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“I didn’t—”
“Listen here, you little rat-breath punk. Even if Nicole were at our hotel, I wouldn’t tell you she was here. She deserves a—”
I hang up before she can rip me a new asshole like almost everyone I’ve encountered today. Dallas saved my hide this morning at Nicole’s original hotel, but he said I was on my own when I tried to enter the studio Nicole was meant to record at today.
I got as far as the lobby before they tossed me out.
The security guard at the restaurant on the itinerary I memorized was kind enough to batter my ego in the alleyway siding the pricy establishment. It saved my shame from being broadcast across the internet.
My endeavor to find Nicole has been recorded, uploaded, and shared millions of times. Although I’d rather not be mocked by strangers, some good came of my public humiliation. It proves Knox's claim that Nicole requested a restraining order was false.
A handful of LA’s finest added to the vault of evidence of my desperation.
After breathing out the worry that hasn’t stopped circling in my stomach, I run my finger down the outdated phone book of the two-star hotel I paid for in cash after pawning my father’s watch. I’ve called all the five-star hotels, so I shift my focus to the ones ranked half a star lower.
* * *
“Rot in hell!”
I pull the hotel’s phone from my ear in just enough time. The clerk’s phone must be corded like the one I’m using because the clang it makes when she returns it to its receiver is deafening.
Needing to take a breather before I snap, I move to the window of my room to peer out at the stars.
“Stars don’t exist in the sky in LA,” I murmur to myself when the only twinkling of lights are junkies melting their stash.
The motel clerk took one look at my arm before issuing a stern warning. “No shooting up in your room. If it can’t wait until you’re no longer staying at my fine establishment, do it in the alley.”
“I’m not a junkie,” I replied.
He scoffed at me before showing me my room and explaining how the square televisions don’t have built-in antennas, so if I want to watch something, I need to move the rabbit-shaped antennas on the top to the desired setting.
I’ve been too busy to watch anything, but I realize how stupid that was of me when my eyes lock with a television in the room across from me. It is playing an interview of the woman I’ve spent the past twelve-plus hours searching for.
“Come on,” I plead to the television in my room when it doesn’t turn on, even with my pressing the remote button on repeat.
I whack its side and check the batteries are in properly before I recall the check-in saying the remote is for the built-in DVD player.
When my tug on a knob switches on the ancient contraption, I mentally fist bump the air. The picture is grainy, but the sound is clear.
After inching back so I can peer out the window, I squint until I spot the program emblem of the show my neighbor is watching. I stab my finger into the channel button on repeat until I reach my desired channel, then adjust the antenna to make sure Nicole’s face presents as unblemished as it does in real life.
I step back when the flecks of blue in her eyes can’t be missed. She looks good. Tired, but Bonnie has concealed that well.
“It’s been quite a week for you this week, hasn’t it, Nicole?”
Nicole shyly smiles before nodding. “You could say that.”
“Multiple one-on-one interviews with the who’s who of the entertainment industry. Numerous viral hits on YouTube and TikTok, and album sales that would make any music exec’s eyes flash dollar signs,” the host reads off a card in front of her. “You must be proud.”
“I should be,” Nicole replies. “It’s more than I ever thought possible, but—”
The talk show host cuts her off. “But you’ve had a handful of downfalls as well.” She slices Nicole’s confidence in half when she brings up the video that almost ended her career before it truly started. “We’re assuming this was a joke gone wrong. You surely knew the public wasn’t ready for that.” She laughs before shifting her focus to what I assume is the production crew. “We willneverbe ready for that disaster.”
“That performance was never meant to be released,” Nicole stammers out, her tone as low as her shoulders. “It was recorded without the permission of the label and myself.”
“Do you think he uploaded it?” The host’s voice couldn’t be more ear-piercing.
“He?” Nicole asks as her eyes dance between the host’s, her confusion unmissable.
