Stargazer: Playing Dirty Part 25

Martin said, "I'll talk to Erin later."

The Timberlanes went home, the technicians went home, and at 11:47 p.m., the Cheatin' Hearts completed Buns of Steel. They crowded around Sarah, who was still curled in a ball on the control room chairs. They sang "Strip Poker Blues" a cappella as they presented her with the master copy of the alb.u.m. She called the head honcho at Manhattan Music and yelled to him over the jubilant singing that the first part of her mission was accomplished.

13.

FINALLY a chance to e-mail you. Can't wait to see you this afternoon! We are all well rested for your visit! HAHAHAHA gotta go baby crying again

Wendy Mann Senior Consultant Stargazer Public Relations "How'd your meeting go?" Quentin asked as he opened the taxi door for Sarah and stepped back to let her in the car.

She gave the driver the address of Wendy's loft in Tribeca and waited for Quentin to slide in beside her. As the taxi moved into traffic down Sixth Avenue, she said happily, "Manhattan Music was very impressed that I turned in your alb.u.m at all. They were ecstatic that it's so good. What have you been doing to those poor people?"

"Nothing they didn't deserve," Quentin said.

She relaxed against the seat, watching midtown Manhattan flash by. "I just wish I had longer in the city. I didn't expect my meeting to run over. Now I'll hardly have time to exclaim over the baby and stop in at my apartment before our flight."

"Oh, by the way," Quentin said offhandedly, "I called Stargazer and talked to the lady who handles your travel reservations. I postponed our flight until noon tomorrow."

"Really," Sarah said, hoping she looked irritated rather than delighted. She scrolled down her contacts to the travel desk and held the phone to her ear. "Voice mail," she informed Quentin. "This chick is just digging herself a deeper hole." After the beep, she said, "It's Sarah. Just calling to remind you that you don't work for Quentin c.o.x. You work for Stargazer. For now."

As she clicked the phone off, Quentin said, "That was harsh. She was a nice lady."

Sarah felt a flash of guilt, but she brushed it off. "That nice lady was totally taken in by your act. She probably gazed moonily into s.p.a.ce while you serenaded her with 'Naked Mama.' And I'm afraid you're about to find out what harsh is. You're supposed to be back in Birmingham tomorrow for a run-through of the concert. Erin will call you."

"I'll make it in time," he said. "The run-through isn't until tomorrow night. But you're right. She'll still call me. I left a message with Martin about what I was doing and then turned my phone off. Turn yours off."

"I can't do that," Sarah said. "There might be a PR catastrophe while I'm gone."

"They'll leave a voice mail, I promise."

"And that's another thing," Sarah protested. "I don't want to talk to an angry Erin on the phone, but I don't want to listen to a bunch of voice mails from an angry Erin, either."

"She won't leave you a bunch of messages. She'll leave me a bunch of messages. She'll leave you one."

"I'll bet it's a doozy."

"It'll be worth it," he said.

She glanced over at him. His brown curls danced behind his ears in the blast from the air conditioner vent. He bent his head to the bottom of the taxi window and squinted up at the tops of the pa.s.sing skysc.r.a.pers, as Alabamians who had never lived in New York were wont to do, she remembered from her freshman year at college. He wore his poker face. It was impossible to tell whether he intended innuendo when he told her it would be worth it.

She wanted innuendo, and she didn't. She wanted him, but she couldn't entertain the possibility of stealing him from Erin. If the group broke up, even with the alb.u.m completed, she might lose her job. Nine Lives would tell Manhattan Music what she'd done to him, Manhattan Music would tell Stargazer, and she'd never work in PR again. Quentin eventually would break up with her because she was an unemployed loser. And then she'd be one of these guys wandering in the busy street, spraying and wiping windshields and demanding five dollars.

Quentin lowered his window and stuck his head into the wind like a happy dog. Apparently Sarah didn't have to make a decision about s.e.x, because there was no innuendo. He said innocently, "You get to spend some quality time with your friend. And when you're done, I can drop you off at your apartment and visit the foundation. We've been on tour so long, I haven't been by in a year. Since Thailand, I'd like to make sure they're on top of this allergy thing."

Sarah nodded. "So it's a real foundation."

"Of course it's a real foundation. Did you think it was a fake foundation?"

"Word around Manhattan Music is that it's a red herring to draw attention away from your cocaine addiction."

"That does sound like something we'd do." He laughed. "But that would be one expensive fish. No, the foundation is real. I don't want anyone else to have to go through what I went through when I was a kid."

"What gives you the kind of allergic reaction I had to bees?"

"Most nuts," he said. "I'm allergic to a lot of foods, but nuts are the one that's hardest to avoid."

"Yeah, I imagine it's hard to avoid nuts," Sarah commented provocatively, "you being a man and all."

Quentin sighed the longest sigh. "Are you making a nut joke? Don't even start with me. I've had allergies since I was born. I had allergies in middle school. I've heard all the nut jokes. I made up all the nut jokes so I could tell them before someone else told them."

"Is that why you never eat out? Because of your food allergies?"

"I never eat out because I'm a great cook."

"And so humble," she teased him.

"Have you tried my aloo gobi?"

She smiled. "Do you mean that in the carnal sense?"

"No, it's vegetarian." He laughed. "Seriously, you're right. I never eat out because cooking meals myself is the only way I can be sure they won't kill me." He inhaled the city deeply through his nose. "And then there's the asthma. I have to exercise carefully."

"Thus you flaked out on me in the lake."

"I didn't flake out, see," he protested. "I knew I would flake out. When I was a kid, I didn't know my limits. Or I didn't want to know them. I went out for high school football with Owen one year. That was interesting."

He waved to a group of j.a.panese tourists on the sidewalk, and several of them waved back. Sarah turned around and watched through the back window as they gestured excitedly to each other, realizing who Quentin was, and started chasing the car. She was about to give the driver a twenty to lose them when a hole opened in traffic and he sped ahead.

"Other things trigger my asthma, too," Quentin went on. "Cigarette smoke is the main one. And once you're triggered, getting upset can make asthma worse, but that's only happened to me twice, thank G.o.d. The second time was yesterday, when you threatened to shiv me."

"Again, I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay. It actually wasn't as bad as the first time. I was mortified."

"You, mortified?"

"It does happen."

"Let me guess," she said. "Was it when Vonnie Conner turned you down?"

"If I'd had an asthma attack because Vonnie Conner turned me down, I would never have shown my face at high school again," he said. "No, it was at my granddad's funeral."

"Oh." She covered her lips with two fingers and said through them, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. The whole spectacle is pretty funny in retrospect."

She cut her eyes sideways at him, unable to imagine what was so funny about having an asthma attack at his grandfather's funeral. "This was pretty recently, right?"

"A little over two years ago," he confirmed, "right before we signed with the record company. I was a pallbearer, which was somebody else's mistake, because I was pretty devastated when he died . . . "

As he trailed off, she nodded sympathetically. She knew how he'd felt.

"After we got our shoulders under the casket, the closer we got to the church, the more upset I got. I guess I could pretend it wasn't happening before that, and I was at just another family reunion, but this was final.

"Well, somebody was smoking outside the church, and as we were crossing the threshold, I got a lungful. I couldn't reach for my inhaler in my pocket because, h.e.l.lo, I was carrying a casket. Normally I could have made it all the way down the aisle without it, but I was so upset already. On top of that, I was terrified of pa.s.sing out in front of all those people. A lot of them were friends of my granddad's from Nashville, country music insiders. None of them could have gotten the Cheatin' Hearts a contract, but I didn't know that at the time. I was as tense as I've ever been, and that's when I"-he clapped his hands, one on top of the other-"hit the aisle."

"Oh!" Sarah gasped.

"And then the casket"-he clapped his hands again-"hit the aisle, tumbled end over end, and landed upside down."

"Oh my G.o.d!" Sarah squealed. "Why couldn't the other five guys hold it up?"

"That's what I said at the emergency room later!" Quentin exclaimed. "They're all like, 'Give a dude a nudge when you're about to faint like a girl, Q,' and I'm like, 'There are six pallbearers. I was holding up the whole thing myself? You can't hold it up yourselves if a guy has to pa.s.s out? Jesus.'" He paused. "My granddad would have loved it, though."

"No!" Sarah covered her mouth again to hold her laughter in.

"Oh yes. The casket was closed, and they did not open it after that to see what had happened to him. But he would have said, 'You should have left it open, and I would have gone flying! That's showmanship.'" As Sarah fought to stop giggling, Quentin reached across the car and poked her gently in the ribs. "All this can be yours now that you know you have allergies, too. You're just joining the club. Did they tell you in the emergency room that you need venom therapy?"

"Something sinister like that was mentioned, yes."

"It's not bad," he said. "They just give you a shot with a tiny bit of bee venom every few weeks, and increase the dose a little each time. Before long, you're not allergic to bees anymore. That is, not fatally allergic. That is, if you don't have an adverse reaction-"

"That is, spare me," she said. "I saw your adrenaline shot with your asthma inhaler in my bag. So I'm covered for now. I'll just stay out of Central Park."

She stole another look at him, so handsome and relaxed, friendly green eyes taking everything in. She asked him, "Do you ever think about upping the profile of the foundation? Coming out of the asthma and allergy closet, so to speak? You could do a lot of good. Celebrities are always raising awareness by admitting that they have medical conditions."

"I've been admitting it from the start," he said. "All I got for my trouble was rumors about a cocaine addiction. And a multimillion-dollar recording contract." He chuckled. "I'm not ruling it out, but I'm not too sure how it would go over at this point. You're the PR expert. Picture this." He struck a pose as if speaking into a camera. "Hi, I'm Quentin c.o.x of the Cheatin' Hearts. You may know me for hit songs like 'I Want a Leia' and 'Honky-tonk h.e.l.l.' What you may not know is that sh.e.l.lfish gives me hives." He laughed again. "Maybe after the sixth alb.u.m."

"Maybe after the Nationally Televised Holiday Concert Event," she suggested. "Your profile will be much higher. I'll even get you on a late-night talk show." She reached over and patted his thigh encouragingly.

He put his warm hand over her hand.

They continued to chat. She wondered whether he had a hard time concentrating on the conversation, as she did. Her whole body centered on her hand touching his hand.

Finally the taxi dropped them off in front of Wendy and Daniel's restored high-rise. As they waited for the doorman to call upstairs, she exclaimed, "Oh, man, I forgot all about their cat. Are you allergic to cats?"

"No!" he said, pointing at her and beaming.

"Congratulations. How about turtles?"

"I guess we'll find out."

In the ride up the elevator, she thought to warn him, "Wendy looked okay when I left, but she claims she gained three hundred pounds in her last week of pregnancy. Expect the worst, Jabba the Hutt." And by the time she knocked on the door of the loft, it had occurred to Sarah that she should have been warning Quentin about lots of things, a whole drive's worth, but now she heard footsteps.

Daniel flung open the door and embraced her. Sarah was vaguely concerned about what Quentin might think, but Daniel's muscles were tense. He needed this hug. She hugged him and rubbed his back.

Eventually, when he let her go, she examined him. He was handsome as ever, but he had dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't shaved, and Daniel never skipped shaving. She thought his dark hair might even be a little mussed, but her eyes could have been playing tricks on her. Finally she laughed. "You look tired."

"You look-" Daniel began in the s.e.xy British accent he slipped into when he was stressed. He shook his head at Quentin. "You didn't see the before photo, but this is some makeover."

"Shut up," Sarah said, whacking his arm.

A baby's high wail sounded closer and closer, and Wendy appeared in the doorway. "Make it stop!" she exclaimed.

Sarah took the baby. The others introduced themselves and baby Asher and herded her out of the foyer to sit on the couch in the living room, but she hardly noticed, lost in the baby who shared her birthday.

She made some attempts at amusing faces, because this was what she'd seen other people do with babies. Asher had his eyes squeezed shut to wail and couldn't see her. Wendy and Daniel were talking to Sarah, telling her about Asher. She couldn't hear anything they were saying over the wail.

Finally she said loudly, "At first I intended to tell you that he's adorable and tiny, but the screaming is really what you notice."

"He's hungry," Quentin said.

"Don't even go there, cowboy," Wendy said. "I just fed him. That's pretty much all we do around here."

"You look great," Sarah told Wendy to draw her off Quentin. It was true. She looked puffy, for Wendy, but far from Jabba-sized.

"Tell me another," Wendy said disdainfully. "This is Daniel's shirt. I'm still in maternity pants. And if the grocery store has a rule against bedroom slippers, I'm in trouble."

Sarah sympathetically examined Wendy's swollen feet, then gasped in fear. "Where's the baby?" She looked around frantically. Quentin was holding Asher and jiggling him in his arms. "Give me that!" she said. She took Asher back carefully. When he started wailing again, Sarah wondered whether Quentin was actually good at this.

"The baby's hungry," Quentin repeated.

"Stuff it," Wendy said.

"Have you had help?" Sarah shouted. She didn't want to yell and upset Asher further, but she wouldn't be heard otherwise.

"I was sorry to see Daniel's mother go," Wendy said. "How sick is that?"

Sarah could barely hear Wendy over the screaming. She asked, "Isn't this what pacifiers are for?"

"The Lactation League says you're not supposed to use a pacifier or a bottle for the first month, because it results in nipple confusion." Wendy relished the term. "The baby prefers the pacifier and the bottle and won't go back to the breast. Personally, I think it is a front for a misogynist group making up terms like nipple confusion to thwart me."

Sarah could tell that Quentin was about to have one of his laughing spells. He was holding his breath and turning red. He cast a wary glance at Daniel.

"And they want you to express the milk," Wendy said. "Express it, like it's going to flow gently out. There is no gentle flow here. If I spun around in circles, I'd look like a lawn sprinkler."

Quentin snorted. He was about to lose it. Even cool Daniel looked taken aback. Sarah stifled a laugh of her own. This was part of what made their marriage work. After two years, Daniel still wasn't used to Wendy.