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“Tonight, I’m going to do “Without You,” a song from our very first album.”
She started to sing. A critic had once described her voice as warm and golden, with a husky quality that never went so far as to be raspy. Lauren had never cared how people described it. Her voice was her voice, and all she really wanted to do was share it with the audience.
“Another cheap motel room, another night on the road. And all I want is someone to hold. In an ocean of strange faces, I’m an army of one. I’m alone without you….”
Through “Without You,” Lauren sang a story of being alone and thinking of someone she loved, someone who—no matter the distance—occupied her thoughts and dreams. She painted images of lonely nights in sad hotels, surrounded by strangers. when the only thing that mattered was being with the person she loved. As the notes drifted away, the audience erupted in enthusiastic applause. Lauren looked out at the crowd, but she could only see shapes—the stage lights prevented her from making out any actual faces. Nonetheless, she acknowledged them with a big smile and generous wave.
Martin touched his hand to his heart. “Gorgeous. Just gorgeous.”
Lauren inclined her head at the compliment.
“And so evocative. We talked a moment ago about how critical an emotional connection is, and you clearly have one to whoever that song is about.”
“I do… well, I did, I guess.” Lauren’s voice caught on the words. “He’s always been very important to me.”
From his comfortable chair, Martin beamed as if she’d given the perfect response. Unease settled in Lauren’s gut.
“I asked my staff to do a little research, to uncover the inspiration for “Without You.” And that’s your former high school sweetheart, Danny.”
Lauren couldn’t see the screen over the stage but could see the small confidence monitor at the front. On it was a picture of her and Danny from their high school yearbook. She was sitting in front of Danny, and he had his arms wrapped around her, his chin on her shoulder, while she held onto his arms. They were smiling and looked happy—and so very young.
Her heart jumped into her throat.
“That’s a picture I haven’t seen in a long time.” Her voice was soft, filled with the fondness of timeworn memories.
“Well, then I’m very excited to be able to facilitate a bit of a reunion.” Martin lit up. “Tonight, I’d like to welcome a special guest in our audience…” Martin turned in his chair to look out at the audience, and as he did, a secondary set of lights flared to life.
Lauren couldn’t breathe.
Danny was sitting in the front. He looked a little older, but she’d recognize him anywhere with his square jaw and dark hair. What she didn’t see was his easy smile—instead Danny looked stunned, and next to him was a blond woman who looked apoplectic. On his other side was a young girl, around sixteen years old, and a boy who was Danny’s spitting image. Lauren realized Maggie was there, and Richie, too. They all looked utterly surprised at the light and the applause, and then—just as suddenly—the light dimmed.
Lauren twisted in her chair to impale Martin with an enraged glare.
ChapterTen
Outraged didn’t even begin to describe how Lauren felt. But they were on live television and making a scene would make the situation worse. She wrestled her fury down, but it continued churning below the surface. Martin asked her several more innocuous questions in a in a clear effort to mollify her anger. Her answers were cordial, but she barely remembered what she said. The only thing she wanted was for the show to end.
Finally, Martin adjusted to face the main camera. “That’s going to do it for this edition ofBackstage. Lauren, thank you so much for spending the evening with us and sharing a little of yourself and your music.”
“My pleasure, Martin.” She managed to sound sincere.
“That does it for tonight. Join us next time when we sit down with rap sensation Deion D.”
The house lights came up and the “live” sign went dark. The producer yelled from the back that the show was a wrap. Lauren scanned the audience—hoping for a fleeting glimpse of Danny before he left—but she couldn’t pick him out of the crowd. Martin’s proffered hand went ignored as she stalked to the edge of the set, seeking a modicum of privacy. Her heart hammered in her chest like it was trying to shatter her ribs and escape.
An intern scrambled to remove Lauren’s lapel mic. His hands trembled, and he bobbled the transmitter. She heard Martin approaching from behind, the flat soles of his dress shoes tapping on the hard floor. She rounded on him, seething.
“What the actual fuck, Martin? Howdareyou—”
The intern skittered away like he was avoiding sniper fire.
“—Lauren—”
“—Don’t interrupt me! Bad enough you bring up shit youknowI don’t like talking about. But this little stunt?” Lauren got right in Martin’s face. “I’ve got a really long memory for people who screw me over.”
Martin held up his hands in surrender, a plea for mercy. “Lauren. Lauren, I am so sorry. It was my understanding you knew about this. That you’d asked for it.”
Her eyebrows shot up. Asked for this? Anyone who knew her at all would know she hated surprises. “The Padovanos were clearly in the dark, too! Why would I do something like that to people I care about? Did youseetheir faces? They were horrified!”
