Rock My World Read online

  The piece of home he missed the most was his backyard. Having grown up in apartments and high-rises his whole life, it represented adulthood. To have a backyard meant he was making his own way in the world—not slaving for a landlord or homeowner’s association. Each house on their street was built in a different decade with its owner’s style on full display. He loathed the idea of living in one of those cookie cutter communities where everything looks identical and no one can paint their house or forget to mow their lawn. Maybe it was the adult manifestation of his punk rock rebellion.

  He slid on a pair of well-loved jeans and a white undershirt before heading out to his workroom. He wanted tonight to be perfect. His body craved the heat of the sun and the sweat of manual labor to transport him away from his professional problems and bring him back to where he wanted to be—home.

  ***

  Airika Thomas left Karyn C’s and headed straight to her office. “Good morning, Ms. Thomas,” her assistant, Meg, said handing her a triple soy non-fat decaf sugar-free hazelnut macchiato. “Trevor called from the shoot and says they need more boots because the model is refusing to wear anything made from animal hide.”

  “Who the fuck does she think she is? Naomi-fucking-Campbell?”

  Meg paused before continuing, “Jess says we’re set on Martine’s dress for the Grammys but we need her for a final fitting today. But you also have to go to Malibu to meet with Julia’s niece who is going with the lead singer of Brands of Charlotte, who is slated to win Artist of the Year. Which do you want me to reschedule?”

  “Neither.”

  “You won’t have time for that and the photo shoot,” Meg said, worried.

  Airika rolled her eyes and looked at her assistant with pity.

  “Um, also, Simon had this delivered a while ago. Phazee Crux are doing a behind-the-scenes DVD, and they need you need to sign this waiver.”

  “Call Martine, have her meet me at the office for the fitting. I’ll stop by the photo shoot on my way out to Malibu. And get me Gisele’s selection for Milan so I can stop by while I’m out there. Do you think you can handle that?” Airika snatched the remaining messages from Meg, stomped in to her glass-walled office and slammed the self-closing door behind her, which took its sweet time clicking shut.

  Today was turning into a total disaster, and it wasn’t even lunchtime. What did these dimwits do when she wasn’t here? She stared out her window at the oracle of the Hollywood sign she paid double the rent to look at, hoping it would offer the answers she sought.

  She was leaving on tour in two days. There was too much to do and she didn’t trust her team to keep up with her standards while she was gone. She had to go, though. And before then she needed to convince Jenna to let Felicity appear in the biopic about Shawn. The director fell in love with her from her headshot and offered Airika a producer credit if she could get Felicity Anders for the role, knowing it would lead to a massive boost in press for the film. Felicity approached her months ago saying she wanted to act but that her mom wouldn’t let her audition. Jenna wanted Felicity to stay away from the spotlight until she was at least eighteen, preferably forever. And she didn’t want her own daughter to go around exploiting her famous grandfather.

  Prior to getting knocked up, exploiting her famous daddy was Jenna’s M.O.; but now, in typical parental hypocrisy, she was above that sort of vapid name-dropping. Airika disagreed. She knew the power of fame in this town and intended to build her empire taking full advantage, dropping every name she had in her arsenal, casting the net as wide as possible.

  “Cici Hi,” Airika drawled in her Coolest-Aunt-Ever voice, pacing the floor. She hated leaving messages. “So look, Sweetie. Everyone is excited for your audition tomorrow at four. At this point it’s really just a formality, but we’ll need to get your mom to sign off on it. I’ll keep working on her but maybe you can talk to your dad and get him to help us out with her. Kay? Bisous! Ciao!”

  She hung up and opened a new email from her father’s lawyer, Ira Stearn. Unconsciously she clenched her teeth as she read, her knuckles turning white as she thrashed out a reply on the keyboard.

  She pulled a protein bar out of her fuchsia designer handbag, knocking over her macchiato. “No!” she yelled, grabbing the nearest paper, desperately dabbing in a vain attempt to save her brand new white jeggings.

  “Is everything okay?” Meg asked, gasping in horror at the mud-colored stain oozing down her boss’ leg.

  “No, everything is not okay! Look at this! Uaaggh! Now I’m going to have to go home and change. I’ll be on my cell. Get me Gisele!” Airika grabbed a silk sequined scarf from her office closet and cinched it like a belt, letting it dangle enough to cover the stain. She would die if anyone saw her like this.

  Chapter 3

  Glistening beads of sweat dripping from his forehead, Alex surveyed the wonderland he’d created. The lazy drooping pepper trees dotted with hanging candles, an antique wrought iron park bench below, and the white rose bushes lining the fence led his eye to the crowning jewel of his landscape design: the bridge. It was a little white bridge, simple enough, but in order to shape it, he’d spent time with an old boat maker learning how to curve the wood into neat little arcs, like the upside down hull of a boat. It was a near perfect replica of Jenna’s drawing of the bridge where they first kissed. It looked over a small waterfall that wound down into a babbling brook, snaking around the oasis-like garden.

  Paper lanterns were strung like a canopy and candles flickered on lily pads, giving off a magical glow. He installed rock-shaped speakers to blend into the surroundings for the reveal of a song he’d written seventeen years ago, but never before played for her.

  He regretted the way they got married, and even worse, his proposal—or lack thereof. He hadn’t been the best boyfriend (for which Jenna was all too forgiving) but he could have at least given her a proper proposal. Instead, while their parents sat them down, deciding what to do with them and their compromised futures, Alex blurted out, “We’re getting married!” It had the desired effect: shutting their parents up. But Jenna didn’t say a word. She looked down, hands on her stomach, silent.

  When everyone finally settled down and came to terms with their impending parenthood, they went to the courthouse and signed the papers. That was it. All it took to become man and wife. It was quite possibly the least romantic proposal and wedding of all time, despite being on Valentine’s Day.

  That’s why tonight was so important to him. He could finally give her the proposal she deserved, having realized the success they’d both worked so hard for. He intended to make up for everything he hadn’t been able to give her all these years and get that sad image of her with her hands on her belly to stop haunting him.

  ***

  Jenna strolled along the newly cobbled courtyard, its equidistant palm trees strewn with fairy lights. Lampposts draped with hanging flowers lent a vaguely European feel to the outdoor mall. She loved shopping for so many reasons, but her favorite thing was looking at window displays. Perfect mannequins dressed for every occasion transported her to alternate realities: a romantic gondola ride through Venice; a group of four best friends out for a fashion forward night at the trendiest hotspot you’ve never heard of; a single woman of eccentric yet chic taste, clearly in control of everything in her life. Each window promised that anyone could become an entirely new person if they only dressed the part.

  The way the monochromatic whites played off the textures of colorful displays and bold accessories stirred in her a longing to be this store. In her next Zen meditation session, this would be her happy place, she thought as she perused rack after rack of bizarre accessories. On their own, they could look gaudy or garish, but paired just so, they evoked an image of a woman whose confidence allowed her to play with fashion, utterly unconcerned with labels and seasons of acceptability. She could be anywhere in the world, equally happy on her own or with a lover or friend. Jenna wished she could be her.

  “May I help you?”
a teenage salesgirl asked. Jenna smiled, reflexively about to refuse. Instead, she found herself saying, “This store is incredible! Do you sell shoes too?”

  The young sales girl, glancing from head to toe at Jenna’s haute couture ensemble, raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Yes, the shoes are in that corner back there,” she said pointing to the other side of the store. “Let me know if you need help with sizes.”

  “Thanks! You know … I’m not crazy. I just don’t get out much.” She said, feeling ridiculous to be swooning like a crazed love-struck schoolgirl.

  She found the perfect pair of kitten heels to go with the dress she’d picked out; a large multi-stoned jeweled bangle to go with an almost-but-not-quite-matching pair of earrings; a too warm but amazing pea coat; and finally, a tiered chiffon dress perfect or Felicity. The way the fraying mismatched fabrics fell together into a soft silhouette seemed perfect for her daughter, who was anything but a “girly girl.” Felicity hated when Jenna bought her clothes, claiming that she was trying to “impose an antiquated anti-feminist ideal” onto her. Those were her actual words. Where that vocabulary came from, Jenna would never know. Never mind. She would look amazing in this dress! Jenna thought as the salesgirl rung it up, folding it neatly into sheets of ivory tissue paper.

  Outside the store, the velvety blue sky warmed her skin, which tingled with excitement at the mere thought that the day (and night) could get any better. A text from Airika ripped her from her reverie. “Beta Sushi, 10 mins.” It read. Uh-oh, what happened now, Jenna worried.

  Chapter 4

  Twelve minutes later, Jenna pulled into the forgotten strip mall now occupied by the nondescript offices of an accountant, a travel agency and a second-hand sports equipment store. Beta Sushi was the only restaurant, and from the outside looked as though the health department should have shut it down long ago. It was dark and dingy and they served the best sushi in town. And it provided an anonymous low-light environment to bitch about major problems in the middle of the day. No self-respecting socialite, celebrity or professional would ever come here.

  Jenna grabbed their booth at the back, tossed her packages on the seat next to her and waited, ordering their usual starter: sake and a rainbow roll. Ten minutes later Airika whirled in, layered straight blonde hair trailing her like a lightning bolt.

  “Oh. My. God. You are never going to believe the morning I’ve had!” Airika said, plopping down across from her, taking a shot of sake. Jenna pushed half the rainbow roll across the table and waited. Airika ignored the food and launched straight in.

  “So, I had a fitting with Martine for this afternoon, right? Huge, huge star who is going to win, like, all the Grammys and wear the clothes to every important after-party? So I’m getting ready when I get an email from my dad’s lawyer saying he’s being sued by my client. ‘Fine,’ I say, ‘why is that any of my business?’ He informs me that Martine’s mom is suing him for malpractice! Uaargh!! And now she’s going to ask me about it when I see her and I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell her. Can you believe it? He’s fucking up my career from 3,000 miles away! Who needs plastic surgery in Florida anyway? Who are they trying to impress, the Grim Reaper?”

  With pitiable timing, the waiter appeared at the table. Airika glared at him. Jenna took pity and waved to the empty sake, indicating another round. He nodded and escaped without a word.

  “Oh no,” Jenna said, finishing off her half of rainbow roll. Airika fumed across the table and Jenna raised her eyebrows questioningly. Airika nodded in an as-if-I-can-eat-anything-at-a-time-like-this way before shoving the untouched plate across to Jenna, pouring the rest of the sake for herself. Jenna carefully navigated the minefield of Airika’s emotional state. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m gonna throw him under the bus, if she asks. She’s been better to me than he ever was. But I’m sure as hell not going to bring it up if she doesn’t. This is why I changed my name in the first place.”

  When Airika was still Erica, her father, plastic surgeon to the stars, kept his family living in luxury. They lived in the most exclusive Malibu neighborhoods, updated their Porsches annually, vacationed at St. Barths, and enjoyed all the perks of stardom, albeit behind the scenes. In an unfortunate drunken moment, he once bragged to a hot young starlet he was lusting after the name of an A-list celebrity he worked on, hoping to impress her enough to sleep with him. Not only didn’t it work out for him that night, but once word of his “indiscretion” got out, she, along with the entire female population of Los Angeles, ran him out of town.

  Erica’s mother, forced to downsize her life, reverted to her maiden name, Thomas. Erica took it a step further, re-spelling her first name too. The philandering husband wasn’t exactly a shame-worthy story, but sabotaging a celebrity career for a hot lay was an unthinkable character flaw, obviously extending to his spouse as well. The socialites excommunicated her, shaming her into hiding. It was like something out of an Austen novel, with prettier people and uglier language. She never recovered. Though her parents remained married (he was still loaded, after all) they never saw each other again. The only contact she and her brother Zach had was an obligatory visit once a year during Christmas break.

  “Maybe she won’t know he’s your dad? Then you don’t have to throw anyone under the bus,” Jenna said. Airika’s mouth tightened. Jenna hurried to placate her friend. “Or maybe you can ask your dad to apologize?”

  Airika rolled her eyes.

  Jenna sighed and said, “Last time you fought with your dad he blocked your trust fund. For six months. Do you really want to do that again?”

  “What? How can you, of all people, say that? It’s my money, not charity! I’ve been supporting myself since I was seventeen, unlike some people.”

  “That’s not what I…Sorry I said anything.” Jenna said, throwing up her hands in surrender and blushing at the pointed critique.

  The waiter took advantage of the silence between them to bring their sake and quickly scampered off. Jenna poured some for Airika, who pouted but drank it.

  “And what about Cannes? Alex told me that was a huge success for you.” Jenna said to change the subject.

  “It was,” Airika softened and told her all about her clients being on best-dressed lists and who was secretly dating whom and how her calendar was now booked through the rest of the year. She even took a bite off Jenna’s plate, relaxing into a gossipy escape.

  “And how about your love life? Anyone new on tour? Simon?” Jenna asked, playful once again. Airika had never been in a relationship, preferring a long string of one-night stands. Jenna wished she’d find someone who could change her mind, sure that it would soften the hardened edges of her personality.

  Simon was Alex’s manager and a little gruff on the outside, but a loyal teddy bear on the inside. He was as ambitious as Airika and came from a similar background, albeit the British version. Jenna knew he wasn’t as handsome as Airika liked her men, but cute in his own way and she suspected Airika wouldn’t mind being the prettier half of the relationship.

  Excitement flickered across Airika’s face momentarily, giving way to a bored shaking of her head.

  “I wish you’d just open yourself up to the idea of it. You could be so happy. I know it.” Jenna said.

  “You just don’t get it, Jenna. I don’t want a relationship. I don’t need a man like you do. And not everyone’s life is a fairytale. Stop throwing it in my face,” Airika said, getting up from the table, a blur of blonde fleeing the dark room.

  Jenna sighed, wishing she hadn’t said anything and paid the check before she left. She’d have to wait until tomorrow night to let Airika cool down. She’d always been hot-headed but that seemed excessive, even for her.

  Jenna wondered what it would be like if Airika could just meet the right guy. Someone she actually cared about and wanted to plan a life with. Someone like Simon would be good for her. Of course, she probably wouldn’t give him a chance because dating him wouldn’t carry
any cache. But maybe, if she just let herself, she’d discover what a lovable person she was through his eyes.

  Before her dad left, Jenna thought Airika had a crush on one of Zach’s friends. She never found out whom, but she saw a softer side during that time, proving to Jenna it was possible. Unfortunately, that person making a comeback was probably less likely than Felicity wearing the dress Jenna just bought for her.

  Nothing could be gained by worrying about it now. Jenna, determined not to lose her pre-anniversary high, headed for her next fix: the farmer’s market. Cooking provided her a daily escape.

  That first scent of olive oil and garlic in a pan soothed her mind while whetting her appetite. She chose vegetables in contrasting colors—carrots, bell peppers, spinach, onion— to aesthetically satisfy her palette. She finished off with the earthy smell of freshly baked ciabatta, warm and soft in the center but still crunchy outside. She relished the challenge of timing it so the smells and textures drew the family in from whatever they were doing, sitting down to eat around the same table. It tricked her wheel-spinning brain into relaxing into the rhythm of the water boiling on the stove. She felt better already.

  An hour later, she carefully balanced wine in one hand, an over-stuffed cloth bag weighed down by groceries in the other, and locked the car while struggling to find her house key. She pushed the door open with her hip, backing into her beloved living room. Then she turned around. Her world, like her fresh-from-the-farm groceries, fell to the floor and shattered, there, in that very instant.

  Chapter 5

  Stunned? Furious? Abject horror? There were no words to articulate what she saw. How would Ms. Manners have reacted to the sight of her husband and best friend kissing in her home, her sanctuary? The unholy cruelty of it was more than Jenna could process. She spun around and ran as fast as she could. Keys still in hand, she jumped in the car and sped off.