What Now? Read online

  “Let’s go face the music. Stick close to me, Ms. Goodwin,” he ordered, opening the door. “You said you want to see what my life is like.”

  The security contingent lined the hallway, waiting to escort them to the limos that were parked around the back. As they walked between the line of solid-looking men in black, Shari wondered if she was really ready to see what Nick Badley’s life was like.

  Chapter 2

  “Nick, Nick!” shouted women of all descriptions as they reached out to touch him. Cameras flashed in their eyes as photographers and fans competed to capture the image of the famous Nick Badley on their cameras and smart phones. So much for leaving quietly through the back, Shari thought.

  “Great concert, Nick,” someone praised him.

  “Thanks,” he replied, giving him a thumbs-up.

  “Who’s the lady, Nick?” a reporter asked. He ignored that.

  “Where you off to, Nick?”

  “Where’s the after party, Nick?”

  “Can you sign an autograph for me, Nick?” He paused to scribble his signature on a photo of himself that a beautiful girl stuck out.

  “Me too, Nick…” Another scribble.

  “Nick…”

  “Nick…”

  Beginning to get sick of hearing the name Nick, not to mention feeling claustrophobic as the crowd pressed in on them, Shari was relieved when Nick’s bodyguards pushed them back and carved a path to the limo. By the time they collapsed in the seat she felt frazzled. Brian had apparently gone with the rest of the band.

  Faces pressed against the windows as the driver inched forward, taking what seemed to Shari like forever to crawl through the throng. She found it miraculous that no one got crushed under the wheels. As they turned the corner, the street was lined with more fans hoping to get a glimpse of Nick. He lowered the dark tinted window, leaned forward and waved to his delighted fans before the limo picked up speed and headed towards the exclusive club.

  “Got to keep the fans happy,” he said matter-of-factly, sitting back against the seat.

  “And what keeps you happy?” She was feeling better now that they were on the open road.

  “Sold out concerts, platinum albums, number one records, no reporters in my face…” he listed off on his fingers.

  “Not much then,” she interrupted wryly. “I’m afraid you won’t be totally happy because I’ll be in your face for the next few weeks.”

  “I’ll try to survive,” he replied. “And what keeps you happy, Ms. Shari Goodwin?” he asked, once again stressing the first syllable of her surname.

  “Working on stories with depth and meaning,” she replied, without hesitation.

  “So, you’re not happy at the moment.”

  “I plead the Fifth.” His laugh startled her. She had thought he might be offended, but, apparently, he was amused.

  “I take it that you did not want this assignment,” he persisted.

  “How honest do you want me to be?”

  “Total honesty would be a novelty. I know that you’re supposed to be professional and keep your opinions to yourself, but I would really like you to say exactly what you’re thinking. I’ll consider it off the record.”

  His words caused her to look more closely at him. She didn’t pursue his comment, but filed it away in her mental notebook.

  She was saved from having to answer him as the limo pulled up to the curb of a high-end night club with the words ZigZag, discreetly lit in a pattern befitting its name. Crowds of people were filing into the club and a queue was building as security verified passes. Those who didn’t have valid passes were turned away.

  A surreal feeling came over her as the door opened and two large bodyguards stepped back to allow them to get out. Yesterday she had only read about Nick Badley, tonight she was climbing out of a limousine and being hustled along beside him towards the door of an exclusive Las Vegas club! The crowd parted like the Red Sea as the bodyguards pushed through. Nick grabbed her hand and pulled her into the club with him while the other members of the band and Brian, who had spilled out of another limo, fell in behind them.

  The DJ must have been watching the door from his platform because, as soon as Nick walked in, he turned down the music and shouted into his mike: “Nick Bad is in the house! Glad to have you and the band at ZigZag, Nick.”

  The crowd erupted in cheers. Nick raised a hand in acknowledgement and followed a hostess, who appeared at his side, to a booth on a raised dais towards the back of the club. Men clapped him on the shoulders and back and women reached out to touch him as he passed.

  When he and the band were finally seated, with their ever-present bodyguards settled nearby, the music and dancing resumed. A waitress in a pair of miniscule black shorts and a bustier that revealed almost as much as it covered, appeared at the table to take their orders.

  “What can I get you, Mr. Badley?”

  “I’ll have an Eyeopener.”

  “Sure. One vodka and Red Bull coming up. What about you, gentlemen?” she asked the rest of the band. They opted for the same.

  “What are you having?” Nick asked Shari, bringing her to the attention of the waitress.

  “I’ll have pink lemonade, please.”

  “Will that be with vodka?” the waitress asked.

  Shari smiled slightly. “By itself.”

  The waitress added that to her pad and made way as a man of medium height with a slight paunch and slicked back hair approached the dais. Two beautiful women in short, black dresses clung to each of his arms. Shari thought he looked like some sort of Italian gangster and wasn’t surprised when he leaned over to shake Nick’s hand and shouted above the noise: “Welcome, Nick. I’m Marciano Ballatore. I’m honored that you’ve chosen to grace ZigZag with your presence tonight.”

  “Thanks for throwing this party for us,” Nick responded graciously.

  “Anything you want, anything at all, you just have to ask. What is mine is yours.” With that, he raised his arms slightly to indicate that his offer included the women on his arms who moved from his side and slid into the booth. The nearest one immediately sidled to Nick’s side, leaving the other one to practically crawl over his lap to squeeze herself between him and Shari, forcing Shari to move over.

  “Thank you, Marciano.” Nick made himself comfortable by slipping his arms around both of them. The boss smiled and excused himself.

  Shari almost rolled her eyes. She wondered if Marciano’s offer extended to food because she was starving. Did these people ever eat or did they only drink? Still, she was glad when their drinks arrived promptly and she gratefully took a large sip of her pink lemonade. At least it filled her empty stomach temporarily.

  Watching the others down their Eyeopeners, she was glad that they had drivers because she knew that the combination of alcohol and caffeine-filled drinks was not the best idea, particularly if you were driving.

  Shari could have been invisible as Groupie #1 (as she mentally nicknamed her) began to kiss Nick’s neck while Groupie #2 began to nibble on his earlobe. Maybe they were high-class call girls. She hadn’t felt this uncomfortable since high school when she was chaperoning her best friend and her boyfriend. She glanced at the guys in the band to see what they thought about the making out going on next to her, but they were distracted by the beautiful women who were now swarming around the booth like excited bees. The bodyguards had obviously been given the OK signal by the band.

  She was relieved when the girls paused from tasting Nick’s neck and ears and wanted to dance. No doubt so that they would be seen, and maybe even photographed, with the great Nick Badley. The drink seemed to give Nick the energy to dance, in spite of performing for over two hours earlier.

  “Excuse us,” he murmured to Shari who thought it ironic that he asked to be excused to go and dance but had no qualms about making out next to her without asking to be excused. She looked at Brian as he captured photos from behind the booth. Those should be good material for the story.

&n
bsp; Shari’s eyes followed Nick and his escorts to the dance floor, noting how people made way for him. After watching them for a short while, she was convinced that the ladies had expertise in pole dancing. They began to slide up and down Nick’s body and wind themselves around him as if he was their pole. Soon the other members of the band headed to the dance floor with their own partners, leaving the keyboard player, Steve Jeffries.

  She slid along the booth towards him and asked him why he wasn’t dancing.

  He shouted above the noise: “This isn’t my scene. I don’t even like to come to these after parties. I’d rather be on FaceTime or Skype with my wife.”

  “Are you the only one married?”

  “No. Tim is married as well.”

  Shari looked towards the dance floor to where Tim and a buxom blonde were entwined. She turned back to Steve and raised an eyebrow.

  “Makes me understand how Jonathan Cain felt when he wrote “Faithfully”.” He shouted.

  “Who’s Jonathan Cain?” she shouted back, wondering if she would be hoarse by the end of the night.

  “He’s the keyboardist in Journey,” he shouted. “We’ll be hoarse at this rate. Have you had enough?” She nodded. “Ok, let’s go. I’ll tell you in the limo.” He finished off his drink and rose from the dais.

  Shari signaled to Brian that they were ready to leave and on the way out Steve told a member of the contingent to let the band know. Nick and his escorts had been swallowed up by the crowd and there was no sign of them.

  Accompanied by two bodyguards, they headed to one of the limos parked across the street, although they didn’t really need the security. After all, Nick was not with them.

  “My goodness, I’m tired of this pace already and this is the first day,” groaned Shari, sinking into the leather seat.

  “I don’t think I could handle this lifestyle,” admitted Brian, “although the girls would sure ease the hardship,” he laughed tiredly.

  “It has its ups and downs,” Steve concurred. “That’s what I was telling you about Jonathan Cain.”

  “Yes, who is he?”

  “You ever heard the song “Faithfully” by Journey?” She did a quick scan of the music catalogue in her brain until she recalled the song and nodded.

  “Well, he wrote it. It was about him being on the road and separated from his wife and he wrote her a song to tell her that he was being faithful.”

  He started to sing softly, almost to himself.

  Highway run into the midnight sun

  Wheels go ’round and ’round, you're on my mind

  Restless hearts sleep alone tonight

  Sendin' all my love along the wire

  They say that the road ain't no place to start a family

  Right down the line it's been you and me

  And lovin' a music man ain't always what it's supposed to be

  Oh, girl you stand by me, I'm forever yours, faithfully

  Circus life under the big top world

  We all need the clowns to make us smile

  Through space and time, always another show

  Wondering where I am lost without you

  And bein' apart ain't easy on this love affair

  Two strangers learn to fall in love again

  I get the joy of rediscovering you

  Oh girl, you stand by me, I'm forever yours, faithfully

  “Oh, got you now.” She nodded understandingly when he finished.

  The quiet moment was interrupted by an eruption from her stomach confirming that the pink lemonade hadn’t made much of an impact.

  “I’m starving.” She tried to hush her growling stomach by placing a hand on it. “I don’t suppose I can get room service at this time.” She saw that it was after two in the morning.

  “You’re with the band,” Steve reminded her. “You can get anything you want. Besides, this is Vegas, the other city that never sleeps.”

  “True. I forgot. I guess there are benefits. That reminds me that I’m supposed to meet Nick for the first interview tomorrow. Make that today, at two, in his suite. Not the best meeting place, but Lily said that if we go anywhere in the hotel he’ll be recognized and that will be chaos.”

  “You got that right,” confirmed Steve. “We all hang out in each other’s rooms and sometimes we share; it’s not a big deal. Anyway, you’ll be lucky if he’s up by two,” he warned.

  “Especially if he gets lucky tonight and it sure looks as if he will,” Brian said, sounding envious.

  “What’s so lucky about that?” Shari asked drily.

  “Know what you mean,” Steve murmured.

  “How do you manage not to get caught up with all that?” Shari asked curiously, gesturing in the direction they had left.

  “It’s not easy,” he admitted. “I love my wife, but you have no idea how hard it is to resist what’s thrown at you so easily. So I try to avoid the after parties most of the time and I usually go back to my room and call her. But even so, it’s not easy being apart for so long. I guess that’s why most of the guys aren’t married. Nick was married twice, but the last one ended a couple years ago.”

  “I wonder why he bothered,” Shari mused.

  “It feels good to have someone to go home to. Being on the road can be lonely. Even for Nick.”

  Shari was skeptical. She remembered the glimpse she’d had of Nick on the dance floor sandwiched between the pole dancers. He hadn’t looked at all lonely to her.

  Chapter 3

  Shari knocked at the door of Nick’s suite. It was one of Las Vegas’ best, of course. Nothing less for Nick Badley. She eyed the Do Not Disturb sign that hung on the handle while she waited for him and hoped he had only put it out so that housekeeping would not wake him up too early.

  After a minute or two she was still waiting, so she knocked louder. Realizing there was no way he would hear her from inside the undoubtedly vast suite, she pursed her lips in annoyance. Taking out her cell phone, she called Lily and told her that she was outside Nick’s door and asked if she could call him. Obviously, Shari hadn’t been given Nick’s cell number. A person with that information could probably retire early.

  Several minutes later, where every minute she waited added to her impatience, the door opened and a rumpled-looking Nick propped against it lazily. He looked as if he had literally tumbled out of bed, rubbed his eyes and came to the door. She would have to be dead not to notice his bare, sculptured torso and the beginning of his V-line that the black gym pants failed to cover. She silently acknowledged that he could be a model for Abercrombie & Fitch, except, of course, that he had his own brand of clothing, she’d read somewhere. However, she was there to do a job, not admire his V-line. She had to admit it, though; Nick Badley was too sexy for his own good.

  “Ms. Shari Goodwin,” he drawled. She wished he would stop calling her by her full name in that mocking tone. “I completely forgot that you were scheduled to interview me today.” He made no move to invite her in. Instead, his eyes took a leisurely trip from her ankle boots to her black leggings and travelled slowly up the oversized black and red sweater that began mid-thigh, pausing for a while where it swelled out and finally came to the end of his destination, her face. She practically squirmed under his assessing gaze. She was well covered, so why did his bold stare make her feel as if she was undressed?

  “And that’s what I’m here to do – interview you,” she prompted, deliberately squelching the feeling.

  He hesitated long enough for her to begin counting mentally to calm herself. She was at three when he stepped back to allow her in. Why did she get the feeling that he was stalling for some reason?

  “Look, Lily is the one pushing for this, but I really don’t have any time for the media or for this documentary. My relationships have been messed up more than once by the lies you print.”

  “I don’t consider what I do to be in the same category as the gossip magazines. I’m a serious journalist and my job is to document your life as accurately as possible.”


  He looked her over as if testing her sincerity. She held his gaze with a steady one of her own.

  “OK,” he agreed, coming to a decision. “I’ll need a couple of minutes to get decent,” he said, yawning. More like a couple of decades, she thought.

  Gesturing for her to come in, he led her past the dining room and the living room to a circular booth with the curtains drawn back to treat them to a clear view of the famous Strip.

  “You can set up here; it’s my favorite spot in the suite.”

  “Nice view,” she commented.

  “Would you order some coffee and breakfast from room service for me? I’ll be back soon.”

  “In case you didn’t realize, it’s past breakfast,” she called to his retreating back as he headed towards the bedroom area.

  “It’s breakfast if I say it is,” he threw back arrogantly. “I feel like pancakes with lots of fruit and some of that strawberry stuff.”

  Shari’s eyes narrowed. What was she now, his housekeeper?

  “You mean strawberry compote?”

  “Whatever.”

  She growled in irritation, looking around for the nearest phone, which she spotted on a side table in the living room. In spite of her frustration, she couldn’t help but admire the rich décor of the suite. Mahogany furniture blended well with red side chairs and taupe sofas accessorized with red throw cushions. In addition to the living room, there was a dining room and a wet bar. The suite was bigger than her town house.

  Fresh flowers in elegant vases adorned most of the tables. The green of the accompanying foliage contrasted beautifully with the colors of the room. She had thought her room was nice, and it was, but, compared to the splendor of Nick’s suite, it seemed almost basic, if anything in Vegas could be described as basic.

  Nick had made himself right at home. His black jacket from last night was draped over the back of a bar stool, an electric guitar was leaning on the wall next to a closed bedroom door and a battered-looking acoustic guitar took up most of the couch in the living room. Sheets of paper with chords and what looked like lyrics scribbled on them were strewn across the coffee table as if Nick had been trying to write a song. She was tempted to have a look, but her conscience wouldn’t allow her to invade his privacy. Turning away, she picked up the phone and pressed the button for room service.