Indigo Blues (19 page)

There are a few photographers on the blue steps leading
up to the door. They all snap pics, and flashing lights blind
us. "Hi, Adam," one guy says. Another one yells, "What's
your name, sweetheart?" Hannah doesn't miss a beat and
calls out her name, with another little wave.

I still haven't gotten used to people knowing who I am.
I mostly only get noticed if I'm with the rest of the band,
and I'm hardly ever addressed by name. I'm just the guy
that wrote "Indigo Blues" and sometimes not even that.
Then I'm just the guy from Blank Stare. There is something to be said about maintaining your anonymity; you're
not constantly being watched, scrutinized.

I spot Gina standing in the hallway with a big blue
drink. A touch of normalcy. I embrace her. "Good to see
you, Gina."

"You too, Adam." She gives me a weird look-after all,
I just saw her yesterday at the studio. But yesterday I did
not have flashing lights in my face, and I was not being
toted around by Hannah.

"Excuse me," Hannah butts in. "Adam, let's go get a
drink."

I tell Gina I'll catch up with her later and let Hannah
lead the way. "Did you ever have a thing with her?" Hannah asks when we hit the line for the bar.

"Gina?"

"Yeah."

"No, she's my manager. I don't mix business and plea„
sure.

"Good policy." Hannah plants a big kiss on my lips.

I peel away from her and order two Swimming Pools,
apparently the drink of the night. They're served in margarita glasses, complete with gummy lifesavers as life preservers. I want to be the person who comes up with the
different types of drinks and then has to sample them.
That would be a low-pressure, high-cool-factor job.

Once we've got drinks in hand, I scan the crowd for
my boys.

"Hey, Hannah babes," I hear someone yell.

"Ooo, Marcel," she squeals.

I look over and see a height-challenged, overly gelled
guy with sausages for arms eating the olive out of his martini. Hannah runs up and gives him a kiss on the cheek. "Is
that all you got for me, babe?" he teases.

She pulls me forward. "Meet Adam. From Blank Stare."

"Oh, Indigo Booze," he says.

Sure, whatever.

He wipes his hand on the side of his pants and we shake.
"Nice to meet you," I say.

"You take care of Hannah, you hear." He shoots hot
oil at me from his frying-pan eyes. Everything about this
guy is big. What's inside those leather pants?

"Sure thing." I take a sip of my Swimming Pool. Because
really, what else am I supposed to say?

After we walk away, I ask Hannah, "How do you know
him?"

"We met at a shoot and dated for a bit."

Nasty. "I thought he was gay."

She laughs. "No, he's very sexual."

Double nasty.

When I don't answer, she leans into me. "Too much
info?"

"You could say that."

"Oh, Adam." She kisses me again. I know she wants
me to be jealous of him, but I'm so clearly not. He's just
a greaseball. I don't even want to think about the fact that
her luscious lips have kissed the Vaseline Monster.

Gina waves at us and we meet her on the veranda.
There are a bunch of cast-iron chairs scattered around and
small drink tables. It's a lot quieter out here. "Adam, I want
you to meet Jerry Reno. He's from Crystal Advertising."

He's all suit, little hair, and no grease. I extend my hand
and we shake. "Nice to meet you, sir."

"Gina's been telling me about the new song you're
working on. `Sugar Rush.' Catchy name."

"Thanks, yeah. We'll be laying down the tracks soon."

"Well, if it's as big a hit as `Indigo Blues,' you've got
nothing to worry about." He winks.

If.

I look over and see that Hannah's drink is empty. I take
her glass. "Anyone else in need of a refill?"

"I'm good." Gina raises her half empty glass.

"Yes, go get that pretty lady of yours a drink. I'll set up a date with Gina to talk about some sponsorship work for
the band," Jerry says.

"Great, thanks." I'm thinking Pepsi commercial, Wii,
even a candy bar. That would rock.

Hannah and I wind back around to the bar, talking to
a few random people along the way. I'm finally getting the
hang of this mingling thing. You can't stop and chat with
anyone for long or you'll never make your way through the
crowd. I give Dave Hill from our record label a thumbs-up
on his new haircut and say hi to Archie, the makeup guy
from the Wake Up, America show.

The guys are hanging out on a couple of fuzzy blue
couches near the far end. I have to nose-dive to get to them.
I plop down on the couch and let out a sigh of relief. Salvation. Hannah is talking to Rea Ribbon, heir to cosmetics
giant Cleo. I would have had no clue who she was if Hannah didn't gush as soon as she saw her.

Zach's playing with Erica's hair, Jack's listening to his
date gab about handbags, and Tommy is double-fisted with
a beer in one hand and a margarita in the other.

"Where's your girl?" I ask Tommy.

"In the john."

"Don't you mean the jane?" I smile.

"Being a comedian is not in the cards for you," Tommy
says.

"Guess I'll have to milk this music gig, then." I finish
my second Swimming Pool for the night and pop the red
lifesaver from the glass into my mouth.

Gina speedwalks over to us. "Disperse, gentlemen. You
can hang at home."

"Okay, Mom." Zach stands up. "I gotta take a piss any„
way.

"Thanks for sharing." Jack slides back on his checkered Vans.

I look for Hannah and see that she has found Marcel
again. Joy. I take my time prying myself off the couch.

Gina offers me her hand. "New song. New image," she
whispers into my ear.

Is that supposed to make me feel good?

ripp and I are parked at the far edge of Rocky Ledge,
the unofficial teen make-out spot. We headed right
over here after he picked me up. We're alone, with only
Tripp's car lights to guide us. He's wearing a red Polo shirt
and faded blue jeans. He smells like soap and cologne. I've
been thinking about his delicious lips-I so want a taste of
him again, I can hardly stand it. Sure, I've pined over guys
before, but I've never felt so much heat.

He's fiddling with the CD player in his car. I tousle his
hair. "Anything's good."

"Just looking for something relaxing."

As cheesy as this whole setup is, I'm so buying it. The
last guy I made out with, before Tripp, was a friend of Cat's cousin. She dragged me to this huge kegger at the beginning of the summer, right after Adam and I broke up. The
guy was wasted and I didn't even know it. We were making out on the couch, but when he got up to go to the
bathroom, he never came back. I totally thought it was all
me. That I sucked in the kissing department. I was sulking
over the chip bowl until someone yelled, "Luke's making
out with the toilet bowl."

Cat felt bad for a whole week after that. Turns out that
his nickname was Luke the Puke on account of his excessive
party habits. But there's no way Cat would've known that.
After the Luke incident, I was an obsessive tooth brusher
for a while.

Tripp finds the tune he's looking for and a woman's
breathy voice fills the air. He moves both of our seats back
and asks me how I feel. Good, I tell him. Real good.

He gently pulls my body closer to him. "You're so
beautiful."

"Thanks." I blush. Good thing only his headlights are
on.

He thrusts his tongue into my mouth and I grab hold
of his shoulders. He's on top of me. I'm shielded by the
warmth of his strong body. He slides his hand up the back
of my shirt and fiddles with the clasp of my bra. I purposely put it on the last hook so it would be easier to undo.
I know Cat would call that a slut move, but I don't want to
be one of those girls with the lock-and-key bra.

Tripp releases the hook and my breasts are free. His
hands are instantly up my shirt and he's rubbing himself against me. This is happening faster than I'd anticipated.
I know from Saturday night that he's a horny guy, but I
was hoping to keep things on a level playing field-no
home runs tonight. I'm willing to stop at some of the bases,
though. I let out a "whoa' when he squeezes my nipple.

Tripp doesn't respond. His eyes are closed and his
tongue trails down my neck. He's not going to slow down.
I feel his bat rub hard against me through his jeans.

Suddenly there's a knock on the window.

I freeze.

"What was that?" I ask.

Tripp presses his boner harder against me.

The rap is louder. "What's going on in there?" I hear
someone say.

I push Tripp off of me. "Who's that?"

Tripp rolls his eyes up and his mouth drops. "We're
fucked," he says, then puts down the window. "Hello."

I quickly slide back into my shirt. It's not like we're the
first teens ever to make out at Rocky Ledge. Crime must
be low these days if the town is sending cops to make a
sweep of the idyllic make-out spot.

The tall woman officer shines a flashlight on Tripp,
then moves the light over to me.

"I need your license and registration," she says. Tripp
pulls his license from his wallet and stretches over me to
retrieve his registration. He hands them to the officer. Now's
the time we get to find out if he has any skeletons in his
closet.

"I need yours, too." The officer points to me.

Me? Since when is being a passenger in a steamy hot
car a crime? Maybe she thinks I'm a runaway or something.
Although if people run away, they don't usually find refuge
in a small town where everybody knows your name. I hand
her my license.

She glances at it, gives me a good stare, and says, "Ha.
Fancy seeing you here."

Tripp looks at me like, you know her? I shake my head
no, but I'm not sure if he picks up on it.

"You do have quite a reputation for breaking boys'
hearts," she says.

So now this is my fault? "Excuse me?" I say, a little too
defensively.

"Don't you think you've gotten yourself into enough
trouble already?"

"But ... I ... we weren't doing anything illegal."

Tripp nods in agreement. I look down. His boner has
deflated.

"I'm talking about your song." She taps her flashlight
against the edge of the car door.

My song? I want to scream at her until my face blows
up, but I know that will only get me in even more trouble.
It takes everything inside me to restrain myself.

"Everything's fine, officer." I put my seat upright. "We're
leaving now."

She shines her flashlight into the back seat. I just want
to get home. My lust for Tripp has turned into disgust for
myself. I can't even make out with someone right. It's like
Adam put a curse on me.

"I'll be right back." She walks to her cruiser with our
documents.

Tripp has this weird, freaked-out look on his face. I need
to say something but don't know what. "Well, that was awkward." I bite my lip.

"She's not going to tell anyone, is she?"

I can't believe he just said that. I thought most guys
would brag about getting busted making out. But with my
luck, her idea of backup will be to call local media so they
can get the first interview with the girl jailed for making
out at Rocky Ledge.

"I sure hope not. I don't need any more humiliation."

"Yeah, me neither."

"Oh." And this whole time I was just worried about
me. My screwed-up life. But Tripp was thinking about
himself, too. I feel like such an idiot. How did I ever think
this would work between us? I have to face the fact that I
am tainted. Used goods. Not fit for the star running back.

It seems like the officer is gone forever. Tripp and I just
sit there in silence. The air is thick between us. I discreetly
adjust my bra and he not so discreetly adjusts his underwear.

Finally, the officer's back. She doesn't have cuffs out, so
I take that as a good sign. She hands us back our licenses
and Tripp's registration. "I suggest you two go home now.
It's a school night. And you"-she points a finger at me"need to watch yourself. You don't need another song written about you."