“Did you lift it yourself?”
He shrugged.
“Why do you insist on fucking with me, Oliver?”
“Because I can.” He smiled, sly. “Because you let me. Guys will try to get away with as much as they think they can get away with. Even if it means screwing their friends. Ask your boyfriend. He wrote the book.”
And in that moment I knew. He knew about Hayes and Penelope. He was just biding his time.
The doors were opening on the seventh floor. One of the band’s security was standing watch. Omnipresent.
“I do find it sweet that you’re rather loyal. You get points for that,” Oliver said, stepping out. And then, just before the doors closed, he turned back to me. “Because most of the others… weren’t.”
I did not bring it up with Hayes immediately. Partly because I was being selfish and I wanted us to enjoy each other’s company without anything dark or subversive hanging over us. And partly because I did not want him to hurt. They were living in such close quarters, performing together every night. The very nature of their success made it imperative that they get along. But at the same time, I did not want Hayes to be blindsided. And I remembered what he’d said in Anguilla. That, given the chance, he thought Oliver would hurt him. And knowing that, I could not put it off for long.
On Wednesday, we flew private to Uruguay. Hayes and I sat toward the back of the jet, along with Simon and Liam, and when he excused himself to go to the loo, I took the opportunity to scold them.
“Are we in trouble?” Simon smirked when I said I wanted to bring up something serious.
“You could be.” I lowered my voice, leaning forward over the table. “Remember the girl at the SLS Hotel the night of the Grammys? The one you left out in the hallway? I don’t know what happened. I don’t know that Iwantto know what happened. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just telling you that she was sixteen years old and in California that’s illegal and you need to be aware of that.”
Simon sobered. “She was eighteen. She said she was eighteen.”
“She lied.”
“Which girl?” Liam looked confused.
“The girl in the red dress,” Simon said.
“The UCLA girl?”
“She said she went to UCLA.”
“She lied,” I repeated.
“She had that UCLA thing. Like a school ID…”
“And a key chain,” Liam added.
I stared at them both. “She. Lied.”
“Fuck.” Simon’s hands were pulling at his hair.
For a long time I didn’t say anything, watching the two of them squirm.
Eventually Simon spoke: “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like a disappointed mum.”
“Because Iama disappointed mum. I trusted you with my daughter—”
“I didn’t touch your daughter—”
“I know you didn’t. But you need to be more careful. You realizeif her parents find out or she tells the wrong person, it’s over, right? This, all of this, will be over and you’ll end up in jail. You realize that?”
Simon nodded, glum. Liam did not respond. He sat there, chewing on his plump lips, nervously twisting his hair. He looked to me like a little boy. And yet…
