Three hours passed. I hated to leave, but I knew my family must be having kittens back at the hotel. My phone showed a list of texts and voicemails I was afraid to listen to.
“You’ll come to the studio tomorrow?” I said as we descended the metal stairs from the sex demons’ living quarters to the first floor.
“Sure.” Baz stopped in the doorway to the factory floor, looking puzzled. “Could have sworn I heard Veek come home.” He looked back up the stairs. “I would know,” he said uncertainly.
I dug for money in my handbag. “Can you drive me? Or I can call a cab.”
“No, you can’t,” he said firmly, catching up with me. “I’ll take you home like a good boy.”
“We start recording at nine. I’d start at seven, but you simply can’t get studio guys up any earlier.”
“I believe you.” Baz stopped me at the door. “Do you want a ride, or shall we take the El?
I drew a long breath. Choices! I was giddy with them. “The El. I haven’t been able to ride public transportation in fifteen years.”
We walked out of the Lair and down the street, arm in arm. The street was deserted. On this warm Chicago summer night, a few stars poked through the city’s haze. I felt insanely good, like the first hour after a workout, only I hadn’t had to push myself to the point of fibrillation first.
“I think I could get used to sex,” I said. “If I could work out how not to clutter the room with goddess stuff. I’m sorry about your kitchen.”
Baz shrugged. “Those are all hallmarks of Aphrodite, you know,” he said as we turned onto Irving Park Road and walked toward the elevated train station. “Roses, emeralds, gold, lynx fur. I think it proves you’re coming along nicely toward apotheosis.”
“Groovy,” I said tartly as we turned in at the El station. “By the way, did you remember to put on your anti-charisma thing, or whatever it is you do?”
A flash went off in our faces.
Baz cursed and shoved me through the doorway ahead of him. I turned to look behind us, realizing that I shouldn’t, and the flash went off again as Baz picked up a heavy trash can and slung it at the photographer.
The photographer turned and ran.
Baz turned back to me, his face like a storm cloud.
“God dammit,” he growled. He took my elbow, stuffed a pass into the machine, pushed me through the turnstile, shoved the same pass in again, and followed me, making sure to keep a hand on me at all times.
I tried to calm him down.
But Baz couldn’t forgive himself. “I’m sorry about that. I’d have chased him for the camera, but I didn’t want to leave you alone in there. The sonofabitch,” he added, stomping up the stairs to the platform. “How the fuck did he find us?”
He wouldn’t stop cursing.
Finally I blew in his ear. That made him look at me in surprise.
I said, “Look, it stinks, but it happens. I get nailed about eight times a year. Will you lighten up?” I shook his elbow. “Get on the train.”
He stopped cursing, but he stopped talking, too. A lot of my rainbows-and-fluffy-unicorns feeling wore off. I tried talking to him. He sat there, glowering. He took me all the way back to my hotel and all the way up in the elevator without saying a word.
I turned to him with my keycard in my hand. “Chill, will you? There’s plenty of drama waiting for me on the other side of this door.”
He stood there, not looking very relaxed for once, and let me peck him on the cheek. I turned away, sighing inwardly.
Then he grabbed my hand and yanked me back for a nice big smooch. “Don’t forget me,” he begged.
I was about to answer him when the suite door opened.
“Well!” my Uncle Chester exclaimed.
“Drama.” I rolled my eyes at Baz and pointed a finger at him. “Tomorrow, nine.”
Drawing a deep breath, I walked into the suite. The door slammed as the elevator dinged.
And we had drama. An hour of it. I sat on the sofa and they stomped up and down in front of it. Aunt Maybellyne wanted to know if I had sullied my purity, her words, and Uncle Chester wanted to know if anyone had seen us.
Then I was forced to admit that we’d been caught at the train station by a paparazzo. That’s when the second-act finale hit new heights of volume and emo.
Who was that man who brought you home? Just a stagehand! A bum! He probably sold you out to the paparazzi! Did you realize how much trouble this could cause? How could you do this to us? Look at the time!
It wasn’t like our recent yelling matches—me saying how the money would be spent, them calling me a child who was too young to know anything about business. This time they thought they had something on me. They really spread themselves.
What upset me even more was how they talked about Baz. Skeezy starfucking stagehand, out to get something from you, that’s how they all are, blah blah blah.
I knew better, but I couldn’t help cringing.
I realized I was getting tired. Their voices rang louder, even though they were getting hoarse and probably were tireder than I was.
I realized they were waiting for me to break down crying. Then they would let it go.
I couldn’t do it.
Instead I stood up and took a step closer to them. Aunt Maybellyne backed up. Uncle Chester put his hands on his hips and waited for me to speak.
“He’s not just a stagehand. He’s Ashurbanipal from the Mesopotamians.” My voice wasn’t as strong as I wished it was. I’d used it up in performance tonight. If I wanted to sing tomorrow, I’d better not yell now. I added, “He’s sitting in on a cut for the CD tomorrow morning.”
That set off the third act. They had a lot to say about Ashurbanipal and the Mesopotamians. Aunt Maybellyne complained that Baz’s reputation was poor. Uncle Chester gloomily predicted that the paparazzo who nailed us tonight would recognize Baz, and I had to admit it was probable. Baz’s pale, skull-like face and skimpy dishwater-blond dreads were iconic.
And he didn’t look a day older than when he’d crashed and burned the band.
And I knew why.
At that moment it occurred to me that there weren’t any rose petals in the room. I looked around in the middle of Variations on a Theme of a Princess Despoiled. Had it all been an illusion? Had Baz made me see rose petals where there weren’t any?
Numb, curious, and going deaf in self-defense, I walked over to the bar and flicked on the light.
“Are you listenin’ to your aunt?” Uncle Chester demanded.
The ceiling, walls, floor, cabinets, mirrors, and bar top were definitely gold. Gold radiated in streaks out from that spot where Baz and I had kissed. The vase of roses was gone from the bar, but the wine glasses hanging over the bar and even the cappuccino machine were gold. I thought of Baz moving us into the bedroom so his coffee machine wouldn’t get kluged up and smiled.
But the rose petals? There had been millions of them. I narrowed my eyes.
There. Caught in a crack between the counter door and the frame was a bit of deep red.
“Young lady,” Uncle Chester began, reaching for my arm.
I turned and looked at him.
It wasn’t much of a look, but I put a little bit, a tiny bit of the mana into it.
Uncle Chester drew his hand back.
I bent and picked up the bedraggled petal. “Where,” I said, showing it to him, “did you put all my rose petals?”
They shut up as if I’d turned off the sound on my life. Their mouths worked for a moment . . . then nothing.
I realized then how hard they’d been pretending that none of that was happening.
I’d had too many shocks tonight to feel this one.
Looking around, I estimated that it must have taken every minute of the time I’d been away with Baz for them to have the room vacuumed out. I turned in place, scanning the bar and living room carefully. There were still flecks of red petals visible here and there, if you knew what you were looking for. In twenty-four hours or so they’d be dry and blackened and they’d disintegrate and no one would notice.
I had wondered if my family would scold me for making the mess. Instead, they stood there with their mouths open.
Guess they’d been counting on me to pretend, too.
That gave me even more to think about.
Amid their stunned silence, I walked into my bedroom and shut and locked the door. It was three a.m. I had to get up in four hours to work out, eat, and get to the studio by nine.
Baz would be there.
I concentrated very hard on that thought while I showered and crawled into bed. Baz. As I dropped off, I thought I felt lynx fur under my cheek, but I was too sleepy to look.