Page 44 of Paint the Town, Dove
Now, I’m not theatrical, or emotional. Lord knows I’ve never cried over any man like Zayla Edwards has. But it was strangely… human? Seeing someone feel so freely, so deeply, about everything.
I questioned if I was ever human at all.
She perked up, like she’d been injected with coke or something, and said, “I’m going to sleep with Rory Klaven.”
I already knew what happened, so I leaned into Polly Lavine, no clue why, and dished out the details. In turn, I found out she was just passing through the strip with her sister and a promotergave them free drink stamps and one thing led to another and boom – fate brought me my second new friend on a silver platter.
All it took was a five minute debrief for Polly to help our now decided new companion to her feet, cleaned up her “glitter” (it wasn’t glitter), and crowned her a new hot commodity.
I smiled, rubbing her shoulders. I always loved a good revenge plot. “I’ll take you to him.”
***
“Uh, she manages one of the biggest rock stars of this generation, Zay,” Polls said, handing her some berries. “Why wouldn’t she know somevery importantpeople?”
“Because she doesn’t talk about it?”
I plopped a raspberry into my mouth. “I prefer to take an enigmatic approach to life.”
“Enigmatic, good word.” She pursed her lips, “You should be a songwriter. Have you ever written one of Ryden’s?”
I pressed my lips together, shaking my head no, remembering the discarded sheets of paper I kept buried in my piano bench, Ryden’s cracked guitar pick still among the notes.
He gave it to me at a time in my life when I needed something to hold on to, a reminder of who we were, what we came from, and where we are now. I fucking hated that Derek broke it in his frenzy. But I tolerated him because I understood why.
One day, one way or another, I’d put that guitar pick back together.Even if I have to glue it myself.
“Anyway,” Polly cut intoher pastry, “what do you need Barbara for?”
I rolled my tongue. “She’s got connections at The Times, and I need her to wipe out any headlines that showcase me or Ryden at the GQ afterparty.”
“You mean, when you poured amaretto all over Yasmine Ryvetts?”
“It was a martini, Zay, but close enough.” I smirked, taking a sip of my mimosa. “Anyway, I don’t want any bad press before Ryden’s show at Radio City.”
“That’s this weekend, right?” Polly drizzled chocolate sauce over her croissant.
I raised a brow. “Dark or milk?”
She handed me the tiny ceramic pitcher. “Dark.”
“Gimme,” I smiled.
“Me too!” Zayla was practically pawing at it with her French tips.
“What happened to your two-week sugar fast?” Polly asked, handing out napkins.
Zayla groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
“Enough with the diets, Zay, you’re gorgeous.”
She gave my hand an affectionate squeeze before my phone vibrated. I answered distractedly. “Barbara?”
“Yes, dear?” A high-pitched, most definitelynotBarbara squealed.
I supressed an all-knowing smile. “Ryden.”
His laugh was smooth. “Dove.”
