Of course Ryan had invited him to join in, too. Girls and drugs, just like the good ol’ days. Jesse had declined and begged Ryan to come with him. No dice.
“Then you went out for a ride?” Candia asked.
He nodded. “You know cruising the city on my motorcycle helps clear my head after a show.”
And it kept him away from the partying that had nearly ruined him over the first decade of his career.
Candia nodded. “Did you get a good look at the girl before you left?”
“You mean, did I know she was only sixteen? No. I barely glanced at her. But her makeup and the adult way she was dressed… I would have pegged her as twenty-one or so.” Definitely not a sophomore in high school.
“If you’d made him go to the lobby, maybe someone would have stopped him… Maybe he would have used the head up north.” She pressed her thumb between her eyebrows, obviously fighting off a headache. “Maybe… But it’s done.”
He wanted to be pissed that Candia had put this off on him, but she hadn’t voiced anything he hadn’t already thought. He could have done more. He should have.
And now it was too late.
“At the time, I figured if Ryan was screwing some cute blonde, maybe he wasn’t getting high.” Jesse scoffed at the terrible irony.
“Oh, he absolutely was. He got her high, too.”
Yes, his bandmate and buddy had overdosed the girl—in Jesse’s suite. So naturally, everyone assumed he’d been involved.
“And now the press is having a field day.” At barely three in the afternoon, Candia already sounded damn tired.
Of course the court of public opinion had already found him guilty. Never mind that he hadn’t even been in the building when Ryan had pumped his jailbait hookup full of heroin and taken her to bed. Then, once his backup vocalist had realized the girl was unresponsive, Ryan hadn’t called 911 for medical help so she might have lived. No. He’d apparently panicked and shot himself in the head, doubling the body count and the tragedy.
Besides being a PR nightmare, Jesse had lost a friend he’d tried for months to save. And when the dead girl’s parents had arrived at the hotel, her mother’s scream had cut through his composure. Her father hadn’t made a sound. He’d just…frozen, shocked as he retreated somewhere inside himself. Those faces would haunt Jesse for the rest of his life.
“So, social media is firing up with condemnation and hate.” He stared out the window at the thick traffic. “Perfect.”
“I’m nervous. You’ve got sympathy from the hard-core fans but… I think we have to cancel the rest of the tour,” she murmured. “The noise is too negative. You look like an insensitive asshat if you continue on as if nothing terrible has happened.”
“We had six shows left.” It could have been more, but he wished it was fewer.
“Yep. That’s a few hundred thousand disappointed fans. And those are merely the ones who held tickets. It sucks.” She hesitated. “You’ll be thirty in less than eighteen months. I’m starting to think you lie low until this blows over. Then when you emerge again, we float your new image—less bad-boy-gone-wild—and see how fans receive it. Hope it isn’t too little, too late.”
She was right. Jesse didn’t bother asking if his parents would be proud. They’d cashed out on his fame years ago. His dad now played golf with celebrities. His mom trained other stage parents and gave interviews about where they’d gone wrong with their only son. He hadn’t talked to them in forever. But none of that mattered now. The reality was, he didn’t expect anyone to be proud of him when he wasn’t proud of himself.
He hadn’t been in a long time.
“While you lie low, we need a distraction,” she told him. “Maybe you should start an anti-gun crusade.”
Jesse shook his head. “Too political, and it’s not relevant for overseas fans.”
“What about a series of PSAs about suicide prevention?”
“Ryan didn’t want to take his own life. He was too high to realize he shouldn’t. Besides, taking either of your suggestions will be seen as an admission that I should have done more—and I know it.”
“You’re right.” Candia heaved a deflated sigh, then began chewing on her bottom lip as if sorting through the problem. “I’ll keep working on solutions.”
“While you think about my public image, find out how we can help the Harris girl’s family, like providing funeral expenses or whatever else they need.” He paused. “In fact, have my lawyers work up a confidential settlement and set these folks up for life. After what they’ve been through, they shouldn’t have to worry about money.”
“But you had nothing to do with her death.”
“All those parents know is that the last time their daughter walked out the door, she was coming to my concert. She’ll never be home again because of the choices my bandmate made. They will never recover from that loss.”
Candia got quiet. “I’ll take care of it.”
