I nod. “Me too. But how? Is that even possible?”
Brando’s lips press together as he thinks of how best to let me down.
“I don’t know. Worst case scenario, this thing catches fire – more than it has – and the fans turn against you. They find out the truth, you get branded a wannabe who rode her daddy’s coattails, and nothing you ever do is judged fairly. If you even get the chance to make another record.”
“And what’s the bad news?”
Brando smiles.
“Best case scenario: The story gets buried in all the other garbage people write about, and in a year or two is nothing but an urban myth. I’ll be honest, that one’s unlikely. This is the juiciest thing in the news right now. Unless the Pope decides to streak at the Cubs game tomorrow.”
I look out at the view over the rocky cliffs, the ocean below looking a little more overwhelming than I remember it.
“Do you have his number?”
Brando drops me off at my apartment before zooming off to perform damage control. I check the time and groan when I realize Jenna is still on her shift and won’t be back for another four hours. When I get inside, I drop my duffle bag to the floor, toss my leather jacket to the side, and head straight for the refrigerator.
I’m eighty percent of the way toward deciding I should order Chinese when there’s a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” I shout, as I slam the refrigerator closed and walk over to the door.
The knock comes again, loud and impatient. I swing it open.
“Hey, babe!”
“Lexi?”
“The one and only,” she says as she strides right on past me into the apartment. Impossibly confident in just a pair of white cut-off jean shorts and a pink tank top.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just checking up on you,” she says as she glides around the room, looking around casually as if she’s considering buying it. “How’s your throat?”
I touch my throat as if remembering it was supposed to hurt suddenly. Despite the shouting match with Brando, the stress of crying all night on the plane, and the fact that I’ve been doing anything but resting since fucking Brando at Lexi’s show – it feels way better than it should.
“Fine … I guess?”
Lexi laughs wildly. “Oh! What a surprise,” she says with open derision. “I suppose that strange, unnamed, random doctor was wrong.”
I step toward Lexi, and she moves sideways.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, making it clear from my tone that I don’t appreciate hers.
She grins menacingly as we circle each other around the furniture like wrestlers before a bout.
“Why don’t you take a guess? And show me just how gullible you can really be?”
“That wasn’t a real doctor? And I wasn’t sick enough to miss the show?” Lexi looks at me with mock-pity as she slow-claps. “You made me miss the New York show for nothing?”
“No. I never do anything for nothing. You missed the show because you were getting in my way.”
I shake my head in disbelief. Lexi leans back against the kitchen counter, stretching her long, bare legs out in front of her.
“You’re … you’re a bitch.”
Lexi laughs as she picks up an apple from the fruit bowl and plays with it in her hand.
“That’s not even the bitchiest thing I did yesterday.”
I take a couple of steps closer to her, my limbs feeling like coiled springs.
“What are you talking about?”
Lexi takes a loud bite of the apple and looks at me expectantly.
“No,” I say, refusing to let the thought take root. “No. You didn’t.”
“I probably did.”
“No. How could you? You didn’t even know.”
Lexi nonchalantly wipes the corner of her mouth, but her lipstick is still picture-perfect. “I know I have a good voice – but I have even better ears.” She puts on a comical impression of Brando. “‘Oh Haley, that night you told me Rex Bentley – the legendary singer - was your father, I got such a hard-on. Poor you, having such famous parents.’”
I bury my head in my hands, clawing at my hair.
“I can’t believe it. This is too much,” I say, looking back at Lexi. “It doesn’t make any sense. What do you get by telling the press about that? If anything it just makes me more famous, gives me more attention – more than you. Why would you do that?”
“Because,” Lexi says, turning serious as she tosses the apple away and strides slowly toward me, “I couldn’t give two fucks about your career anymore. I don’t care how many sweaty guitar geeks give your lousy records great reviews. I couldn’t be more oblivious to how many shows you sell out. I’ve realized what I really want.”
She stands in front of me, inches away, her face so close I can see the thickness of her lashes.
“I want Brando back.”
This time it’s me who laughs, hysterically, my body reacting with the only response it can find for something so insane.
“Are you fucking crazy?” I shout, pacing away from her and then turning back. “What? You thought I’d assume it was him and then we’d…” I stop laughing when I realize she was almost right, that she almost got exactly what she wanted.
I step toward her, finger in front of me. “Well it didn’t work. And it never will. Brando’s still mine. You failed. You and all your stupid fucking games.”
Slowly, Lexi puts her hand around my pointed finger, and pulls it away from her face.
“It’s not over yet, babe. Brando’s still going to choose me.”
“Wow,” I say, shaking my head. “You are one hundred percent, no holds-barred, batshit crazy. How can you even think that he’d still go back to you? I almost pity you for being that deluded.”
“I’m giving Majestic a choice. Either they drop me, or they drop you. Once you’re gone, it’ll be just me and my Brando again – just like old times.”
I turn and take a few steps away from her, unsure of whether to laugh or to call the men in white coats. I spin back around to look at her, standing proudly.
“You’re crazy. The label’s not going to drop me for a prima donna like you. You might be a star, Lexi, but you’re also a huge pain in the ass,” I say, stepping back toward her. “And even if they’re stupid enough to drop me, Brando’s not.”
Lexi licks her lips like she’s preparing to bite.
“You seem pretty certain that you know what Brando will do.”
“I do.”
“Are you sure? How long have you known him? Three months? Four? Try four fucking years with him. Four years that took us from a shitty studio apartment in Harlem to the Hollywood Hills. Four years to understand each other, to know how to make each other happy, to know how to push each other’s buttons.”
“Those years don’t count for anything,” I snarl, losing some of my self-control. “You made sure of that the instant you cheated and left him, left the real music. All you cared about was money and fame.”
Lexi’s unfazed. “That time must have counted for something – the only reason you’re even here is the bet he made to get me back.”
I clench my fists and hold them tightly to my side.
“Maybe he loved you at one point. But not now. Not after the way you treated him,” I say, the shakiness of the words letting both of us know I only half-believe it.
“And how exactly did you treat him, Haley? I saw the way you kept your distance from him on the tour, even though he wanted so badly to have a little taste of whatever it is you’ve got. I heard about how you assumed the worst of him the second you heard the Rex Bentley story broke out. You didn’t even give him a chance to explain, did you?”