He was talking to two men who were holding hands. One was enormous, easily six-foot-six and probably three hundred pounds of muscle. The other was built in a similar way to Robby. Robby recognized the boy’s top immediately. It was the crop-top cat hoodie he’d been arrested in. “Who are they?”
“According to their profiles, they’re married gay porn stars. Their instagram is super cute,” Charlie said without looking at Robby.
Robby thought he might throw up. He didn’t begrudge people making a living, but he didn’t think he wanted to know how he ended up wearing the shirt of a porn star. He didn’t have to wait long for the answer. The next picture showed the boy, shirtless, holding four hundred dollars and Robby wearing the cat hoodie.
“You paid four hundred dollars for a cat hoodie, angel?” Calder asked, sounding amused but also a tad relieved. Had Calder feared he’d sold his virginity for a cat hoodie? Robby couldn’t be mad at him since he’d also feared the same thing.
They flashed through more pics of Robby on the Walk of Fame, taking pictures and signing autographs in his cat hoodie. He appeared to be alone. When had he lost the frat boys? How had he ended up there at night? He closed his eyes and tried to remember something—anything—that might answer that question but it was just a void. A big, gaping black hole in his timeline.
The next picture was of Robby in his cat hoodie sitting among a group of girls, his cheek smooshed up against a pretty girl with red hair and a tiara on her head and a sash across her white tank top that read BRIDE in big pink letters. The other girls’ tank tops designated them as various members of the red-haired girl’s wedding party, but he didn’t recognize the location.
“Where the hell am I?” Robby asked.
Several pictures flashed across the screen. All of them contained half-naked men. “That would beThe Hollywood Menstrip show,” Charlie said.
As humiliating as it was, he was relieved to see he stayed firmly planted in his seat, though he couldn’t say the same for the ginger-haired girl who was on stage in several pictures, looking like she was having the time of her life. “That isn’t so bad, I guess.”
“Buckle up, buttercup, ‘cause here’s where the road gets bumpy.”
Once more, Robby appeared at a table. This time, he was seated among a group of hairy, barrel-chested men in leather while an amazonian drag queen dressed as Cher spoke to him from the stage. Charlie hit play on the YouTube video.
“I know you, doll. Aren’t you that sweet-faced kid from that show? Are you even old enough to get in here? Do your parents know you’re here? Or did you bring your daddies?”
The crowd laughed, but Robby just randomly shouted, “It’s my birthday.”
Robby’s face burned as Wyatt, Charlie, and Calder all looked at him. “That was your birthday?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “My birthday is in September.”
Wyatt and Charlie laughed again before everybody turned their attention back to the screen. Robby was now face down over Cher’s lap while she spanked him with a paddle and the crowd counted the blows. When they hit twenty-one, Robby jumped back up to his feet and put his hands over his head, cheering for himself before promptly falling off the stage. Charlie audibly gasped.
Suddenly, Robby bounded back to his feet, thrusting his arms into the air. “It’s my birthday!” he shouted again. The crowd cheered. The video ended. Thank God.
“I don’t think I can handle anymore of this trip down memory lane.”
“Oh, don’t be sad, pumpkin. Drunk Robby is a blast. You’ve got a shit ton of likes. Tons of celebs would kill for these numbers. This is Hollywood. There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”
Robby’s breath caught as Calder’s thumb began to caress the inside of Robby’s wrist. Neither Wyatt or Charlie could see what he was doing from this angle but Robby was almost positive they’d notice a boner if he popped one in the joggers he wore. How could such a little touch affect him so much? How did Calder do this to him? He really liked Wyatt and Charlie but he’d never wanted to kick two people out more than he did right then.
Another picture caught his eye. He was lying on a chair in a tattoo studio, his jeans pulled down low enough that pubic hair was visible. Robby silently prayed he’d worn underwear. The tattoo artist was predictably covered in ink, but it didn’t hide his gorgeous face, his perfect teeth, or his sparkling blue eyes. He appeared to be laughing at whatever Robby said. The group next to Robby looked like they’d escaped a rodeo. Five men of various ages stood around their friend, all wearing checkered shirts, Levi’s, huge belt buckles, and ten gallon hats. Was there a rodeo in Los Angeles? Tourists maybe?
“At least I know I got my tattoos from an actual artist and not some weirdo in a back alley,” Robby managed.
The image on the screen changed again. “Okay, this is where things get…confusing. There are a ton of sightings of Robby at the club where he beat up that cop with a sex toy, but in most of the videos, it’s too dark and smoky to see. Then I found this.”
There was no way to hear the sound over the music blaring from everywhere, but Robby could see the police officer he’d assaulted poking his finger into the chest of a woman. Well, a drag queen. It was Cher from the club. They both seemed really angry. There were a lot of head wobbles and finger pointing from Cher and the officer had his hand hovering over his taser like he was afraid for his life.
Suddenly, Robby was there, pushing his way between Cher and the officer poking the man in his chest. The police officer shoved him back hard enough to topple into Cher who—to her credit—simply righted Robby onto his feet and handed him something from her handbag. Robby flushed. It was the sex toy. If it was possible, he would have melted into a puddle of shame right there on the floor. He watched himself slap the officer with the dildo hard enough to send the man reeling backwards into the crowd, hitting the man with the camera and sending it flying to land lens down, the screen going dark.
“And there you have it. That’s your lost night,” Charlie said. “It definitely could have been worse. It’s hard to look for sub-tweets, but I’ll keep searching through those too. Not that I doubt Webster’s skills, but when it comes to social media, I just work faster.”
Wyatt helped her to her feet. “What are you going to do with this information?”
“I think you should retrace Robby’s night and see if any witnesses remember him,” Charlie volunteered.
Calder sighed in exasperation. “Yes, Barbie, that’s the plan. Robby and I will retrace his steps and see what we come up with.”
“Excellent. Happy hunting.” She grabbed Wyatt’s hand but stopped short with her fingers on the doorknob. “Oh, and if you ever want to party like that again, I’m always your first phone call. Toodles.”
