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And Trevor, oddly enough, seemed to be enjoying playing temporary road manager while
he guided Adrian. Strolling out of the hotel, the regal, besuited Trevor greeted everyone,
then handed Tristan’s bag to the driver to put in the trunk of the limo, along with
a garment bag containing Tristan’s white suit for the video shoot. He was asking Adrian
for a breakdown of the rental costs and delivery schedule for some extra instruments
they were bringing in. Adrian reeled off numbers, and mentioned one guy who seemed
to be a pain in the ass. I watched Trevor twist his face into a quick smile, before
throwing another set of questions at him. He didn’t even flinch. Adrian was doing
very well.

We were all due in the next hour or so down at the club that was going to be the set,
for the usual hurry up and wait that was a part of filming. The interrogation over,
Adrian was chatting to the doorman, while taking a picture of the four fans across
the street. Three guys and a girl, dressed in their rock star best, standing there,
waiting. “Our big fan base,” he laughed. “They’ve been there all morning. There were
six of them before. We’re going downhill!”

“Has anyone been out there to say hello to them?” I asked.

He looked at me strangely. “You’re worried about them too? Yeah, just this morning
Tristan went over and brought them some coffee. Where were you?” He laughed again.
“I told him not to. The way to keep fans is to torture them. Let them wait. Let them
starve. Odd, but effective. Also less wearing on the purse. But he wouldn’t listen.
You can’t boss the boss.” He chuckled. “He’ll learn. I’ve only just started.”

The band came out. Pete, a small bag slung over his shoulder, and John, carrying his
bass in its flight case, both looked a bit dazed in the bright sunlight. “Over here
lads,” Adrian waved at them, from the side of the limo. He patted each one of the
them on the back, whispered into Pete’s ear, making him laugh, and finally dipped
his head into the limo, looking a bit as though he were tucking them in, even though
I had a feeling what he was doing was making sure they only had a certain amount of
alcohol available for the ride to the set. They drove off, and the next limo swung
up.

AC and Tristan emerged into the sunlight, walking towards the road as though everything
on Earth had stopped until their arrival. The fans across the street waved, and called
out their names. AC smiled at Tristan, and the two of them stepped into the street.
Trevor was by their side immediately, glancing back at Adrian as if to say, look,
this is what you need to do when I’m not around. The three of them crossed over, AC
and Tristan only looking straight ahead of them, Trevor scanning the road and the
sidewalks like an owl looking for prey, his head swiveling. He raised an arm protectively
as they approached the fans, and permitted AC and Tristan to sign a couple of t-shirts
and CD covers, making sure they weren’t accumulating items to sell on eBay. One of
the guys said, “It’s great to see you out AC. You look really fit.”

AC smiled and mumbled his thanks, and then Trevor was herding them back across the
street to the limo. “You three get in the back, I’ll ride up front.” He peered through
the passenger window at the driver, and came back towards us. “No, slide over. I’m
riding back here with you. He doesn’t look very welcoming. How many days do we have
of this? That’s right. One very long one that compresses two days of work into what
will feel like a week.”

Tristan grinned. “But there are no snakes.”

Trevor turned to look at him. “Damn right. No animals of any kind.”

“Only me,” AC cut in. “I’m ferocious.”

Trevor nodded. “No, I think you’re fairly well trained. What is it, Tristan, ‘give
him a bone’? Very effective.”

I didn’t think I’d ever seen Tristan blush before.

AC rolled over on his back, and placed his head in Trevor’s lap, looking up at him
hopefully. “Woof. Never argue with success, isn’t that your motto, Trevor? Besides,
your bark is much worse than your bite. We all know that.”

Trevor put his hand on AC’s forehead for a moment, then pushed him gently. “Go on.
You’re getting hair on my new suit, AC. Lily, I admire your patience with these clowns.”

“Animals,” interjected AC.

“Musicians. You’re all mad. Maybe I can get my island nation back, exclude the pair
of you.”

I laughed. AC sat up.

Trevor looked over at me. “Lily understands me. You will be my Evita, darling. First
act of business will be to dispense with this lot.”

Tristan smiled at me and took my hand. “Trevor, aren’t you supposed to be massaging
our egos for our moment in the spotlight? Lily does understand, that’s just it.” He
kissed my hand, and winked at me. His smile seemed to make everything right, and I
felt the familiar warmth that made me feel like I could do anything, if only he were
there by my side.

Trevor coughed. “Not the fluffer, Tristan.” He looked down, and raised his eyebrows
in mock surprise. “As if you needed one. Be sure to keep that up on camera. And I’ll
do my part to make sure the cameraman and editor don’t go all coy when they film and
only show from the waist up. Americans frame men in the shot like they’re still shocked
by Elvis.”

Tristan snorted. “This is why you’re the best. Making sure the fans are always happy.”

Trevor sighed, theatrically. “But at such a cost.”

I knew he wasn’t entirely joking.

chapter twenty-four

L.A.

We had been there about a week when the first big invitation came up. Trevor had been
putting out feelers, and had finally found a huge party that he approved of. Given
by a well-known fashion designer, it had all the trappings—oceanfront home, movie
stars, models, fashion insiders, a few music industry people. Trevor sent an inquiry,
and it turned out that the designer was a fan, of course, and incredibly delighted
to have Tristan and his plus one attend his little gathering. He must.

And Trevor was determined that we were going to attend. “Look, Tristan. You need to
put yourself about a bit. Be seen. In the right places. If you’re worried, neither
of them will be there, Alixe or Paul. We apparently have a truce. Self-interest, I
imagine, possibly based on the threat of loss of royalties from the forthcoming Devised
Greatest Hits album. All that lovely cash gone if she does anything to damage that
little project and the potential success your publicity is bringing.” Trevor smirked.
“Although I do love a lawsuit. Never mind. And,” he paused for effect, “I hear that
Paul is trying to write an album. Oddly enough, my server brought me a copy of a couple
of the demos when I was picking the kale out of my salad at lunch the other day.”

Tristan looked up. “Oh yeah? How is it?”

Trevor grimaced. “As if you needed to ask. Tell me—how is it supposed to be any good,
when he’s out of practice playing, because there are so many better things to do,
and he’s still grasping the necessity of song structure? A chorus. So pop.”

“That bad?”

Trevor shook his head. “Worse. But people will buy it, because it’s him, and some
producer will spend three months crying every night at 4 a.m. in an attempt to make
something like music out of it. You know. The usual.”

Tristan shrugged. “He’s a decent guitar player if you tell him exactly what to play
and show him how to do it.” He glanced at Trevor. “There was a time when I cared.
That time has passed. I wish him well in whatever he chooses to do.”

“He’s a parasite,” Trevor spat. “But that’s for me to worry about, not you.”

Tristan’s mouth was a thin line. “Harsh. Possibly accurate. As long as he doesn’t
threaten what I do, or trouble Lily, or AC, I really try not to think too much about
it.”

“AC won’t see him anymore. He was pissed at how he treated him in London. And you.
Reeling you in with drugs.”

Tristan gave him a hard look, then smiled. “AC. Doesn’t he want to come to this party?
He likes fashion. And models.”

Trevor patted Tristan on the back. “Good. That means you’re going. I’ll ask him, but
I think he’s actually enjoying hanging out with the band.”

Tristan grinned. “Road animal. He’s probably right—isn’t this just going to be a lot
of beautiful people comparing personal trainers and bitching?”

Trevor coughed politely. “Indeed. Beautiful people bitching. You’ll probably be turned
away at the door. Nothing in common at all. Now please stop whining and consider my
serious problem—finding a quiet place to smoke a cigar without people making comments,
or worse, lecturing me. As occurred only last night. A very lovely woman encouraged
me to welcome positivity into my life. Now I have to leave the grounds of the hotel
for a simple cigar, and attempt to walk in a city without sidewalks.”

“There’s always the beach,” Tristan said, smiling.

“That’s an idea.” Trevor clapped his hands together. “However, the thought of spending
an hour each way in traffic to engage in an activity whose sole purpose is to relax
me seems somewhat pointless.”

“True. So give up while you’re here.”

Trevor looked away. “Touché. We each have our little addictions, don’t we? Not bloody
likely, as they say. Be sure to give me a full report on the party. I actually think
this man may admire your music, or some nonsense. Get a modeling gig out of it. Free
clothes. And the record company might just die from the joy. All that PR they didn’t
pay for.”

Tristan ran his hands over his body. “Hello bitches. Maybe I will. Maybe I will.”

* * *

So we found ourselves being driven up to an excruciatingly modern beachfront home,
the last rays of the setting sun sparking the blueish glass windows that formed part
of the sides of the building. It was a linked collection of glass and wood boxes that
appeared to be partially suspended in air. The roof hung above the structure almost
like a canopy, and the entire creation, dominating its slice of land in between the
beach and the road, was surrounded by bamboo plants and greenery. Once admitted inside,
the house felt insulated from everything, as though you were on a boat, or some kind
of submarine, watching the world through the blue glass, feeling like you were underwater.
And then you walked to the end of the house, and the glass and neat strips of wood
opened out on to a deck, and the wide expanse of the beach and the last of the sun
setting over the dark green Pacific rose up to meet you.

“My god,” Tristan whispered, after we had made our tour through the house, and were
standing out on the deck, watching the distant lights of the cargo ships out to sea.
“Someone’s done very well for themselves.”

“Perhaps you should model for him,” I said. “Perks like hanging out here.”

Tristan winked at me. “What do I have to do for him to get a house like this?”

I laughed. “Sex acts that haven’t even been invented yet. And you’d need to clone
yourself. Probably pick up his dry cleaning too.”

Tristan groaned. “There’s always a deal-breaker.”

“Sucks, I know,” I murmured. “But we could get a jump on the inventing part. Be prepared.”

Tristan’s eyes lit up. “Suddenly this party is much more interesting.” He moved closer
to me. “Later?”

I was about to answer, when one of the extremely attractive servers came over to us.
He was exceedingly polite, apologizing for interrupting us, but our host wanted to
meet Tristan Hunter before the hour grew any later. Tristan thanked him and said he
would be with him in a moment. The young man smiled, and went and stood over by one
of the stone pillars that held up the glass ceiling above us, and waited.

“Before the hour grows any later, interesting. Does that mean you’ll be his first
of the evening?”

“Heavens, I hope not,” Tristan whispered. “That means I’ll have to do all the work.”
He shook his head. “Lily. Behave.” Then he leaned over and kissed me. “Maybe I will
get a modeling job out of this, after all.”

He looked oddly hopeful. I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind.
“I don’t doubt it. You are frighteningly beautiful, you do know that?”

“Isn’t that my line?” Tristan smiled at me.

“You can have it back later. Now go—not polite to keep the host waiting. Work it baby.”
Tristan smiled and kissed me again, then turned to walk over to the man waiting to
lead him away. I watched them disappear though the connector leading to the next glass
and wood box, then I turned back to the ocean. It was an extraordinary view. One of
the servers came by with tuna sashimi. It was delicate, sweet, and melted away to
a sea taste that lingered on the tongue, and mixed with the faint smell of the ocean
drifting over the sand to the house. The chatter of conversation faded in and out,
as people circulated, stood, moved on. They were dressed beautifully or outrageously,
above all, expensively. Surrounded by all this luxury, nothing seemed very real. Another
server came around, this time with champagne and aged tequila in small, salted tumblers.
As I stood there, sipping iced champagne out of a crystal flute, while watching a
red carpet parade, the scene was somewhat clichéd, but astonishing nonetheless. I
half expected the clock to strike 12, leaving me in a pumpkin pulled by mice. And
when two very famous actors walked by, followed at a reasonable distance by someone
that looked vaguely like a minder, and at a further distance by people that were trying
hard to hide a certain grasping excitement, I laughed. I’d stepped through the looking
glass. Fame, power, and money, but so beautifully deployed, it was a little like resenting
a Siberian tiger for its superior hunting skills. It was just a shame that you were
the prey.

I turned away from the ocean, and headed in, over the partially transparent floors.
In the center of the building, there was a reflecting pool now softly lit, the tiny
lights against its cobalt blue surface like the stars that would be seen through the
skylight directly above it, if not for the smog. It seemed a petty complaint. I stopped
a waiter for one of the caviar toasts he was carrying, and I wandered to the back.
Even at night, the view of the surrounding area was oddly sharp and immediate. I supposed
it was the effect of the floor to ceiling windows. I wondered what Dave would think
of all of it, and I laughed. He had probably been here, I would have to ask. I thought
about writing up the party for the blog. But it was too alien. Too different from
normal experience to be believed. I would have more luck writing about moving staircases.
The small percentage of people for whom this was everyday life would find my wonder
at it all a symptom of jealousy, or foolish innocence. And maybe they’d be right,
I thought. None of it seemed real, anyway.

I headed back through the house towards the ocean, suddenly feeling claustrophobic
despite all the lights and glass. With the fleeting thought that maybe Tristan was
going to be tied up for the night, I plucked another glass of Cristal off another
tray, and settled in on the deck overlooking the beach. The sound of the waves, across
the dark sand and water, performed its usual soothing magic. I wished Trevor was there,
with his cigars, and utter disregard of anything that wasn’t central to his concerns.

I sensed, rather than saw, the presence next to me. I waited. They’d say something
if they wanted to talk. The appeal of silence had been a slow lesson to learn, but
a useful one.

Finally he spoke. “Are you here alone?”

The voice sounded familiar. “Naturally not,” I replied, before turning to face him.
I wasn’t sure how successful I was at hiding my gasp.

He held out his hand, perfectly polite and very smooth. Yet there was something in
his manner, almost apologetic, as though he regretted having this unnatural interaction
with most people. I knew about that feeling, better than he could guess, but not the
way he did. “I’m Robert,” he said. To put in the last name would have been insulting.
This made it more intimate. “I noticed you were alone, and I thought I’d come talk
to you.”

“Lily. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Lily. That’s an old-fashioned name. Like Lily Langtry? Another famous actress, known
for her charm and beauty. A worthy namesake.” And he smiled, that famous impish smile,
bright eyes under very long lashes. It wasn’t difficult to see how he had first attracted
attention. And kept it.

“Oh, I’m not an actress,” I answered quickly.

“Oh,” he said, half imitating my voice, “I think you are. If you’re here, you have
to be. We all got in here under false pretenses.” He smiled that half smile, filled
with interesting guilt, the one that usually filled large screens at the multiplex.
“But if not, you should consider it. You’re really very striking. And any woman willing
to stand alone at one of these parties—hard to see how a stage could hold any terrors.”

I laughed then. “You could be right. I’ve certainly been seeing a lot of them. Stages,
not parties. Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I should try taking a turn.”

He grinned. “That’s it. Of course you should. Are you here with an actor? We’re terrible
bores. I hope not, for your sake.”

“No, I’m here with…”

“Tristan Hunter,” a familiar voice broke in. Then he was there, all long limbs in
leather, his hair looking a little more in disarray than usual. It didn’t detract
from his sudden, intense charm. He stuck out his hand.

“I’m Robert,” he replied, and they shook hands. Tristan was taller and gave off an
intense presence. Robert shimmered, an invisible spotlight on his smile. It was slightly
overwhelming, standing between the two of them. “Lily is delightful company. And I’m
a big fan. You’ve got a solo album out?”

No one, not even Tristan could resist that charm. And it seemed he really was a fan,
reeling off concerts and albums with some enthusiasm. They exchanged numbers.

“I’ll have them get you a copy. And we’re due to come back for a concert after Japan.
Be a pleasure to make sure you have some passes.” Tristan smiled.

A phone buzzed, and Robert produced a slightly awkward expression. “Duty calls. That’s
the trouble with these tight dresses—I hold the phone. Great meeting both of you.”
He and I exchanged a cheek kiss and a slight hug, and he and Tristan did the guy handshake.
It looked for a moment like they were arm wrestling. He was very muscular, under the
polished exterior. Tristan’s eyes sparked from the challenge.

We watched him sink back in to the crowd, saying hellos as he went, hand on shoulders,
before he finally disappeared from sight. The room was filling up. Everyone looked
shiny, slightly too perfect, the women balancing on tiny little heels that only emphasized
how thin they were.

Tristan smiled at me. “So, I’m going to be a model. And I have an appointment tomorrow
for a tattoo with his favorite artist.”

“So a success then. You’re fairly appealing,” I winked at him. “I’m not really surprised.”

“Not jealous, are you?”

“Of what, and should I be? Your vast sex appeal? Exchanging little kisses with the
fashion world? No. He’s clean, and you’re careful.”

Tristan burst out laughing. “Fuck. Lily.” He kissed me. “If this is your way of finding
out what I did, I didn’t.”

I shrugged. “You’re pretty hard to resist.”

“More than the incredibly famous movie star you were flirting with?”

I couldn’t help the smirk that traveled across my face. “Well, I don’t know. He gives
off quite the sexual aura underneath all that…”