Wendy couldn’t imagine this. The tabloids were her life. But it was probably best that Lorelei didn’t read them. That way, Wendy could interpret them for her and tell her when to worry and when not to worry. Though Lorelei didn’t seem like much of a worrier.
Wendy explained, “If your ass looks good, the photo will run with an article about how out-of-control you are. That’s exactly what we don’t want when the awards show is watching you and thinking about firing you because they don’t trust you, and concertgoers are weighing the probability that you’ll go into a tailspin and cancel your tour after they’ve already bought a ticket. However, if your ass looks bad, the photo will run with lots of other photos of stars’ asses and an article about cellulite. That would be worse.”
Lorelei nodded. “You want me to moon you guys? Hell, I don’t have to go to the bathroom and moon you in private. I’m not ashamed of my body.” She stepped up on the coffee table and unfastened her jeans.
“That isn’t necessary,” Wendy said, to no effect. “It’s better if you’re elevated, is it?”
Sarcasm was no deterrent. Lorelei wiggled to loosen the waistband of her jeans, then shoved them down, bending over. Daniel sauntered from his corner and crossed behind the sofa for the view.
“See?” Colton said. “This is how she is.”
It certainly was. Lorelei had a dragon tattooed on her ass. Not a dragon in profile that started on one ass cheek and extended to the other, either. It was the head of a dragon with its snout coming forward, one nostril on each buttock. She had gone full dragon.
“Satisfied?” Lorelei called between her legs.
“Yep,” Wendy, Daniel, and Colton all said at once.
Daniel bent to speak in Wendy’s ear. “We’re toast,” he understated. He took up his post at the window again as Lorelei buttoned her jeans and plopped down on the sofa beside Colton.
“So . . . ” Wendy wasn’t often at a loss for words, but it was hard to find a segue after what they’d all seen. The plan she’d been about to explain melted away. Lorelei’s rump kept marching across her vision, clad only in its imaginary serpent. Maybe it really would be better if Wendy lost her job, because this did not qualify as actual work.
She felt the dark mountains of West Virginia crouching over her.
“What’s the matter, Wendy?” Lorelei asked. “You look sick all of a sudden. You’ve never seen a tattoo on somebody’s naked booty before?”
“Excuse me just a minute,” Wendy said to the tunnel vision infiltrating the afterimage of Lorelei’s bottom. She stood up too fast, forgetting her head injury. Dizziness rushed upward. She stood very still, pretending to look out on the vista of Las Vegas but actually waiting to regain her balance.
Daniel was at her side, holding her up by the elbow. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Just give me a minute.” She swayed on her way to the restroom, where she leaned heavily on the door as she closed it, then felt her way to the toilet and collapsed on the shut lid with her head between her knees.
She thought about her father, always talking about escaping work at the coal mine, and then, when he broke free because he was laid off, utterly unable to hold a job doing anything else. He finally took the first coal mining job he could find and died there a week later in a massive tunnel collapse, no air pockets, no saving grace, no lives spared.
She wiped her hair away from her clammy forehead before remembering with a start that the ink in her palm, Daniel’s room number, hadn’t disappeared during her bath. She didn’t want his number smeared across her forehead. She did want to keep it in her hand. The 7 had a horizontal line through the middle as the Europeans wrote it, something he must have picked up from his father.
Out in the suite she heard him say almost apologetically, “She’s missed a lot of sleep.”
“Maybe you should leave her alone at night,” Colton said.
“Maybe you should shut the f**k up,” Daniel said.
It was Daniel’s voice that propelled her up from the toilet with a final shake of her head. The talk with Lorelei and Colton had been going well. She needed to get back out there before male egos ruined everything. She glanced in the mirror and wished she hadn’t—she looked ashen and ill, which would not help her save her job—and went back out into the suite.
Daniel was waiting for her at the bar. He handed her a glass of ice water. “Want me to be good cop for a while?” he whispered.
She glanced dubiously at his expressionless face. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Me neither.”
“I’m better. I just needed a moment. Let’s do this thing.” She swept back into the room on her high-heeled boots and settled on the chair again like she’d taken a phone call instead of nearly passing out on the toilet.
“Lorelei,” she began again, “I’m here because you asked for me. Colton, Daniel is here because you’d driven your talent agent to the brink of suicide. We’ve told you both to stop slandering each other online. You haven’t complied, and this morning Daniel and I got calls from the awards show, wanting you replaced. We’ve talked them down, for now. But the photo is out there.” She turned to Colton. “And the tabloids are reporting that you upset Lorelei so much that she mooned you. Daniel and I can’t work magic, but we’ve thought of a way to mitigate the damage. You two need to get back together.”
“No way!” Lorelei yelled.
“Screw that.” Colton’s words were harsher than Lorelei’s, but his tone lacked her conviction.
Wendy explained that Colton and Lorelei wouldn’t really get back together. They would only fake it, and fake it well, at least through the awards show Friday night, and possibly until after Colton had snagged his movie audition and Lorelei had started her concert tour.
“But here’s the thing,” Wendy said. “We told you two to lay off each other and mind your manners, and you didn’t do it. This time you must do it. Daniel and I are releasing to the press that you’re together. If you prove us wrong, you’re not just threatening your own careers anymore. You’re threatening our professional reputations.”
“You tell the press lies about the stars all the time,” Lorelei protested. “Don’t you?”
“Yes,” Wendy acknowledged, “but we don’t admit it. Now, to ensure that we don’t have another public meltdown, I want us to have a conversation about your relationship.” She made her voice soothing, which was something of a stretch, especially since her head was aching. “You dated for three years. You both enjoyed the height of your popularity during that time. You never once broke up. What happened last month?”