Without limits ssion and.., p.62
Without Limits: A BWWM Collection of Passion and Desire, page 62
Maybe he thought I would take a softer approach to this story than someone who didn’t know him. It was the only reason I could think of for him to ask for me. Of course, Helene just had to open her big mouth and tell him I was one of her reporters.
I tried my best to keep my professional and personal life separate from each other. Luc’s always been a weakness for me. He wasn’t my first lover. He was the first man to make me feel truly loved, to shake up my life in a way that changed me. His actions ended things between us. Once it ended I moved on. I tried my best not to think of him, avoided anything that reminded me of him in the least. There were certain radio stations I didn’t listen to because his band was on heavy rotation. Hearing his voice could still bring up memories better left forgotten.
I kept coming back to this seeming coincidence of Luc finding out who I worked for. What was he doing with my picture on the mantelpiece anyway?
My cell phone rang just as I picked up my luggage. The airport was crowded with people around the baggage carousel, and I was irritated that someone was calling me just then. Without bothering to check the caller ID, I shoved the phone back into my pocket.
As I approached the curb with my luggage, I saw a petite girl standing in front of a car, holding a sign with my name on it. Her haircut and her style of clothing had changed, but I would know that dimpled, round face anywhere. This was Sherry, Luc’s cousin.
“I knew I was supposed to be meeting Luc’s assistant. I didn’t know it was going to be you!” I told her. We hugged. She took a step back, holding my arms.
“Look at you, Sasha. You’re gorgeous,” she said. “So it looks like the East coast has been good for you.”
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “I still haven’t gotten used to the snow.”
“Well you’re home now. Come on. I’m going to drive you.”
“Drive me… where?” I asked. “I was expecting to check into my hotel and change first.”
“Hotel?” she said it like it was a dirty word, and not the good kind of dirty. “I mean I guess, but it’s not like we don’t have a whole mansion to ourselves.”
I slid into the passenger seat as she got behind the wheel. Sherry fussed with the mirror and waited a moment for some of the traffic behind her to thin before pulling out.
“I know what you’re going to say, Sasha,” Sherry chirped. “Luc will barely be there. He’s been running in and out the last few days, coming back from rehearsal late. It’s not like you’ll be in his lap the whole time you’re here. Unless you would like that.”
I laughed. “You haven’t changed have you? No, I’m here just to do my job. I would hate to become an unwanted houseguest.”
“I doubt that would happen,” Sherry replied.
I shook my head. I knew I wasn’t going to get very far arguing. Sherry was one of those people who knew how to get you to do what she wanted. She probably made the perfect assistant, organizing events and people with a natural ease. Even though her little manipulations were clear, she was so sweet about it that it was hard to turn her down in most situations.
Either way, I was going to get in and out of this assignment as quickly as possible. Maybe she was doing me a favor. If I could get Luc to sit for an interview, I could leave town or at least hang back at the concert venue, and then go to my hotel. I just wouldn’t mention that to Sherry.
We chatted about safe topics: how she had finished her degree in public relations, and was basically helping her cousin Luc until he had time to look for someone more permanent. “At least that’s what he tells me,” she said. “I’ve been working for him since he left his band,” she said. “It’s been super stressful for him. Someone needed to step in to take things off his plate, you know? And he’s never been the most trusting with employees but he knows he can depend on me.”
“So wait, are you working as his publicist too?” I asked.
“Not exactly. I’m mostly just making sure his schedule is right and that he shows up where he’s supposed to be on time, which isn’t as easy as it sounds. He keeps his days packed. You know he’s always been a workaholic.”
“I remember.”
She flashed a smile at me and turned her attention back to the road. “Mmmmhmm. I mean, I guess he wouldn’t be where he is in his career without that part of his personality but sometimes it gets to be annoying. No one can do everything at once.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me that I should know about?” I asked.
“No, why would there be?” she said innocently.
I felt something turn in my gut.
Luc’s house was off of Pacific Coast Highway. It was one of the spots where if no one told you, you wouldn’t be aware there was a house just ahead. Sherry drove us up a narrow road that turned into a fork, and went right. From there the greenery gave way to a six foot high white stone wall. A little further up was a narrow gate, obscured by trees.
Sherry stopped to punch in a code to a security pad, and the gates swayed inward. She must have seen my expression because she chuckled. “Don’t worry, I have a code set just for you. I’ll text it later. You won’t be trapped within the castle gates.”
“Uh huh,” was all I said as she drove us inside.
We pulled up to a circle driveway. There was a stone fountain out front, made from river rock. Sherry parked right in front of the door.
“The only downside to this place,” Sherry said, flipping open the trunk, “is that we don’t have a lot of help. Luc keeps a chef, and one driver. The maids come in three times a week if the house is occupied, only once a month if neither of us is in town,” she explained. “I think he’s still a little paranoid about too many people being around his stuff. Anyway. When you go in, feel free to look around. Your room is the last one on the left, second floor. Here’s your card key for the. That number on the back is the security code. Here’s your house key.”
“House key? Sherry?”
“I have to go. Bye sweetie. Call me if you need anything. I’ve got to be in Burbank in forty five minutes, so wish me luck.”
She was back in the car and pulling away before I could even say anything.
After she was gone, I muttered curses and looked up at the house. She knew very well what she was doing. Why did I feel like this was a trap?
I felt odd being left alone in this man’s house without anyone else there. Yes, in the past I would have been trusted in Luc’s family (technically Sherry’s house, because he was living there at the time) but this was a different place, and too many years had passed for me to feel that kind of comfort.
I was curious about this picture on the mantelpiece that Helene mentioned.
The living room was to the left, and the door was open. That had to be the most innocent place for a visitor to go, right? It sounded better to me than wandering around upstairs where the bedrooms were.
The room was massive, and my first impression was that it had once been a ballroom. It was made over to fit a rock star’s style. High ceilings, wood floors and the walls were freshly painted black. Furniture was arranged in sections. There was a bar along the left wall worthy of any professional seller of liquor. Above that was a painting, what I could only think of as modern art, with vibrant splashes of red, blue and green. It provided a pop of color against the dark atmosphere.
The opposite wall held framed posters of Luc’s old band. I noticed one where Skye hung over Luc’s arm, staring into space. She was a pretty woman, even if there had been a hardness to her.
The middle of the room was the seating area—a custom made corner group that probably stretched a thousand feet, and was still dwarfed by the expanse of the rest of the room. Above the gaping opening of the wide fireplace was the skeletal head of a bull, horns pointed. I imagined the beast was ready to charge.
Beneath this was the black marble mantelpiece.
I’m not sure how Helene picked my image out of the crowded bunch of framed pictures. I had to really look to find it. It was toward the center, but flanked by two other frames that almost covered it.
This picture was of Luc and I… when I was sixteen and he was seventeen. I picked it up. In the photo I was wearing a blue dress. He had on jeans and a gray hoodie. I hadn’t expected him to show up that day; in fact he only found out I would be there to get an award at the last minute. I was being honored for a piece in the student newspaper about homeless teens. That had been my first real encouragement that I could become a writer one day if I wanted to.
Luc managed to arrive just in time, and when he did, we both insisted on having a picture taken of us together.
My parents didn’t like it but I was used to their general disapproval of anything I wanted to do. I learned very quickly that my boyfriends would always top the list of people they thought were inappropriate for me to be around.
“I see you made it.”
I knew the voice before I turned around but it was still a shock to see him.
Luc wasn’t either version of him that I knew; he wasn’t the sweet boy with the gold brown hair and awkwardly long limbs I knew in high school. Yet he wasn’t the cool, swaggering singer with the dyed black hair I saw on television either. It didn’t matter. He was still so gorgeous that it was distracting.
I was at a loss of words for a moment. His wide green eyes had the effect of making me forget what I wanted to say.
At least, they used to.
“As it turns out, I didn’t have to find your house,” I said. “Sherry picked me up. She gave me keys.”
I turned my back to return the photo to in its rightful place on the mantelpiece. It gave me a moment to not have to meet his gaze. When I looked up again, he had moved closer.
He crossed his arms over his chest. I noticed the tattoos on his arms. I was used to the tribal one around his right bicep, but there were others that were new, including a cross above his wrist. He had a nice tan, and his cheeks were covered with stubble. It was the light brown color his hair used to be. He was more muscular—he had been a skinny kid in high school. Being fit was a part of the image and he worked out until he had the physique of a Greek god. Girls and guys swooned over the workout videos he posted on Instagram.
“I’ll have to thank her,” he said tonelessly. “I hope you won’t mind that we won’t have very much time.”
“I understand you asked for me specifically,” I said. “And if you want me to do a thorough piece on your career, this is going to take more than a few spare minutes.” I was already getting indignant. If his attitude was that he didn’t want me here, why had he arranged all of this in the first place?
“I did ask for you,” he said, frowning. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. An extra rehearsal was added today. We won’t have much time this afternoon. I didn’t mean in general.”
“Okay, well you could have said that. A hello wouldn’t have killed you either.”
“Sasha,” he said.
“Luc?”
He smiled, and at that moment I hated him for it. His charm was still intact. I reminded myself that I was here for business. I needed to get this story from him and get back to New York.
“I knew you were coming but seeing you is just. Different than I thought.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. What the hell did that mean? That I wasn’t how he remembered? That he remembered me looking different in a bad way? I didn’t like that feeling. Like I was being reduced to a sixteen year old again.
I knew very well that I am a beautiful woman. I have sienna skin and wide brown eyes so dark they look black. I inherited my mother’s round, generous mouth and her hourglass body. There was no reason for me to feel anything but confident.
“How much time do you think you can spare me today?” I asked.
He shifted his weight, pulling his phone from his pocket. “An hour, maybe an hour and a half.”
It shouldn’t have made me feel some type of way that I was just another appointment on his calendar. I should have expected that. There was no reason for me to feel hurt. He was just the subject of an article. Nothing more, nothing less. He had other things to get back to and so did I.
“Well, have a seat,” he waved me towards the monstrosity of a sofa.
I sat down and crossed my legs. I felt myself sink down into the cushions. Luc sat down too, just out of reach. He fidgeted with one of the pillows, running his right hand up and down it as if he were playing notes on a keyboard. This habit was one I hadn’t thought about in years. He was apt to run his fingers across any surface, his mind working on a melody at random times.
I smiled at him. “Some people feel odd if I record them. I can take notes if a recording would make you feel uncomfortable.”
“Really? This includes singers?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “You’d be surprised.”
“You can record me, Sasha. I can’t promise that you can use all of it or that you’ll like all the stuff you hear.”
“Fair enough. You may not like all of my questions either but you’re not entitled to answer anything that hits too close to home. That said, the best interviews, the ones your fans will enjoy, are always the ones where the subject gives the most truthful answer, and not the one you’ve said a thousand times in other magazines or online.”
“What if that is the most honest answer? Truthfulness doesn’t guarantee that it will be interesting.”
“That would mean I need to ask you different questions,” I said. “Apparently too many people are asking you the most obvious ones.”
“You want to make this hard for me?” Luc asked. He put his left arm over the back of the couch. He looked relaxed but under the bravado and false calm I still knew him. After all these years, his posturing was still the shield he used when he wanted to keep people at a distance. I wondered. Did he remember that tactic had never really worked with me?
“My first question,” I said. “Off the record, between you and me. What happened to you the summer you left Los Angeles? After Skye died?”
He blinked. “Why do you want to know? For you or the article?”
“It was the turning point in your career, and it’s part of your life that I never hear about, in any of the previous articles. Everyone knows about Skye. What I never hear about is your relationship and how it affected the band. Or how you managed to deal with what happened in the months after she died.”
He got up, and paced the room. I didn’t bother him. I thought that if he released some of this nervous energy, maybe he would be more ready to talk. When he finally did stop moving, he stared out the window, looking out at the pool.
“I’ll tell you if you want know,” he said, casting a glance at me over his shoulder. “There are parts of the story that have to be off the record. I want some privacy. There’s not a lot that hasn’t been made fodder in the press as it is. I’ll be fair. What I do give you will be a good story.”
I joined him at the window. He was rubbing his chin with his forefinger. The faint worry lines between his eyes were something new.
“How will this work?” I asked. I knew better than to let myself lose control of an interview. I was in his home, on a deadline, and if I weren’t careful he wasn’t going to give me anything at all. What was it that Helene always said? Better to finesse a subject than to walk away empty handed. Allow your client to feel in control of the conversation while you steer them towards the answers you need.
“Let me tell you my story first,” Luc said. “It will make more sense to you if you hear all of it. We’ll talk about how much of it can go into your article later.”
Chapter Two
California, 2008
I knew Sherry all the way back to the first year of high school. We were inseparable back then. I was always making up an excuse to be at her house. It was pure chance that Lucas, her cousin, was staying at her house over the summer that year.
“His parents are getting divorced,” Sherry explained. We were upstairs in her room, smoking cigarettes with the windows open. She didn’t have any siblings but did have a lot of cousins, most of whom lived in town. I knew four of them really well, all girls, but this was the first time a male cousin was getting thrown into the mix. I kept my body slightly turned towards the door, always alert for the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
“He’s going to be living here?” I asked. I frowned. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of some guy that was going to be at my friend’s house every time I came over to see her. Boys usually brought their own friends along. There was a 50/50 chance of that being a very good or a very bad thing.
“This was the cousin who crashed his dad’s car?”
Sherry nodded. “Yeah, that’s him. I’m not even sure if that was accidently on purpose or what.”
I could have said something to that but it wouldn’t have been positive. Fortunately, Sherry kept talking and I didn’t have to reply.
“I mean really, it’s more about my dad helping his brother get his shit together, you know? Luc’s parents are trying to sell their house, and both of them have moved into apartments in the meantime,” she shrugged. “Staying here gives him a little longer to figure out who he wants to live with, I guess. Not like he has long to worry about it. He’s going to be eighteen this time next year, anyway. I think he’ll be happier just being on his own.”
It sounded weird to me. I had known plenty of kids with divorced parents, and when they split the kids resigned themselves to alternate weekends and having rooms at each parent’s new house. I hadn’t heard about anyone having to make a choice. Then again, if you were asked to, maybe it was the kind of thing you just didn’t talk about. My parents were still married and I didn’t know what I would do in that situation.
“I’m thinking he’s going to be out with his friends, he won’t be here most of the time. Just so if you run into him, you already know,” Sherry said.
I did, and it was a few weeks later before I saw him. I had forgotten all about what my friend told me by then.
