or something. And he always seems to be thinking about how his
songs are doing on the charts and his PR person, Lily, keeps bothering him
about being present on social media…It’s relentless. I almost feel sorry for
him, but then he turns nasty, like Mr. Hyde, and I feel that he deserves it.
After all, he chose the life.”

“That’s not very nice, Shari. It sounds like he’s under a
lot of pressure and maybe that’s what makes him turn nasty.”

“Don’t excuse him, Mother. We can all choose how to
react. I think he’s just an overindulged rock star who thinks that the world
revolves around him.”

Her mother laughed. “I’ll pray for him. Sounds like I
need to pray for you too; to be more compassionate.”

Shari smiled again, not surprised at her mother’s
comment. She didn’t know anyone more compassionate than her mother. Maybe she’d
been like that before. Maybe she had become hard after Rob, the man she thought
she would marry, walked out on her, claiming that he had outgrown their
relationship. OK, there was no maybe about that; she had definitely become more
resilient, she preferred to call it. But that wasn’t the way she should be; her
life should reflect her values more. She sighed, thinking that she still had a
long way to go.

“All that aside, I’m having a great time. I saw the
dancing fountains at Bellagio yesterday and today I flew on a private jet into
Denver – that’s where we are now – and I saw a forty-foot statue of a blue
bear, which is quite famous, I’m told. It was wonderful! I caught myself
thinking that I could get used to this life.” 

“Well then, you can’t blame Nick for being used to it,
can you?”

How did she know her mother would say that? Already her
mother acted as if she knew him personally.

“Oh, by the way, I may go to his parents’ house for the
Holidays since you’ll be in Barbados.”

“What? He’s taking you to meet his parents? Sounds
serious,” her mother teased.

“Believe me, it’s far from that. Lily thinks it would be
a good idea to see him in that environment. He says his mother still believes
he’s a good boy, so I’m sure he’ll be on his best behavior. Even if I still
indulged in that lifestyle, which I don’t, I’m definitely not his type.” I
don’t think, she added silently, remembering the invitation he’d given in the
limo. “And he’s definitely not mine!”

“I’m hearing the word ‘definitely’ a lot and it sounds a
bit like never saying never to me.”

“Believe me, Ma. I would never fall for someone like Nick
Badley! I’m sure he doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘faithful’. And I’ve
had my share of men like that.” 

“One man,” corrected her mother. “And that was a long
time ago. Nick probably just needs the right woman, dear.”

“Well, that will never be me,” she said drily. “Our lives
and our values are poles apart.” They talked a bit more before wrapping up the
conversation. 

As she ended the call she recalled how many times she had
said ‘never’ in the last few minutes and what her mother had cautioned her
about never saying never.

Nick strummed the guitar, changed the
position of his fingers on the frets and tried out another chord. That one
flowed better. He scribbled down the cord he had just played and went back to
the beginning of the song that he was composing. Something still wasn’t right.
Why wasn’t this flowing? He crashed his hand against the guitar in frustration.
He hadn’t had the time to write music for a while and now that he had a few
hours nothing was gelling.

He wasn’t focused. The shame on Shari
Goodwin’s face when he had taunted her about enjoying the high life kept
messing with his concentration. Its twin stirred in his belly when he thought
about the way he had goaded her in the limo. What had gotten into him, anyway?
What was it about her that provoked him to try to sully her in some way? Or
maybe the question should be, what was it about him? All he knew was that his
conscience had been pricking him for the last hour. Maybe he needed to see a
shrink. He certainly couldn’t psychoanalyze himself. And why had he come on to
her about the mile high club? He never did that. Women came on to him; he
didn’t have to make moves on them. What was that about?

Putting down his guitar in frustration,
he picked up his jacket, the ever-present sunglasses and the valet ticket for
the car that he’d asked Brad to have delivered to the hotel. He needed a drive
to clear his head and there was no better place to do that than in the Rockies.
The three hours before he had to leave for the Pepsi Center should give him
enough time for a head-clearing drive. Patting the pocket of his jacket to make
sure that his room card and wallet were there, he headed for the door.

A thought arrested him before he reached
it. Maybe he should invite Shari to go with him. After all, he had walked out
of her interview and she hadn’t been able to speak with him since. She could
ask him her questions while he drove. Would that help him to clear his head,
though? Still, it was the least he could do, his conscience assured him, and he
walked back to the living room to call the front desk to find out her room
number. His conscience was certainly working overtime today. When was the last
time there’d been a little man on his shoulder whispering into his ear? He
honestly couldn’t remember.

Shari’s pen was poised over her journal.
She would hate anyone to ever see this private place where she poured her
deepest thoughts, dreams and emotions. Sometimes she wrote down her conversations
with God, other times she wrote things she prayed about and sometimes, like
now, simply things that had happened in her life.

I
have the dubious privilege of creating a documentary about “the great” Nick
Badley. (If anyone reads this years from now, he is a famous rock star). I
fully expected him to be a typical celebrity with a wild lifestyle complete
with women, alcohol and drugs and I was right, to some extent. He’s completely
arrogant and obnoxious at times and his lifestyle is unbelievable.

 I went to his room (make that suite) to
interview him yesterday and two women walked out of his bedroom. He didn’t see
an issue with sleeping with both of them.  Typical rock star!  Sex, drugs and
rock and roll. Although I have not seen any sign of drugs. I swear he’s two
different people. One minute he was flirting with me in the limo on the way
here, asking if I wanted to join the mile high club, and the next he turned
nasty and sarcastic and accused me of liking the high life a little too much. I
felt ashamed because it was true. But who wouldn’t enjoy the limo rides, the
private jet, the …

A knock at the door interrupted Shari in
mid-sentence. She didn’t feel like answering it, but the persistent knocking
was difficult to ignore. Putting down her pen, she slid off the bed and headed
for the door where she peered through the peephole. A distorted-looking Nick
Badley peered back at her. What did he want now? She thought irritably as she
reluctantly opened the door, glancing back to make sure that she’d closed her
journal.

“Hi, Shari Goodwin,” greeted Nick
warmly, as if the incident in the limo had never happened.

“Hi,” she replied coolly, still not
totally forgiving him for his insults.

“I’d like to take you for a drive and
give you the chance to continue the interview that you started in Vegas.” 

Shari was surprised. This was the last
thing she expected from him.

“Call it a fit of conscience.” He smiled
charmingly.

“You have a conscience?”

He laughed quietly at her challenge. “I
thought it had died, but apparently it has been resurrected.”

“Well, Hallelujah! Praise the Lord,” she
mocked.

“OK. I deserve that. So do you want to
drive with me or not? I got Brad to rent a Porsche 911 Targa. And don’t worry;
I won’t make any snide comments about you enjoying the high life.”

Shari was tempted. She really wanted to
tell Nick Badley what to do with his Porsche and his drive, but she also had a
job to do, so she should continue with her interview. Besides, she’d never been
in a Porsche before and she was getting a bit antsy being cooped up in her
hotel room.

“I’d love to,” she said graciously.
“Would you like to come in?” Shari realized belatedly that she’d kept him
standing at the door. Stepping back, she gestured for him to enter.

He walked through to her studio and
propped against a wall while she packed up the stuff on the bed. The room was
tiny compared to his Presidential Suite. From what he could see, her room had a
view of downtown whereas his faced the mountains. Still, it was nicer than some
of the ones he’d stayed in when he was first starting out.

“Just give me a minute to freshen up,”
she said, heading for the bathroom. She looked fresh enough to him. Pretty,
without the tons of make-up he was used to seeing on women who thought that
heavy make-up made them more attractive. He realized that he preferred the
understated make-up that Shari wore.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be
right out.” 

Not many places to make himself comfortable
unless he sat on the bed. There was an armchair on the far side of the bed,
near the window, but he felt as if he would be invading her space if he
ventured further into her room so he stayed where he was. True to her word, she
was out in a minute, looking as if she had just put on a fresh coat of
lipstick.

Picking up her jacket, which she had
dropped on the bed, she shrugged into it, smoothed down her flowered sweater
and sat on the bed to pull back on her ankle boots that peeked out from the
bottom of the slim jeans when she stood up again.

“OK, I’m ready,” she said, stuffing her
tablet and recorder into an oversized handbag and picking up the room key from
the bedside table. “Where are we going?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll see where
the car takes me.”

“Lovely,” Shari responded drily.

“Live a little, Shari,” he encouraged.

She realized that it was the first time
he hadn’t added her surname when he was addressing her. They were making progress.
Not that she wanted progress with him, but it would help the interview. She
rolled her eyes in response and followed him to the door.

Nick swung the Porsche onto the street
with barely restrained power. Driving through Downtown Denver gave Shari the
opportunity to see some of the amazing artwork and sculptures that the town was
famous for, although she could see that Nick barely gave them a glance. He was
keen to hit the highway and his impatience was palpable as he maneuvered
through the traffic.

“You’ve been to Denver before, I take
it?”

“Yeah. We played here two years ago and
stayed for a couple of days. I assume this is your first time?”

“Yes, it is. I’ve had a lot of firsts in
the last few days.” She couldn’t believe she had opened herself up for some
sarcastic remark from Nick, but he only said, “I don’t know the last time I’ve
had a first.”

“You mean you slept with two women at
the same time before Vegas?” She couldn’t resist bringing that up again.

She saw a brief smile crease his mouth
before he remarked, “You never give up, do you?”

As soon as they reached the highway,
Nick released the power of the Porsche. It responded as it had been crafted to
do. Shari’s stomach lurched as the car hit 65 mph in about four seconds. Nick’s
foot on the accelerator continued to demand more speed from the car, much to
Shari’s dismay. The low-slung sports car responded to Nick’s confident hand as
he changed the gears, the same way his guitar did. As he slid the car into what
looked like seventh gear, she chanced a glance at him and saw the pure
enjoyment on his face which was in direct contrast to the abject terror that
must be on hers.

“Relax!” Nick instructed, glancing at
her terrified face.

“How can I relax when I’m seeing my life
flash before me and I haven’t done anything on my bucket list yet?”

Nick laughed out loud but slowed the car
marginally and geared down to ease her fear. Shari released her death grip on
the sides of her seat and focused on the scenery that they were passing at a
speed that was still alarming, in her opinion. However, her confidence in Nick
increased with each mile as she saw that he obviously knew what he was doing.

“Fast cars are one of your vices?” She
ventured.

“How can you consider a Porsche 911
Targa a vice? This is as close to heaven as you can get on four wheels.”

“You’ll
be
in heaven if you don’t
slow down. Or the other place.”

“More likely,” he laughed. “I love fast
cars so I have three, but I don’t consider that a vice.”

“Do you really need three cars?” She
exclaimed, thinking it excessive. One of those cars could probably provide
micro-financing for a hundred women.

“I don’t need three cars; I want them.
Maybe I’ll get myself one of these to celebrate the end of the tour.”

Of course, Shari thought, what’s
$100,000?

“Mind you, I don’t get to drive them
enough so I’m looking forward to the trip to my parents’ for Christmas so that
I can get up to some decent speeds.”

“Speaking of which, I couldn’t help
noticing that the speed limit sign back there said 65 mph. Don’t you think…?”

The words were barely out of her mouth
when the sound of a siren penetrated the car. Nick looked in the rear view
mirror and saw a police car flashing its lights at him to pull over. He swore.

“What’s the point of having a Porsche if
you can’t drive it fast?” he complained, pulling over and putting down the
window. The officer climbed out of the police car and ambled over to them, noting
the license plate as he did.

“Good day, officer. Is there a problem?”
Nick asked innocently. The youngish looking officer bent down slightly to peer
into the car. Shari smiled at him.

“Driver’s license, please.”

Nick pulled out his wallet, produced his
license and handed it over. The policeman looked at the photo and the name on
the license and then back at Nick.

“Would you mind taking off your
sunglasses, sir?”