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Over the next hour, I flick through glossy magazines while acting like I don’t recognize the name of the person featured on almost every page.
The shit the media makes out as factual is crazy. The articles are outrageous and expose why I would have much rather forged a name for myself in music from behind a sound desk instead of a microphone.
“It doesn’t even look like her,” I spit out while tossing the magazine with Nicole’s supposed ass on the cover onto the table separating River and me. Its skid across the table mimics the jet’s tires as it comes in for the landing. “The minute hint of red in that woman’s hair is as lackluster as my beard. Nicole’s hair is orange. As orange as…”
“An orange?” River fills in when an analogy evades me, his tone as firm as his grip on the armrests.
He’s never been on a plane, but he handles the landing like a pro.
I was hopeful I’d slot into my position just as easily, but I should have given it more thought. I’ve been known to jump the gun when it comes to decision-making—especially when it effects River—but this is a whole new low for me.
How can I protect someone when I’m the man she needs protecting from the most?
While nodding in agreement to River’s comparison, I slump low in my chair before once again slinging my eyes to Nicole and Knox at the front of the plane. “Does it not bother him that they’re writing this shit about her? She’s his…”
I can’t say it.
I can’t admit that Nicole is anyone’s girlfriend but mine.
Which is fucked considering Knox is my best friend.
Unease curdles through my stomach when River unlatches his belt while saying, “To Knox, any publicity is good publicity.”
Not one to sugarcoat things, I say, “That’s shit.”
“I know, and I plan to change it. I just need him to take me seriously.” After pulling his backpack out from under his chair, River spins around the laptop he’s been tinkering on for almost five hours. It shows a design for an album cover. It is simple but announces everything you need to know. Who the artist is and their field of expertise.
This one is straight-up country.
The pride in my voice can’t be missed. “That’s good, River. Real good.”
“But too bland.” River’s sigh is silent, but I don’t need to hear it to know his confidence is torn to shreds when Knox continues dissing his design while walking down the empty aisle. “It’s no different from what every other Tom, Dick, and Harry is putting out. It’ll get lost in a sea of millions.”
“Conformity is a well-known trait of the music industry.” I haven’t studied music for years, but some truths never change.
River hums, agreeing with me, but Knox isn’t as easy to get over the fence. “Not at Knox Records. We want to be different. Unique. We’re not going to follow the masses. We’ll carve our own road.” The admiration in his eyes pisses me off when he flicks them to Nicole, who is making her way down the aisle even though the exit is directly across from her. “And the glory we’ll achieve will all be thanks to her.”
It dawns on me that Nicole isn’t joining our discussion when she sidesteps Knox to enter the bathroom. This private jet only has one washroom. It is next to my seat.
I feel like shit so I may as well smell like it too.
Just when I think my mood can’t sour any more, it nosedives off a cliff as Knox tells Nicole he’ll join her in a minute. He doesn’t keep his voice down or try to hide his intentions from the flight attendant collecting River’s empty glass of coke. He proudly announces his intent to join the mile-high club, even with the jet no longer in the air, to anyone willing to listen.
I’ve never wished to be deaf until now.
Knox raps his knuckles on my chest, stealing my focus from the “in use” sign on the bathroom door. “I didn’t come here to bust River’s balls about his shitty cover design.” I shift my eyes to River to silently assure him his cover is the perfect fit for a country-pop artist while Knox continues tossing out insults as if they’re compliments. “I wanted to give you a heads-up so we don’t face any incidents on the way out like we did on the way in.” He props his ass on the armrest of my seat. I assume he’s going to give me a rundown on the best way to protect Nicole from the vultures of the media, so you can imagine my shock when he says, “I’m not paying you to come between Nicole and the paps.” Before I can remind him that I didn’t sign any of the forms he tried to hand me earlier, payment details included, he adds, “Any publicity is good publicity.”
“They’re making her out to be a homewrecker. Every article I’ve skimmed the past hour is running the same set of false claims.”
Well, I assume they’re false. But what do I know? I thought Nicole was single when we hooked up, and I was soon proven wrong.
“And?” Knox asks, his voice humored. “You said she’s ineverymagazine. Do you have any idea how much that type of exposure is worth? You can’t buy coverage like this.”
“But Nicole doesn’t want fame this way.”
Knox tries to act as if River never spoke. I don’t let it slide, however. I peer past Knox, who’s blocking my little brother from my view, before gesturing for River to continue.
Against Knox’s grumbled warning for him to keep his mouth shut, River discloses, “She could have had a record deal years ago, but she didn’t want it off her friends’ backs. She wanted to make it on her own.” He spins his laptop to face me. The screen is filled with a hideous album cover that makes Nicole look like she's starring in an infomercial for retro aerobics videos. Her clothes are fluro, her hair is teased out, and she’s wearing puffy socks. “That’s why she goes by Nikki J.”
