What Now? Read online

  What Now?

  Donna Every

  What Now?

  Copyright © 2015 by Donna Every. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design © 2015 by Simone Davis of Designers Coast. All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Donna Every Novels

  About The Author

  Chapter 1

  White smoke billowed from the floor of the stage as if each burst was impatient to escape. As the smoke cleared, leaving only a thin shroud, a figure began to emerge from its bowels like a creature from the underworld. This triggered the eruption of hysterical screams all around Shari, bombarding her eardrums. A single, but powerful, spotlight beamed from behind the figure casting a giant shadow. The rising platform soon became one with the stage, delivering what the audience had been waiting for. The spotlight shifted, now shining down from above as a single beam of light in the darkness. His head was bent as if in prayer, revealing short, dark hair; his black jean-clad legs were spread apart, intimately cradling a black electric guitar between them and a black T-shirt boldly proclaimed BAD in silver from between the lapels of a black leather jacket.

  A disembodied voice reverberated around the arena, competing with the screams of the fans. “Ladies and gentlemen, Nick Badley!"

  With that, Nick Badley’s head snapped up and he simultaneously strummed the electric guitar as lights began to explode all over the stage like fireworks, revealing the band that had been in the dark. If possible, the screams escalated, torturing her ears even more and now her chest was vibrating with the music that was blasting through massive speakers.

  "Niiick," shrieked the girl next to her, grabbing her hair wildly with one hand and reaching frantically towards the stage with the other. Shari fought against panic as she felt herself being pushed against the edge of the stage by the surging fans. She turned her head, glimpsing the fans closest to her, and was shocked at the raw emotion on their faces. Claustrophobia gripped her, making her fight to free herself and push her way frantically through the crowd. Relieved, she tumbled against the rope which separated the hysterical women from the line of men in black with the word “Security” printed across the T-shirts molded to their massive chests. One of the men lifted up the rope and allowed her to slip under.

  Although the arena was air-conditioned, the heat generated by the crowd and their sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm her. It was marginally better on this side of the rope and she was glad that she could still see the stage from a vantage point of relative safety.

  The goose bumps that broke out over her arms as she watched the figure on the stage surprised her. She thought that she would have been immune to the spell that he was casting over the crowd. However, the presence and the power that Nick Badley brought to the stage pulled her in almost against her will.

  It was a relief when he paused to put down his guitar and, in the time that he took to remove the mike from the stand, she shook her head to clear it and free herself from the seduction of Nick Badley’s performance.

  Trying to get back to the reason she was there, she began to look objectively at the crowd which she noticed was made up of mostly women. Tears poured down many of the faces that she could see and those who weren’t crying were screaming; some were doing both. Others were gazing at the figure on the stage in something close to worship. The outpouring of emotion all around her was almost suffocating. She turned back to the stage to the one who was causing it: Nick Badley.

  By the time he was into his fifth or sixth song, sweat had darkened his short hair to black. After wiping his face with a towel, he tossed it into the crowd, causing a frenzy as women fought to grab it. With the last strum of his guitar which he’d picked up at the beginning of the song, the floor opened up to swallow him amidst more screams while the band continued with a musical interlude to give him time to change.

  She caught the eye of the security guy nearest to the backstage door and made the “time out” sign to him. Relieved when he indicated with his head that she could follow him, she was hustled through the door that many would pay dearly to enter.

  As the door closed behind her, the muffled sounds that penetrated it made her wonder if she had gone partly deaf. Could your eardrums burst from too much noise, or could the vibrations in your chest do permanent damage to your heart? She wondered. If so, she would sue the TV station. After all, she hadn't wanted this assignment in the first place.

  Two weeks earlier

  KZM Television Offices

  Shari Goodwin knocked at the door of her boss’ office and let herself in. Trying to contain her excitement, she sat in the chair he gestured to while he wrapped up his call. She hoped he had called her in to give her good news. Her heart was set on doing a piece on the plight of women in developing nations and the effect of micro-financing on their lives and families.

  "Shari. Great job on that last piece you did on at-risk kids. We’ve had a lot of feedback and people asking how they can become mentors to them."

  "Thanks, Gerry," she smiled.

  "Since you did such a good job, I've got a great assignment lined up for you. Most of the women would kill to get this one, but I think you’re the best person for it because your head is screwed on right.” He paused dramatically. “We've just got the go-ahead to do a documentary on Nick Badley!"

  "Nick Badley?" She repeated disappointedly as scenes of her flying to developing nations screeched to an abrupt halt in her mind. Lord, is this your idea of a joke?

  "You know who Nick Badley is, don’t you?" He asked incredulously as if he couldn't understand why she wasn’t tearing her hair out in excitement.

  "What kind of journalist would I be if I didn't know who he is?"

  She could hardly read the entertainment section of any newspaper or magazine in the last year without seeing him featured. He’d had two multi-platinum albums in succession with three top ten hits from the latest album Moving On, not just in the US but in most of the major cities of the world.

  Although she was a journalist herself, she was often skeptical about the stories she read in the entertainment sections but, if half the reports were true, he was bad news, which meant good news for the tabloids. Maybe she was naïve, but surely the exploits that earned him the nickname Nick Bad had to be exaggerated.

  "What about the story of the women in developing nations? I've already started researching that."

  "That’s not a priority at the moment. You should know how it goes by now, Shari: What's hot gets shot and Nick Badley is very hot
right now. We need to boost our ratings and this is a great opportunity to do that. We've been given an exclusive and his people have arranged for us to go on tour with him, follow him around and get into his life. Marketing has worked hard to get this.”

  Shari rolled her eyes at the thought of following around Nick Badley like some brainless groupie. She was not even into rock music. This was not what she had in mind when she decided to become a television journalist. She had visions of following in the footsteps of Diane Sawyer or Christiane Amanpour and telling serious stories about what was happening in the world. She had thought she was on her way with the last assignment she’d been given.

  “It's a golden opportunity and I'm giving it to you! You know how many journalists would give their eye teeth to do his story?” He was starting to sound impatient.

  “OK, OK. It’s not that I don’t appreciate your confidence in me, but you know I’m not into the star-struck reporting.” As he opened his mouth again, she hurriedly added, “But I’m happy to take on the challenge to bring a deeper dimension to this documentary.”

  “Good. You'll be flying out to Vegas next week to catch up with him as he wraps up his world tour. You're one of my best reporters, so I expect a damn good story. And try not to end up in his bed. Although that might give you an added dimension to report on," he added, with a calculating smile. Shari wasn't sure if he was serious or not.

  "That’s not my lifestyle. The probability of me falling into Nick Badley's or anyone’s bed is the same as east meeting west!"

  He laughed. "Now don't go judging the book by the cover. And, for goodness sake, ask questions, but keep your smart comments to yourself and bring me back another great story."

  "That is going to be a challenge. Most of these stars think they're gods and, worst of all, most of them act like it! I'd be wonderfully surprised if he was different, but somehow I doubt it."

  Backstage of the concert

  Finding a quiet spot was no easy task as backstage was crazy. Shari took out her digital recorder to make observations about the show while they were fresh in her mind. An eruption from the crowd signaled that Nick Badley had completed his costume change and was now back on stage. If you could call what he wore a costume, she thought snidely. He’d probably exchanged his T-shirt and leather jacket for dry ones.

  Although she wasn’t into his music, she grudgingly had to admit that he had been very thorough in preparing for the show and she couldn’t fault his performance on stage. Before the show, she had caught sight of him going through the sound checks and making sure that everything was working to his satisfaction, which had surprised her. She’d associated the bad boy image with a laid-back approach, but that was far from the truth, at least when it came to his music. For the short time she’d watched him, he had given the audience what they had paid a fortune to see and more.

  Before she realized it, an hour and a half had passed as she recorded thoughts and observations on her digital recorder and transferred them to her tablet. Soon the energy of the backstage area intensified as the concert ended and Nick Badley and the band burst down the stairs. High fives were shared around as the crew greeted them on the way to their dressing rooms.

  Shari packed her bag as she waited for her camera man, Brian, to appear. He showed up minutes later, his face red with excitement and the heat.

  “Wow! That was some concert! I got some great footage. What’re we shooting next?”

  “Lily had said we could take footage of him and the band in their dressing rooms before we go to the after party.”

  Excitement charged the air as they celebrated another successful concert. Lily Petroski, their PR contact, appeared as they looked around, trying to figure out if they should follow the crowd. Her jet black hair was cut in a very blunt style, grazing her neck, and she was dressed in the standard black that seemed to be the uniform for the night. Having met her earlier, Shari already figured out that she was very focused on her job and she was on top of every detail associated with promoting her clients.

  “Hi, guys,” she greeted them. “Wasn’t that amazing?”

  Shari nodded noncommittally while Brian enthused about the footage he had shot.

  “Great! You can have a few minutes to see how Nick and the band wind down after a show before you leave for the party. It’s at an exclusive club called ZigZag. I’m giving it a miss tonight.”

  Shari wished she could give it a miss as well, but this was part of the assignment and where the band went she was supposed to follow. She was tired from travelling that day so she didn’t plan to stay at the club until the crack of dawn as they no doubt would.

  Lily led the way into a room that seemed small because of the large number of people hanging out in it. The band members and several other people lounged around on chairs or on the floor. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, high on the adrenaline that was still flowing in their veins.

  “Hey, guys. Great show as usual,” Lily raised her voice to get their attention. All eyes swung in their direction.

  “This is Shari Goodwin and Brian Talbot from KZM Television. They’re the ones who will be doing the documentary that I told you about. That means you’ll be seeing a lot of them. Cooperate with them and be on your best behavior, please.”

  “We’re always on our best behavior,” one of the band members defended. The others laughed and called out good natured hellos and welcomes. They seemed fairly down to earth, at least on first sight. Nick Badley was the opposite. His eyes took a leisurely walk over Shari’s body, which immediately put her back up.

  “Shari Goodwin,” he repeated, stressing the ‘Good’. “Talbot.” His voice was rough after singing for nearly two hours. “I’d be lying if I said ‘welcome’ because I’m doing this documentary under duress.”

  That makes two of us, Shari said to herself.

  “Now, Nick, we’ve been over this already,” Lily reminded him.

  He was slouched on a couch in a T-shirt and jeans while the trademark black jacket was flung over the back. Tattoos covered one arm from elbow to wrist with another one on his neck. Surprisingly few tattoos for a rock star, Shari thought wryly.

  He had been dynamic on stage for the short time she had seen him, and that had been from a distance. Being in the room with him only magnified his impact. She mentally acknowledged that he had the presence that was known as star power. He was as good looking in person as he was in the numerous photos she had seen of him, with the George Michael (make that Nick Badley) stubble darkening his chin and giving him his bad boy look. While she didn’t deny that he was good looking, it took a lot more than good looks to impress her. And, so far, she was not impressed.

  With the adrenaline dissipating rapidly, Nick was beginning to feel the effect of pouring himself out on the stage for two solid hours. He didn’t even have the energy to fight with Lily right now. She was well aware of how he felt about reporters and the media in general, but he had conceded to do the documentary only because it made for good publicity. Publicity was the only god that they bowed to.

  As far as he was concerned, the media had played a major role in destroying both his marriages. He had been well on the way to screwing up the first one himself, but they had finished what he’d started, with tragic results. Even now, the memories caused a dull ache to tug at his heart. He’d been really trying with Patti, his second wife, though but, she’d chosen to believe the stories being reported about him and a singer from a band that opened for one of his concerts. The photos which were snapped of them leaving a London club may have looked incriminating, but nothing had happened between them. He had actually been trying to be faithful. That was more than he could say for her, as he found out later.

  He looked Shari Goodwin up and down, trying to control his resentment at her presence. He could almost feel the disapproval oozing from her as she returned his gaze. No one could accuse her of being a groupie or trying to dress to attract him. Just as well, because he really wanted nothing to do with her
or her documentary. He had no time for reporters.

  She wore her light brown hair in a natural curly afro hairstyle and he grudgingly admitted that she was very easy on the eye. Her caramel skin was flawless and she obviously didn’t make too much fuss about make-up or clothing. It wasn’t that she looked shabby; far from. She looked casual but elegant in a pair of jeans, a white camisole, which she filled out extremely well, and a black blazer styled jacket. Low-heeled boots, more for comfort than style, didn’t do much to add inches to her average height. The outfit was more suited for work than an after party, but, then again, that’s what she was there for – to work.

  “Someone get me a drink. I need something to pick me up ’cause I’m about ready to crash.”

  “Hey, Nick, I’ve got some prime stuff that will pick you right up. Want some?” His drummer, Tim Benton, offered, unconcerned that they were in the company of journalists.

  “No, Tim. Besides, you don’t want your bad habits documented for the world to see, do you?” Nick gestured to Shari and Brian.

  “For purely medicinal purposes, of course,” Tim added. “Can’t think of a better energy booster.”

  “Don’t mind us. We want you to be as real as possible so that we can capture what your life is like as accurately as we can,” Shari assured them.

  “Don’t know if that will be allowed on Prime Time TV,” joked the bass player. Shari searched her mind for the name that went with his face. Oh yes, Simon Sayers. She smiled slightly, thinking the same thing herself.

  “Do you really know the meaning of accurate?” accused Nick. That sobered Shari immediately. She wondered at the animosity that she could feel emanating from him.

  “Nick stop,” Lily cautioned. “Alright, guys. Time to be seen by your adoring public,” Lily reminded them.

  Nick tossed back the shot that someone put in his hand and stood up, grabbing his jacket. The brief rest and the drink seemed to restore his energy.