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I feel deflated. I passed that bar, not too long ago on one of my laps, and Reed was nowhere to be found. “Did Reed say where he was going, from there?”
Aloha purses her lips. “No, but while I was dancing after that, I saw him head out those French doors over there with Keane and Zander. Which can only mean one thing.”
She puts her index finger and thumb to her lips, like she’s smoking a joint. But I don’t think she’s right about that—because when I did a loop outside, not too long ago, I didn’t see Reed out there. Not with Keane and Zander or anyone else.
“So, about my interview,” Aloha says, laying her cheek on Barry’s broad shoulder from behind. “Daxy told me he and the Goats are going to give you a tour of Seattle. And Laila told me she’s going to make pottery with you. And Savage told me he’s taking you ATVing... “
I force myself to look into Aloha’s emerald green eyes, rather than looking around the party maniacally for Reed. “Yeah, the idea is for the interviews to be fun and different and really personal. I’m hoping getting a glimpse of you guys doing something that’s meaningful to you, that’s outside of music, will inspire a different kind of conversation than the typical interview.”
“I love that idea.” She pauses. “I go to children’s hospitals quite a bit, to cheer up sick kids. Would you maybe want to tag along on a day like that?”
“Sounds great. Let’s also make sure we talk about the success of your documentary. And I don’t mean the financial success. The impact it has had on mental health awareness.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“Someone told me Reed helped get distribution for that film?”
“He sure did. Some people have said Reed only threw his weight behind the documentary for business reasons—you know, because a hit film would lead to more music sales, which, in turn, would line his pockets. And a few years ago, I probably would have believed that narrative. But the last few years, I’ve started to think there might be an actual beating heart inside Reed’s chest. I think he genuinely believed in the movie’s message and cause.”
“Of course, he did,” Barry says.
“I know Reed comes off as all business sometimes,” Aloha says. “But, behind the scenes, he’s pretty generous with a bunch of charitable causes.”
Ping.
That cotton ball from earlier today turns into a stone.
Behind the scenes, Reed is pretty generous with a bunch of charitable causes.
“Do you know if Reed donates to a charity that helps families affected by cancer?” I ask, my heart racing.
“I’m not sure,” Aloha says. “But I wouldn’t be surprised. I know for sure Reed donates to several cancer charities. Of course, he’s extremely involved with The Superhero Project. And then there’s also...”
But I’ve stopped listening. Because, all of a sudden, that cotton ball that turned into a stone has now turned into a motherfucking brick.
Crash.
In rapid-fire succession, my brain connects the dots between several comments made by Kat, Aloha, and Reed himself.
Reed likes pulling strings.
Reed likes playing star-maker behind the scenes.
Reed secretly pulled strings to help Keane get the auditions he wanted.
Reed pulled strings to get Zander a job interview with Big Barry.
Reed pulled strings to help Hannah get a job interview at a movie studio.
Everybody’s got a price.
I clutch the banister on the staircase, feeling faint. Reed had something to do with that cancer charity paying for my salary! If there’s a cancer charity at all. Did he pull strings to get me my internship... because he wanted to fuck me?
But how could that be? CeeCee hired me, because she believes in me. She told me so herself, and she wouldn’t lie to me.
I’m so confused. Why would CeeCee hire me... but Reed secretly pay my salary? Why the secrecy? Am I crazy? Paranoid? Oh, fuck. Did Reed find CeeCee’s price? Did Reed offer CeeCee unparalleled access to his entire roster for the special issue, plus, an in-depth interview of himself, if only she’d hire the fuck buddy of his choice?
No. I can’t believe CeeCee would have gone along with that! I simply won’t believe it. But my mind is reeling. My insecurity is raising its ugly head. Did I get this internship solely because some asshole—in this instance, Reed—wanted to get into my pants?
“Excuse me,” I say to Aloha, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I’m sorry. I just remembered I have to talk to Reed about something important.”
“No problemo. Just get my number from Reed or Owen.” She pinches Barry’s ear. “Come on, Big Barry! This cowgirl wants to dance!”
Practically hyperventilating, I sprint toward a set of French doors leading outside. But when I get outside and race around like a chicken with my head cut off, I still don’t see Reed anywhere. Not on the patio. Not by the pool. Not in the area just outside the garage where some of the members of Fugitive Summer and Watch Party are playing a rowdy game of corn hole. Frustrated, I turn around, intending to march back toward the house... but freeze on a dime.
