Closer: A Stage Dive Novella Page 5

  “That’s enough, Miss Cooper,” said Ziggy. “Please step away. We’ve established it’s either from him or a copycat.”

  “I can see some of the label on the material. It’s a piece from my lingerie line.” As asked, I took a step back, arms wrapped around myself. “So much for hoping he’d lost interest.”

  Ziggy looked up. “The detective will want to talk to the delivery guy.”

  “He couldn’t wait, but I’ve got his number and the five-dollar bill,” said Sarah.

  “Good.” He turned to me. “Are you all right? Miss Cooper? Mae?”

  “Hmm? Yeah.” I shrugged. “The tissue paper he wrapped it in, it’s kind of an orange color, isn’t it? Same as the last one, I think.”

  “Hard to tell with all the blood. You positive you’re okay, not feeling nauseous or faint?”

  “No, I’m fine. Basically.” I sighed. “I’m not some swooning maiden and there’s not much I can do about this that we’re not doing already, is there? They sure must hate me, whoever they are. He even bought it in my size.”

  “Did he?” Ziggy’s fingers twitched at his side. As if he might have liked to punch something, or I don’t know what. But I could have used a hand to hold on to right about then.

  “What’s up?” asked a deep voice.

  In walked David Ferris with his arm slung around his wife Evelyn Ferris’s neck. Judging from the collection of shopping bags in his spare hand, they’d been out and about supporting the neighborhood businesses. They were a pretty hot looking couple, him with his dark hair and tattoos and her all blonde and curvy. I’d met a fair number of famous and important people over the years but they were impressive in their low-key rock’n’roll royalty cool way. Despite the sucky situation, Mom would be impressed when I told her. She was a big Stage Dive fan.

  “Oh no,” said Evelyn. “They didn’t send something else?”

  Ziggy stood straight and tall, even more on duty than before, if possible. “I’m afraid so.”

  “We haven’t been properly introduced yet.” She held out her hand to me for shaking. “I’m Evelyn and this is my husband, David. I’ve been hoping we’d cross paths. Lena’s told me a lot about you.”

  I managed a smile despite the weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I’m Mae. Hi.”

  They both shook my hand, casting a couple of worried glances at the latest dreaded box of horrors. Sarah got back behind the reception desk and with a pair of plastic gloves on her hands, carried the box out back, out of sight. Can’t say I was sorry to see it go. Meanwhile, Ziggy and David gave each other the standard dude tipping chins in a manly fashion greeting. Guess they’d worked together a lot. Though Ziggy didn’t seem particularly relaxed around the couple. But then, it would be a professional relationship. Like what he had with me.

  “We’re being watched,” said Ev, looking over her shoulder out the wide glass windows beside the front door. “Photographer across the street.”

  David frowned. “Might be best to head upstairs.”

  “Guess the paparazzi will be back in force when they hear about this.” I balled my hands up into fists. All of the old sensations of feeling powerless in this shitty situation swamped me. Yay for self-pity. And by yay, I mean boo.

  “Listen.” She moved closer. “We’re having some friends over tonight and we’d love you to join us. Hopefully get your mind off all of this for a few hours. Say around eight?”

  “That’s sweet of you, but I’m not sure I’m in the mood.”

  “No, she’s right. You should come,” said David. “You’ll bring her, yeah, Ziggy?”

  Ziggy just turned to me. “It’ll be safe,” he said.

  Talk about being put on the spot. Best to give in with good grace. It wasn’t like I’d be doing anything else, apart from moping at home. Go, party girl me. “Sure. Why not? Thank you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Okay. I think I’m about ready.”

  Ziggy looked up from where he sat on the couch with his cell in hand. And he just kind of stared.

  “What?”

  He swallowed.

  “Ziggy?”

  Still no response. Huh.

  My Emporio Armani sleeveless white silk blouse with a cute asymmetric fold neckline, dark blue jeans, and Louboutin leopard print patent leather pumps with four-inch heels delighted me no end. I also wore diamond solitaire stud earrings and a Cartier diamond and stainless steel bracelet watch. My long dark hair was styled into a slick ponytail and glossy red lips and I was good to go wow some rock stars. Or at least make a solid attempt at keeping up with them and their wives. But I couldn’t tell what my bodyguard thought.

  He slowly rose to his feet, gaze still stuck on me.

  “Are you going to say something?” I asked.

  “This what normally happens when you spend two hours in the bathroom?” His voice seemed rougher than normal. Also, this was another distinct break in the usual professional protocol. And I relished it even more than I did getting my greedy hands early on the new season’s heels and matching clutch. Another industry perk. “Sorry, miss. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  I laughed. “You haven’t seen me done up before, have you? This is me as Mae Cooper, model. Pleased to meet you.”

  He didn’t smile, but little crinkles appeared beside his eyes. Guess it was close enough.

  “I don’t even look like her without a few hours’ worth of hair and makeup,” I said with a smile. “Much better than regular old Mae who slums around in old T-shirts with her hair in a messy bun, huh?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “No?”

  “No.” And he said nothing more. All of the gorgeous angles of his face stayed in their typical no-emotion setting. Lady Gaga should have just dedicated the song “Poker Face” to him and been done with it.

  After Detective Ortega’s visit a few hours ago, it had been nice to have the distraction of a get together to look forward to. Given that the stalker creep had worn gloves, and given them no leads, there wasn’t much they could do. Plus, she probably had way more serious crimes to investigate than me and my unwelcome deliveries. No point dwelling on the situation. I was committed to putting it out of my head. Or at least trying.

  “Well, all right then,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Half a dozen people were already hanging out in David and Ev’s apartment. It was basically the same layout as mine, but here the floor boards were painted black, and there were lime green couches. Lou Reed played on the stereo, gold and platinum records lined the hallways, and a plentiful collection of amps and guitars sat on display in one corner. Thankfully, Lena and Jimmy were in attendance so at least I knew them.

  “I could have been a model,” announced Mal Ericson, the drummer for Stage Dive. He sat on the sofa beside his heavily pregnant wife Anne. “Supermodel, I mean. Obviously.”

  David just snorted in disbelief.

  “Yeah?” I asked, being polite.

  “Absolutely. I can strike a pose.” Mal jumped to his feet, doing his best duck lips. “Just watch.”

  “So perfect,” said Lena, tongue in cheek. “That’s exactly how they do it. Good job, Mal.”

  Anne just shook her head. “Please don’t encourage him.”

  “I’m a natural.” Mal ran through a variety of awkward looking poses that would have put a yoga instructor to the test. Madonna in her Vogue heyday would not have been jealous of his styling. I daresay, Madonna would have laughed her tight buns off. “When you think about it, it seems almost cruel to deny the world my beauty. Hidden at the back of a stage behind a kit is just a waste.”

  “I was just thinking that,” said Lena, taking a sip of white wine.

  “Who’s hidden away?” complained David. “The platform you mount the drums on is almost a podium, you’re up so high. I swear it gets half a foot higher with every tour, you show pony.”

  “That’s only because you guys wouldn’t let me play suspended in a cage above the crowd, Mötley
Crüe style.”

  “I’m down with any plan that puts the words ‘Mal’ and ‘cage’ in the same sentence,” said Jimmy, the lead singer. “Besides, I’ve been on about a million photo shoots with you, Mal. Standing still basically kills you. How the hell do you think you have the attention span to actually model?”

  “I’m dynamic. Constantly in motion. It’s part of my look. Check it out, this is my blue steel,” yelled Mal, rushing into the hallway to do a handstand. Upside down, he asked, “Great. Right, Mae? So unexpected. Avant garde even.”

  Oh my God. “Um, yeah. So great. There are no words to describe it really.”

  He proceeded to walk around on his hands clown style, his long blond hair looking ridiculous as it almost brushed the floor. “You have Anna Wintour’s number, right? Get her on the horn, I’m ready for the cover of Vogue.”

  “I will definitely get right on that in just a moment or two.”

  Lena huffed out a laugh.

  “I’m kind of surprised you even know who Anna Wintour is,” said Ev, beer in hand. She stood beside the end of the long couch with David next to her. His arm hung loose around her waist.

  All these happy couples. *insert gagging noises here* No, I shouldn’t be so down on love. Love was great. It just hadn’t worked out for me in recent years. Or like…ever.

  “Why?” Mal righted himself. “I’ll have you know I’m very fashionable. I know things. Tell them, Mae.”

  “Apparently he knows things,” I dutifully repeated.

  “Babe, those are the same pair of ripped black jeans you’ve been wearing since I met you,” said Anne. “You still wear band shirts with holes in them the size of my head, that you’ve owned since you were like twelve.”

  “So? They’re classics. Vintage. All the cool kids are wearing them.”

  “Anne, maybe don’t leave him alone with the baby for the first eighteen years or so,” suggested Ev. “Just in case.”

  “Sounds sensible,” mumbled Anne.

  From the other side of the room, standing against the wall, Ziggy gave me a small shake of his head at the drummer’s antics.

  I suggested Ziggy take the night off since I wasn’t leaving the building, and he’d already admitted I’d be safe surrounded by the Stage Dive crew and all. Never really occurred to me how full-on the role of bodyguard actually was. This would have been the perfect opportunity for him to catch up with his own life et cetera. But he’d declined. Apparently the man took his job seriously and was determined to be stuck to me like glue during all hours of the day. I can’t say I didn’t like having him around. Well, I could, but I’d be lying.

  I grabbed an olive from the charcuterie board on the low coffee table. It had salami, prosciutto, nuts, cheeses, dried fruits, crackers, pretzels, breadsticks, decorative edible flowers, and everything else under the sun. I could have fed my face the entire yummy thing. Nearby bottles of wine and beer sat in ice-filled buckets. These people knew how to party in style. No question, I liked my new neighbors. Even Mal had a certain charm. In fact, his craziness was almost relaxing. There was no need to fumble for conversation topics or anything around him. You could just sit back and enjoy the show.

  “We’re here!” called out a low voice from the front door.

  In trooped the band’s bass player, Ben Nicholson, followed by a whole bunch of people.

  “Mae,” said Lena. “Meet Ben and his wife, Lizzy. Next comes our baby star boy solo act himself, Adam Dillon.”

  “Wish you wouldn’t call me that,” said Adam, a handsome slouchy rock’n’roll looking dude in his mid-twenties. Lots of hair and tattoos. Very cool. I’d certainly heard of him—his music was all over the radio and music TV channels these days.

  “Wish on, my sweet.” Lena smiled. “Martha, his manager, and of course, Sam, her fiancé and the owner of the security company we’re all loving and using.”

  The beefy-looking bald man gave me a nod. “Miss Cooper. Pleasure to meet you in person.”

  I raised a hand in welcome. “Call me Mae, please. Nice to meet you too.”

  “I trust Ziggy’s been looking after you.” He tipped his chin in the direction of my bodyguard, who gave a brief nod in return.

  “He’s been great, thank you.”

  “Where did you get those?” Martha, a svelte brunette, stared at my heels. “I’ve had them on pre-order forever.”

  “They were a gift,” I said, holding up the matching clutch.

  “Ugh. I hate you.” She winked. “I need a drink.”

  “Your wish is my command.” Sam poured her a glass of champagne. “I thought it all went rather well.”

  “The show was a huge success, but the open bar was crap. They didn’t even put anything decent in Adam’s dressing room for me to steal.”

  “It was for charity and it was great exposure,” said Ben, taking a seat on the couch and pulling his wife down onto his lap.

  “Which is why I booked it. But now I need to chill and drink Ev’s Dom Pérignon.”

  Ev smiled. “That’s why I bought it for you.”

  “Bon, you’re off now. Time to relax and have a drink.” Sam handed a beer to the last man to wander into the room.

  He was tall and built along the same lines as Ziggy. In fact, come to think of it, they looked a hell of a lot alike. He too wore a dark suit, expertly tailored. After accepting his drink with a nod, he went to stand beside Ziggy against the wall. At the party, but not really a part of it.

  “So, I had a new idea for the nursery,” said Martha, champagne in hand. “What about a black and white plaid feature wall?”

  “Plaid?” asked Anne, hands smoothing over her big belly. “Hmm. Interesting.”

  Lizzy frowned. “Have I got my dates wrong? Or isn’t this baby due like next week or so?”

  Anne calmly nodded.

  “Nursery’s finished,” said Mal. “After months of debate, you two finally decided on a buttercup yellow with Boho-Farmhouse accents. Whatever that all means.”

  “And it’s beautiful. But it doesn’t mean we can’t fine tune it,” said Martha.

  “Still planning on a natural delivery?” asked Lizzy.

  “Absolutely.” Mal nodded. “I’ve been reading about it. What’s best for the baby is best for the momma.”

  Anne cleared her throat. “Hey. Excuse me. This momma will have whatever drugs she feels necessary to push a baby out of her vagina and she isn’t waiting for your permission.”

  He hung his head. “Yes, pumpkin. Whatever you say.”

  Face turned away, David quietly laughed.

  “Oh yeah, you think it’s funny now,” hissed Mal. “But just wait until it’s your turn to deal with psycho pregnancy hormones, man. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

  Jimmy nodded, all wise-like. “He’s actually speaking the truth for once. This one time, Lena burst into tears and threw a spoon at me because I’d finished the last of the chocolate fudge ice cream. Then she made me go out and get some more. It was three in the morning. I had a red mark on my forehead for days.”

  “I apologized for that,” said Lena. “I can’t throw for the life of me. How was I to know I’d actually manage to hit you?”

  “When you’re half asleep it’s hard to duck in time when shit comes flying at your head.”

  “Poor baby.” Lena drew him in, kissing his furrowed brow.

  “Lizzy cried every time she saw a show or a TV ad with an animal or family in it,” added Ben, the big, bearded dude. “Made watching anything impossible.”

  The blonde in his lap scowled. “I had feelings. Deal with it. We can’t all be stalwart and repressed, Benjamin.”

  Ben just raised his brows. Men. So stupid.

  Over by the wall, Ziggy, Sam, and Bon were chatting. On the couch, Ben and David started talking about a new producer they wanted to work with. Which left Lena making weird noises in my direction for some reason.

  “Pssst. Mae, I need to speak to you in the bathroom.”

  “Um, okay
.” I set aside my drink and followed her into the hallway. We didn’t even make it into the bathroom before she turned on me in the doorway. Heads together, she grabbed my shoulders to ensure I had no chance of escape. Nope. I was trapped. “What are we doing?”

  “We’re talking.”

  “About?”

  Her glossy red lips curled into a grin. “What do you think of Adam?”

  “Well, I’m sure he’s a very nice young man,” I said. “And he makes great music. I was jogging to his album just the other day.”

  “Mae, get with the program. I mean as in you and him dating. Duh.” She flicked her hair.

  “Don’t you flick your hair at me, young lady.”

  “I will when you’re being deliberately obtuse.”

  “Oh my God. You haven’t talked to him about me, have you?” I sighed. “Lena. Please. Tell me this isn’t a setup.”

  “Of course it’s not a setup. Relax.”

  “Phew.”

  “So…” She waited not so patiently.

  “Forget it. I’m done with fuck boys, no matter how seemingly nice, pretty, or talented they may be.”

  “He’s not a fuck boy…exactly. He’s just young.”

  “Yeah. That’s kind of my point.”

  Now it was her turn to sigh. And she did so heavily. There was even some impressive heaving of breasts. “You know, you’re going to have to get over your idiot ex eventually.”

  “I am over him. But there were lessons to be learned there.” I leaned forward and smacked a kiss upon her cheek. “Thank you, but I don’t want to date your younger, exciting rock’n’roll dude. My next boyfriend will be someone loyal and dependable, staid and ever so slightly safe and boring.”

  She just wrinkled her nose.

  “My dream man will be home every night in time for dinner. Isn’t even on any social media. He’ll enjoy such pursuits as stamp collecting, bird spotting, and macramé.”