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I was going to be late. I didn’t even want to go to the damn club that night, but I’d promised to show, and I wasn’t one to go back on my word. I just couldn’t seem to drag myself away from the social media on my phone. I only wished it was for a good reason.
I’d become a meme, and not a good one. Maybe if it had been only the one, I could have rolled my eyes and gotten on with things, but the original had spawned dozens more.
It had started innocently enough, I supposed. Two of my cousins played pro football. Their teams had played one another a few weeks before, so I’d flown out to Denver to attend the game. Afterward, we’d posed for some pictures together, which was how I’d learned definitively that football fans weren’t part of my fan base. Someone who saw the picture online posted a question: “Who’s the other guy?” No big deal by itself. I wasn’t so egotistical that I expected everyone to know me.
It escalated from there. Some genius with rudimentary Photoshop skills had started putting me in all sorts of random pictures, like with the Pope meeting the Queen of England, with captions like “What’s the other guy doing there?” I was even inserted into the painting ofThe Last Supper, for Christ’s sake. It was ridiculous.
Again, I normally would have let it roll off my back, but someone made it personal. Pictures of me with my former group, Misdirection, were posted with a bright-red circle labeling me “the other guy.”
It stung. Though I’d had success since the group split, I hadn’t experienced quite the level of stardom as a solo act that I had as part of the group—not like some of the other guys. Obviously.
It also wouldn’t have hit so hard if my girlfriend hadn’t broken up with me a month before. Lindsey had a new movie coming out—her first lead role—and had been linked in the tabloids with her costar, an older, more established actor. Her publicist advised her that it would help her career to continue that thread, and she’d quickly kicked me to the curb. We’d kept our relationship on the down low in the first place—most of my friends never even knew we were dating.
I often wondered whether me being more famous would have made her consider our relationship an asset rather than a liability.Christ.Fucking show business. Given how things had played out, I was better off without her, but it still sucked.
I put my phone facedown on my dresser, which I should have done an hour before. It was stupid to get all up in my head like that, and I didn’t begrudge the Misdirection guys, whom I considered my brothers, their success. I sure as hell was pissed about the situation with Lindsey, though. Nothing to be done about thatexcept never to get involved with another self-absorbed celebrity.
I pulled my T-shirt over my head and grabbed a clean button-down out of the closet. I ran my hands under the faucet and used the water to slick back my too-long hair. I kept meaning to make an appointment to have it taken care of. Unlike some celebrities, I didn’t have an assistant, and I tended to forget to do such things.
I grabbed my keys and wallet then headed outside to fold myself into a way-too-tiny sports car. The Camaro was sleek, but I was tall enough to need a bigger ride. I might not have inherited the athletic genes my cousins had, but I got the size. Too bad Hummers were no longer in style. I doubted my legs would be cramped in one of those. I addedtrade car into my mental list.
It was nearly eleven by the time I got to the club, but I didn’t worry about my late arrival—it was still early by Hollywood standards. I pulled up to the front of the building then handed my keys to the valet. The bouncer jerked his chin and unhooked the rope to allow me to bypass the line.Guess I’m not just the other guy here.It was a petty thought that pissed me off because I rarely had them. I knew that I lived a charmed life.
Once inside, I sought out my manager, Jerry, who’d insisted I attend the shindig since it was for another client of his who’d recently released her debut single. The girl was only seventeen, three years older than I’d been when Misdirection first hit the scene. I hoped she was ready. I sure as hell hadn’t been. Her past year had probably felt like a roller coaster going up the first hill. That first descent was exhilarating, but after that, one never knew if the turns would jerk ‘em around or take ’em back up again.
“Trenton!”
I turned at the sound of my name then made my way over to the table my manager occupied by himself.
“Glad you could make it,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”
I nodded to the champagne fountain. “If that’s what you’re offering, then no thanks.” I paused. “Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to have a soda fountain? She’s not even legal.” By the time Misdirection’s second single dropped, we’d had a deal with a major soft drink company, and they’d sponsored most of our events. After years of drinking enough of it that my teeth started to rot, I could no longer stomach the stuff.
Jerry waved off my concern. “Her parents are here, keeping a close watch on her. They make my job easy.”
Sliding into a chair across from him, I nodded. She must be on the “pure” track. It seemed that young girls in Hollywood were guided onto one of two paths—the virginal good-girl type or the rebellious, often too-sexy-for-her-age type. Neither was an accurate or fair portrayal. I felt for them. Things had been simpler ten years before. Then again, they might have been simpler because we were guys. I wouldn’t know.
“I’ll take a beer if it’s available.”
“Of course.” Jerry put his hand up to flag down the waitress. “Good crowd tonight.” He seemed pleased by the turnout. I had a feeling he wanted me to come to make sure there were some big names present.
Though after those memes and Lindsey’s publicist’s advice, I wasn’t sure I qualified.
Fuck. This again? That beer can’t arrive soon enough.
Just as the cocktail waitress set it in front of me, my buddy Evan came into view. He and I had each been one-fifth of last decade’s hottest boy band, Misdirection. Catching my eye, he grinned and waved. Frowning, I waved back. I had no idea he would be at the party. In fact, I thought he was out of town.
He made his way through the crowd and to our table. “Is this seat taken?”
Jerry stood and buttoned his suit jacket. “It’s all yours. I need to make the rounds. Have fun with this other guy.” Chuckling, he patted my shoulder as he walked past.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.
Evan laughed. “Those memes are great.”
I scowled at him in response.
He pressed his lips into a thin line. “Lighten up, Trenton. They’re funny.”
