Haze (30 page)

I opened Spotify on my phone and typed in Jack's name. The list that came up sprawled for pages.

Holy shit,
I thought.

After telling it to shuffle, I sat back and listened to whatever came up.

He had an
incredible
voice, something I wasn't expecting after he claimed he was better at writing for other people. When someone that talented and confident says they're bad at something, you usually take their word for it. I shouldn't have listened to him.

I won't lie—I didn't like
every
song that came up. Just because I was dating the guy that wrote them didn't mean that I would pretend to be the biggest fan ever. Jack would have appreciated that, I was certain of it. I also wasn't listening to full albums, so I didn't totally grasp where the songs fit in artistically.

This was just a crash-course in Jack Teller while he was dealing with business.

The more I listened, the more I realized just how talented Jack was. There seemed to be every style imaginable in that playlist, and on top of that, collaborations he had done with internationally popular artists showed up as well.

I started laughing loudly as I realized that a song that had played constantly on the radio during my shifts at the college bookstore had actually been written by the guy I was now dating. It had played so much that it almost drove me
mad
. I couldn't blame Jack for that, but maybe I would pick on him for it someday.

It was as if I had known this man
too well
prior to ever meeting him.

I kept jumping back and forth between
Spotify and Wikipedia, gobbling up every bit of information I could. When I heard a song from
Once
show up, I thought my playlist had gotten off course.

Nope.
He actually had written one of the songs in the show and hadn’t told me! I had sat there and watched that whole play, not realizing that he had contributed to it.

I buried my head in my hands, my cheeks burning red with shame. I knew that Jack was successful, but he hadn't pushed it on me at all. Hadn't begged me to listen to material. Hadn't bragged that I was probably familiar with his work. His rants about the music industry never included his
gigantic
contribution to it over only a half-decade. He mentioned that people made a lot more money than he did off of his own work, but I just thought that was part of his whole
the system is broken
rant.

After realizing I hadn't even made a dent in the list of available material, I yanked the ear buds out my ears and set them by my nearly empty drink.

Don't let it get to you
.

Jack was a complex guy. He had his reasons, I knew. I couldn't beat myself up over this. He said someday he'd show me stuff, that we'd have a listening party. He had broken down to me over the tragedy in his life, opened up that part of himself and given me a full view inside.

Wasn't the point of being in a relationship to give all of yourself to the other person? The good and the bad? Nothing but the real? I was vaguely reminded of prototypical wedding vows.

Maybe he was hiding from his work because it reminded him too much of his past. Maybe he just didn't care about introducing it to me. I would have kept thinking about the matter, but Jack popped back into the room. I abruptly closed
Spotify, not wanting him to know what I had been doing. I didn't understand my desire for secrecy.

"Still in your robe, I see." He strolled toward me on the patio, glancing at the spilled contents of my bag on the floor, but not actually saying anything further.

"Hi, Jack," I said excitedly. "H-how was the meeting?"

"Better than usual. I will admit some aspects of the business are easier to deal with out here than in NYC."

"I see." I turned my head back toward the sky as Jack joined me on the patio. He leaned down and kissed me, straightening out my robe after he noticed that one of my breasts was exposed. "Oh, thanks," I said after he rose again.

"No problem. Wouldn't want you to be humiliated."

"You're
so good
at talking to women," I retorted.

His phone buzzed and gave it a cursory glance before putting it back in his pocket. "Do you still want to go to that party with Stacy?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," I admitted.

"Okay. Well, we're going to have to get moving then. Let's take a quick shower."

"That sounds just fine."

Jack stripped out of his business clothes before we walked into the bathroom, scattering them on the bed with little to no rhyme or reason. When he got to his boxers, he was already rock hard—and I wanted him really fucking bad.

By the time we were inside the shower, he was already inside of me.

***

"See, it's not so bad," Stacy said politely. "I know you hate these dumb things, Jack, but this place is pretty cool."

We were at one of those Beverly Hills mansions, the kind that they shot reality TV shows at. I was pretty confident that I had actually seen this specific place on some show I watched in the past. It felt like I could remember some overly drunk, washed-up star accidentally falling into the gorgeous pool.

That sort of thing just got the ratings, I guess.

"Yes, it's
not that bad
," Jack said sheepishly. "You're right, okay? Let it go."

Stacy gave him a smile that ought to have been on the cover of a magazine. "Did you guys try that dip over there? It's like jalapeno-cheddar or something. Really good."

Jack and I both shook our heads and eyed the table that she was referring to. "I want another drink, actually," I said.

"Me too." Stacy smiled and motioned for me to follow her. Right as she did that, some guy tapped Jack on the shoulder and started talking excitedly. He was probably someone I should have recognized, but I wasn't going to get too caught up in it. I hated to leave him stranded like that, but then again, my Hollywood hero was pulling me toward more alcohol.

The best sort of distraction.

She grabbed us a couple more glasses of champagne and toasted me after I had a matching glass in my hand. "How do you like this stuff?" she asked, her question vague and nebulous.

"The wine?" I asked, staring back at her. As usual, she looked incredible, beyond beautiful, if that was a real thing. I still found it almost impossible to believe that Jack thought I was prettier than her.

But that's what he said...

"No, no.
This.
Hollywood. California. Whatever. It's got to be a little weird for you."

"I suppose it is," I said. "I'm glad to be experiencing it."

"Oh shit, there's George Clooney," Stacy said, pointing over toward the corner. It was, in fact,
George Clooney
. "He's really nice."

"Whoa. No kidding." He looked incredible in person.

"Do you want to meet him? C'mon." She took my arm and pulled.

"No, no, no," I contested. "I can't meet
him
." I suddenly got really self-conscious after realizing that fighting her would only draw more attention to little old me. So I went.

"George!" she said boisterously, cutting off the conversation that he was already engaged in. "How are you?"

"Oh, Stacy! What a pleasure!" They hugged, the whole moment a bit overwhelming for me.

"George, I want you to meet my sister, Effie. She's visiting this weekend."

"I didn't know you had a sister. Hi, Effie," he said, taking my hand and kissing it.

"Hi, G-g-
george," I said, stumbling at first. "I really like your movies. You were a great Batman for sure. Better than Christian Bale."

He started laughing and it immediately put me at ease. "Well, thanks. You don't have to say that. You're the first person that ever enjoyed
Batman and Robin
, I swear."

I started giggling as well, realizing that his observation was probably right since most people considered the movie a bomb.

Stacy talked to him for a few minutes about some movie project they were both working on, so I just let them do their thing. I noticed Tim Robbins in the crowd as well, but I wasn't about to approach
him
by myself.

What was this party for, anyway?

I felt someone grab my arm and then a hand crawled along my shoulder. "Hey, beautiful." It was Jack. "Oh, hi, George," he said casually after noticing who Stacy and I were talking to.
What the fuck? Hi, George?

George eagerly greeted him and they shook hands as if they were old friends. After a few additional moments of conversation—Jack quickly realized how overwhelmed I was by the situation—
he steered Stacy and I back into our little clique.

And by that point, she and I were both pretty drunk. We all hung out and laughed for a while, enjoying the Hollywood atmosphere and the nice weather. A guy walked up to Stacy and started talking.

"Oh, Dan! Awesome to see you." They hugged each other as Jack and I stood on the sidelines. "Dan, this is Jack and Effie. I hope you can figure out which one is which."

"God,
the
Jack Teller," Dan said, his face as bright as a neon light in the dark. He looked to be around Jack's age, a little shorter, not as good looking. He had jet-black hair that matched his navy blue button-up dress shirt. Presumably, he was good at his job, whatever it job was.

"Yeah, that's me. How do you know Stacy?" Jack asked inquisitively, deflecting attention away from himself.

"We went to high school together. Now I work for MCI out here after moving from NYC. Goddammit, Jack, you just won't give us an answer, will you? Lexy Brown's gonna be the next big thing, and
I know
you fuckin' know it."

I gulped, suddenly feeling my heart drop from my chest. I had to look at the ground to verify that it hadn't actually departed from my body and landed on the ground with a
splat
.

Dan just said
MC-fucking-I.
The assumed sleaze just got sleazier.

Oh, shit. Was this actually happening?
Of all of the random people we could run into at a Hollywood party, it happens to be a representative of MCI. Well, George Clooney, too.

By the time I looked up at Jack, Stacy was already speaking, her lowered inhibitions like deadly machine gun fire. "Effie works for MCI in New York like you used to!"

It was a conversational addition intended to be harmless, a common ground between Dan and me. The sort of thing that contributed to a smoother, more languid discussion. The holy grail for the socially awkward person struggling to make small talk.

And then I felt like I was in one of those medieval torture devices, my limbs being stretched until the bones popped right out of their sockets.

Ouch!

At that moment, I wanted to be in space. Floating around, doing nothing. Not responsible for anything serious or meaningful. Just enjoying zero gravity and the fact that I was as far away from
this
as I could humanly get. If I could wander away to another planet or galaxy, that would be fine too.

Snap out of it.

"Kind of," I blurted out impetuously. "Accounting stuff. Temp position. Nothing important. I, uh, barely know anyone." I rattled off my points as if I was reading a grocery list. I swiftly realized that by saying anything at all, I was narrowing my escape routes, whittling them away until I was only left with crippling honesty—the truth.

"So what the hell are you doing out here with
Jack
? Did Sam tell you to—" Dan let out a reprehensible laugh.
Reprehensible
was the only way I could describe it. "You
know
what I mean."

Jack's arm around my back suddenly felt like a scarlet letter, as if my flesh had been branded with a mark that said,
You just fucked up
.
Kiss everything you know and love goodbye.
I needed his shelter in that moment as much as I needed to just escape it, to salvage the battered body of my career.

Stacy was still grinning, pleasantly oblivious to the internal turmoil I was coping with. I looked at my Hollywood role model with reproach, the alcohol only fueling my emotional fire.
Dammit, what made any sense anymore? Hating my hero? Although the ride with Jack had been a wild one thus far, I couldn't have
ever
predicted this addition to life's very big scrapbook.

I didn't have any excuses or stories I could summon to protect me. Time had stopped while I wallowed in obvious embarrassment. Well, at least I thought it was obvious.

This moment was literally my career versus Jack—I couldn't see it any other way. It was the fight of the century. The bullet had already hit, so I just couldn't dodge it anymore.

"That's pretty fucking rude," Jack said coldly, rising to my defense. "Are you suggesting that
she
is some kind of 'paid entertainment' from the label? If you really want to fuck up the deal, that's a great way to start."