I rubbed the back of my neck. “Huh?”
“Someone gave her a thousand bucks to give up the gate code so Lola could get in here that night. Ten years she’d been with me, and I have to find a new housekeeper. I’m doing my own goddamn laundry. And I haven’t even told you the crazy shit yet.” He looked me in the eye. “The person who paid her wasn’t Lola or any of her people.” He paused. “It was your people.”
My hand dropped, and I stared at him.
“I had to do a shit ton of digging. Had to give Lupe another thousand bucks to get her to talk and I had to ask the Swansons across the street for their surveillance video, but I got the plate for the guy who bribed her. He’s some low-level lackey for your label.”
“What?” I breathed.
“Yeah.” He scratched his cheek. “Here’s what I think. I think your label set you up for those photos with Lola. I think they did it so they could leak that shit. I think the whole TMZ thing was planned and they wanted the rumors circulating so when they stuck Lola on your tour, the two of you would be all over the tabloids together, nice and fucking neat.”
I stood there speechless for a long moment. “Why?”
“They’re manufacturing your hype. They want everybody talking about you. The Lola-Jaxon singles on the soundtrack are on fire. Everybody’s fucking grabbing for you. Pia can’t even keep up with all the press they want you to do. That’s why they pushed your tour out ten more months. They’re posturing to mass-produce you. The writing’s on the wall, my friend. You’ve got all the makings of a superstar.”
Ernie wasn’t one to make declarations like that. He was more of a manage-your-expectations kind of guy, so I didn’t take any of what he said lightly. I should have been happy that he had this much faith in the future of my career, but instead the most peculiar sense of foreboding overcame me. That little stunt with Lola had almost cost me my girlfriend and they’d given my harasser access to where I lived? What the fuck?
He went on. “At this point I wouldn’t even put it above them to drop Lola on your tour no matter how well your tickets are selling. It works for you both. She gives your image an edge and keeps you in the gossip mags and you give her a tour she can be on that’ll keep rolling even if she drops dead with a needle in her arm.”
My face went hard. “No. I’ll walk before that happens. I don’t give a shit, let them do what they need to do.”
He put his hands on my shoulders. “Look, I don’t want you worrying about Lola. She’s not coming anywhere near you for the time being. You just keep up your end of the bargain and book up those shows. And as for right now, just be braced. I hope both you kids got plenty in the reserve tank because this tour’s not gonna be easy.” He slapped my shoulder. “Congratulations, Jaxon. You’ve officially made it.”
Chapter 34
Sloan
♪ Yes I’m Changing | Tame Impala
I woke up alone with Tucker in Jason’s bed. My boyfriend’s side of the mattress was cold.
My house was empty and on the market. I’d quit my job and liquidated my life. And I was exhausted. We both were. Which was why it was weird he wasn’t sleeping when he had the chance.
We were living in Jason’s trailer until we left on tour in two days. In the last week my entire life had been reduced to a single large suitcase and a carry-on. My car was gone. The insurance company declared it totaled because apparently four tires, some windows, and a coat of paint would cost more than the whole vehicle. Got fifteen hundred for it and I felt like a bandit.
I wandered out to the bathroom wrapped in a blanket. Jason wasn’t in the trailer. I peeked out the blinds and saw him by the pool house talking to Ernie.
I slid down onto the sofa with Tucker to wait for him to come back in and turned on the TV. I was sitting there, flipping through channels, when an email came through to my phone with a ping.
Every time my phone chimed I jumped a little, even though I’d changed my number and deleted my social media accounts. The Lola onslaught had been horrible. I was so glad it seemed to be over.
I clicked on the little envelope icon. My heart leapt.
It had been over two years since I got a message to this account. It was the one I used back when I painted hyperrealistic art, the one on the business cards the art galleries handed out—or used to, back when I did that sort of thing.
It was so random, for a split second I worried it was more trolling, but I recognized the name. It was a gallery curator in Laguna Beach. A well-known one.
I pored over the email.
She had a client who’d seen Girl in Poppies and wanted a painting of his daughter. He wanted it by Christmas and he was willing to pay $4,000 for it.
A commission.
I let out a puff of air.
This was the kind of order I used to pray for. My paintings usually sold, but they hung in galleries for months before they did. Not only to have someone love my work enough to commission it, but to have the painting sold before it even existed? God, it was my dream!
And then the reality pummeled me.
I was leaving on tour. And there was no way I could paint where I was going.
The disappointment hit me right in the heart.
I was ready to get serious about my art again. But I’d been bogged down with Etsy and astronaut cats so I hadn’t been able to actually attempt it. And now that I’d shucked all those responsibilities and had this incredible opportunity dangling in front of me, I couldn’t take it.
I put my phone away and went back to watching TV, depressed. I guess I should be happy that I’d gotten to the point where I wanted to pursue things that I used to be passionate about. Even if I couldn’t do them.
Jason clomped into the trailer twenty minutes later and looked surprised to see me up. He put his hand on the back of the sofa to lean down and kiss me. “Good morning. Coffee?” He smiled, but he looked weary.
“Yeah. Hey, did you see this?” I said, nodding at the TV. I was watching E! News.
“What is it?” He went to the kitchen and opened the cabinet and pulled out the bag of grounds.
“Lola’s suing her manager. I guess he embezzled all this money from her.”
He spooned coffee into the press. “She was probably too wasted to notice,” he mumbled. He put water in the microwave. “Speaking of Lola, Ernie thinks the photos of me and her were staged by my label.”
I scrunched my forehead. “Really? Why?”
“Publicity.” He leaned on the counter with his arms crossed while he waited for the microwave. “He thinks they might put her on my tour even if my shows are sold out.”
I shrugged. “Okay. Well, she doesn’t scare me. Just so you know.”
He smiled and walked over to turn off the TV. “Hey, I got you a gift.”
I grinned at him. “You did?”
He opened a cabinet in the kitchen and pulled out a large blue polka-dot gift bag and put it in my lap as he sat down. “I thought you might like this,” he said.
I reached in and pulled out a small table lamp. It had a gear for the base, a twisted metal neck, and an old scuffed-up curved license plate for the shade.
“It’s from your car,” he said. “I had Zane get the parts from the junkyard and send it to a guy who makes lamps out of refurbished auto parts. I had to place a rush order to get it before we left, but I really wanted you to have it. I know you liked that car.”