Kind of Famous (Flirting with Fame Book 3) Page 7

  I found the thread and started reading backwards. The ironically named PeaceAndLove spewed some bullshit, and she’d brought another friend with her to stir the pot. These jealous girls behaved as if Eden had stolen Adam away from them personally. Poor Ash had tried to squelch the trash talk, but she was too timid to bring the hammer.

  I was not.

  My blood pressure went up when I had to deal with hateful people, like I was going into an actual battle or confronting them face to face. I was good at it because I knew I was safe and they couldn’t hurt me. That was one reason I was so careful to remain anonymous. I could don my bad-ass persona when I needed to without fear of repercussions. They could hate my alias all they wanted, and it never made me feel bad.

  Out of necessity, I’d gotten fairly proficient at typing tomes on my phone. When I was angry, my fingers flew. I posted my crackdown and then began deleting the offending posts back through when the drama started.

  “That must be important?” Eden’s voice drew me out of my alternate reality.

  “Oh. Yeah.” How to explain? “A friend wanted me to back her up in an argument.”

  I stopped what I was doing and watched so-called fire-breathing Eden putting glasses away.

  I’d been so mesmerized by Adam, I’d completely failed to process that I was hanging out with another musician, who to be honest was more infamous than famous. When her scandal hit the tabloids a few years back, fans speculated about her relentlessly. She had a career of her own—and her own fans—but to Walking Disaster fans, she was Adam’s wife. There were plenty who still thought she was a gold digger, unworthy to lick his boots.

  The running narrative was that she was a harpy—rude to reporters, rude to fans. I kept a close eye on the forums whenever the topic of Eden came up—and she often did. I didn’t want to censor people, but I liked to remind them that Eden wasn’t a fictional character. She didn’t deserve to be raked over the coals by the very people who should show the most support for her. They could criticize her music all they wanted, but when they started to attack her personally, it crossed a line.

  She reached into the fridge and brought over a can of Coke, then she tucked a blanket around Joshua. A little monkey that looked a lot like the one fans had sent peeked out from under the baby’s arm. When she stood, she arched her back, hand on her waist, striking such a quintessential exhausted mother pose, I had to smile.

  “You seem tired.”

  “Oh, yeah. We’re just getting out of the crying-all-night phase. Now he weighs so much, it’s like carrying around a sack of flour all day.”

  I watched the baby’s face change from little pouts to gaseous grins. “He’s precious.”

  She fell back into her chair. “Thanks. Luckily, he takes after Adam.”

  Adam and Eden had the exact same coloring—dark hair, fair skin—so from where I sat, the baby took after them both. “He’s going to be a little heartbreaker.”

  She smiled. “I hope not.”

  Sipping on my beer, I peeked outside to where the real heartbreaker stacked burgers onto a plate, laughing at whatever Shane was saying to him. Shane had such an open expression, good-natured, honest. I loved that he was laughing at his own story. What could they have been talking about?

  “You’re handling this all really well. Have you spent much time around musicians?”

  I turned my phone to airplane mode and dropped it into my purse, determined to experience the present. “Not really. I spend a lot of time listening to musicians.”

  “My best friend fell apart when she first met Adam.”

  “How so?”

  The ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “She gushed all over him and made him take pictures with her. She posted them all over Facebook.”

  “Oh.” I laughed a little nervously, hoping not to show her the cracks in my facade.

  “You’re not losing your shit, so I figured either you’re not much of a fan or else you’ve spent some time among musicians. And since it’s not the latter—”

  “Actually, no. I’m a fan. I’m a huge fan,” I confessed. “I’m just not that kind of fan, I guess.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of fan?”

  “I’m in it for the music.”

  “Oh, one of those.” She snorted. “I’ve read comments like that on the message boards. ‘True fans’ I think they called it.”

  My stomach twisted. Had I said too much? “You read the message boards?”

  She shot a glance at the baby. “I don’t have time for that. I have though. Curiosity.”

  I wondered what that would be like, if I would want to read about myself. “That must be weird.”

  “Most people are well meaning. The fans are opinionated, but supportive of Adam.”

  “And you? How do they treat you?” Not that I didn’t know the answer. I wanted to hear her point of view.

  She straightened the placemats within her reach. “Considering the circumstances, they’re forgiven for the occasional barb. Plus, there’s a forum admin who has been amazing at keeping things about me pretty quiet. I appreciate that.”

  I couldn’t make my eyelids stop blinking in overdrive. She couldn’t know who she was talking to. It was pure coincidence. I forced myself to remain calm. “How nice.”

  “It is. I’ve seen what goes on in Micah’s fan forum, and it can get pretty ugly.”

  That was an understatement. I knew the admin, Jaclyn, aka State of the Absurd. She didn’t keep her fans to the same level of decorum as I did. Her main rule was Don’t get me sued. Otherwise, the board was a complete free-for-all.

  She chortled. “But it fits Micah somehow.”

  Exactly how I was supposed to respond to Eden’s comment on this topic eluded me, and I absently reached over and touched a heavy book sitting beside her laptop. My eyes focused on the title. “Molecular and cell biology?”

  Her face lit up. “It’s for a class I’m taking.”

  “You’re in school?” Why was this new information?

  “Yeah. I got my degree in biology. I actually used to work in the field, but I had the wrong job, and I wanted to give music a shot, so I just dropped out. But lately, I miss it.” She sat up a little taller. “And then I met Jo and wished I could find a way to help her, and it all came together. So, I’ve gone back to grad school.” She said the last like an announcement, like she was still coming to terms with the decision.

  “I didn’t know you—” Shit.

  Her head tilted. “Didn’t know what?”

  I thought fast to cover the near confession that I’d have any reason to be aware of her scholarly pursuits. “That you could juggle school with a newborn.”

  That was plausible.

  “Well, it’s easier than touring with kids. And just between you and me—” she leaned closer “—my music career ain’t going so hot. Right now, I’m taking a few classes at night. Plus I have Adam here, so—”

  “Night classes?” Her solution to her complicated life struck me as so genius yet practical that the revelation about her music career hit me like a secondary shock wave. I wondered if it was too late to back up and give her some sympathy. And pry. Was she quitting music altogether? I didn’t want to watch her detractors gloat over that possibility. But she’d sworn me to secrecy, not that I’d go on the boards and gossip about her. Especially not now. Not after she’d morphed into a flesh-and-blood person.

  She must have taken my remark as skepticism or judgment. She laughed. “Yeah, I know. Sounds sketchy, but it’s a Master’s program at Long Island University. The Brooklyn campus is within walking distance from here.”

  “No, it’s not that.” She’d planted a seed. “It’s just that I’d love to get a degree in computer sciences. I never thought about taking night classes.”

  “Give me your email address, and I can shoot you a link to my sch
ool. Maybe they have a program for you there.”

  Wheels in my head started turning. I knew I could do what Dave and Ajit did. A degree would help me prove it.

  Adam tapped on the glass, and Eden stood. “Food’s ready at last.”

  I would have given anything to be able to set up a live feed of the next hour for everyone else to be a part of. For the rest of my life, I’d be able to re-experience the time I hung out in Brooklyn on a warm night as the sky turned periwinkle and Adam Copeland asked me if I was done with the ketchup.

  As much as I wanted to remain present, I shrank back, intending to observe the scene from a safe distance, quietly.

  But Andrew, sitting to my right, had other plans.

  “Layla, right?” He passed me a casserole dish of baked beans.

  I scooped some onto my plate, nodding. “And you’re Andrew.”

  “I am.” He batted his eyes, and that feeling I knew him redoubled. “You work with Jo?”

  “I just started yesterday.” My gaze lingered. I was dying to figure out where I might have seen him. “And what do you do?”

  He gave me a saucy little shrug. “I’m a singer.”

  I tried to picture him in a club, at a microphone, holding a guitar, on an album cover, under a spotlight. Nope. I’d never seen him. He must have shared a resemblance to someone else.

  “And Zion?”

  Zion didn’t break concentration with the hamburger he was meticulously assembling. “Photographer and editor at the Daily Feed.”

  “Oh, how interesting. I’ve read that paper before.”

  They peddled gossip about celebrities. They’d manufactured the stories that vilified Eden when she started dating Adam, and then they ran a scathing article on Micah last year, dragging Jo down into the muck with him.

  I wanted to ask how an editor at that paper was welcome here.

  As if reading my mind, Andrew added, “That’s where Jo used to work.”

  I’d known that but forgotten. Everything sort of clicked into place, and I stilled my tongue, thinking the rest of the questions swirling in my mind as nosy and impolite. Instead, I chose to recede and mentally record everything.

  With an end to the ordinary business of passing around the condiments and complimenting the chef on the grilled burgers, everyone tore into their food. I’d experienced this scene hundreds of times in my own Indiana suburban backyard. I tried to pretend like this was normal, nibbling on my burger, eavesdropping on the banter between Adam and Eden or the bickering between Eden and her mom.

  “Leave it, Mom. He’s fine.”

  “He’s going to catch a chill. That blanket’s too flimsy.” Peg turned to Adam. “You talk to her. She’s always been so stubborn.”

  Eden threw up her hands. “It’s seventy degrees out here.”

  The baby, slumbering in the bouncy seat, appeared perfectly content.

  Zion cut his eyes at Andrew. “You really want to have to worry about whether or not a blanket is necessary on a night like this?”

  Andrew grimaced. “When you put it like that.”

  Peg raised an eyebrow. “Are you thinking of having children?”

  Zion showed us his palms, like a stop sign. “We are not. Andrew is.”

  Andrew sighed. “Think how fun it would be. We could dress him up in little outfits and sing to him.”

  Adam laughed. “If that’s all you want, you’re free to come play with Joshua.”

  It felt like such a nice extended family. Even when they argued or teased, there was so much love. I envied them this community.

  Conversation remained light through dinner, and when we started pushing empty plates back, Peg stood to clear. I jumped up to help, but she dismissed me with a wave. “Stay.”

  Adam didn’t pay her any mind and loaded the condiments in the crook of his elbow and snagged a couple of empty bottles with his fingers. He returned with fresh beers and set them down in front of Shane, Zion, and Andrew. He tilted one toward me. “Layla?”

  I’d already had two, but in what world would I say no to Adam?

  Peg came around to give Zion and Andrew a hug. She patted Shane on the shoulder, then knelt by the baby, whispering, “I don’t want to bother him.”

  “Are you heading home?” Eden had pulled her feet clear up into her chair, one knee hugged up against her.

  “Your dad’s all alone.”

  “Despite what he thinks, he doesn’t need a passport to enter the state of New York.”

  Peg stood and bent to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “Will you come to church on Sunday?”

  Eden closed her eyes with a heavy sigh. “Mom. We were just out there last week.”

  “And so?”

  Adam laid an arm around Peg’s shoulder. “We’ll come next week, okay?”

  She turned into him and let herself be pulled into his hug. She didn’t even seem to realize she’d be the instant envy of my fan forum if I posted a pic of that online right now. She gave him a final pat and asked, “You’re going to synagogue this week?”

  Eden answered for him. “Just like always.”

  “Good. As long as you’re going to worship.” She grabbed her purse and waved once more to everyone. Then she was gone.

  Adam sat beside Eden and took her hand in his, his thumb gently stroking hers. The ring on his fourth finger glinted in the last gasp of sunlight, and I imagined his skin under that strip of gold was fish-belly white from lack of exposure. Lots of girls would be disheartened at his devotion to Eden, but I loved it. I wanted my heroes to prove they were worth looking up to.

  “Are you raising Joshua both Jewish and Christian?” Maybe the beer had loosened me up.

  Eden pulled herself back up to the table. “Jewish mostly. I mean, it can’t hurt him to spend time at my mom’s church, but I’m converting.”

  “Really?” That was new to me. Twice in this one night, I’d come to realize that I didn’t know nearly as much as I thought I did about her. In a way, it made me glad. Maybe my obsession wasn’t as bad as I’d thought. On the other hand, maybe I’d been fantasizing about fictional people for the past decade.

  “My mom doesn’t know yet.” She smiled. “But I think she’ll be glad I’m no longer straight-up heathen. And Adam will score another point with her.” She shook her head. “He can do no wrong. Saint Adam.”

  Adam chuckled and laid his other hand on her arm. “Honey, we don’t have saints.”

  The sun had fully set, and the purple-black sky shed no light on the company. The stillness blanketing the backyard seemed to drive everyone into their own thoughts. Conversation stalled while we sipped beer and listened to the crickets chirp. Eden sauntered into the house and returned with citronella candles.

  Now faces floated, eerie, golden, and unfamiliar. As the beer settled into my veins, I relaxed and convinced myself we were all just regular people sharing a moment in time.

  Adam and Shane started reminiscing about some inside joke, which led Shane to share a story about when his band first started out.

  “Noah’s been drinking, so he’s over on the edge of the stage, playing his guitar and flirting with this girl at the same time. I’m back behind the drum set, you know. No girls coming around behind the stage to flirt, so I’m living vicariously through Noah, as usual, watching all this unfold.”

  Adam snickered. “Ah yes, I remember the celibate life of the drummer well.”

  Eden shushed him. “What happened?”

  “You have to imagine this place. It’s this hole in the wall country bar with a massive pool table dead center. The barflies are all back there—” he flapped one hand toward the distant imaginary bar “—ignoring us. The pool sharks are ignoring us. There’s this one girl yelling out cover song requests over and over and sort of swaying and dancing in front of Noah.”

  We all sat rapt. Shane
in motion mesmerized me. A kaleidoscope of dramatic expressions crossed his face while he regaled us with his tale, all of them more adorable than the last.

  “Noah turns back to grin at me like the arrogant prick he is, so he doesn’t see the man approaching as fast as a bullet. Micah’s center stage singing his heart out, eyes shut tight. Rick’s on the side, all honey badger and not giving a fuck about any of this, and I’m behind the drum set. I start to stand and yell a warning, but before I can, Noah turns around and his face meets the guy’s fist coming right at him.”

  “Oh, my God.” I’d never heard this story before. Why would I have?

  “Yeah, so the place erupts in a riot of pool sticks, and I start grabbing up my drumkit and packing it away as fast as I can because I can’t afford another one. Micah’s trying to extricate Noah from the fracas, and Rick just stands there and lights up a cigarette like we’re on a break.”

  “Fucking Rick,” said Adam.

  “Moral of the story—don’t flirt with the girls at the bar.” Shane snorted. “Or count on Rick to have your back.”

  Adam shook his head, commiserating. “Beats that time we were playing some bar slash restaurant, and in the middle of our set, these patrons at a booth erupted in the Happy Birthday song. Seriously. Midway through one of our songs. Come to find out, some lady there is celebrating her eightieth birthday.” He widened his eyes in remembered disbelief. “I can tell you, we felt like edgy rock stars that day.”

  I listened silently, absorbing everything and trying not to draw attention to myself—a fly on the wall—until Shane remembered I was there. “I’m sure this isn’t interesting to Layla.”

  “No. It really is.” I couldn’t even begin to express how I could sit there the rest of the night, hearing them talk about anything at all. “My dad used to play in a small band, and he would take me to gigs with him sometimes. Not to bars, but I remember he once played a subdivision club house.”

  Shane laughed. “That would have been an improvement from some of our early gigs.”

  As an afterthought, it occurred to me I could have name-dropped an actual musician instead of recalling my dad’s adventures in rock. I’d grown up with Dylan Ramirez an aspiring pop star who now went by the stage name Dylan Black. But whenever I saw him back home, he was still just that ordinary guy who lived out on the farm and dated my best friend in high school. Other than the few times he performed at the local beer hall, I couldn’t honestly say I’d had much experience with his music. Meanwhile, I’d been my dad’s mandatory audience.