2 Queenie Baby - Out of Office (14 page)

My phone buzzed. I squinted at the bright light streaming through the windows. I grabbed the phone.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?" Mark demanded.

"Well, I
was
sleeping," I said, awake now and ready to rumble.

"You'd better be alone," he snapped.

"What do you care?" I snapped back. "I'm sick of all your cloak and dagger lies, Mark."

"Where are you?" he repeated like I was child. I expected him to start counting to five any minute.

"I'm getting ready for a morning practice, and then we're going to the conference center for a dress rehearsal at three. I don't want to see you."

I pictured him raking his hand through his hair and tried not to feel bad for him. "Please, Diana," he said softly. "Can we just talk about this? I'm sorry I got drunk last night. That pirate grog is potent."

I was silent at his attempt at a joke.

"What happened last night?" he asked.

"Maybe you should ask Marsha," I said and ended the call.

The fact that he didn't immediately call me back meant I had hit a nerve. I was disappointed. I guess I had been hoping he'd say, "Marsha who?"

I showered and dressed. Carlos knocked on the door at quarter to ten.

"So sorry to hear about your woes, m'lady," he said with a bow.

I nodded.

"I might have something to cheer you up," he said with a grin and opened the door.

He dragged in a wardrobe rack on wheels bulging with clothes. Pretty, sparkly clothes. My favorite kind.

"There's a seamstress coming at one to make any necessary alterations," he said. "You'll need three changes. Roger and Phil want the crowd to see you as versatile—rocker chic, glamorous, and casual."

Remembering my plans to corner those two today, I said, "So why aren't they here? I need to discuss some things."

"They're in the middle of last minute arrangements, but they'll take a look at what we pick out."

My hour with Carlos reminded me a bit of the scene from the
Pretty Woman
movie. Only Richard Gere was dressed as a pirate, and I wasn't as excited about trying on the clothes as Julia Roberts had been. It was hard to be excited about clothes when your boyfriend had a Marsha calling him at all hours of the night. What kind of name was Marsha anyway? Marsha, Marsha, Marsha! She sounded like a real bossy-butt.

We decided on jeans, a tight white shirt and awesome leather boots for my casual outfit. For the rocker outfit, a black bustier with matching black leather skirt and platform go-go boots. A flowing, sparkling white and gold dress that looked like it came straight from the 70's completed the ensemble. Carlos called the dress "a garment fit for a goddess." Yeah, he said that. I was starting to think he needed medication.

Phil and Roger walked in while I was still in the 70's dress. They looked at me and then at each other.

"Well," I prompted, "don't just stare. What do you think? I don't want to get up on stage looking like I've just walked off of some nineteen-seventies sitcom."

Phil plopped down in a chair. Which was unusual because he wasn't much of a plopper; he was more of a lurker. "You look fantastic," he said the way a doctor would say, "This looks like strep," while he has a tongue depressor jammed half-way down your throat.

"But?" I prompted.

Roger stepped in. "Frankly, Diana, we don't know what to do with you."

I looked around the room. Carlos was making himself busy putting away the discarded clothes.

Phil chimed in, "No offense, but we don't really want to work with you. Like I said before, you've got bad luck. Lots of talent, but bad luck."

Roger continued, "And in this business it's all about the luck."

They stared at me glumly.

"If you're trying to weasel out of this performance, you can forget about it. I'm doing this concert."

Roger waved his hand. "The concert is a given. We're more worried about the tour."

I looked up. "Why?"

"As you know, the tour was supposed to feature Billy Prescott." Phil gave me a stern look.

Hey, it wasn't my fault that Billy would rather pick out China patterns than be on tour.

"We're still trying to salvage some of the dates. If this show goes well, we think we can piece together a truncated tour in the U.S. We already have tentative dates for the summer on the east coast."

"We just don't know what to do with you," Roger repeated.

I wasn't sure if I should feel offended or special. Phil said, "Carlos wants you on tour. Thinks you're the key to making this work in the U.S."

My mind was racing. Opportunity was beating down my door, and I had no intention of letting it slip by. "I understand why you're reluctant. I admit I've had a run of bad luck. But I know I can do this," I said earnestly. "Don't judge me by the past. Judge me by tonight. Let the crowd decide."

Phil nodded.

Roger said, "What about your schedule? This is could be a nonstop tour all over the country. You have a job and a new boyfriend. Have you thought about that?"

"I'm a temp working for a vampire and my boyfriend has a 'Marsha'. A tour across the U.S. is
exactly
what I need right now," I replied.

Phil raised his eyes heavenward. "See," he said to Roger, "this is just what I'm talking about. She's drama with a capital D."

"I'm not drama," I insisted.

Roger held up his hands. "Let's see how tonight goes. Who cares about the drama if she draws a crowd?"

Phil shrugged. "At least she's not a pirate."

*  *  *

I had just finished with the seamstress and was on my way to the limo when Mark cornered me in the stairwell. "We need to talk," he said, grabbing my hand.

I put my guitar down with a sigh. "Like I said before, Mark, I'm getting ready to go on stage in front of ten thousand people. I don't have time for this right now."

He turned me to face him. "Okay, here's the short version," he said, looking into my eyes. Oh why, oh why did he have to smell so good? "Marsha's not my girlfriend. She was my partner."

I stared at him. So not a girlfriend was good. However… "I'm not sure that's any better," I said. "Assuming you're not lying—"

He rolled his eyes.

"—why would your ex-partner be calling you?"

He looked uncomfortable. "I can't really get into it right now."

"Huh, well then I don't have time for this right now. Look me up when you're at liberty to discuss it," I said and grabbed my guitar.

Mark blocked my way. "Don't do this, Diana. I'm not doing anything wrong. I just can't discuss it. Please trust me."

I wanted to. I really did. But Andre's words rang in my ears. "I know you're still working for the CIA," I said before I chickened out.

He stared at me for a moment. "How do you know that?"

"Andre did some checking," I replied, feeling crestfallen that he hadn't tried to deny it.

His face darkened. "I should've known. He doesn't know the details. I'll explain everything as soon as I can. I just need you to trust me right now."

"I'm sorry, Mark. I just can't. You've been hiding things from me since the day we met. I understand that is how you're used to living because of your job. Let me know when you've finally left all that behind," I said, brushing past him.

Andre was at the bottom of the stairs. It was obvious he had been listening in. He had the decency to look shamefaced.

"You'd better be right about this," I told him.

He shrugged. "Right or not, I'm only confirming what you've been feeling."

He had a point.

The ride in the limo was annoying. Between David and Margarite making kissy faces at each other and Carlos in full pirate mode, it was all I could do to stop myself from jumping out. Surprisingly, the sight of the convention center soothed me. In just a few hours, I would be on the stage playing in front of thousands of people. It felt right.

The band was set up and running through sound checks when we walked on stage. Wow, it was really big.

Carlos read my thoughts. "Ever thought you'd be in a place like this?" he asked, without a trace of pirate.

I shook my head.

"Me neither," he replied.

"I guess I should thank you for stealing my song," I said, looking over at him.

He grinned. "Anytime, m'lady."

After rehearsal and a wardrobe check, I found myself alone in the dressing room with time to burn. So I updated my webpage and Facebook pages with info about the concert. Within minutes my phone rang. It was Rick. Yikes!

I decided to be a big girl and answer it.

"Hello."

"Is this Diana the rock star?" he asked.

I couldn't help but smile. "Hi, Rick."

"I know I said I'd leave you alone," he apologized. "But I saw your update on Facebook, and I had to call. Are you really performing in front of ten thousand people tonight?"

"Yep," I said, flushing with pride. "Believe it or not."

"Oh, I never doubted you for a minute. Just wish I could be there to see it." He sounded a little too wistful.

"Well, I'd better get back to work."

"Hey, Diana," Rick said, "has Mark screwed up yet?"

"No comment."

"Has he told you he loves you?"

I was stunned. No, in fact, he hadn't. I'd had two declarations of love in the past couple of weeks, and neither was from Mark.

"Thought so," he said a bit smugly. "Well, good luck tonight."

"Thanks," I said and hung up.

I hadn't expected Mark to say he loved me so soon, had I? Hearing Rick's voice made me miss Mark. I couldn't believe he wasn't here with me now. Why did he have to be so secretive? Maybe Andre was just trying to edge Mark out of the way. But facts were facts. Mark admitted he was still working with the CIA. Geez, it sounded weird even thinking it in my head.

"Shake a leg, matey," Carlos called from the hallway. "It's almost show time."

Time to get my head in the game, I thought as I glanced in the mirror. I hoped the stylist could do something with my hair. It needed major work.

An hour later my hair was rock star fab, and my rock chic costume was fitted like a black leather glove to my body.

"Now that's what a rock star's supposed to look like," said Andre, as he escorted me from my room to the back of the stage. I could hear the roar of the audience as Carlos took the stage. Phil and Roger gave me a thumbs up when I walked by. Butterflies raced around my stomach. Was this really happening?

I looked around, feeling anxious and a little sad.

And then I saw him. He stepped out of a dark alcove holding an enormous bunch of red roses.

Andre sighed. "Just couldn't stay away, huh?"

Mark grinned. "Not a chance."

They both looked at me.

"Can you give us a minute?" I asked Andre.

He gave Mark an angry look and headed back the way we had just come.

"Nice flowers," I said pleasantly, like I had all the time in the world.

"They're for you, if you'll have them," Mark said quietly.

I took them and gave them a sniff. Between eau d' Mark and the roses, my nose was in heaven. "This doesn't make up for what happened," I warned.

"I know. But it's a start. I don't mean to be secretive, but tying up lose ends is a little more complicated for me than for other people."

"Just be honest with me. I shouldn't have to find out about your past from Andre and
Marsha
." I spit her name out angrily.

"Agreed," he said. "I promise to keep you in the loop. But I can't always give you details."

I sniffed the flowers again. "Okay, but you owe me one for this."

"I thought I might've had a few in the bank with that whole pirate costume," he said with smile.

"Nice try." I handed him back the flowers and kissed him on the cheek.

Roger and Phil were motioning me forward.

"I'll think of something," I called, as I turned and walked through the curtain.

So this is what being a rock star is like, I thought as I walked onto the stage.

Wow.

There was a hush as I walked out into the spotlights.

Carlos said first in English and then in Spanish, "I'd like you to meet the writer and the original singer of 'The Rum Song,' my friend and muse, the beautiful Diana Hudson!"

For the first time since I'd heard from Mark that my song had been stolen, I felt at peace. I couldn't think of anything that could make this moment any sweeter.

Except looking down at the front row and seeing the cops from the airport staring up at me. Mouths open and pointing. Who's loco now, boys? I gave them a wide smile.