Over It (The Kiss Off #2) (7 page)

"How long's it been since you saw Ty, Poppy?" Nikki asked.

It had been six weeks. A whole month and a half. "Long," I replied, "Too. Freaking. Long."

At the sign for Grosvenor Point, Hamish crossed the barely moving traffic and we drove through palm tree–lined parkland which soon became a golf course and country club followed by mansions set well back from the road behind guarded gates.

Fancy. These people probably hated Bay Fest and the hippies, hipsters, emos and urban types with their full beards, ray bans and skinny jeans that flocked to the area. They weren't even safe five miles away to drink champagne cocktails with breakfast at the five star restaurant in the Burlington Grand as the music acts being put up there were often more straggly and homeless–looking than their fans. Not Academy of Lies, but some of them.

The Burlington Grand Hotel stood out like a beacon. It was atop the slow rise of a palm tree–lined street, with a backlit aqua logo on a gleaming white, window–filled building. Ty's current home away from home.

Not too shabby.

As we pulled into the parking lot, we sat in silence at the number of vehicles and people milling around the lot.

"Well this is intense," Nikki said.

“Agreed.”

We rolled slowly by the media vans topped with satellite dishes and the makeup artists brushing powder onto music journalists' faces, their makeup kits propped onto the hood of the junker that sat beside them.

A camera guy leaned against the wall eating a sandwich, while talking with a sound woman, headphones around her neck and boom microphone held loosely toward the pavement.

"Ty said there was a press junket going on,” I said, whatever that meant. “It’s press day. Or is this normal?"

“You tell me,” Hamish said.

There was a small crowd of teenagers holding magazines, markers and camera phones gathered off to the right of the front door, supervised by a couple of barrel–chested men in black with white, curly wires running from their ears into the backs of their tee shirts. Heavy–duty security, by the looks of it. The fans didn't care. They were mostly peering inside at the lobby and waving and squealing with excitement at whatever – or whoever – they could see there. My heart triple–beat when I spotted a handful of guys standing by a car parked in the disabled spot. Two of them leaned casually against the car, their cameras dangling around their necks.

Paparazzi. Brilliant, just what I needed. The last pap had given up on me, officially declaring the story of Poppy Douglas dead, about a month ago. It had been four blissful weeks in which I could leave the house and not worry that someone was attempting to take an unflattering picture. I mean, they did – stalker–like shots by locals ended up on internet fan sites, in forums and on Facebook, and there was even a YouTube video collage full of photos of me at school, out shopping, walking the dog and helping Dad with the groceries – but it was nothing the media felt worth running with.

I was officially old news. And why was that? Because I hadn't been seen with Ty in forever.

But here I was.

I dialled Ty, but it went to voicemail.

Hamish pulled the car into a spot in the back of the lot, wrenched up the hand brake and turned to me.

"This is rather exciting, isn't it?"

"No," I said. I dialled again but it went to voicemail.
Again
. "No, it's not."

"Yeah, we've been through this before," Mads said.

Nikki agreed. Mads shot her a look that hovered between hostility and what the fuck? Because Nikki hadn’t been through it before. We’d been on the outs last time around.

"Do you think they're
all
staying here?" Hamish said.

"What would you know about it?" Mads demanded of Nikki, ignoring Hamish altogether.

Oh jeez.

"Hey – I didn't get it as bad as Poppy, but there was one particular reporter that was sure he was going to get a scoop out of Cam and me. He was so...persistent. And annoying. And always there," she said.

I'd had no idea. Maybe that's why she said those things in the paper, because they'd worn her down so much she gave them a doozy of a quote just so they’d leave her alone.

Nikki turned the look back on Mads. "Did
you
get stalked by a member of the press? I don't think so."

"That would make sense, right?" Hamish said, ignoring Mads and Nikki right back. "That all the bands are staying here? I bet My Beach House are in there right now. They're freaking killer."

Mads opened her mouth to speak but I beat her to it. "Don't even start, Mads." I glared at my cell and wondered whether I should try calling again.

"He's not answering," I said. I opened up a new text and my fingers hovered over the touch screen, at a loss as to what to say.

"Holy shit, was that Brenton Keller?" Hamish said. He jumped out of the car and shaded his eyes, staring toward the hotel.

"Who?" Mads said. A fan screamed and the paparazzi scurried forward and snapped a couple of pictures, the guy waved before climbing into the back of a nearby SUV.

"It was. It was Brenton Keller. From Fat Bottomed Girls. This is awesome!" Hamish said. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and ran a hand back and forth through his hair,  making it stand on end. That was the Hamish I knew. Full to the brim with nervous energy. His man–about–campus facade was slipping.

Mads cupped her hand around her mouth so he wouldn't see – not that he was paying any attention to her anyway – and mouthed, "So
cute
!"

Sigh.

I looked back at my cell and as if he had read my mind, the screen changed and declared 'Ty Calling'.

"Poppy?" he said.

"Hey, we're here, what's going on in there? There's press everywhere."

"Yeah, it's media day at casa de Lies," he said. "And everyone else. Come to the door. I'll tell Barry to let you in."

"Barry?"

"He's the big dude out front with the Spiderman tee shirt."

I squinted toward the front door and the two security guards again. "Neither of them are wearing Spiderman tee shirts," I said.

"No he is, trust me. I'll get word."

"Okay," I said. "There's four of us."

"Oh? Who's with you?"

"Mads, Nikki and Hamish."

He was silent for a moment. “And who’s Hamish exactly?”

"My cousin. And," I cringed, "chaperone."

"Interesting group you’ve got there. I'll let them know."

And with that, the line went dead.

"What'd he say?" Nikki asked.

I took a deep breath, watching the journos, fans and paps hovering around the front door. Oh boy. "He said we can go in now."

I climbed out of the car, walked around to Hamish, ripped his sunglasses from his face and slipped them over my eyes.

"Hat," I said, "give me a hat."

Nikki and Mads swivelled in the back seat and rummaged through our bags for anything.

"Here," Mads tossed me a straw panama hat and I shoved it onto my head.

"Well?"

They all stared at me. "Are you going for inconspicuous?" Nikki asked.

"Yes."

"Oh."

"What? What's wrong with it?"

"Dude," Hamish said, shaking his head. "That's celebrity inconspic. Even I know this."

"What do you mean?"

"If you painted your skin green you'd be MORE inconspicuous than that," Mads said.

That didn't even make sense. "What
exactly
is your definition of inconspicuous?" I said.

"Lose the hat," Nikki said. "The hat is like a freaking spotlight. Just the glasses and you're normal anonymous."

She grabbed the hat and dropped it at her feet.

"I don't know, really?" I said. I felt kind of naked without the hat. Exposed. Just a pair of shades wasn't exactly a covert disguise. I didn't want to walk through all those music journalists who had done their research – or hell, had simply watched TV in the last two months – realizing who was walking by.

I definitely didn't want the photographers realizing.

"Trust me," Nikki said, nodding earnestly.

"Oh God." I buried my head in my hands for a second. My stomach fluttered again. I wished it would stop doing that. "Okay.
Okay
. Let's do this."

Mads and Nikki jumped out of the car and we walked casually past the media vans and makeup artists giving their VJs and journalists a touch up before they went inside. I noticed red lanyards around just about every neck with Bay Fest Press passes attached. My neck felt conspicuously empty.

One of the paparazzos leaning against the hotel's side wall, sucking on a cigarette turned his attention to us, watching us casually as we ascended the short flight of concrete steps to the front door, the fans and beefy security guards.

Hamish gave the closest guard a nod and said, "Hey, man."

"Can I help you?" he said.

"We're here to see someone," I mumbled, flicking my glance toward the fans. The front ones listened closely.

"Name?"

"Tyler Madigan," I mumbled quietly.

"Oh my God, you know Ty?" the front two girls started screaming and jumping up and down, which set off a chain reaction in the huddle of fans. The group shouldered each other closer and I scurried a couple of steps back, closer to the guard.

"Are you on the list?"

"You’re not Barry, are you,” I said. “I don't know, he just told me-"

"Poppy?"

It was an automatic reaction. I shouldn't have done it, but I turned around. At my confirmation, the paparazzo who had called my name pushed himself off the wall and tossed his cigarette in a bush while raising his camera to his face.

It hadn't even been a second or two before flashes were going off and the photographers scrambled closer.

Hamish, Nikki and Mads tensed, looking around as heads turned in our direction.

"It's Poppy Douglas! It's Poppy Douglas!" the same girl started screaming my name and half a dozen camera phones were shoved in my face. “I love you!”

"This is bad," Mads said.

This caught the journalists attention and red lights flicked on on DVR cameras and they closed in like a swarm of deadly bees.

Oh crap.

"Poppy!"

"Poppy!"

"Poppy!"

The security guard shifted from foot to foot uncertainly. "Uh, Miss?"

"Barry, she's okay!" My heart leapt with gratitude at the sight of Ty in the lobby. He waved us forward. "Let them through, man!"

With that, Barry stepped aside while the other guy held out his arms against the media and fans, and I, Hamish, Nikki and Mads slipped into the air conditioned comfort of the Burlington Grand Hotel.

"That wasn't so bad," Mads said, glancing over her shoulder at the now crowded doorway.

My heart was thumping against my rib cage. "Could have been worse," I agreed.

"It could have been worse than that?" Hamish asked, straightening his tee shirt, clearly ruffled by the whole experience.

"Uh yeah," Mads said, "it really could have."

At least it was over.

“Do you think we’ll be in the paper?” Hamish asked.

I shrugged. I didn’t want to think about it. “More likely we’ll be in a super fan’s scrapbook until the end of time,” I said.

“Really?” Mads said. “I hadn’t thought of that. Shit, is my hair okay?”

We ignored her.

I couldn’t imagine going through that every time I left the house. Hopefully the fans and paps would be gone by the time we left later, but I wasn’t counting on it. But I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. How was I still interesting to them? I wrote one hit song for God’s sake.

But then I remembered who I was visiting. How had I forgotten? I quickened my pace and ran the last twenty yards across the lobby to Ty. He opened his arms and, both grinning like lunatics, I dove into his hug. He picked me up and twirled me around, kissing me hard on the lips.

When he set me down, Ty squeezed my hands, holding them between us.

"Hi," he said, ignoring the mass of people in the lobby with us who were curious about the commotion. I followed his lead and ignored them too.

"Hi," I said back.

"So, what's up?"

I shrugged. "Eh, you?"

"Same old."

We both grinned, he put an arm around my shoulder and said hello to Nikki, Mads and Hamish. I felt so good in his embrace. It didn't matter who else was there, we were together, finally. Something had been missing these last six weeks but now my body was relaxing; it was whole again.

He looked great. His hair was a little longer, curling up at the ends at the nape of his neck, and he wore a black V neck tee over black skinny jeans with a silver wallet chain looping from his belt to his back pocket.

“Well aren’t you looking summery,” I said.

He smiled. “Don’t I though?” He tugged gently at my hand, leading us further into the hotel. "Come and see the guys."