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Ceedee snapped. “The right answer is no isn’t it, Jake?” She said it bitterly, resentfully, as if it was all Jake’s fault Stu was a two-timing sleaze.
“The answer is what’s right for you and letting him do this to you—I’m not sure that can be good,” he said
“Well what am I supposed to do? I love him.”
Jake lifted both hands, palms up. “Hey, it’s not my call. You have to solve this one yourself.”
“Rand will…”
“Really, Ceedee? You need Rand to sort this for you? Have you noticed he’s a little busy right now?” Jake gestured to Rand laughing with Harry. How, sensibly, still his wingman.
Ceedee followed Jake’s arm, recognition broke on her face. “Oh, I didn’t know.” Her eyes came back to Jake. “Would you talk to Stu for me?”
“And say what?” Jake’s hands came up in a flash of frustration. “‘Mate, you’re an idiot, you’ve got this gorgeous talented girlfriend and you keep screwing it up.’”
Ceedee bit on a fingernail. “He might listen if it came from you.”
“He doesn’t listen to Rand and they’re like brothers. He won’t listen to me. The only person he might listen to is you. But you have to say the right things, different things, Ceedee, if you want a different response.”
She frowned, shifting on her feet—not stamping but close enough. “You won’t help me then?”
Jake sighed. “I am helping you—you’re not listening.”
Ceedee glared at him. “I need a drink.” She pushed past them both, her six inch heels stabbing the tiles as she headed for the bar.
Jake watched Ceedee go. He simply wasn’t used to a job that demanded he referee fights, baby-sit drunk musos, be a lifeguard, and relationship counsellor. He’d had enough of Ice Queen for one day. He wanted to check in with Glen about the stage strike and sleep til the alarm forced him to grab a taxi for the airport. Rielle had other plans.
“You tried. She won’t change, but at least you tried,” she said. “I think she’s in love with the drama of it.”
Jake snorted and the words, “And you’re not?” punched out of his mouth.
Rielle’s painted eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah, I live for it,” she said, dripping sarcasm. She wheeled around to leave him, but he grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You’re always telling me what you shouldn’t have said, Jake. How about you tell me what you really think for a change, huh?”
A current of anger whip-cracked between them. Jake dragged his hand through his hair, took in Rielle’s aggressive stance: chin up, shoulders back, hands fisted on her hips. “Come with me,” he snapped, eyeing an empty cabana.
Between where they stood now and the place he’d chosen for a showdown with Rielle, was Stu climbing out of the pool and a hostess holding out a monogrammed towel and a fluffy robe for him. When Jake walked past, Stu called out, “Will you see Ceedee gets back to the hotel?” Without breaking his stride, he palmed Stu mid-chest, pushing him back in the pool.
Inside the cabana, with its diaphanous curtains drawn, Jake threw himself onto a plush padded lounge. The effort to get here, the look on Stu’s face and the sound of Rand’s whoop, the laughter from the pretty boys and the glamour girls around
the pool had taken the edge off his sudden flare of anger. Maybe Rielle wouldn’t follow him—she wasn’t big on obeying orders.
She wasn’t big on backing off a fight either.
Through the near transparent curtain he saw her approach, hesitate. Unlike on the pole or the trapeze, or when she owned the stage, her movements were unsure. She wavered in the light of the fire torches looking like she might as easily take flight in the opposite direction.
He realised he was holding his breath, waiting for her decision. He didn’t know if he wanted her here or not. All he knew was she confused the hell out of him. Chances were, if she came anywhere near him, he’d have to battle with himself not to touch her. And what if she demanded answers? He wasn’t sure he had any that were rational; that didn’t start with wanting her in his arms. And that was a phenomenally bad idea. They’d tried that. It didn’t work. She’d made it clear she didn’t want him that way.
He felt stupid sitting here alone. At least he could’ve ordered a drink. He got to his feet ready to fling back the curtain and leave the cabana just as Rielle ducked through its folds. She had a mean look in her eyes that didn’t fit with the hesitancy he’d seen. He was right. She was in love with the drama of being Rielle Mainline, rock star, painted, primped and fake to the core, acting out her life instead of living it. A feeling of contempt bubbled thick and hot, chilli sauce in his veins.
“Are you sure you want to know what I think?” he growled.
Eyes flashing, she said, “Give it your best shot, lover.”
“Lover!” The word was like a slap. “You feel safe tossing that word at me, Rielle? Because I don’t think you know anything about love. I don’t think you know anything about real life. I don’t think you know who you are without the hair and makeup, without the clothes, the fans, the flashbulbs.”
She shifted with irritation, tossed her hair, the handkerchief ends of her dress floating around her legs, showing the muscles of her thighs. “Sure Jake—you think I’m a cliché, well big fucking deal, I think so too. What else have you got?”
