And I had to stay away from that—from those memories—if I wanted to survive the workshop.
“Thanks for…” Cal trailed off.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what he’d planned on saying.
“Yeah,” I said, and headed toward the exit.
CHAPTER 11
“No one gets my costume,” I shouted over the music.
“What?” Ryan shouted back.
“My costume! No one understands what it is!”
He paused his dancing and looked at me. Frowned.
“What are you dressed as?” he shouted.
I sighed, but of course he didn’t hear it. I didn’t even hear it.
It was time for a dance break anyway. I was sweating up a storm and incredibly thirsty. I just found it hard to stop when the DJ kept playing such good music.
I gestured that I was going to leave the dance floor and get something to drink. Ryan followed me. It was a little quieter over by the bar, thankfully.
We were at some enormous, beautiful apartment in the seventh arrondissement, with gilded wallpaper and chandeliers and gorgeous winding staircases. I thought about the brownstone in Brooklyn that I’d just bought, how I was going to need to fill it with a bed and a couch and plates and silverware and all the kinds of things that homes usually had.
I’d been on the road or living out of hotels for years now. My financial planner had said that buying property was a good investment, and he was urging me to buy another place, or possibly two.
“Always good to have a house in Los Angeles,” he said. “And then, somewhere fun. Or secluded. There are ranches in Montana that you can get for a good price.”
But what was I going to do with a ranch in Montana?
I could pay off my parents’ mortgage, buy my sister a place of her own, but I knew that even offering would leave me feeling disappointed. My relationship with my family could best be described as “respectfully indifferent.” The less we spoke—and saw each other—the better we all got along.
Harriet was standing with some of the other CrushZone guys. They’d been given costumes by their management—all five of them were dressed as old-school horror movie monsters. Ryan was Frankenstein, Cal was a mummy, Wyatt was a werewolf, Mason was Dracula, and LC was the Phantom of the Opera.
“Where’s Cal?”
Wyatt jerked a thumb toward the other side of the room.
“Being smarter than all of us,” he said.
Cal had his hand up against the wall, leaning and grinning down at a gorgeous Parisian girl dressed all in black.
“Is that one of the waitresses?” Harriet asked.
The jealousy I felt was very inappropriate. Why should I care if Cal was flirting? He was single. He had the right.
“I’m bored,” Mason said. “I’m getting out of here.”
“Me too,” LC said.
“Want to share a cab?”
“Sure.”
They didn’t invite anyone else, but I could tell that Wyatt and Ryan had no intention of leaving. Ryan, for one, was waiting for a chance to talk to a big movie exec who had attended with his extremely young girlfriend. She was dressed as a cat. He wasn’t wearing a costume.
“He’s getting champagne.” Ryan grabbed my arm.
He’d spent most of our time on the dance floor trying to position me so I’d “accidentally” bump into one of them. Luckily my balance was way too good for that to work.
“Now’s your chance, dude,” Wyatt said.
“Yeah?” Ryan asked.
“Sure,” Wyatt said.
Ryan squared his shoulders and headed toward the exec, his awkward gait working well with his Frankenstein costume.
Wyatt also wandered off, but I didn’t ask where he was going. I’d found that the fewer questions you asked Wyatt, the better off you’d be. No doubt he was trying to find his own Parisian waitress to help him pass the time.
“Are you having fun?” I asked Harriet.
“Totally,” she said. “You?”
“So much,” I said.
I looked at her. She looked at me.
We both burst out laughing.
“I miss the way we used to spend Halloween,” she said.
Back when I was on Show N Tell, I’d had a tiny apartment in Washington Heights, but I was rarely there. If I wasn’t recording the show, I was at Harriet’s in Harlem with my de facto New York family.
“Our musical movie marathons?” I asked. “The nerdiest way to spend Halloween?”
We’d spent every Halloween together until I became Katee Rose and started touring all the time.
“The best way to spend Halloween,” she said. “Staying up all night, stopping only to answer the door for trick-or-treaters.”
“It was fun,” I said. “But this is fun too.”
“Yeah,” she said.
But it was clear that she wasn’t having as good a time as I was.
I felt bad—I wanted her to enjoy herself, but I also knew that no matter what I did, Harriet would probably always feel like an interloper in my world.
Not that my world was great one hundred percent of the time. I didn’t love getting chased by paparazzi while trying to buy tampons or being unable to eat a full meal without the tabloids suggesting that I was pregnant or just getting fat.
But there was something intoxicating about fame. About the power it gave you.
Like at this party. I belonged, without having to do anything. I just walked into a room, and everyone wanted to talk to me.
It was weird, and the truth was, I was more comfortable onstage than off, but I liked the attention. I liked being known.
“We should have chosen different costumes,” I said.
I’d thought I was being so clever. A black fedora, men’s black coat, black tights, and black heels. I’d looked in the mirror and seen Judy in Summer Stock.
“Everyone thinks it’s some sort of Risky Business reference,” I said.
“Yeah,” Harriet said. “Try hearing that there’s no such thing as a Black Dorothy.”
I looked at her. “Has no one seen The Wiz?”
“Apparently not,” she said.
“Well, I think you look great,” I said.
“Likewise,” she said.