Bad to the Bone (23 page)

“But, he was the first guy I ever … you know,” Kiley said, brushing the tear away. “And now I'm so sorry.”

“I'll try and send you an Irish guy named Liam. Or a French guy named François. Or a German guy named Dirk.
Or an Ama guy. Naw. Let's pass on the Ama guy,” Lydia cracked. “You like 'em with teeth.”

Lydia saw that Kiley was about to retort, but then Jocelyn's voice came over the closed-circuit intercom system. “Lydia? You three ready?”

She bounded over to the intercom on the wall and pressed the Talk button. “Yeah, we're all here.”

“Then get your asses upstairs. We've got a show to put on!”

That was it. It was time. The Rock Music Awards were about to begin.

Lydia and Kiley were stationed to the left side of the stage, while Esme was moved to the right. The Kodak auditorium was jammed. Many of the seats had been taken out and round tables brought in, at which the stars, their entourages, and media company executives were seated. Farther back were industry-related fans, while the two Kodak Theatre balconies were reserved for regular-human-being fans, including a goodly number who'd come from overseas. Tickets to the Rock Music Awards were a coveted giveaway premium for radio stations and magazines around the world, and lots of those regular fans had won their tickets and, in some cases, their trips. These fans in the upper deck were the loudest, cheering for their favorites.

The performances were incredible. John Mayer, Coldplay the Pussycat Dolls, Usher, Fergie, the Killers, Kanye West—the list went on and on. Lydia was waiting for the presentation of the next award, a lifetime achievement award to Simon Cowell of
American Idol
. She would be the one escorting
Simon offstage. Right now, the video monitors in the theater were showing a lengthy retrospective of Simon's life, from his birth in Brighton, England, through his youth and his start in the music business at EMI and his work as a consultant at BMG. Then, the retrospective shifted to the hit TV show; there were video thank-yous from Ryan Seacrest, Paula, Randy and Kara together, and several American Idols of the past.

Lydia eased over toward Kiley who was waiting to escort the winner of the Best Album award offstage. That would be presented by Platinum and Audrey after their duet. “How cool is this?”

“Cool. Unbelievable,” Kiley whispered back.

“Cool enough to make you forget about Tom?”

Lydia saw in Kiley's eyes that the answer was no. “But I'm trying,” Kiley promised.

“Excuse me?” A tall, model-thin girl with curly bright red hair and a matching sleeveless red dress, wearing high heels that made her tower over both Lydia and Kiley, stepped up to them.

“Yes?” Lydia asked. “Can I help you?”

“Your friend can help me,” the girl replied. “She's Kiley McCann, right?”

“Right,” Kiley responded. “Do I know you?”

“I'm Abbey Lee. I think you were at my engagement party. For me and my fiancé, Slade. At the bowling alley? With Matt, right?”

“Right,” Kiley confirmed. “Nice party.”

“And I saw you a while ago with Tom Chappelle,” Abbey went on. “You guys are a couple?”

“We were,” Kiley said.

Abbey fixed her gaze on Kiley and fiddled with the diamond pendant around her neck. “Look, I know this is none of my business. But I just wanted to tell you something about Matt. Warn you, actually. He's a good guy. One of the best. But he's gay. He has the hugest crush on Tom. So if that's the reason—”

“Your friend Matt is gay and has a crush on Tom?” Lydia interrupted, because she really wanted confirmation of what she'd just heard. It put a new spin on everything.

“Are you sure?” Kiley didn't seem to believe it.

“Oh yeah,” Abbey insisted. “Everyone knows. Even Tom. Did you tell him you and Matt got to be friends?”

Lydia saw Kiley redden. “No,” she admitted.

“Well, if Matt was talking trash about Tom to get you guys to split up? It wouldn't be the first time, that's all I'm saying,” Abbey concluded. “I gotta go. Maybe I'll see you at the after-party” With that, she zipped away, as comfortable in her high heels as Lydia was in bare feet. Kiley stared after her, gape-mouthed, as Lydia chortled.

“He's gay! Matt's gay! Can you believe it?”

“And he has a crush on Tom,” Kiley added. She sounded as though she was in shock.

Lydia took Kiley by the shoulders. “Those pictures that Matt showed you. Of Tom and Marym in Russia. Were they originals?”

“I don't know. I didn't have a reason to ask.”

“Dang, I bet Matt cropped them, or Photoshopped them, or something like that,” Lydia guessed. “He set you up so that you'd break up with Tom!”

Lydia would have said more, but the big announcement
came from the film director Quentin Tarantino, who was making the presentation to Simon. “And the Rock Music Lifetime Achievement Award goes to Simon Cowell!”

The theater erupted in applause, and then a standing ovation. Simon, who was wearing one of his trademark black-T-shirt-and-jeans outfits under a tux jacket, bounded up the aisle from the Fox Television table and onto the stage to even more applause.

“Are you planning on watching, or escorting?” Lydia heard Jocelyn's voice behind her.

“Escorting! I'm on it!” Lydia had been so taken in by the moment that she'd forgotten to go out onto the stage. But it wasn't a big problem. Simon soaked up the applause, and she made her way out in plenty of time for him to deliver a short acceptance speech and accept his guitar-shaped trophy. Then, she escorted him to the rear of the stage before the show went to Joe Satriani's solo and a preplanned commercial break.

The next segment of the show would be Audrey and Platinum's duet. They were due to enter from opposite sides of the stage. In fact, Audrey was standing backstage when Lydia came off with Simon, wearing a fitted black sleeveless gown by Patricia Field.

It took Lydia about twenty seconds to assess that Audrey was in no condition to perform.

“Pidia!” Audrey exclaimed. “How you be, ducks?”

“I be okay,” Lydia answered cautiously.

“Fuck a duck!” Audrey gave a high-pitched giggle. Then she started singing to the tune of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck your duck, gently down the stream!”

“What are you taking?” Lydia asked carefully.

Audrey leaned her head close. “You have some awesome powder from the Amazon! I found it in your room. You want to do some of it with me, ducks?”

Audrey reached into her dress pocket and extracted a small baggie containing the blue-brown psychotropic powder Lydia had brought back from Amazonia. “This stuff is amazing. Totally amazing! It's better than any drug I've ever taken, and that's saying a lot. Woo-hoo! Woo-hoo! Woo-hoo!” She hooked her fingers under the bodice of her strapless gown and folded it downward, exposing her bare breasts. “The twins need some air!”

Audrey giggled like a crazy woman. Then she started dancing around as if she was hearing music in her own head. This in and of itself was not shocking; Lydia had seen Ama tribesmen do it many times under the influence of the same powder. However, none of the Ama tribesmen ever had to go out onto the stage of the Kodak Theatre and perform a duet in front of several thousand people, and a worldwide television audience of millions.

“Audrey? Do you know where you are?” Lydia asked.

“England! Mother England! Ain't she grand? God save the queen!”

This was not going to work. As Audrey danced off toward the wings and the backstage lights flashed, indicating thirty seconds until the show was back under way, Lydia looked around for someone to tell. Who? And what was she going to say?

Ah! There was Steven Goldhagen, headset on his head. She ran over to him. “Mr. Goldhagen?”

He frowned. “What? Make it quick!”

“There's a problem with Audrey Birnbaum. I don't think she can perform. In fact, I know she can't.”

Steven looked as if he was going to be sick, but it took him less than two seconds to focus. “Tell me everything and tell me now.” Then he spoke into his headset microphone. “Every one? Get ready! Platinum may have to go solo. I repeat. Platinum may have to go solo.”

Two minutes later, Platinum went solo, and two burly paramedics arrived. Lydia explained about the powder as best she could. “It will wear off,” she promised them.

“We'll hook her up to an IV and watch her,” one of the paramedics said. “Man, my kid would kill if I could get her autograph.” They carried Audrey out on a gurney, on which Audrey was still boogying to her own beat.

Platinum went on by herself, seemingly unfazed that the duet she and Audrey had practiced for so long had turned into a solo. Lydia stood with her friends and watched, dumbfounded, as Platinum brought down the house with a performance that was absolutely fantastic. From there, the show got better and better. And by the time George Thorogood took the stage for the finale, an astonishing performance of “Bad to the Bone,” where he was joined by just about everyone in the place who could sing, play, or dance, the latest edition of the Rock Music Awards achieved mythic status. Lydia, Kiley, and Esme were right there in the middle of the stage behind Thorogood, dancing their hearts out.

“You sure Audrey will be all right?” Kiley asked Lydia.

“Oh sure, I think everyone overreacted,” Lydia said. “Not
that I'm happy that girl stole my stuff, mind you. What about you, Kiley? Sounds to me like you broke up with Tom for no good reason.”

“And I don't think I can ever get him back,” Kiley said sadly. “I wrecked it.”

Esme pointed a finger at her. “Tonight is not the time to cry into your champagne.”

“I agree,” Lydia said, and linked arms with Kiley. “We are going to the mother of all after-parties. And we are going to find you the hottest guy there to make you forget that Tom Chappelle ever existed.”

The Rock Music Awards after-party was right in the Hollywood & Highland complex, two floors above the Kodak Theatre at a nightclub called Level 3.

Thirty minutes after the show had ended, Esme found herself stuck in a mad crush near the Level 3 door. Security was so tight that the guards were scrutinizing everyone's invitations. Esme had heard that some nut had forged credentials for the Grammys after-party and, having gained access, fallen to his feet in front of Madonna and insisted that she make him her slave. If not her, then Alex Rodriguez. He was open-minded.

She was craning around, trying to spot Jorge in the crowd—she'd invited him to the awards, but he could only make the after-party—when she felt a warm hand on her back. There he was. He wore a black Ted Lapidus tuxedo, and looked so good he took her breath away.

“Where did you get a tux?” she blurted out.

He raised an eyebrow but looked amused. “That's how you greet me?”

“I didn't mean anything by it.”

“Because I was hoping for something more like: ‘Wow, you look great.’”

“You so do,” Esme admitted. “I just … It's weird. Like it's you, but not you.”

He considered that a moment as they edged toward the last security checkpoint. In front of them was George Thorogood himself, chatting with some rock chick. But Jorge seemed not to be dazzled in the least. “Well, that makes sense. Since we're us but not us like we used to be.”

Heat rushed to Esme's face. “One date doesn't change anything.”

He smiled.
“Mentirosa
. If you're not careful, I'll send you to Puerto Vallarta.”

He had called her a liar, and he was right. She just didn't want to admit it.

When they finally made it through security, they entered a cavernous room with a large stage where Carlos Santana was leading his band in some sizzling music.

The two of them walked around, marveling at what they saw. There was a massive ice sculpture along one wall, with “Rock Music Awards” spelled out in glistening ice. Lemon martinis ran over the ice and into frosted martini glasses. Esme had never seen anything like it in her life. There was a huge sushi station where six uniformed chefs were making sushi and sashimi to order. Outside, on a balcony overlooking
Hollywood, was a massive Spanish tapas and dessert buffet, with more bartenders doing their thing.

“The rich are different from you and me,” Jorge quipped as they headed back inside. Onstage, the band had just launched into the monster hit “Smooth” with Rob Thomas singing lead. People were already dancing.

“I love this song,” Esme told Jorge over the music as she moved to the beat.

Before she could say more, a voluptuous woman in her forties threw her arms around Esme as if they were long-lost sisters, squealing her name. “Esme! How fabulous to see you!”

It was Beverly Baylor. Beverly was a major movie star who had been in the movie
Montgomery
with Jonathan. She'd hired Esme to do a freehand tattoo of a cowboy on her inner thigh. It was one of the tattoos that had truly gotten Esme's business off the ground. Beverly knew everyone and spoke to everyone.

Esme quickly introduced Jorge to Beverly, who then hiked up her lavender gown to display the tattoo.

“I get so many compliments,” Beverly gushed. “I wish I could walk around naked so that the whole world could see it.”

“Well, I'm sure the men out there would enjoy that,” Esme said politely. Flattering her famous clients was something at which she'd become extremely adept.