Exquisitely Broken (A Sin City Tale Book 1) Page 2
Through the years, I’ve followed her career. Year one post Sin, I turned into a low-key stalker. She avoided the valley, which meant I had to find her. I’d coincidentally end up at signings. I created dummy social media accounts to follow Sin City’s posts without alerting Sin or the band to my presence. I listened incessantly to local radio channels. I would show up at concerts and try unsuccessfully to get backstage. I read all her interviews and watched every TV appearance. When she started modeling for high-end designers, I bought fashion magazines just to feel a little closer to her. That was a low point, but it was all I had so I took it.
It was around that time that the articles started to shift. The interviews didn’t focus on Sin’s heartbreak anymore or the asshole, me, who broke it. They focused on her current love life. Not a day went by I didn’t see a headline linking her with tortured artsy types, from actors to pro athletes, and then I saw the picture of her with the ultimate, tortured, artsy type Adam, her so-called best friend and the lead guitarist for Sin City. The picture was taken backstage at a concert. From the look of the image, they had no idea a camera was present. His forehead rested against hers. He had a hand on either side of her face, and that connection that I’d always felt between them was palpable from the pages of a magazine.
Now I get to see her again. The only woman to ever hold my heart. The one that slipped through my fingers taking a part of me, the best part that only existed in her presence. Sin City will be working for my hotel, and I’m pretty sure Sin has no idea I work here. I don’t know if the universe is finally throwing me a bone or if it’s a rare combination of factors setting up the perfect storm. Whatever it is, years of curiosity will be satisfied. I want to know if there are vestiges of the girl that I met ten years ago and the woman that I have never stopped loving. The girl I knew craved passion and creativity. She exuded a social magnitude that drew me in from the first encounter, and we were in love. If that girl still exists, if there’s a chance, no matter how farfetched, I’m taking it.
“We’re requesting that all senior management be present for the press release and reception that will immediately follow. Before the media arrives, we’ll have a less formal meet and greet where you all will get an introduction to the artists. After meeting with them multiple times, I guarantee you all will be just as excited as we are to have them with us for the next year. Are there any questions?” Aaron looks around the room expectantly.
The meeting lasted another forty-five minutes after that bombshell. I was supposed to be gone forty minutes ago, but here I am, sitting at the conference table and watching my colleagues file out when Aaron places a hand on my shoulder.
“We came in almost fifty grand under budget, man.” He moves my shoulder back and forth in his excitement.
“That’s… uh… really great. So, you said Sin City will be here an entire year, huh?”
He puffs his chest with a sense of accomplishment. “Technically it will be two weekends a month, a total of forty-eight days spread over fifty-two weeks. Since they’re local, we won’t have to put the band up in the hotel, well at least most of the band. That’s one of the ways we were able to come in under budget. Ms. James will be on property, but everyone else will be staying in personal homes.”
Aaron, being in entertainment, understands hotel profits a little better than most. He gets that gains do not negate or impact the budget allotted for a project because the revenue earned is not immediately available. We track everything down to the cost of replacement light bulbs needed to light the stage. Eating the cost of a hotel room that we could otherwise book is a loss. Sure, it balances in the end but in the meantime, it ties up funds allocated for other functions. This is definitely a W for his department.
“I’d heard that the lead singer and the guitarist are a couple?”
I try to slip that question in without sounding too invested in the answer. My life is distinctly divided into pre-Sin breakup, and post-Sin breakup. If you weren’t in my life before the breakup, and no one at The Hotel was, there would be no indication that I’d ever known Sin. I don’t go around telling all who will listen that I once upon a time dated a pop singer who at the time wasn’t famous. I’ve known Connor since grade school and with him going to undergrad on the East Coast and grad school in England, I don’t think he’s put the pieces together. When our relationship ended, Sin exited stage left. She didn’t pass go or collect two hundred dollars. It was the damnedest trick, like magic. Now you see me, now you don’t. She became a ghost, only existing in fractured memories and phantom touches.
In the years since she’s been gone, I’ve done my best to relegate her presence to the times when I’m alone where I can recall the exact texture of her skin and the husky timbre of her voice. This time was mine, she was mine. I could reminisce. What we had was unique and maybe once in a lifetime.
So yeah, I asked a question. The one thing I probably shouldn’t. The one thing I have wanted to know for years. Are Sin and Adam a couple? While we were together did they… did she ever… If they are a couple one room would suffice, and one bed, and one shower. My pulse kicks up thinking about the two of them taking full advantage of all the amenities in our hotel rooms. Together.
But on the slim chance I’m wrong, that hundreds of publications are wrong, I wait for Aaron’s answer. Sin was always so adamant they were friends. God, if they’re not together… I can’t even let that thought percolate. I’m not saying I’d do anything stupid, but I’m not saying I wouldn’t either. There is no telling what fool thing I’d do if given another shot. It would sting to get confirmation that she went from me to Adam. Okay, that’s bullshit. I don’t need a definitive answer for it to sting, but it still doesn’t change the fact I want one.
I stand up, collecting the few papers I have on the table, trying to feign disinterest like we’re discussing the weather, but every molecule in my body is zeroed in on his answer.
“I don’t think so.” A slight frown creases the skin between his eyebrows. “The couple of times I met with them, they seemed more like siblings, and they wanted to take the residency because their base guitarist is expecting his first baby. They all just seem like a close-knit family.”
A firework of emotion burst through my body and the papers I’d been gathering into a neat pile with deep focus fall from my flustered grasp as his words sink in. Fuck yeah! Those words are exactly what I needed to hear.
I’m not a cup-half-full kind of guy. I don’t pray regularly or hope for the impossible, but this whole situation seems like something bigger than me at work. What is the likelihood of Sin and I being in the same stratosphere let alone the same hotel for a year? I’m a finance guy who sits behind a desk, and she’s a rock star who travels the world. For the first time in a long time, I let the idea of reconnecting with her take root.
Aaron pats me on the shoulder as he makes his way toward the door. When the door shuts behind him, I’m the only person left in the room.
“Thank you,” I whisper to whatever’s out there that brought Sinclair James back into my life.
NOW
Sinclair
Over the last four years, I’ve traveled to every major city around the world. Paris, Milan, New York, Los Angeles, and Prague to name a few. Traveling introduced me to a world so much bigger than my childhood dreams could have conjured. It’s sumptuous and vast. Each place uniquely fascinating on its own but still strangely connected through the familiar, such as a Starbucks coffee shop situated on a random corner or a couple walking down the street with their fingers entwined.
In my case, that connection comes through music, my love language. It’s how I carved out my place in a world that had little use for a girl with no pedigree and even less consideration for an artist.
When I’m on stage, the music feels like a blissful tremor rippling straight through me. It touches each person in the audience, and for a couple of hours nothing hurts. Everything wrong in the world falls away and it’s just them and me, uncompli
cated and in the purest form. We don’t always speak the same language or come from the same background, but when I sing, every single word comes from the heart. They feel it and feel me in a way that transcends our differences.
With all the places I’ve seen and people I’ve met, Las Vegas is the only place I’ve ever considered home. Even when I ran away. Even when the sight of stylish neon and gaudy gold made me recoil.
Now that I’m back, it seems silly to have stayed away for so long. From the backseat of the limo, Vegas is a lot more gloss and not half as much grit. I’d heard from the guys in the band that the city finally finished the 215 Beltway and added casinos to the Strip at Harmon Street. But seeing the changes to the streets I’d walked and the skyline I loved is jarring. The new editions stick out obnoxiously. The new casinos are garish and dominating. Instead of billboards advertising tawdry shows and cheap meals, LED signs flash with designer labels and eighty-dollar gourmet buffets. How is that a thing? Gourmet is the antithesis of buffet.
The limo plunges into darkness as we come to a stop in The Hotel’s underground parking garage reserved for high rollers and celebrities. The goal is to minimize the crazy that surrounds me as much as possible. I’m still not completely used to the circus. It wasn’t that long ago Adam and I pounded the pavement, trying to get one hotel, any hotel, to give us a shot.
Now I’m arriving in a limo provided by The Hotel. Living in a penthouse suite, also provided by The Hotel. Performing in residence in an event center that rivals Madison Square Garden that four years ago we could have never filled.
I don’t have to eye the people waiting at the entrance to know Seth and Aiden, my personal security, are waiting and have taken the time to check the route to the suite. Venetria McCullough, my publicist, is also somewhere in the melee. She scheduled a quick trip to inspect the appearance of the advertisements and promotions before our arrival.
The band’s image is a carefully cultivated menagerie of music, social media, and endorsements that has taken years to perfect. Ven’s job is to make sure The Hotel stays in line and seamlessly integrates with our current marketing visuals. Anita, my stylist, might be down here too, but I’d bet money she’s already in the suite setting up racks of clothes.
Out of the sea of faces I know only three or maybe four people. The rest are a mix of hotel security and staff. I miss the days when I could melt into a crowd without worrying I’d be attacked by haters or hurt by fans. Don’t get me wrong I love what I do. All I’ve ever wanted to do is create music. There was never a plan B. I know there are a million people around the world who would switch places with me in a heartbeat.
But I miss the old me. The one before the fame. The girl who didn’t think twice about driving the 215 Beltway around Las Vegas and hopping out of her car at the top of Lone Mountain because the sprawling view of lights inspired her. The girl who frequented hole-in-the-wall bars because famous musicians, not celebrities or stars, would be there to jam for hours and she wanted to learn everything. Fame has its rewards, but it’s hard. A quid pro quo. You must be willing to give something to get something. I just didn’t bank how much that something would cost.
The bodyguard driving the limo is Joey. His backup is a new guy, one I haven’t met, who rotated in last minute. They met me at the aircraft, so my personal team could secure my suite. As they exit the vehicle to open the door, Seth and Aiden immediately crowd in close. Seth leans forward ducking his head inside, his soft brown eyes take inventory, sweeping the empty benches and bar before coming to rest on mine.
“Good trip?”
“Nothing to complain about here. You guys okay?”
He nods his head and runs a hand over his cropped hair.
“Just a heads-up, Sin. One of these hotel fuckers let it slip”—his fingers twitch with annoyed air quotes—“that’d you’d be arriving today. So, it’s pretty gnarly in there.”
“Fans or paparazzi?”
“Both.”
“Do they know I’m living here now? Or do they think it’s sound check and prep?”
“As far as we can tell, they’re all here to get their shots and autographs and go home. Once you’re settled, one of the guys will get the luggage so no one will be the wiser.”
“Okay, thanks, Seth. You touch base with Adam yet? Is he already home?”
A flush creeps up his neck, staining his cheeks, and his eyes drop to the empty space beside me.
“We…” He clears his throat and looks back at me. “I haven’t talked to Adam for a couple of days. I’m sure he’s fine. You ready to go?” He stretches out his hand, wiggling his fingers.
I glance between his wriggling digits and flushed face before I place my hand in his and step out. “I’m not letting that statement go that easy, Seth. And just so we’re on the same page… I swear on my life if you break his heart, I’ll bury you in the desert.”
“It’s not his heart you have to worry about, Sin,” he mutters.
Before I can delve further into that statement, the sliding glass doors open and people cascade out with a jarring wave of noise. Seth and Aiden, close in tight as we walk forward. The Hotel security rushes forward to form a box around our little group, and we barely move a foot before the first paparazzi tries to break our ranks. Aiden runs closer to the edge of the square leaving me with Seth, to stiff-arm the person between the shoulders of two hotel guards.
“We gotta move, Sin.” Seth’s voice booms close to my ear. I pick it up, moving at a jog and trying to perfectly mirror Aiden’s steps as he clears the path a couple of feet in front of me and Seth falls a couple of feet behind to cover our six. The crush of humanity around us is suffocating. We finally make it into the lobby when a slender hand wraps around my wrist, and a youngish girl trips forward and almost takes us both out.
The people around me are still plowing ahead with no consideration for the girl they’re about to trample.
“Aiden stop! Hold up a sec!” I yell before turning to the girl.
“You okay?” She gives me big eyes, but nothing comes out of her mouth. So, I try again. “What’s your name?”
It takes a second before she says, “Kasey with a K.”
“Nice to meet you, Kasey. Sin.” I wave the guys back as they start to approach us. Over the last couple of years, my instincts are pretty spot on when it comes to identifying the crazies from the fans, and this girl is a fan.
“OMG… you’re like really here and actually like yourself.”
“I hope so,” I say on a chuckle. “How old are you Kasey? Shouldn’t you still be in school?”
Her fingers drop from my wrist, and she tosses a worried glance at the two men flanking me. They probably look like cops from where she’s standing. Then she squares her shoulders and looks me dead in the eye.
“I ditched. If my dad finds out, my life is so over. But it’s worth it. I didn’t think I would actually get to meet you. I just wanted a picture or something. But we’re for real having a convo.”
“Where’s your phone?” She holds up a new smartphone with a picture of my guitar as the screen saver.
“Let’s get you that picture so you can get back to school.” Her eyes light up as she fumbles to open the camera app. I step in close to her and throw up devil horns as she snaps two or three pictures.
“These are f-ing lit,” she squeals scrolling through the pictures. “My friends will probably think I photo shopped you in.”
“It was really nice to meet you Kasey, but I gotta go.”
“Oh, right. I know that. You’re probably super busy with the show and stuff.” Her careless charm and genuine adoration strike a chord. I used to be this girl. Tracking down artists that I loved. Doing anything to be just one foot closer to stardom.
“Yeah, something like that, but why don’t you come to the first meet and greet? I’ll leave tickets for you at will call. What’s your last name?”
“Are you serious right now?” She bounces up and down, clapping her hands.
&
nbsp; “I am, but I need that last name.”
“It’s Fairley.”
“Gotcha. Kasey with a K Fairley. See you opening night.”
Our group once again moves forward, leaving an openmouthed girl gaping behind us. I smile at her dazed look.
That was nice. See, Vegas isn’t so bad after all.
NOW
Sinclair
“SIN, I LOVE YOU!”
The screaming and chants get louder the closer I get to the venue The Hotel secured for the press release. Aiden immediately puts his hand on the butt of the gun attached to his hip. Checking for a threat, Seth scans the insulated bubble we walk in surrounded by hotel security. He quietly speaks into the communication device and signals to Aiden that we need to hurry up. The entire group moves double time until we get to the lounge.
Hotel security falls away once we get to the designated press area, it’s lined with heavy gold stanchions corralling the reporters into civilized groups. They come to attention as soon as they see me frantically pushing against the ropes. Multiple cameras start to flash as they all press forward.
I stumble back on my four-inch heels in surprise when a grungy man jumps over the velvet rope. His meaty hand landing on my waist as he attempts to pull me into a hug. I look into crazed green eyes as I forcibly push against his hold.
“Sin, I’ll fix what he broke!” Spittle lands on my shoulder as he rasps the harsh words.
Security immediately pulls him away, but his desperate screech as they wrestle him to the ground unsettles me.
There is no mistaking the stringy dark hair or the too tight T-shirt of Sin City from our first tour or the anguished declarations of love. I’ve been dealing with Ian Foster for as long as I’ve been performing. I haven’t seen him in a while because we’ve been overseas, and he only follows the tour when we’re in the U.S.