Chapter Two-1
2009 Words
Chapter Two
Emmy’s hands gripped his shirt, holding him against her. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare disappear again.”
“Tell me you love me,” he whispered.
“I love you. I need you, Buddy.” Her voice caught and tears flowed.
He folded her into his arms and stroked her hair. “Don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry. We’ll find a way. You’ll see. I’m back, and it’s gonna be okay now.”
“Emerald!” A harsh voice from the limo broke them apart. “Get your big ass in this car right now. We’ve gotta be on stage in Boston in three hours!”
“‘Big ass?’ I’ll kill him.” Buddy started toward the car.
Emmy put her hand on his arm. “Don’t. Relax. It’ll be okay. I gotta let him down easy.”
“Then, it’s us?”
She nodded.
“Forever?”
“Well, maybe. We’ll see.”
“I won’t let you down. I promise.” He picked her up, twirled her around, and then led her to the waiting vehicle.
Stash had gotten out of the car and was pacing, glaring at them. “You,” he said, pointing to Buddy. “Stay away from her.”
“f**k off, asshole.” Buddy kissed Emmy. “Goodbye, baby. Until next time.”
“There ain’t gonna be a next time, fucker!” Stash shouted at Buddy.
“That’s what you think, dickwad.” Buddy headed for his Mercedes. He turned at the sound of a door slamming and watched them pull out of the parking lot.
The wide receiver slid behind the wheel and put his vehicle in gear. Emotions whirled through his body like a tornado. Happiness fought with sadness, hope tangled with fear, and all the time, he wondered how he could make thousands of miles disappear.
When he got home, he popped a can of beer and threw some leftover pizza in the microwave. While the food was reheating, he ambled into his den and plucked a folder from his bookcase. Pays to be organized. He put the pizza on the small table in the kitchen and opened the folder. The paper with his travel dates was right on top. He set that aside then opened his laptop. He clicked on the Emerald Fan Page then on her concert schedule and printed it.
As he ate, he compared Emmy’s to his. Bingo! Thousands of miles becomes hundreds of miles. He retrieved a pen and pad from his desk and returned to the kitchen. After scooping out a huge bowl of chocolate chip ice cream, he sat down at the table and wrote.
Emmy plays Chicago in two weeks. I’m playing there, too.
Emmy plays Los Angeles in two months. I’m playing in San Francisco.
Over the next six months, Buddy found five cities where they were close enough to get together. He smiled as he put away his notes. He popped another beer and filled the bath with cold water.
At eleven, after a good soak in hot water after the cold, he got ready for bed before sending a message to Emmy.
I’m in Chicago in 2 weeks when ur in Chicago. Let’s meet.
He sloughed off his clothes and slid, naked, under the covers. Rolling over, he stared out the window at the moon. A ding alerted him to a text. He smiled. That was fast. She must be anxious to see me. But his smile froze when he read.
Join me and my parents tomorrow night for dinner.
It was from Chrissy, one of the team cheerleaders. Buddy ran his hand over his rough cheek and chin. He had forgotten about his occasional girlfriend. She had been hinting about getting serious. Buddy tried to discourage her. He had explained he had no plans to settle down. That was a lie, as he had always wanted a monogamous relationship, but only with Emmy.
Chrissy persisted. So, Buddy had gradually cut down their dates, from three times a week to twice, then once. While he missed the s*x, he wasn’t about to lead her on or make a commitment he didn’t feel. She protested, but Buddy came up with plausible excuse after excuse. Now, she was attempting to tighten the noose, and he rebelled.
Sure, he screwed around on the road. But he always told the girls it would be a one-night thing. There were enough groupies who didn’t care. They were sure that after one roll in the hay with them, Buddy would fall in love, marry them, and lavish all his money on them. He never thought, for one minute, that they were interested in Buddy Carruthers, the man. They were after whatever they could get and were willing to trade almost anything to trap him. Buddy figured it was an evenly-matched game.
He lay in bed, staring at the moon and wracking his brain for an excuse to get out of dinner with Chrissy’s parents. Meeting family was over the line, especially if you planned to dump the chick. He wondered what explanation would make Chrissy back off.
Before he conked out, one word came to him—“Mom.” He fell asleep with a smile on his face.
* * * *
On the ride to Boston, Emmy could hardly contain her anger at Stash. “You manipulative bastard.”
“Let’s not rehash this.”
“Rehash? We haven’t been through it once! We’re done.”
“Done? Me? As your manager?”
“No, as my boyfriend.”
“That’s been over for a long time.” Stash stared out the window.
“Oh? And sleeping with me doesn’t count?”
“A mercy fuck.”
“You shithead,” she hissed. Pain knifed through her heart. She masked it. “Since that’s the way you feel, you’re making this easy.”
“Hey, there are plenty of groupies to keep me warm at night.”
She turned to look at him, her mouth open. “You’ve been screwing groupies all this time?”
“Did I say that?”
“What did you say?”
“Just forget it. Think about tonight. You need to be up. You’ll be on in two hours.”
“You’re not helping. Is your sister going to be there?”
“Of course. Paula’s always there.”
“What about Lani?”
“She arrived yesterday. Texted me.”
“Oh? Why didn’t she text me?” Emmy checked her phone.
“How the hell should I know?” He shifted in his seat.
“I’m not jealous, Stash. I don’t love you.”
He c****d an eyebrow. “You’ve been giving a pretty good imitation.”
“You’re my manager. That’s all.” She straightened her shoulders and faced front. Taking a big breath helped. She looked forward to pouring her heart out to Lani, her best friend, and Paula. They helped her dress and get made up. They were her go-fers, brought coffee, a glass of wine, and held her hand—whatever she needed. With her parents out of the picture, Stash, Lani, and Paula had become her family.
“That asshole Carruthers get under your skin?”
“None of your business.”
“You sure gave him up quick. Now, you’re ready to go back?”
“He loves me. Really loves me.”
Stash made a derisive noise. “Sure. Keep believin’ that. He just wants to bang a big star. He’s f****d everything else.”
Emmy reached over and slapped him across the face. He caught her wrist and squeeze hard until she screamed.
“Don’t ever do that again.” He released her.
Emmy rubbed her skin, tears pricking at her eyes. “Don’t say stuff like that about Buddy.”
“Now you’re defending him? Seems to me you slapped him, too, tonight.”
“Your fault.”
“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s my fault. Blame the manager. Wake up, Emerald. You’re nothing without me.”
“Who’s got the talent?”
He snorted. “Talent? Loud instruments, blinding lights, who the hell can hear you at all?”
“f**k you, Stash.”
The car pulled up to the hotel. The valet opened the door, and Emmy got out.
“Look, it’s Emerald!” one young woman cried. Dozens of eyes turned to look. Before the crowd could mob the star, Stash was out of the vehicle and cutting a safe path for her through the mob. Emmy smiled and shook hands with fans as Stash ushered her up the stairs. He checked them in quickly while hotel security flanked Emmy.
Stash took her elbow and guided her to the elevator. Once the doors closed, the smile evaporated from her face. She yanked her arm free. “Don’t touch me.”
He raised his palms. “Fine with me.”
Once in her room, Emmy opened her suitcase and pulled out a shimmering, green outfit. She stripped off her clothes. Dressing quickly, she padded barefoot to the picture window of the suite and looked out over Boston. The sky was black with a few stars twinkling. “Buddy, you’d better mean what you said,” she whispered.
A knock on the door drew her attention. She let in Paula and Lani.
“Are you ready?” Lani asked.
“Where’re your shoes?” Paula rummaged through a small piece of luggage until she found a pair of black, patent leather stiletto-heels. Emmy sat down, and Paula put them on her.
“Let’s go. Stash is outside,” Lani said.
“Curtain in twenty,” Paula added.
Emmy started her voice exercises as she headed for the hall. She did two quick tests with the soundman, then retreated. Standing in the wings, she began to sweat. Stash handed her a small towel.
“Thanks.” She wiped her neck and patted her face gently, so as not to rub off the makeup. Colored lights flashed, the band played her intro, and then Emmy stepped out on the stage. The cheer from the crowd was deafening. She raised her arms to the sky, a huge smile on her face. They love me. Me, Stash. Not you. Not the lights. Me.
Adrenaline rushed through her like the rapids on the Colorado River. When she heard the beginning bars of her first tune, Emmy strode up to the mic. She lifted her rump up on a black, lacquered stool and sang the ballad that began the concert. The crowd quieted down immediately. The lyrics were a poem she had written to Buddy in college, and the tune was one she had invented while riding through the Midwest on her tour bus.
The song was called “When You Need Me.” She closed her eyes to feel Buddy’s arms around her, his smile shining, as he had looked a few hours earlier. She poured more emotion into the words than ever before. Afraid to expect anything, her heart courted the hope to find love again with her football player.
The silence when she finished was reverential. She stepped off the stool and raised the mic. The audience went wild, and the game was on. Emmy belted out number after number, strutting across the stage now and then to make sure Stash, Lani, and Paula were in the wings. Strength poured through her, and happiness bubbled up.
After the third curtain call, Emmy exited left. She shoved the mic in Stash’s hands. “Who has the talent?” She c****d an eyebrow.
“You do,” Paula piped up.
“Who?” Emmy glared at Stash.
“Okay, okay. You do. You rocked the theater tonight. Well done.”
A slow smile of satisfaction slipped across her face. “And don’t you forget it.”
“I’m sure you’ll never let me.”
“That’s right. What’s to eat? I’m starved.”
Lani checked her watch. “Dinner should be waiting in the suite.”
“Let’s go.” Emmy hooked her arm through Paula’s, and the foursome headed for the stage door. A limo took them to the hotel.
On their way to the elevator, Emerald’s phone vibrated. Her friend handed Emmy’s cell to the singer. “Text! It’s Buddy. Well, what do you know?” She glanced at Stash and moved down the hall, alone, to read it.
“Don’t be long. We have to get packed. We’re leaving early for New York,” Stash called.
“Screw you. I’ll take all the time I want.”
Stash caught up with her, grabbed her arm, and squeezed until she squirmed. “Listen, b***h. I didn’t kill myself, putting my life on hold to build your career, so you could throw it away on some jock.”
“It’s my life.”
“That’s what you think. When you put me in charge, it became my life. And I say, f**k that asshole and focus on your singing.”
“I am, I am, Stash. I’m gonna do the concert. I’m committed. But I want a private life, too.”
“You can’t have it all, baby. Choose—career or that jerk.”
“Let go. You’re hurting me.”
Stash released her. “Well?”
“I’m still committed. But I’ll talk to Buddy whenever and wherever I want.” She sniffed, raising her chin.
“You can be such a b***h, you know that?” He shook his head.
“Stop trying to control me. Do your job, and stay out of my private life. I can sing and still have a relationship. Plenty of people do.”
“Yeah. Right. Keep telling yourself that.”
She stabbed her finger in his chest. “Just do your job, Stash. And I’ll do mine.”
“Fine. Get your ass back to the suite. If you’re late tomorrow, I’m taking your phone.”
“Over my dead body!”
Stash gave a snort and walked away. He slammed the door to their suite, leaving her in the hall. Emmy’s stomach muscles clenched. Tears pricked the back of her eyes. Can I keep Buddy and Stash? I can’t lose either of them. Crap. Between a rock and a hard place.
* * * *
Buddy woke up with the sun. He put up a pot of coffee and had breakfast—three eggs, two sausages, and bacon. He was due at practice at ten and wanted to run with Griff, as he did every morning. But first a call to his mother.
“Hey, mom. Whatcha doing on Sunday?”
“Glad you called. We need to go over some tax stuff. I have a ton of questions for you.”
- Writer
