There were a bunch of powerful people at this concert, including Hollywood producer Antonio Vázquez.
I knew this song would seal the deal for his movie role. They wouldn’t care about his messy antics when Kingsley Ames could write something touching, funny, emotional, and heartfelt about the black-footed ferret.
But as the applause finally died down, Kings spoke.
“Actually, Rosalie wrote that.”
Gasps reverberated throughout the room.
“Wrote what? This is too modest,” Mr. Vázquez said. “You’re selling yourself short. That was very good.”
“Oh, the songs I sing are brilliant. Ididn’t write any of them.”
My heart stopped beating for a moment as I caught my breath.
“What? Well, then, who did?”
“Rosalie St. James,” he said. “My girlfriend. My future wife. She’s written every single song I’ve ever written.Every single one. Ever since college. I’d be nothing without her. My reputation as a songwriter is a fake.”
I could hear gasps of horror and shock, as Cornelius moaned and fell into a dead faint onto the sofa.
Everyone turned and stared as Kingsley walked up to me.
“This is her,” he said, “she’s the real brains of this operation and she always has been.”
Then he fell to his knees in front of all these studio execs and powerful people, gripping my ankles and kissing the top of my foot.
“Please forgive me.”
I hesitated. Cornelius was looking green around the grills, while Eunice looked furious at being taken-in.
“Young man, do you realize what you’ve done?” Mr. Vázquez said angrily. “You’ve perpetuated a ruse on the artistic community. Your reputation will never be the same again.”
Kingsley only shrugged. “It’s more important to me to come clean. She writes them. I don’t.”
“But I thought you were getting more stable,” Mr. Vázquezadded in confusion. “What about that lovely young lady you were with—Dorothy something?”
“He couldn’t keep her,” I put in. “She’s run off with his best friend.”
Kings only grinned at me. “That was always fake,” he said. “I’m in love with my songwriter Rosalie. I’ve always been in love with her and she’s written every song I’ve ever sung. In fact, I can barely get through an interview without her writing my responses for me.”
In the general consternation and dismay at this, he took me by the hand and pulled me outside.
“I guess I’m just always going to be a dirtbag,” he said, blowing a ring of cigar smoke into the air.
“Put that cigar away, it’s disgusting.”
He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around me. “Please, baby girl. Please forgive me.”
The sight of him between my legs made me bite my lip.
“Come on. You know it’s always been us. Kingsley and Rosalie. Kings and Ro.”
“It can be Rosalie plus anyone else. Someone who didn’t take five years to figure out he was into me.”
He groaned, leaning closer so he could wrap his arms tighter, a lock of hair falling in his eyes as he looked up at me.
“Go try to find someone else. See if you can do it with me glued to your side. Because I’m not leaving you. Go on a vacation to Greece? I’m there, fucking popping up on the shuffleboard court. Buy a new home? I’ll buy the one right next door, baby. And then I won’t stop until you forgive me. I can’t live without you, Ro.”
