Page 71 of How NOT to Seduce a Rockstar
“Bea, I’m telling you… not in a million years would you guess.”
“Okay, okay. Go ahead, I won’t interrupt again.”
“At that table tonight, Ryder and I generated so much electricity I literally saw a waiter’s hair stand on end… I’ll keep going, Bea. I’ll keep going despite your facial expressions…”
“I can’t help it, sorry.”
“Alady at the next table had a fainting spell. And a boy a few tables over—sudden nosebleed.”
“Because of you?”
“Of course. There was too much sexual energy in the air. Those poor people only wanted a quiet dinner, and instead they found themselves teleported to Los Alamos during an atomic test. They should have piled sandbags around the tables and handed out hazmat suits. Because I was on fire, Bea. Absolutely on fire. I showed up at that dinner like a heavyweight world champion, I felt unstoppable. And I proved it. Oh, did I prove it. Every adjective, adverb, and predicate; every eyelash flicker, wrist bend, and lip curl would have made Casanova, Don Juan, and Rudolph Valentino drop their jaws in unison. At one point, a Ryder fan even came up to the table… and asked for a photo withme.”
“Somehow I still get the feeling things didn’t go quite according to plan…”
“Do you want to know why, Bea?”
“Please. Otherwise, I’ll have to write a novel longer thanWar and Peacejust to tell this story.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Go on.”
“Are you ready? Really sure you can handle the blast?”
“Luckily, I’m already lying down.”
“So here’s what happened. At one point, whenout of the corner of my eye I see the spirit of the Contessa floating away, leaving behind a faint trace of Chanel and whispering,‘My work here is done.’Just when I’m expecting Ryder to collapse to the mat and the referee to raise my arm as the undisputed champion… that’s when he says to me:‘Tell me something… what’s going on between you and that Bernie guy?’”
My eyebrow climbed, slow and deliberate.
Tess shifted dramatically on the rug, all proud of her reconstruction. “At first I didn’t think much of it. Actually, I told myself: perfect. Exactly according to plan. Ryder’s jealous, he feels the competition. Proof that I’m winning. So I keep it vague: I tell him Bernie’s afriend… a word which, with the right tone, can open entire parallel universes of interpretation. But he stays stone-faced. He stares at me for a few seconds, then looks left and right like a Cold War spy, lowers his head and… in a conspiratorial whisper… asks:‘Do you think he likes me?’”
My eyebrow arched so high it threatened to emigrate from my forehead.
“And I answer:Zane… my dear Zane… you’re a little too commercial for Bernie’s taste. He belongs to another school. The school of Lev Mirov. I know you long for that same vein of inspiration, but forgive me—we’re talking two very different leagues.”
“He didn’t mean—” I tried to cut in, but Tess nodded with episcopal gravity.
“Ryder interrupts me, stares straight at me, and says:‘Bernie’s gay, isn’t he?’”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Dun-dun-duuun!” Tess sang, waving her hands like a conductor leading an apocalyptic orchestra.
“Zane Ryder isgay?!” I screamed so loudly that from the next room Bernie doubled the volume of his snoring, as if ordering me to shut up.
“Sssshhhh…” Tess raised a finger to her lips. “For God’s sake, don’t let anyone hear!”
“Zane Ryder is gay?!” I repeated, this time in full-on hysterical whisper mode.
Tess nodded with the solemnity of someone announcing the fall of the Roman Empire.
“But why confess it toyou? Isn’t he afraid you’ll go sell the story to the tabloids?”
Tess shook her head with a hieratic air. “He threatened me. With a smile, of course. In his usual adorable, gentle, charming way. But it was still a lawsuit threat.”
“But that doesn’t matter, Bea…” she added, in her most solemn tone.
