“Well, that’s great,” Zane answered. “We’re going to fire an innocent woman because her abusive boyfriend’s feelings got hurt. I don’t need to be a hero, but I sure as shit don’t want to be a goddamn villain.”
“No one has to know the truth,” Dean said. “We say she got another opportunity, and we wish her the best. In fact, I can easily find another band that’ll take her. Or I can help her go solo.”
The last thing Zane wanted was for her to go solo. He needed Claudia. He wanted her next to him every night when he got on stage. Not only for her songs, but because before she got there, the pure joy that had flowed so easily between Zane and the crowd wasn’t there anymore. It stopped just short of the stage. It was as if all the energy he once shared with the audience was some sort of elusive, mythical creature that used to trot up to him willingly and stay until the encore was over but had started hiding from him. Zane could still see the joy on the faces of the people dancing and singing along in the front few rows. He could hear it in the thunderous sounds that filled the stadiums, but it didn’t soak into his cells like it used to. He couldn’tfeelit anymore. Until he heard her sing for the first time. She had revived his fading creative juices and brought him back to life. She was his fountain of youth, the secret to his sustained success, and the thought of going on without her terrified him. He stood up. “Fuck that. We tell Mike he has to get sober or he’s out. Then we get back to the studio and lay down another album. If it doesn’t work out, we let her go. But we give it another chance.”
FIFTEEN HOURS LATER
MIKE
No intervention was necessary. No threats or ultimatums. No one had to tell Mike to get his shit together or his days with The Vows were over. Claudia didn’t have to read out a letter held by shaky hands about how much it hurt to watch him hurt himself.
Instead, Mike, who somehow managed to drive home without incident from the party, polished off two bottles of very expensive red wine, smoked three joints, slept for twelve hours, then called Dean, waking him up at three am. His voice cracked. “I think I need some help.”
“Where are you? Do you need me to come get you?”
Lighting a cigarette, Mike said, “I’m at home. I’m completely sober.” His breath caught in his throat. “Man, this sucks. I figured out what I’ve turned into. I’m the worst of both my parents—an alcoholic with a temper. Only with fame and an ungodly amount of money.”
“Oh man, Mike, you’ve had a bad few days?—”
“Come on, it’s worse than that,” he answered, squeezing his eyes shut. “If I keep this up, I’m going to lose everything that matters.”
“So, do you want me to find a clinic for you?”
His stomach turned sour. “Yeah, I guess it’s time to face my demons, right?”
“I’d say so.”
“Fuck.”
“I know of a place in Utah. They always leave a couple of beds open for celebrities. I’ll call right now.”
“I’ll start packing. Before I change my mind,” Mike said. He sighed, hating like hell that this was what his life hadbecome. He couldn’t bear to think about how he’d acted that day. “Hey, you don’t happen to know where Claudia might be, do you? I need to apologize to her.”
“No clue, man,” Dean said. “I’ll call the clinic and then come right over to pick you up, okay?”
“Sounds smart.”
“Maybe write her a note or something.”
“All right.”
“And Mike, you can do this, okay? I know it might not feel like it, but you’re as strong as they come.”
Mike scoffed. “If only that were true.”
CLAUDIA
At the exact moment that Dean was picking Mike up at his home in Malibu, Claudia was fast asleep in room 201 at the Back Country Motel in the tiny town of Boulder Oaks. She had no recollection of driving there, only of starting the car knowing she needed to get as far away as possible from the rich and powerful of the world. Back to the comforts of the type of place where she came from. Somewhere the garbage men and cleaning ladies of the world would go on vacation.
When she woke the next morning, she had a dry mouth from not bothering to drink any water the day before, and a headache from the shock of what had happened. Mike, her boyfriend of six years, had called her a slut and a whore and pushed her to the ground. In front of Mariah Carey, Tori Amos, and all four members of Weezer. By her face.
Her Nokia mobile phone had died during the drive, but she had neither the desire to call anyone nor the need to avoid anyone’s calls. Mike hadn’t bothered, and she assumedhe was out somewhere, surrounded by a bunch of people who were happy to party on his dime. She had a long shower, dressed in the outfit she’d put on the morning before, and drove back to Malibu, her hands gripping the wheel as she prepared herself for whatever was about to come. She didn’t want to be with him anymore. Not after what he’d done. Not after having the space to admit to herself that she would likely, pathetically, always be in love with Zane, which made being with Mike wildly unfair to him. She was sorry for hurting him, but that’s exactly what she had done.
Claudia wasn’t a victim in her own mind. She was an adult who made adult choices, only to have them backfire in a way that she—and every other person in the McCreights’ backyard—would never forget. She was terrified of losing her place with the band, and furious with Mike for what he did. Did he have a right to feel hurt? Yes. She would have been hurt too if the wrong name had escaped his lips. Did he have a right to treat her in such a vile way in public? No, he did not.
And so, it was over between them. She knew it had to be. For both of their sakes. Her career might survive, but it would look completely different a year from now. She unrolled the window of the silver Porche Mike let her use, feeling the hot air on her cheek and ear while she made her way to Malibu. This would be her last time driving a luxury car. It would be back to her Corolla, which sat behind Mike’s six-car garage on his property, hidden from view. She was driving herself to the end of an incredible era of her life. Claudia entertained a fleeting thought of Mike being the one to get fired, but that would never happen, and she knew it. It was a boys’ club and always would be. Even if she suspected Zane would prefer to keep her over Mike.
At least she’d never have to see Sienna again. Sienna, who looked like she’d been slapped across the face when Mike blurted out what Claudia had said. Sienna, who would most certainly have given Zane the ‘it’s either her or me’ speech after their guests left. Sienna, who was a friend to all in the music biz, who was much loved and respected, who was married to one of the most powerful men to ever lay down a track. Yes, Sienna would have started dismantling Claudia’s entire life by now. Not that Claudia could blame her entirely. She’d been coveting Sienna’s husband—and the father of her children—for years now. And women who covet get what they deserve. Nothing.
