Come Dancing (27 page)

Jack reached over to straighten his collar. “You’re nicely irrigated. And splifficated.”

“Nah, I’m jober as a sudge,” Sammy replied.

Mark and Suzanne stepped out of the elevator. Mark’s hair was dyed a flaming orange, and he wore a canary-yellow jacket with no shirt underneath. Suzanne was in a low-cut white jumpsuit that emphasized her red hair and stick-thin frame. “Now at least it’s two against three,” she said with a smile.

Mark drew a pair of drumsticks from his back pocket and rat-a-tatted them lightly on Sammy’s head. “That’s a nice hollow sound.”

“He’s just jealous,” Sammy said to me. “You know what they say when it’s time for the band to go on: ‘Will the musicians and the drummer please come to the stage.’”

I laughed as Mark touched my arm. “Do you know why the keyboard was invented? So the musicians would have a place to put their drinks.”

“That line’s old as the hills,” Jack said.

“Do you know what it means when the guitar player’s drooling out of both sides of his mouth?” Mark added. “That means the stage is level.”

“Enough of that, let’s go get some vittles,” Sammy said. “Dealin’ with those valley girls gave me an appetite.”

“You can keep that bit of information to yourself,” Suzanne said.

Jack rolled his eyes at her. “Don’t even try to put a lid on it; it just encourages him. What’s the plan?”

“We were going to go to Musso’s but they’re closed for a private party, so we’re heading to The Ivy,” Suzanne said. “Mary Jo booked it at the last minute.”

“Tripendicular,” Sammy said.

All of them put on sunglasses, and Jack handed me a pair. Outside, the horde of bulb-flashers had grown even larger; they must lay in wait to see who they could shoot. A flock of women in hot pants and high heels shrieked. Jack pulled me into the backseat of the limo as the others slammed the opposite door. The women ran over to the car;
thunk
went all the locks. With one accord they lifted their tops and smashed their bare breasts against the windows.

“Oh my god,” I said in disbelief. “What are they
doing
?”

“Welcome to L.A.,” Suzanne said, lighting a cigarette. “Home of the boob job.”

The driver tried to edge the car away. Jack was sitting with his head back, shades still on; Sammy and Mark were laughing, enjoying the show. Finally the women peeled themselves off.

“That was really gross,” I said. “What were they thinking?”

Suzanne blew smoke in Mark’s direction. “I don’t believe much of that goes on in their empty little heads.”

As we rode to the restaurant, I marveled at the fact that I was in a limo in L.A. with three world-renowned rock stars. Seeing them out of the usual NYC surroundings made it even more unreal. I noticed that the buildings weren’t nearly as tall as in Manhattan; I assumed because of earthquakes. We reached The Ivy, where a crowd of tourists and photographers loitered behind a white picket fence. The host ushered us through an arched doorway into a back room. Hungrily I focused on my meal while the others bantered.

When the men ordered more drinks, I went to hit the bathroom. As I was washing my hands, a woman with closely cropped hair sidled up next to me. “I see you’re with Jack Kipling,” she said. “I hear he’s outrageous in the sack. I’ll pay five thousand for any good stories we can print.” She showed me a card from a big national rag.

“I’m not interested.” I returned to the table, trying to compose my face. I wondered what she’d heard about Jack’s performance, and who she’d heard it from. I hoped this was just leavings from his previous visits to the city, but even so, it reminded me that I was one in a long, long line.

I awoke deep in the night, hearing faint cries below. Thinking someone might be hurt, I got up quietly and went onto the balcony. Looking down, I could barely make out three men and five women in the pool, all of them nude. A blonde head rose and dipped rhythmically above someone leaning back on his elbows. The man’s face fell forward and I saw a bright flash of orange. Quickly I retreated inside, not wanting to think about who was doing what to who.

As the sun crept through the drawn curtains, I began working on Isabel’s pages next to Jack, who was still comatose. I was dying for some coffee, but I didn’t want to disturb him by calling for room service. Finally at eleven-thirty he snorted, rolled over and squinted at me.

“We’ve got to cure you of this habit of waking up so early.” He grabbed his guitar and sat strumming as I went to order breakfast. “There’s OJ in the fridge if you want it,” he said.

I poked around between the beer and wine bottles. “What’s this?” A sealed pitcher of brownish liquid sat on the top shelf.

Jack made a face. “Carrot juice. Patrick hired this astrologer-slash-dietician to do our charts the other day. Then she advised us on our eating habits.” He grinned. “She got Patrick and Mark all hennaed up in tattoos, but of course they didn’t want permanent stain, so she used dye that would come off. Then Patrick forgets and jumps in the pool… the whole damn thing turned this garish orange. The hotel manager about had a ‘popleptic fit. It looked like somebody’d dumped a bucket of Tang in there,” he concluded, laughing.

“Was she in your room?” I blurted out, thinking of the newspaper woman’s comment about his prowess.

“Ah, I see a little green-eyed devil peeping over your shoulder.” Jack laid down the guitar. “I seem to recall you saying ‘I haven’t given any of your old girlfriends a thought … You can’t un-sleep with people …’”

“I was just curious,” I said, wishing I hadn’t asked.

“I’ve been a … pretty good boy this week. Maybe not so much with the stimulants, but I didn’t have you here to stimulate me,” he added. “In fact, I’m probably the only one who
didn’t
fuck her.”

I winced.

“Well, you asked. This one’s definitely on the bizarre end of the spectrum, even for Patrick’s ladies. It always amazes me how many nutters you run into out here,” he said musingly. “I was talking to this guy at a party; his company’s developing a phone you carry with you everywhere. Can you imagine that?” Jack looked aghast. “I just want to get
away
from my phone. Imagine
wanting
people to be able to get hold of you, wherever you are.”

“You’d never be able to stop working. Harvey could reach me at lunch, dinner, all weekend.”

Jack did a mock-shudder. “Ridiculous.”

The waiter knocked and put our food on the balcony table. I glanced down at the pool; the only signs of last night’s bacchanal were several scattered wineglasses.

“What’s the plan for today?” Gratefully I took a sip of my coffee. I wanted to run over to Book Soup, a bookstore Erin had said was fantastic, but I knew there might not be enough time.

“I’m supposed to do some interviews with Patrick at noon. I’ll come back here, give you some more of Jack’s special sauce, and we’ll hang out until it’s time to go to the stadium. The first concert’s at seven; second one’s at ten. Same for tomorrow night.”

I didn’t point out that it was already quarter past twelve. Jack ate some toast, took a leisurely shower, strummed his guitar naked for a while, eventually put on a crumpled shirt and jeans and went to meet Patrick. I figured the reporters were used to being kept waiting.

There came a brisk rap on the door and Mary Jo stepped inside. She didn’t look the least bit glad to see me.

“I heard you got in last night. Patrick wanted me to give these to Jack, so he can review the lyrics before they go onstage.” She handed me an envelope. “I’ve reserved seats for us. And whatever dimbos Patrick brings along.”

“I can’t wait to see the show.”

“Julia.” Mary Jo paused as if deciding whether to say something. “I wanted to warn you about Jack.”

My mood dipped.

“He likes you. Quite a bit. I’m sure you know that.”

“I assume so. He invited me here.”

“I would just watch yourself around him. I’ve seen him really get into someone, and then get distracted by something new. He even thought Nicole hung the moon for a while, before she showed her stripes. He’s not a bad person, but he’s very impulsive.” She frowned. “It seems like every woman in town has been trying to get into his pants this week. I don’t know that he’s been entirely successful at fending them off.”

She left, and I went to sit on the balcony, feeling numb.
Was Jack with someone else earlier this week? He seemed so glad to see me last night. But according to her, he can turn on a dime
. I gazed down at the pool, wondering if I should have come.

There was a thumping at the door; Jack must have forgotten his room key. Surprised the interview was already over, I went to open it and found three bedraggled teenaged girls, fists raised to knock again. They looked all of fifteen.

“Oh! We thought … someone told us this was Jack Kipling’s room.”

My god, has he been fooling around with a bunch of teenagers?
“Who are you?”

“We hitched down from Sacramento,” the freckled one said.

“Do you know Jack?”

“Not personally. We just wanted to meet him.”

That was a relief. I took a closer look at the girls; they seemed like they were about to keel over. The chubby dark-haired one was very pale, mascara streaked down her cheek. The third was propped against the wall, halter-top askew. “Could we sit down for a minute? We aren’t feeling too great,” she said.

“I guess for a minute.” They trooped in behind me and flopped onto the couch. “What are your names?”

“I’m Tanya,” freckles said. “This is Nell,” indicating the chubby girl, “and Free. We’re so wasted; we haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday. Do you have any candy bars in your fridge?”

I didn’t want them passing out on me. “Would you like some sandwiches?”

Eagerly they nodded, and I ordered room service as they whispered among themselves. “After you eat, I want you to call your parents and go home. I’ll give you money for bus tickets.” Jack had a big stash of cash in his luggage.

“We wanted to try to get into the concert,” whined Free.

“It’s sold out. What are you doing, hitchhiking all this way on the off-chance you’ll meet him? For one thing, he’s way too old for you.”

“But we love him,” Nell said tearily.

“You don’t love him; you don’t even know him. You should spend time with boys your own age. Something really bad could happen if you showed up at the wrong guy’s hotel room.”

The food came, and the girls fell on it as if they were starving. I rounded up the cash, making them promise to use it for bus tickets, which I doubted they’d do. I heard a key in the lock.

“What’s this?” Jack stopped abruptly in the doorway.

“These girls hitched down here to meet you. I was just giving them some lunch.”

Jack backed out into the hall and glared at me. “Are you out of your mind?”

“They’re pathetic. They were about to collapse.”

“I don’t care. Get ‘em out. I’ll be in Sammy’s room.”

He went rapidly down the hall, and sheepishly the girls left. I phoned Jack to let him know they’d gone.

“Did they take any pictures?” he asked when he returned.

“No. They just sat on the couch and gobbled up the food.”

Jack gave me a stern look. “That could have gotten me in a lot of hot water.”

“Why?” I didn’t see the problem.

“Underage girls in my room? You’re kidding.”

“But I was there.”

“Julia. They could say you were helping me seduce them.”

I stared at him. “That’s disgusting.”

“I’m just telling you. I have to be careful. A lawyer gets hold of one of them, and the next thing you know, you’re in court.”

“I assume you don’t have firsthand knowledge of that kind of thing.”

“You think I’d do that?”

“No … but it was disturbing to see such young girls at your door. I promise I won’t invite anyone else in. How was the interview?”

“All right.” He opened a beer and gestured with the bottle. “You?”

“I’ll get one later. Mary Jo dropped off these lyrics.”

“Patrick always sends them over. You can imagine how helpful they’ve been to me in the past.”

“Want me to read them to you?”

“Do you mind? I’m a bit rusty on some of the older ones.”

“Actually I did a little research at the library,” I said, unsure how he’d react. “On what you said about it being hard to read.”

Jack looked at me expectantly.

“I think it might be dyslexia.”

“I’ve heard of that. Does that mean I’m retarded?”

“Not at all. You just use the right side of your brain instead of the left. It makes it harder to read longer words or fine print,” I said quickly.

“Weird.” Jack frowned.

“A lot of scientists, inventors, and artists are dyslexic. Albert Einstein probably was.”

“Einstein, huh. I always wondered if something was wrong with me. The teachers just stuck me in the slow classes,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s why playing the guitar was so great; it was something I could be the best at.”

“It’s a shame they didn’t help you, especially when so many people with dyslexia are brilliant. It could be considered a sign of genius.”

Jack’s mouth twitched into a smile. “That’s the first time I’ve been called that.”

“There’s no doubt you’re a musical genius.”

“Thank you. Is there any way to get over it?”

I recalled what I’d read. “I think there are tutors that teach people using a certain method.”

“Maybe I’ll have Mary Jo look into that.”

We sat on the balcony as I read him the lyrics. I was fascinated to see the mix of their early stuff and brand new material, and quizzed Jack about how they decided which songs to play. Jack wasn’t acting cagey or distant, as Mary Jo had suggested. Maybe she was hoping to create a rift between us to prevent me from running up big bills on his tab.

After a while Jack had had enough of the review. He stood up and stretched. “The concert gear’s in the closet. Pick out something for me to wear tonight.”

“Great, I get to dress you.” I hopped up, went inside and unzipped the hanging wardrobe. A dozen sparkly tops took up one half, pants on the other. I pulled out a shirt that shimmered with red rhinestones. “What about this? You look so good in that color.”