I know she’s gone before I even open my eyes to look.
The only trace of her is her perfume that rubbed off on me last night and her lipstick left on the wine glass next to the bed.
“Fuck.” It’s a groan. It’s resignation. It’s resistance.
I’m not sure which one I want it to be more. Nor how I feel about them as a whole.
I reach for my phone, not expecting a text from her to be there but looking anyway.
Nothing.
As if on cue, my cell rings, but it’s the last person I want to talk to.
“Yep,” I answer.
“Have you seen social media?” Xavier asks.
“I was busy seeing the backs of my eyelids.”
“I thought you weren’t feeling good last night.”
Shit. I scrub a hand over my face. Screwed that lie up. “I felt better. Got a little restless and ended up at Bottom of the Hill.” I yawn. “What’s up?”
“That song you sang. That new material? It’s going viral. Fucking apeshit. You need to lay that track down and get it released ASAP.”
“Yeah. Sure. I’ll talk with Sony.”
“I don’t think you understand, Vince. It’s all over the place. I’ve got my people online pushing it too. It’s like it’s all coming together at the right time. It’s fucking gold.”
I sit up, the foil of a condom wrapper from last night floating off the bed. I can’t drum up any more excitement than this. “Gold is good. Platinum is better.”
“That might be in the cards. Look, man, you wrote that song. You spoke your words. The public is hearing them loud and clear.”
“Humph,” I say. By the empty bed beside me, I guess someone else heard the words loud and clear too. “Great.”
I need a fucking drink already.
“You should have had Jasmine and Will there last night. Would’ve been great for the documentary.”
Fuck the documentary.
“Apparently there’s enough footage on social media already. I’m sure they’ll find a way to use that.”
“Agreed.” He clears his throat. “So we’re still on for an eleven o’clock lunch, and then we’ll hop on the jet and get back. We’ll discuss strategy on how to keep this momentum going during the flight.”
“Sure.” I’m still in a fog. “Will Bristol be at the meeting today?”
“She left about an hour ago. Commercial flight back. Something about an emergency at home. Don’t worry though. We’ll get her up to speed once we figure everything out. Good?”
“Good.”
I end the call and toss my cell on the floor where I can’t reach it.
This is what I’ve been working for, right? Solo success? Charting my own territory? I should be ecstatic. I should be surfing the Internet and soaking it all in.
Then why does it feel so goddamn fucking empty?
An emergency, my ass.
Walking away is something I’ve seemed to have mastered and mastered well.
Seems you have too, Bristol.
Tou-fucking-ché.
