Chapter 6

Author’s Note: This is a fairly short, no-sex chapter. Those are rare in this series, but I think you’ll agree with me that what unfolds here warrants it. There is going to be a difficult road ahead for our core group. This is a challenge different from anything else they’ve ever experienced. But I hope you find the journey will be worth it in the end.

We had three days before the Stages Tour moved from Seattle to Chicago, so the girls and I flew home for a couple days of rest and normalcy. We had no idea anything was up until we got a message on our group text with Riley and Henry.

“Check out Spyglass.com,” Riley said.

Under the blaring headline that insinuated Riley was cheating on Henry with me, there was a lengthy story that was pure fiction. Except for one detail. It had my name in it, even if it mis-identified me as the consigliere for Petey’s production company. That was bullshit. And so was the rest of the story, which claimed Riley and I had been seen kissing backstage. It was preposterous just from the standpoint of the smell test. Would Riley, the most famous and photographed popstar in the world, whose every move was tracked nearly in real time, openly cheat while on tour with her longtime boyfriend? It was idiotic.

But the threat was real. Of course, there were crazy things that were going on. Riley and Henry were religious about using NDAs for anyone who was close with them or could witness anything that could hint at the smoke of scandal. Still ... you never know. And the one thing that bothered me was that I had been identified. I was a nobody. I was behind-the-scenes. I was a money guy. I had no interest in getting embroiled in something so public-facing.

It also freaked out my wives, and rightfully so.

“This is an existential threat to our family,” Kat said emphatically.

“I’m really glad we’ve bought all our property in the name of shell companies,” Jess said.

“We should still get a security detail,” Rita said.

We were reeling when the story came out. Then our heads were spinning when TMZ picked it up, which caused it to go viral. Riley’s publicist put out a sharp and unequivocal statement. Riley herself angrily posted to social media. Henry’s publicist and Henry did the same.

“Do you think this is going to kill our friendship?” Rita wondered.

“They’re going to kick me off the tour,” Katie said sadly.

In my bingo card of life, I never had anything remotely approaching this pegged on it. It was such a disarming situation that I didn’t know what to do. I was grappling. I reached out to my lawyer, who suggested it was purely a publicist issue. I didn’t have a publicist. I didn’t want one. I also contacted our usual investigation firm, who said they could make some quiet inquiries about the origins of the story and who might have identified me. And I also called Petey. He was calm and collected.

“It’s a twenty-four hour cycle, man,” he told me. “This is just the flavor of the moment. Any Riley story is big business. Any Henry story is big business. They know what they wrote is bullshit, so they’re not going to get any decent follow-up out of it. Who are they going to talk to? And they know if they push the pure fiction too far, they’re going to have legal trouble. A startup like this rag? They’re going to move onto other stories – just as made up – targeting other big stars. It’s all click bait.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” I told him. “It really does feel like an invasion.”

“Comes with the territory, brother,” Petey said. “You want to party with the rock stars? This shit can happen. A-listers are always subject to it, and sometimes there’s collateral damage. But the best thing is? Just let it run its course. How many stories do you think show up in tabloids about Riley every day? Or Henry? Dozens. Every time she goes out to dinner, someone speculates about whether she farted. It’s stupid, but it’s ephemeral. It’ll be over quickly.”

If only that had been the case.

It was difficult, but based on what Petey had told us, plus being buoyed by positive and supportive messages from Riley and Henry and Juliet and Melanie, we decided to play things cool and normal for the next two days. I had floated the idea of not rejoining the tour in Chicago, but Riley shot down that idea. She said, at the bare minimum, we should wait and see. She had experienced enough tabloid hysteria that she doubted this would do anything but blow over within hours. It was probably the fifth cheating story that had been written about her and Henry in the past six months. People fed on it, even if it was published out of thin air.

But we also agreed it was a good idea for me to lay low. My thoughts were a mess, a thicket of risk and fear. The thing I couldn’t get out of my head was what would happen if the world broke into our little cocoon. Our perverted little cocoon. Our unique peace. It would be disastrous. It would ruin everything. It might be that we’d end up on the run to try to chase that same peace again. One phrase kept running through my head over and over, and it created anguish in my stomach: this could destroy us.

Act natural was the mantra of the day, and I couldn’t help but laugh a little at my newfound understanding at how stupid that cliche was. Fortunately, there was something I could do that would genuinely distract me from the fear, so sudden and welcome, that had intruded on our lives. I sent a text message to London’s aunt, my old college girlfriend at UCLA, Katie.

“Hi, this is John,” I wrote. “London said I should text.”

The girls were supportive. Maybe she wanted some closure. Maybe she just wanted to reconnect. It was a small world, after all, that her niece had been a play thing for me at our bachelor/bachelorette party. That’s the sort of coincidence that might pique someone’s interest.

Whatever my ex-girlfriend Katie’s motivation, it was apparent she had one. Because as soon as the “delivered” appeared below my text, it changed to “read,” and three dots started blinking as she tapped out a reply.

“What a nice surprise!” she wrote. “London said you were in LA, so I thought it could be fun to reconnect. Are you free for lunch? My plans just got canceled. If it’s okay with your, ahem, ladies. Sorry, London told me about your unique situation.”

I showed the girls the text.

“That’s cute!” Kat said.

“She just wants to see what she lost out on,” Jess said with a laugh.

“Go for it, daddy,” Katie said.

Rita just gave me a nod and a smile.

“Where do I meet her, though?” I wondered out loud. “I don’t want to go anywhere in public.”

“Go to Hollywood & Vine,” Jess suggested. “Private, out of the way, but not home. Just to be safe.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” I said.

The others agreed, so I replied to “Old Katie” as I dubbed her on the fly.

“How about one o’clock?” I said and gave her the address. “I’ll buzz you in when you get there.”

“Is that your house?” Old Katie asked.

“No, but somewhere comfortable and safe,” I said with a winky face emoji.

It was already almost noon, so I didn’t have much time to kill. The girls seemed genuinely excited for this meet-up, perhaps because it might give them a window into my past. For my part, I felt a few butterflies, but I was also skeptical. We hadn’t spoken in almost two decades. Why was she so curious about me? Was it really just the coincidence of me crossing paths with London? Or was it something more? I couldn’t deny there was a small part of me that maybe hoped Old Katie felt like I was the one who got away or had some unrequited yearning for me. But that was nothing but a hopeful ego.

The time passed quickly, and I went over to the Hollywood & Vine complex about twenty minutes early. I popped a good bottle of vintage Champagne and poured myself a glass. I drank it and reflected on my past. Old Katie and I hadn’t broken up on bad terms. Things had just run their course – she was a year older than I was and graduated. We stayed in touch for that extra year I was in LA, but then things just took their natural, post-collegiate course.

She arrived ten minutes early, and I couldn’t deny that I felt a little shock of excitement when I buzzed her past the Hollywood & Vine privacy gate. I greeted her at the door, and I instantly felt a little guilty for having dubbed her Old Katie. You couldn’t see anything old about her.

Old Katie still looked like the perky cheerleader I had known in college – five-foot-three, with a solid lower half that was accentuated by a tight pair of black shorts. It showcased her athletic thighs, honey-golden skin, slim legs, and a bubble butt that instantly brought back memories. Five-inch Louboutin stilettos didn’t hurt the look. And her top half? Well, Old Katie was all grown up now. She wore a tight, ribbed pink bodysuit that pushed up breasts that were definitely doctor-installed after her UCLA years. And her face ... it had the same smile, pink lipstick, and white smile that I remembered. Her hair was long and curled for the occasion, not tucked back in a ponytail like I had been used to. And she had a few age lines at the corner of her eyes. But that was it. Otherwise? She had aged so remarkably, it was almost like I had gotten in a time machine and was spit back out on the campus in Westwood.

“Katie, wow,” I said. “You look amazing! Did you stick yourself in a cryo-freeze after college? Jesus.”

She laughed, loud, high-pitched, and vivacious.

“Oh, stop,” Katie said. “I’m an old maid.”

She hugged me warmly, and I could feel her tits were definitely fake. She smelled faintly of expensive perfume.

“Come inside,” I said. “Do you want some Champagne?”

“Hell yeah!” she said, as much pep in her voice as ever.

I poured her a glass, she slid onto one of the backless bar stools.

“What is this place?” Katie said in wonderment. “It’s gorgeous.”

“London may have told you about it,” I said, passing her a glass.

We clinked in cheers, and she took a swig.

“Hollywood and something?” she said. “It’s a sex club, right?”

“You could say that,” I said coyly.

“And your wife owns it, right?” Katie said. “That’s what London said. The one who runs the porn company and the escort agency.”

I was taken aback a bit, probably still feeling the burn of a public spotlight that I didn’t want.

“You seem pretty in the know,” I said.

“London and I are close,” she said. “We have been for a long time. So when all ... that went down last year, you can’t even believe what a crazy shock that was.”

“Trust me, I know,” I said, nodding but felt compelled to change the subject. “So what’s new with you? What are you up to? Obviously, you look amazing. Life must be treating you well!”

“It’s actually pretty amazing, yeah,” Katie said and took a drink. She was composed. Poised. Refined. She still had that cheerleader perma-smile. “I did a little modeling after graduation – you knew that – and then dated a football player after a couple years. Marriage. Quick divorce by the time I was twenty-five, and I had to figure things out.”

“I’m guessing you did,” I said with a smile.

“I did,” she said, beaming. “I’ve been at EMM for fifteen years. I’ve found I have a much better knack being on the management side than the modeling side. And I’m also okay with just losing myself in work. It’s my life.”

“EMM?” I said, repeating the famous model management company. “That’s fantastic. You probably know I’m working a lot with Petey and his production company. They use a lot of talent out of EMM.”

“Oh, I know,” Old Katie said with a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “I haven’t been completely blind to what you’ve been up to. I mean, obviously, the London connection and all. But even before that. I knew you were up to something. I had heard things – you guys were getting more productions going than other companies. That’s always of interest because we can place more talent.”

“I hadn’t ever really thought about the big picture like that,” I said.

Our glasses were empty, so I refilled them. Old Katie continued.

“Anyway, you don’t want to talk shop,” she said. “But work became my life. And it’s been a great one. I can focus on something that’s rewarding. My social life revolves around it. I suppose that’s why it’s so easy to be so work-oriented. There is a massive social aspect to my job. You know I’m the youngest senior vice president ever at EMM? I stripped away anything outside of it.”

“I would have pegged you for wanting something a bit more fun,” I said.

“I have a lot of fun, John,” Old Katie said. “You know me. I can’t have changed that much. After my disaster of a marriage, I decided to forswear dating and put my fun into the same basket as work.”

“Huh,” I said, “that sounds a little risky.”

“Does it?” she said, crossing her legs toward me. “I’ve found the opposite. Being the hard-working girl who’s also into partying and fun has opened a lot of doors for me.”

I smiled at her and shook my head.

“You’re all grown up,” I said.

“Tell me about you,” she said. “I’ve gotten bits and pieces, but I want to know what’s real. I mean, besides your work. I’m not sure I believe everything I’ve heard. London says you have four wives? Come on, John, wives – with an ‘s’ – really?”

I looked at her sheepishly.

“That part is true,” I said.

“Good fucking god,” she said with a long exhale. “How do you manage that? Fuck, no, don’t answer that. I can only imagine. And kids?”