Rock Candy, page 5
part #1 of Dark Horse Series
Shock worked its way through my system.
“Voted?” I choked out. “What do you mean, voted?”
Joe pulled his phone back and navigated, then shoved it in my face again. “It's all right here on this website,” he told me patronizingly. “I’ll give you fifty bucks if you back up my bet that it took until 2 am.”
I wanted to defend myself, to explain what really happened, but I could tell by looking at Joe's face that he’d made up his mind about me. Nothing I said would make any difference.
For the briefest moment, I entertained the idea of going to the lawyer in town, but I couldn't afford to pay him. And what would I tell him, anyway? “I sat in the lap of a man I just met in front of a bunch of people with cameras, and now everyone is talking about me?” Was that sort of speculation illegal? Probably not.
"Well Joe," I said to my coworker who I had to see every day, "in your own way, I do believe you were being nice to me by saying it took till 2 AM. For that, I thank you."
Joe's face fell. "This means you won't be backing up my side of the story?"
Anger took hold of me, and I pulled back, ready to shove Joe away from me.
Fortunately, Marge came in.
Joe went back to dicing ham for the day’s Denver omelets.
Marge didn't dignify the gossip about me with an acknowledgment. "Good morning, Tracy."
"Morning, Marge." With a grateful raise of my eyebrows, I clocked in and went to the dining room to start my day.
The place was packed. Almost as busy as it had been yesterday. As I passed by, mystified and confused, more hands than usual grabbed at me. What was going on?
Slowly, it dawned.
Everyone, men and women alike, leered at me. Even a few women I had been friends with at one point or another. All the faces were hostile. The women were clearly jealous of me and Gunnar. The men obviously expected to get something out of the tramp who had banged a rockstar.
Cat calls and lewd whistles abounded.
Mike, my ex, caught my attention, standing up from the nearest booth and giving me the only slightly friendly face.
I felt relief until I heard what he had to say.
"The reporters didn't know who you were, but I just helped them out.” He held up his phone. “They have your name now, and they know all about you.”
It took the words that long to sink in before I realized what he’d just said and interrupted him. "You told them who I was? Why would you do that?"
"You're a celebrity now,” he told me excitedly. “You’ll be on talk shows. They’ll fly you out to Hollywood and put you up in fancy hotels.” Finally, he ran out of steam and really looked at me, noticing I wasn’t excited. “You can thank me anytime now."
I gave him a hard stare, hissing, “I am in no mood to thank you. Strangle you is more like it.”
My phone went crazy.
Marge burst through the kitchen door behind me and raised her voice to everyone. "Alright, enough is enough. Unless you're here to eat, you can get out now. This is not a circus, this is a diner. Order something or leave, all of you."
At first, no one moved.
Marge stomped her foot.
If these hadn’t been locals, I know now that wouldn't have worked. But it did work, with all the local young folks. Marge knew their parents, after all, and even if they didn’t live at home anymore, they were expecting birthday presents and Christmas presents, right?
A few of the girls complained, whining, "Aw, do we have to go? This is the most exciting day we've had in years."
I always silenced my phone when I got to work, but it had been shaking non-stop since Mike’s announcement that he’d told the reporters who I was. I took advantage of the distraction to take it off vibrate, too, for all numbers except Gunnar’s. The prospect of getting a text from him seemed like a life raft in the middle of this turbulent sea.
Marge put her hands on her hips and glared at the loiterers. "Yes, you have to go, unless you want to order something and pay in advance."
Almost everybody left, and thank God that included Mike. Only the older folks stayed.
I was okay with that. I didn't want to hear disapproval from the kids my age.
Marge patted me on the back and handed me an order pad, a sure sign she knew I was upset. I hardly ever used order pads, preferring to just memorize the orders. I was good at it.
Just when I thought I could breathe easy, Jeremy Masterson's grandma winked at me and curled her finger for me to come over and see her.
I got my order pad and pencil out.
She shook her finger at me and spoke in a voice all could hear. "Shame on you, bedding a perfect stranger!"
I looked at her in horror.
She leaned back nonchalantly and sipped her coffee, looking the other way and acting as if she hadn’t just ostracized me from society.
I looked around at the other patrons, all locals I'd known all my life. Now that the younger people had left, they were all older folks, people's parents and grandparents.
None of them would meet my eyes.
And what I had allegedly done wasn’t even illegal.
Tears popped out of my eyes in a flood, and I pushed my way into the kitchen, even though Joe was in there. All I had done was sit in someone’s lap and kiss his cheeks.
Marge gave me a comforting hug that made my tears flow even more freely. "If you want to take the day off, that's fine with me, sweetheart. We can manage. Right, Tiffany?"
Tiffany came out of the walk-in refrigerator with an armful of coleslaw and set it down on the counter, automatically getting the little serving cups off a nearby shelf. "Is it as bad as all that?" she asked as she scooped the coleslaw into the cups.
What? My best friend wasn’t supporting me?
I stiffened in Marge’s arms, ready to yell at Tiff.
But Marge held me firmly in place. “She’s been back there this whole time, honey. She didn’t hear any of it. She’s a great friend to you, and you need her in your corner.”
I was beyond explaining. I just slumped into the hug, feeling like a little kid in her mom’s arms and not ashamed of that one little bit, it felt so good to have someone like her.
Marge nodded at Tiffany and held me close. "Yeah, it's that bad. Everyone's decided Tracy's a loose woman. They didn't even ask her what happened, just assumed the pictures told the story."
Her support gave me strength. At least while I was back here, away from the angry mob.
"If it's okay with you," I said to Marge as I moved over and bounced Tiffany out of the way with my rump and took over slinging slaw, "I’d rather just stay here in the back where I can be in your good company. I don’t want to go home and be alone. I’d rather wait for Tiffany."
Marge gave me a quick side hug, then moved toward the dining room, ready to do my job. "I’ll take you up on that offer, Tracy. That's fine. I wish I could pay you just to be back here doing set-ups, but I have to do your job, so I won't be able to do the books or anything. I'll have to stay late and do that." She paused at the door, waiting for confirmation.
I nodded at her, wiping the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. "I know. I don't expect to be paid."
She gave me one last nod and pushed her way through the door, where I could hear her greeting customers and taking orders.
Tiffany came and stood right beside me, where she could whisper in my ear without Joe hearing. "You didn't get a chance to do anything with him. I was only gone half an hour before you found me, and you were in the green room that whole time, or looking for me."
I nodded, soothed by the repetitive task of scooping coleslaw out of the bin and putting it in the cups.
Dark Horse’s best song rang out on my phone.
5
Paul’s Idea, Tracy
Gasping, I ran into the walk-in refrigerator and verified it was Gunnar. "Hello," I said in what I hoped was a friendly tone.
"Hi Tracy, it's Gunnar."
"Hi, what’s up?" Why was I trying to sound normal when my world was coming apart?
His deep voice soothed me, though. "I booked your trip for next weekend."
"Oh, cool. Thanks so much. I could use a vacation.”
“My pleasure. I'll email you the details and pick you up when you get there. You have your own room at the hotel. I want you to know that up front. Your return flight gets you home at five on Sunday, so you can be home and rested in time for your Monday morning. Sound good, or do I need to make changes?"
"Are you kidding?” I choked out. “It sounds wonderful."
“We’re going to have so much fun,” he said with more than a hint of fun in his voice.
Something Marge had said came to mind. "Hey, is there any way Tiffany could come with me?"
His voice was warmer now. "I already booked her along with you.”
I'm not proud of it, but I squealed. "Thank you so much. That is so nice of you. Will you really personally be picking us up?"
His deep chuckle was like rocker candy. "I was gonna come in a limo, but you sound so impressed at the idea of me driving, I might change my mind."
I rushed to correct him. "A limousine would be stellar. Don't change that. I just mean will you be there? I want to see you as soon as possible."
"Glad to hear it. I want to see you as soon as possible, too. So, this next question is a little awkward. We don’t have to talk about it if you don't want.”
"Go ahead and ask,” I told him. “I'll let you know if I don't want to answer."
"Okay. That's nice of you. And for this part of our conversation, Paul, my manager, wants me to let him into my room and put the phone on speaker, okay?”
“Okay. Wow, this is serious, then.”
“Don’t worry, Tracy. At any time, you can say you don’t want to talk about this, and we’ll stop. It wasn’t my idea, it was his. I think it could work out good for you as well as for the band, but your comfort is important to me, so just let me know, and I’ll make Paul go away, okay?”
“Is it okay if Tiffany and Marge are here with me on speaker, too?” I said, opening the walk-in door and frantically motioning for Tiffany to go get Marge.
Tiffany raised her eyebrows and hustled out into the dining room.
Paul's voice came over the phone. “Sure, Tracy. That’s a good idea. Let us know when you’re ready.”
I went into Marge’s office and motioned her and Tiff in. “Okay, we’re ready.”
Paul sounded businesslike. “I’m just going to lay all our cards on the table so that together, we can make the best hand of them.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Marge agreed.
“Well then, here goes,” said Paul. “For whatever reason, the tabloids are in love with Gunnar and Tracy. It’s everywhere. Dark Horse can use more of this publicity. Tracy, have you gotten any offers from TV yet, the talk shows?”
The idea of going on talk shows burst a dam I hadn’t known was keeping the tears back, and I lost it. “No way can I go on talk shows! Everybody’s already shunning me just from those pictures of me sitting in Gunnar’s lap.”
“They’re shunning you?” Gunnar sounded angry.
“Yeah. There are websites making bets on how long it took you to get me into bed, Gunnar. Everybody’s hounding me about it here at the diner, asking questions and demanding answers, leering at me, and throwing insults. It’ll be much worse if I’m on talk shows.”
Marge took me in her arms and spoke soothingly, the way Mom used to when I cried. “You girls have been talking about leaving town for as long as you’ve been working here. Maybe this is as good a break for you as it is for Gunnar and his band. Talk shows can pay, you know. Let’s have a look at that phone of yours and see if there’s even anything to decide.”
“Talk shows pay?” I asked while I brought up my texts. And then I gasped. “There’s at least a dozen offers here.”
I did whatever odd chores needed done and stayed out of sight in the kitchen.
Just before Tiffany’s shift ended, Marge came over to me with her checkbook. By this time I’d swept the kitchen six times, dusted the kitchen four times, and was sitting at her desk in her office, straightening the piles of papers because I didn't even know what she did back there.
She came in and closed the door behind her and gave me a sweet smile. "I'm giving you all the wages you have coming right now, instead of you having to wait till Friday."
"But you said the talk shows would pay me."
"They will, if you play your cards right, but their checks won’t come in the mail for a month. You need money to get there, and a place to stay. I’ll put you in touch with my cousin Bertha. She’s a realtor in Fairfax. It's not Hollywood, but it's close enough. Ask her if she has some furnished places for rent. You can get something for a month for what a hotel costs per week. What I'm saying is, make your money lasts, you hear me?"
“Yes, ma’am.”
With tears in her eyes, she handed me my check and her cousin's phone number, then hugged me and held me tight. "I'm going to miss you, girl, but you need to do this. Think of it as your chance to leave town like you want. Another thing I suggest is that you take Tiffany with you."
I was crying now too as I hugged her. "I would love to take Tiffany with me, but then what would you do? It's gonna be hard enough without me."
"Don't worry about me, sugarplum. There's so many young ladies in this town who owe me a favor. I want to do right by you, and the right thing is to give you these wages and let you go. And tell you to take a friend with you. And I really mean that last part. Hollywood is a perilous town. They don't take any prisoners. You need to have somebody you absolutely know you can trust. Someone who has your back. I’ve heard too many stories in my long life to let you go without that."
"I don't even know if Tiffany wants to come with me.” I was trying not to whine, but I couldn't help it. It was just now occurring to me that I was leaving everything I knew behind to go out into the big unknown.
"I already had this conversation with Tiffany. She has her last wages and is raring to go. I wouldn’t suggest it to you otherwise, doll."
Buoyed by this good news, I gave her a tentative smile. "Really?"
"Really. And it gets even better. I already explained to your landlord. She and I have arranged to have an estate sale for you, sell off all that furniture you managed to gather from garage sales over the past few years. You're free to fly out to Los Angeles tonight if you want, and I will send you the proceeds. I recommend you wait till morning. Sleep in a familiar bed. Leave bright and early so you have the whole day in front of you when you get there."
"Thank you, Marge. Thank you for thinking straight when I couldn't."
"You're welcome." She opened the door and hollered out into the kitchen, "Tiffany! Tiffany, it's a go. Come on in here!"
Tiffany ran into the office squealing in excitement and barreled into me with a big hug. "We're going to Hollywood! Let’s go first class!” she gushed.
But I took Marge's advice to heart. "We need to make our money last. I want to be able to say ‘No thank you, I have my own place to stay,’ just in case I'm too creeped out by any of the offers we get."
Tiffany looked disappointed, but she nodded her agreement. "There's a flight first thing in the morning that has two seats available. It costs half the money we have."
"Book it,” I told her. "Hurry before we lose it. That's perfect. Hopefully, Marge's cousin Bertha will take what we have left to secure the apartment."
Tiffany tapped her phone with her thumbs for a few minutes. Finally, she looked up. "It's all set. We can't give her all the money we have left toward the apartment."
"Why not?"
"We won't have the diner to eat at, silly."
I groaned. "Oh yeah. And I hear groceries are expensive in California."
"Right.”
"Joe!" I called out into the kitchen.
The cook was ostensibly busy preparing food, but I noticed he was on the table closest to the office, one of his ears sticking out from under his copious amounts of hair and hairnet. "You called?" He said with a solicitous face that was amused and expectant.
"Cut the crap, Joe. You overheard."
"I might have overheard a few things, yes."
"Do you want to buy my car or not? You’ve been pestering me about it for a year. Put up or shut up."
He raised his eyebrows and looked at us as if we were prey and he was the hunter. "Pretty desperate to sell it, aren't you?"
Tiffany put her hands on her hips and stormed at him. "Where do you get an attitude like that? You need to be a decent sort and give her a fair offer, or—"
I took hold of Tiffany's elbow and gently pulled her back. "Yes, I'm pretty desperate to sell it. Make me a fair offer."
Marge interrupted, pushing her way into the kitchen. "They need the rent up front. I don’t know why I didn’t think of your car, Tracy. That's perfect.”
Joe crossed his arms and looked at Marge with resentment. "No fair bringing in the big guns."
Marge got her phone out. "I'm calling Bertha right now and ask her how much you're going to need for a month’s rent on a furnished apartment close to Hollywood."
My courage waned. This couldn't be happening. I was leaving the only place I knew.
I stopped Marge from dialing. "Folks will calm down after a few days. Some other gossip will happen, and all this will blow over."
"I don't know if that's the case," Marge told me with a sad smile. “What about Abby Lassen?"
"But that’s different," I objected.
"Different how?" Marge crossed her arms and leaned back against the kitchen wall, waiting for me to fill her in.
“Abby actually did the deed," I said in exasperation, throwing my hands in the air. “Abby had sex with Stephanie's dad."
Marge leaned forward to raise her eyebrows at me. "And didn't Stephanie's dad have sex with Abby, too?"
"Well, yeah, but…"
"But what?"
"But I don't know what," I said.
Marge pushed. "Isn't Stephanie's dad just as much to blame as Abby?"
