But she didn’t have to say anything because Zane gave him a breezy smile. “We finally got a hit song. Claud was just helping me work out the kinks.”
“Oh, really? Cause it looks a lot like my best friend and my girlfriend cozying up together the second they’re left alone.”
Shooting off the bench, Zane waved a dismissive hand at Mike. “I’m happily married and you’re an insecure idiot. We were working. That’s it.”
“I know what I saw.” Mike crossed the room in three quick strides, and the two men stood face-to-face, looking as if they were about to fight.
Claudia hurried over to them, grabbing Mike’s hand. “Honestly, Mike, there’s no need to go all Neanderthal. Zane’s telling the truth.”
Mike shook off her hand, his hard gaze never leaving Zane’s. “That’s not what it looked like to me.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Claudia snapped. “He’s married to a freaking model, and even if he wasn’t, he could get any woman he wants. You actually think he’d break up his marriage for me?”
Mike glared at her. “I can get any woman I want too, you know. I’ve slept with plenty of models.”
“I’m sure you have,” Claudia answered, sounding very much like a preschool teacher soothing a whiny child. “Now, let’s go home. We’re all exhausted.” She took his hand again and led him toward the door, grabbing her purse off the coat rack. “Good night, Zane. Say hi to your beautiful wife for me.”
“Hey, Claudia,” Zane said, stopping them both in their tracks. With a slow smile, he added, “We’ve got our first single.”
SEPTEMBER 1993
SÃO PAULO, BRAZIL
CLAUDIA
The stage floor shook beneath Claudia’s feet, even though the band had yet to go on. It was the roar of over one hundred thousand people jam-packed into Estádio do Morumbi, the biggest crowd for which the band would ever play. But it wasn’t anticipation Claudia felt as she stood alone behind a massive thirty-foot-tall screen set up at the back of the stage.
She wasn’t feeling the excitement of the pre-recorded hype music blasting through the stadium. She wasn’t nervous while cartoon images flashed on the screens and caused the raucous fans to lose their minds. There was no pre-show ‘I can’t believe this is my life’ euphoria while she waited for the guys to arrive. They’d each appear at different entrances on the far side of the stadium (surrounded by security guards), then make their way through the surprised and delighted audience to the stage. But Claudia wasn’t giddy for the crowd like she usually was. There was only a deep sense of foreboding.
From the moment she got out of bed, everything had gone horribly wrong, culminating in a fistfight that would make headlines back in the U.S. by morning. But the show must go on, as they say. You can’t disappoint the fans, no matter how badly things are falling apart. A few minutes ago, a vial of white powder had made its way around their tight circle, which Claudia declined. Her heart was already beating impossibly fast. Adding anything to the mix would surely bring on a heart attack. Instead, she had three quick shots of straight Cachaça to calm her nerves. (When in Brazil, right?)
They’d been on tour for close to four months already, and she hadn’t been able to get on stage sober yet. A distant voice in the back of her mind told her this might be the beginning of a problem she didn’t want to have, but she wasn’t about to listen. Not right now. Right now was about survival. Performing. Earning her place in the band. Finding a way to make the impossible work—loving one man with all her heart while being with another. There was no way she could walk the tightrope of her emotions without a little help. On the days when they didn’t have a concert, she was still staying sober, which to her meant she didn’t have a problem yet, but she was certainly dancing around one.
It had been an exceptionally rough day with Mike.Rolling Stonereleased its June issue, with The Vows on the cover. Famed photographer Fernando Ramirez had taken a series of pictures of the guys that included Claudia. She fully expected the pictures with her in them to get cut or wind up in a tight corner of a page inside. Instead, the editor featured her front and center on the cover, right next to Zane with the other three men in the background. It was a silly photo, taken after an entire day of sipping champagne during outfit changes and lighting adjustments. Theircheeks were pressed together, and Claudia had her tongue sticking out. She looked gorgeous for once in her life. The makeup artist managed to thin out her face, give her high cheekbones that weren’t nearly so prominent in real life, and remove the freckles that spattered across her forehead and chin. She looked beautiful and fun and exciting, all the things she wished to be.Thatwoman belonged here, while the real Claudia was merely an impostor—a girl playing dress-up. Only maybe it was her now. After all, here she was on stage as the sun went down. It was really happening.
She and Mike had gotten up at two in the afternoon, after a long night of travel from Rio (how could a country be so damn big?) They ordered room service—white toast with jam and a pot of coffee for Mike, and a bowl of oatmeal and tea for Claudia. He was already on edge because of the size of tonight’s crowd. His pre-show nerves had been a surprise to her. She had assumed touring would be old hat by now. But like many things in life, this had turned out to be the opposite of what she expected. He was nervous and quiet and edgy when he’d wake. The only thing that would help was a few bumps of coke and some whiskey. No amount of affection or soothing worked.
It wasn’t merely his nerves that were creating a rift. It was that damn song she had written. ‘If I Didn’t Have Her’ was becoming a fan favorite. The crowds belted out the chorus with her and Zane each night as they sat side-by-side at the piano, glancing at each other with wide grins. The sound of thousands of voices singing words she had written gave her a thrill like nothing she’d ever known. Zane was right—it was better than sex. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t getting the credit or the huge payday. Because each night the crowd reacted the same way—lighters in hand, swaying and singing. Their voices vibrated through her, leaving heralmost orgasmic by the time they played the final notes. Her cheeks were flushed, her vision hazy, her body and soul satisfied in a way she couldn’t hide, even though she knew she should.
Mike was watching. Mike was sour. Mike was angry at the sight of his best friend and his girl singing about needing each other and wanting to break the rules like Adam and Eve.
But that afternoon, when Dean brought the copy ofRolling Stoneup to their suite, she knew the trouble that had been brewing was about to boil over. The second she looked in his eyes, she lost her appetite. And when she saw the cover, her heart dropped to the bottom of her bare feet. “Shit,” she whispered, staring at the photo of her cheek pressed up to Zane’s.
“Shit is right. Where’s Mike?”
“Shower.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean said, “Maybe I take this away and we pretend it didn’t come?”
“Did you give it to the other guys already?”
He nodded.
“That’ll only make it worse.” Her gut ached, and she chewed her lip.
“The cover isn’t even the worst part. It’s the article that’ll really upset him.”
“Are you serious?”
