Page 53 of A Crazy Kind of Love
“You think my brother’s a slut, don’t you?”
I nearly choked on a crouton. I’d always hated that word ever since the neighborhood gossips leveled it at my mom. “Look, I’m in no position to judge him. But he sure has had a lot of relationships with his fans.”
“Not his fans.”
“But—”
“His fans go out and buy his CDs. They may or may not go online to talk to other fans. They live in places like Iowa and go to community college while working a part-time job so they can eventually get a job as a manager of a Best Buy. They come out to his shows when he’s in Des Moines and scream their heads off in the audience with their girlfriends. And then they go home to their Iowa apartment and listen to his music while they study for an exam. At most, they come out after a show and try to get his autograph.”
“But—”
She waved a fork-impaled fry to punctuate her next point. “The people Micah dates are groupies.”
I held up a hand to interrupt. “But aren’t groupies just bigger fans?”
“Sometimes. There are definitely devotees of the band who live on the road, following the tour from town to town. But for a large number of them they may not even care about the music. They may not care which musician or even which band they’re in with. They somehow make friends with security and find ways to get passes backstage. They like the musician’s life, and they make it really easy for a boy who has no attachments to have something like a relationship out on the road—or even if he does have other attachments. They sometimes call themselves ‘road wives.’ ”
My food sat uneaten. I gaped at Eden while she talked, more and more unnerved. She said all this so matter-of-factly, I wondered how she sat there casually scarfing down her lunch while her fiancé currently thrived in an environment of casual invitation. “And they don’t want anything more? No commitment? Just sex?”
I thought of Kendall and her “one-night personal tour of the city.” I pushed the lettuce around my plate.
“For Micah, when the tour ends, and he goes back to his normal life, these girls don’t usually follow him. They’ll use their connection with him to work their way into the whole groupie culture. It’s not unusual for them to go out looking for another musician to latch onto.”
“He was telling the truth, then?”
“About?”
“About the girls breaking it off with him?”
“Well, it’s not as if he really cares. Once upon a time, he used to date girls who didn’t seem to even know that he was a musician. I guess it’s getting harder to find one. To be fair, he’s never cheated on his groupies. I’m not sure they ever returned the favor. He’s not a man-whore. But he’s definitely not a monk.”
I felt a blush creeping up my cheek. Eden blotted her lip with a napkin and leaned in. “But you should probably keep a low opinion of him. I love my brother, but I can’t vouch for him. I don’t know if he’s ready for anything more than the easy commitment-free relationships he’s burned through in the past two years.”
I took a sip of water, but my throat had clenched up, making it hurt to swallow. “He’s definitely a big old flirt.”
“That he is.” She sat back in her chair and watched me for a second. “Look. Micah’s got a big heart, and he’s had legitimate girlfriends—though mostly back before this whole rock star thing took off. It’s a hard life for regular people.” Her eyes bored into mine. “I don’t have to tell you how invasive the media can be, especially when it involves new relationships. And new relationships are the most vulnerable. The paparazzi drive away anyone who values a shred of privacy.”
“But you put up with it?”
She snorted. “Do I?”
We declined to order dessert when the server came, but Eden ordered two coffees. I folded my napkin absently. “My boss would be so pissed if he knew I spent an hour talking to you about Micah.”
She steepled her fingers. “You want to fuck with him?”
“What? With Micah?”
“With Andy.”
“How?”
She leaned on her elbows. “We could feed him something bogus but innocuous.”
My heart sank. “Like what?” Her eagerness confirmed my suspicion that she wanted to use me to get to Andy. And maybe she already had. Maybe the pregnancy was a complete fabrication. Would she go that far?
She cast her eyes up toward the ceiling, thinking. “I don’t suppose you could make him believe I’m Elvis in disguise?”
I snorted. Her ridiculous suggestion dispelled the nagging doubts about her ulterior motives with me. “Ooooh. Or we could say you’re in contact with our alien overlords?”
