[Dalyia]

9



ADAM PICKED CHARLIE UP IN A RIDICULOUSLY LONG limousine on his way to the concert. One of his most important clients was singing. The whole concert tour had been an agony for him, and the contracts relating to it a nightmare to negotiate, but now that the big night had come, he was in great spirits. The star herself was one of the most important artists in the country, if not the world. Vana. A single word. A singular woman. They had booked her into Madison Square Garden, and every screaming teenager would be there, along with every groupie, weirdo, and adult rock-and-roll fan in New York. It wasn't the kind of event Charlie went to often, but Adam had convinced him it would be fun and said he had to go.
Scalpers were selling seats at four and five thousand dollars a ticket. People had stood on line for two or three days to buy them when the box office opened. It was the hottest show of the year, and Adam had warned Charlie to wear jeans. He didn't want him showing up in a suit, and getting the shit kicked out of him. He had enough to worry about that night, without worrying about him. And of course, Adam not only had backstage passes but front-row seats. It was a night no one would forget. He just hoped everything would go smoothly. All three of his cell phones kept going off all at once as they rode to Madison Square Garden. He couldn't even talk to Charlie until they were halfway there. He had gesticulated hello to him, and poured himself a drink in the limo, as they stopped at a red light.
“Jesus, and my doctor wonders why my blood pressure is so high,” he finally said, grinning at Charlie, who was vastly amused by his antics. Listening to Adam scream at everyone who called him was half the fun. “This business is going to kill me. What's happening with Gray? Is he okay? He never calls me.” But then again, with the insanity of Vana coming to town and performing at the Garden, he hadn't had time to call him either. Adam said he was up to his ears in concert shit.
“He's fine,” Charlie said cryptically, and then decided to tell him. “Actually, he's in love.”
“Yeah, sure. I'll bet he is. Where'd he find her? Coming out of rehab or an institution?” Adam laughed as he finished his drink, and Charlie grinned.
“Portofino,” Charlie said, looking smug, and ever more amused. Adam was never going to believe it, and at first neither had he. He was still getting used to the idea himself.
“What, Portofino?” He was looking stressed beyond belief and totally distracted. One of his assistants had just called him to say that Vana's hairdresser hadn't shown up with her wigs, and she was having a fit. They were rushing someone to her hotel to pick them up, but they might have to start late. It was all he needed. The unions would go nuts if they ran late, although they always did. He wasn't producing the show, but if she violated her contract, there would be endless lawsuits. He was there to protect her from herself. Vana was famous for walking right off the stage.
“Gray met her in Portofino,” Charlie said quietly, as Adam stared at him.
“Met who in Portofino?” He looked blank, and Charlie laughed at him. This was no time to be discussing Gray's love life, but it was something to talk about, as they sat in traffic and Adam fumed. He wanted to get to Vana before she did something illegal, insane, or quit.
“The woman Gray's in love with,” Charlie continued. “He says he's staying with her, not living with her, staying with her. I gather that's not the same thing.”
“Of course it isn't,” Adam said, sounding irritable. “Staying with her means he's too tired to get out of bed after he makes love to her, which is probably just due to laziness and age. Living with her is a commitment he'd be a fool to make. He can get just as much out of her, and have a better sex life, if he just stays with her. Once he lives with her, it's all over. He'll be taking the garbage out, picking her dry cleaning up, and cooking for her.”
“I don't know about the dry cleaning and the garbage, but he's cooking for her.”
“He's insane. If he's only staying with her, he doesn't have a closet or a key. And he can't answer the phone. Does he have a key?”
“I forgot to ask.” Charlie was laughing by then. Adam looked like he was going to have a nervous breakdown while they waited for the light to change. Talking about Gray at least distracted him. And Charlie was fascinated to hear the rules, according to Adam. There seemed to be a whole list of things that translated to what one's status was. Charlie had never qualified for most of them, though once he'd had a key.
“Who the hell is she?”
“Sylvia Reynolds, the art dealer we met in Portofino. Apparently, Gray got closer to her than we realized, while you were chasing her niece.”
“Oh Jesus, the girl with the face of an angel and the brain like Albert Einstein. You can never get girls like that into bed, they talk you to death and you die of old age trying to get into their knickers. She had great legs, as I recall,” Adam said regretfully. He always missed the ones that got away. The ones that didn't faded for him in a day.
“The niece had great legs?” Charlie asked, trying to remember. All he could recall now was her face.
“No, Sylvia. The art dealer. What the hell is she doing with Gray?”
“She could do a lot worse,” Charlie said loyally, and Adam agreed. “He's crazy about her, I hope she's as crazy about him as he thinks she is. But if she's eating his goulash, maybe she is.” He didn't tell Adam how upset he'd been when Gray first told him about it over lunch at the Yacht Club. It had been a momentary lapse that still embarrassed him, remembering his own lack of grace. Gray seemed to have gotten over it, and hearing that Gray was “staying” with Sylvia didn't seem to bother Adam a bit. He had other, more important things on his mind that night, like Vana walking off the stage if they didn't find her wigs. The lawsuits that would generate, given the size and importance of the concert, would keep him busy for the next ten years.
“It won't last long,” Adam commented about Gray's new romance. “She's too normal. He'll be tired of her in a week.”
“He doesn't seem to think so. He says that's why he likes her, and he doesn't want to die alone.”
“Is he sick?” At that, Adam looked genuinely worried, and Charlie shook his head.
“Just thinking about his life, I guess. He leads a pretty solitary life, when he's painting. She got him into a terrific gallery, so I guess this isn't entirely a bad thing.”
“Maybe it's more serious than we think, if she's doing things like that for him. I'd better call him. We don't want him going off the deep end over a great pair of legs.” Adam started to look worried again, as Charlie shook his head.
“From the sound of it, he already did. We'll have to watch how this one plays out,” Charlie said cautiously, as they pulled up to Madison Square Garden in the long black limousine. Charlie couldn't believe the crowds. It took them nearly twenty minutes to push their way in, with the help of the police. There were two plainclothes cops waiting to take them to their seats.
Adam disappeared to check on things backstage, as soon as they found their seats. Charlie said he'd be fine, and sat watching the crowds swirling around him. And as he did, he noticed a pretty blond girl in the shortest skirt he'd ever seen. Her hair was long and teased. She was wearing high-heeled black leather boots, and a bright red leather jacket. She was wearing a lot of makeup and looked about seventeen. She asked him politely if there was anyone sitting in the empty seat, and he said there was. With that, she disappeared. He saw her again a few minutes later, speaking to someone else. He had the feeling she was cruising the theater, looking for a place to sit, and eventually she came back to him.
“Are you sure there's someone sitting there?” she asked somewhat doggedly. He could see that she was older than he had first estimated, but not much, she was a striking-looking girl, and she had an incredible figure, most of which seemed to be straining at the seams of a black see-through blouse that gave him a generous view of her voluptuous curves. She would have looked like a hooker if there hadn't been something so innocent about her face.
“Yes, I'm sure,” Charlie assured her again that the seat was occupied. “My friend just went backstage.”
“Oh my God!” she said with an incredulous look. “Does your friend know Vana?” She said it as though asking if he knew God, and Charlie smiled at her and nodded.
“He works for her. More or less.”
“Do you mind if I sit down until he gets back?” she asked, and he wondered if she was cruising him, but he didn't think so. She was far more interested in meeting Adam, once she knew he was backstage. “My ticket is in the back row, and I can't see anything. I just thought I'd see if there were any empty seats up here, but I guess not. I waited on line for mine for two days. I brought a sleeping bag and camped out. My friend and I took turns.” He nodded, looking slightly dumbfounded as she sat down next to him. She looked no worse than the rest of the crowd, although she would have stood out like a sore thumb almost anywhere else. She looked like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman before Richard Gere transformed her on Rodeo Drive, and she had the same kind of breathtaking good looks. The outfit she was wearing was pretty breathtaking too, especially the boots, which had six-inch heels, and went well over her knees. Her skirt was barely decent, and the blouse would have blown from here to kingdom come if she sneezed. It was quite a look. But it seemed to work for her.
Charlie couldn't help wondering what she looked like without the makeup, with her hair pulled back, in a clean pair of jeans. Probably even more striking than she did. He wondered if she was some kind of model, or an aspiring actress, but he was cautious about talking to her. He didn't want to encourage her to stay. She was perched on the edge of Adam's seat, and he looked stunned when he returned. He thought Charlie had picked her up, and he was impressed. He didn't think he had it in him to pursue a girl like her, in five minutes or less.
“They found her wigs. Her hairdresser was drunk off her ass in the hotel. But they got her someone else. Whoever got her saved the day,” Adam explained, and looked with interest and confusion at the girl sitting in his seat. “Is there some reason why you're sitting here?” he asked her bluntly. “Have we met?” He couldn't help looking straight into her blouse, and then up at the perfect face. She was a knockout-looking girl, and just his type, on a lucky day.
“Not yet.” She smiled at him. “My seat sucks. I was just talking to your friend. He says you work for Vana. I bet that's cool.” She was all goo-goo eyes and hero worship as she smiled at him.
“Sometimes it's cool. Tonight it wasn't so cool.” Vana had been threatening to walk out when he got backstage. And then she calmed down when they found her wigs and someone else's hairdresser, but he didn't bother to try and explain it to this girl. He wasn't sure she would have understood. He assumed her IQ was questionable, but he thought her tits were great. IQ was never a huge issue for him. He preferred tits to brains, ever since Rachel. “Look, I hate to bother you, and I'd love to sit here and talk to you, but she's going to start in about five minutes, after they do her hair. You'd better go back to your seat.” The girl in the denim miniskirt and black patent-leather boots looked like she was going to burst into tears. Adam looked exasperated, but there was nothing he could do for her. There were no empty seats, and then he had an idea. He had no clue as to why he was helping her, and he figured he'd probably regret it, but he grabbed her arm, pulled her out of the seat, and beckoned her to come with him. “If you promise to behave yourself, I can get you a seat on the stage.” They always saved a few in case someone unexpected turned up.