Читать книгу Pop Tart - Kira Coplin - Страница 11

The more I see, the less I know for sure.

–John Lennon

Nearly twenty hours later, after countless rest stops and highways, we stumbled off the dim tour bus and out onto the sidewalks of Pompano Beach, happy at last to be out of the snow and stretch our stiff joints. Our last two stops in South Florida–where the Emersons had more fans than anywhere else it seemed–were two nights apart, leaving a day in between to finish up press interviews, at venues just forty-five minutes from each other. Unloading the bus at our first destination took longer than we had expected, and before anyone could check into hotel rooms, the road crew found themselves right back on the buses en route to the concert venue just a few miles away.

Brooke, of course, was among the few that were able to get into their rooms right away. At Steve’s urging, I stuck close by so that I could be summoned immediately when needed. All smiles and giggles as we entered the hotel, Brooke moved like molasses, enjoying her own world and completely oblivious to many things, like the fact that we were in a serious time crunch, and that she was causing a sizeable commotion by showing off her pierced navel in that turquoise sports bra and old, skintight sweat pants.

‘It feels s-o-o good to be home,’ she said loudly as we crossed the lobby. Flipping her hair from side to side as we passed the large splashing fountain in the lobby, we made our way to the front desk.

Brooke smiled sweetly. ‘Hey, can you tell me if my parents are here yet? They’re meeting me for the show.’

‘Name please?’ the clerk asked without looking up from her computer screen.

‘It’s uh—’ Brooke paused, lowering her voice as she looked around to make sure that no one else was in earshot. ‘Magda Tropicana.’

‘Wait–what?’ I erupted into laughter. ‘Magda–who?’

‘It’s an alias. Steve said I should start using one. Isn’t it good? I made up plenty more, but I think this is my favorite.’

‘They have arrived and have gone into town to kill some time–would you like me to alert them for you when they return?’ the woman asked as she placed two electronic room keys on the slab of marble in front of her.

‘Yes, please! Tell them to come right up to my room,’ she squealed.

‘Okay…Magda,’ I said, tousling her hair as we left the desk. ‘Let’s hurry up and get changed. I’m dying to get out of these clothes.’ Tugging on the oversized sweatshirt stained purple from the grape soda I’d spilled on it somewhere between North and South Carolina, we made our way to her room.

The time crunch threw everything else out of whack. Keeping his cool, David wasted no time devising new schedules for both Brooke and the Emersons. I had to admit that it was pretty entertaining to watch David at work. He remained at an even keel throughout even the most turbulent times, turning off the goofy guy and stepping into the shoes of a serious business professional. Catching my eye as he flew past Brooke’s room where I was calmly waiting outside, he broke out of character as a boyish grin spread across his face. ‘Hello hello,’ he said making his way over to me.

‘Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you,’ I yelled after him.

‘No shit–the delay in Saratoga Springs didn’t do us any favors, that’s for sure.’ He tousled his hair, letting it fall in front of one eye. I had the sudden urge to throw my arms around him like a smitten schoolgirl when a voice quickly interrupted my thoughts.

‘We’re running out of time here. David, what’s the latest they can do sound check?’ Steve asked as he emerged from Brooke’s room.

‘Brooke should be fine to do it right after makeup,’ he said snapping back into work mode. He looked over at me. ‘You’re slotted for your regular two hours, but if you can get it done sooner it would be a huge relief.’

‘No problem,’ I hummed, flashing him a killer smile, trying to turn on my professional demeanor to match David’s. ‘Won’t take me any longer than an hour-and-fifteen.’

Steve, who had turned his attention toward me, motioned toward Brooke, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor of room. ‘Great! Let’s get her into makeup now then so that—’

Cutting him off mid-sentence, a hearty laugh came from the doorway.

‘Baby girl!’ A noticeably handsome man, albeit a rugged one, rushed toward Brooke and spun her around in his arms. Drab clothing covered his somewhat bloated frame, though his chiseled facial features made it easy to imagine how attractive he might have been in his youth. Directly next to him, a woman in a seafoam green tracksuit, neck adorned with a silver necklace that read ‘Return to Tiffany’s,’ smiled. She looked, I decided, watching her sip from a glass of iced tea in her hand, like an older version of Brooke–years spent under the blazing Florida sun had resulted in crow’s feet around her eyes. Steve, whose surprise had given way to annoyance, mustered up what superficial charm he could. Greeting them both, he nodded his head in their direction.

‘Mrs Dianne…William, so glad—’

‘Please Steve–call me Willy…and the pleasure’s all ours,’ the man said, laughing sloppily once more.

‘Certainly,’ Steve choked. ‘Hopefully the drive wasn’t too long for you.’

‘Nah, ‘bout twenty-four miles or so. Nothing at all. We’d drive just about any distance in the world to see our little girl sing, that’s for sure.’ Noticing me standing there in confusion, Willy perked up. ‘Who we got o’er here?’

‘I’m—’ I started, but Steve quickly cut me off.

‘This is Jackie, she’s doing the makeup…we’re really in a hurry here.’ Steve frowned as the Parkers failed to pick up on his urgency. Giving me a look as if stressing that I was indeed his last resort, he spoke sternly.

‘I’ve got to head over to the venue and deal with the people over there, so I’m going to trust you to get her butt onto that bus as soon as humanly possible. Sound good?’

Scanning the room for appropriate lighting, I unloaded miniature bottles and pods from my makeup kit into my arms. Eyeing the bedside clock, before turning back toward Steve, I tried to sound as confident as possible.

‘No problem.’ I shrugged coolly, turning around just in time for a high-pitched screeching noise to pierce my ears and fall into me. Before I knew what was happening, I heard a big crash, as everything in my arms fell to the tiled floor of the foyer. Ignoring the mess of broken powder, two identical eleven-year-old boys tore through the room. Grabbing a red bra Brooke had slung over a chair, one of the little monsters put it on over his sweatshirt while the other seized a pair of nylons and stuck them on his head. On cue, they both paused a short distance from their sister before singing out in taunting tones, ‘Oh! Baby! “Pillow Talk!” Yeah…sexy!’

Brooke just rolled her eyes, yelling out to Steve and me, ‘My little brothers.’

‘Yep, yep–these here are the boys.’ Willy smiled. ‘That one there—’ he said, pointing over to the green-and-mauve-striped couch where one of them was now jumping wildly up and down in a pair of dirty sneakers, ‘–is Chris.’ He threw an arm around the neck of the other, putting him in a gentle headlock that caused him to squirm wildly. ‘And o’er here we got Nick.’

‘I like to call ‘em Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,’ Brooke said, staring at them with a mock glare that soon turned into a grin she could no longer conceal. Looking as if he might lose it at any moment, Steve silently made his way to the door, stopping to gape at my mess on the floor.

‘Sorry, I’ll get this all cl—’ I started.

Not making a sound, he narrowed his eyes, mouthing: ‘Just. Get. Her. There. ON TIME!’

By some miracle, I finished Brooke’s makeup with time to spare. I didn’t quite make the hour and fifteen minutes I’d so confidently promised, but early was still early, I figured. Just as I was about to give myself a pat on the back for a job well done, the shiny silver doors parted open on the first floor, revealing a curious scene outside. Standing between us and the waiting bus was an odd mix of revelers that had gathered near the front of the hotel. Some held up signs that said things like, ‘Music Videos Are Tools of Satan,’ and ‘Dress As If Jesus Were Sitting Next To You’. A handful of local news photographers and reporters lingered as well, ready to cover the developing story.

‘What are we going to do?’ Brooke asked in a weak voice.

‘I think everyone is already over there.’ Though I didn’t know much about how this kind of thing worked, I knew it was Sasha’s cup of tea. But because she was consumed with the Emerson Brothers–as per usual–who were doing a handful of radio interviews at the venue, it looked as if we were left to our own devices. My eyes searched the crowd, looking for a familiar face–David or one of the crew members–even Robert would’ve been good at this point–someone. I did see men in hotel uniforms standing in front of the doors, trying to keep everyone at bay. T-Roc and the Emerson Brothers’ three bodyguards, one for each brother, had left ahead of us. Because of the large turnout there was increased security presence both inside and outside the venue, though nobody, it seemed, had thought to prepare the hotel. Looking through the fogged glass at the flimsy staff they did have on hand, I waved toward the staffers, trying desperately to get the attention of at least one guard, but to no avail. Shrugging my shoulders, I shook my head slowly. The back of the hotel opened to the open pool area and patio, and from what I could tell there was no suitable escape route.

‘I can ask the driver to pick you up at one of the side entrances,’ I offered.

‘Won’t everybody–when they see it pullin’ up to the side–know that it’s me?’ she asked quietly.

‘Yeah.’ I frowned, pointing to the front. ‘We go out there I guess…let me go first,’ I told her. ‘Maybe it will take some attention off you–maybe you can make a run for it.’

All news cameras turned to me the minute the automatic doors slid open, their footage quickly interrupted by a couple of high school students that paraded past, chanting, ‘Down with aggressive media culture! Don’t rob us of our childhoods!’ To my right, a sweaty-looking man frantically seized his chance to impart his two cents–bellowing with rapid, pressured speech into the microphone of one newscaster, ‘A person like this promotes rebellion and sex by delivering evil messages to America’s youth through risqué clothing, erotic body language, and suggestive sounds intended to arouse an audience…’

A well-groomed reporter with a finely combed back ponytail who had introduced herself on-camera as Nina Guagenti, looked over suddenly, the eyes of the crowd following her lead. Emerging from the hotel lobby like a frightened little girl, but to the amassed crowd something of an apocalyptic figure, Brooke seemed to both horrify and fascinate her accusers. The fading light fell on her messy blond tresses, framing her face with a faint glow, and they all watched her silently, squinting their eyes and craning their necks to see her.

First to break the silence, Nina Guagenti snapped her fingers aggressively to get the attention of her cameraman.

‘Brooke, sweetheart,’ she called out, waving her hand daintily in the air. ‘Would you mind speaking to us for just one minute?’

Trapping Brooke at her side without waiting for a response, the reporter gazed into the camera. ‘Phillip, I’m standing here in front of the Haymarket Hotel with former Miss Teen Florida turned pop singer Brooke Parker, who is getting ready to take the stage in Pompano Beach tonight.’

The woman turned to Brooke in one swift motion, jamming the microphone in between them.

‘Departing your hotel just moments ago, you were met with some aggression here tonight…from Louisiana-based Christian group, The Tree of Knowledge. Isn’t that right?’

‘Uh, yeah–I guess. I don’t really know what’s going on.’ Brooke nervously smiled.

‘Do you still consider yourself a Lutheran?’ one of the protesters standing behind her screamed out.

‘Of course I do,’ Brooke snapped, whipping her head around. ‘I say a prayer before every rehearsal and every show.’

Without breaking eye contact with the lens, Nina smirked slightly, turning her body back toward Brooke to resume her interrogation.

‘Mounting over the last month or so, your love life has fueled much speculation…’ The phony enthusiasm Nina poured into the camera in front of her as she said this made me cringe, it was as if Brooke were just one of her girlfriends at a slumber party, belying the wolf in sheep’s clothing licking her chops for an exclusive. Brooke stood awkwardly amidst the mob that hovered around her. From the naive expression of childish wonderment and confusion on her face, it was clear she hadn’t been well-versed in how to handle press or how invasive they could be. I felt the sudden urge to do something–to pull my friend far out of harm’s way–because where I came from, conversations with reporters that started out like this one never led to anything good.

‘…of a romantic relationship between yourself and Emerson Brothers’ teen heartthrob, Jesse.’ Nina looked at Brooke in anticipation before continuing on. ‘Adding sparks to the flame were the photographs that surfaced recently in which the two of you appeared to be canoodling on the set of your music video in Los Angeles. Is there anything you guys are holding back from all your fans out there?’

‘No, it’s nothing.’ Brooke lied though the pink that tinged her cheeks was all too telling. ‘We’re just friends.’

I was just about to breathe a big sigh of relief as it seemed like the worst was over, but then another curve ball was tossed her way.

‘What kind of role model are you for our children?!’ It was the sweaty man again, vying for more air time.

Gesturing toward the crowd of protesting Christians behind her, Nina nodded. ‘That certainly is a question that’s been on quite a few minds lately. The sexual innuendoes of your lyrics, the provocative clothing–what do you feel your responsibilities, if any, are as a role model for America’s youth?’

The microphone she shoved at Brooke met an awkward silence in the form of a deer-in-headlights stare. Brooke paused, twisting her face in confusion–as if pondering what to say–but I had had enough. Grabbing Brooke’s arm, I pushed myself in between them. Stopping to glare at the reporter, I leaned into the microphone.

‘I’d ask you the same question–murders, white collar crimes, the war overseas–what do you feel your responsibilities are, if any, in educating the public on its most pressing issues?’ Lost for words, it was now Nina Guagenti’s turn to be silent. ‘What kind of role model bombards and harasses an innocent young girl like this? Must be a slow news day.’

Evading my questions, Nina clasped her trench coat around herself with one hand and smugly turned back to the camera. Leaving her chattering behind us, I pulled Brooke through the crowd, into the safety of the bus.

Notified of the situation just minutes before we arrived at the venue, Steve waited anxiously. Gripping the wheel, the driver turned into a private entrance that was far from where concertgoers lined up excitedly in front, dropping us off without any hassle. Valiantly throwing his arms around Brooke’s shoulders, Steve escorted her inside, leaving me trailing after them.

‘There were only a handful of them a little over an hour ago–no signs, no chanting–someone must’ve tipped them off,’ Steve, who had figured that the small gathering of people he saw were just the usual Emerson Brothers fanatics, grumbled. ‘Those news cameras must have just showed up–they probably brought all the commotion with them. Idiots…’

As we moved briskly down the hall behind him, our eyes fixed straight ahead toward the dressing rooms, I couldn’t help but feel pleased with myself for stepping up to the plate and defending my friend in the heat of the moment. Certainly, I’d at least proven to Steve that there was more to me than meets the eye–I was not only responsible, but someone who looked out for her client’s best interest.

‘Calamity!’ a voice called out. Wrapped up in my thoughts, I had fallen out of pace. Standing in a doorway just up ahead, I spotted Steve staring down at his wristwatch.

‘You guys are really late…what took so long?’

Word of the madness swirling outside the hotel had spread and Brooke’s dancers gathered in her dressing room to make sure she was okay. The sound of them all screaming at each other as they jumped up and down and threw their arms around her was deafening.

‘That is so not beat,’ one of the girls, said, prompting the rest of them to nod their heads in agreement.

‘You okay girl?’ Jimmy asked as he placed his hand gently on her leg–his touch seeming to linger just a little too long.

‘Yeah, thanks for being such great best friends,’ Brooke said smiling up at everyone.

I was still trying to process all of the things that had just occurred in the past fifteen minutes when I heard a bitchy voice out of nowhere.

‘Where the fuck have you guys been?’ Standing just a few feet away, a pile of sparkling spandex weighing down one arm, stood Robert. Though he was directing all of his attention toward me, the dancers took this as their sign to bail, running out of the room as they blew air kisses in Brooke’s direction.

‘We were mobbed by a group of crazies outside the hotel,’ I told him. ‘I did the best I could to fend off the—’

‘Really?’ Robert’s face lit up in excitement, which he poorly attempted to hide by turning down the corners of his grin. Getting no answer from Steve, he turned to me as if I were his new best friend. ‘Oh my God, what happened?’

‘Just these crazy people at the hotel–I think they belong to some kind of Christian teen life group. Something like that…and there were cameras too. I’ve never seen anything like that’

‘How exciting!’ Robert mused. I could tell what was going through his head–why he was so excited. The more buzz Brooke generated, the higher his stock rose. I suppose that the same went for me as well, but for some reason I didn’t see it that way, this whole thing was very new for me, too. He stood there, just lingering, but finally left as I put the final touches on her hair.

‘Oh my gawd, lock that door–I can’t talk to anyone else right now,’ Brooke said, flustered. Spotting a window on the north wall, she gushed, ‘Does that open? I want to open it.’

‘I’ll get it!’ Afraid she was having some kind of panic attack, I lunged toward the window, thrusting it open with superhuman strength. I expected her to run over to it, gasp for some fresh air and collect herself, but instead, she casually moved toward it. Pulling a Marlboro to her mouth, fresh air clearly wasn’t on her mind.

‘Want one?’

I hadn’t smoked since midterms when my stress level was at an all-time high, or, I should say, what I thought was an all-time high. I took a cigarette from the pack in her fingers, plopped down next to her by the window, hoping it would relieve some of the tension I was feeling.

‘You okay?’ I asked her.

She nodded slowly before leaning forward to flick the ash of her cigarette in an empty metal trashcan. ‘Thank Jesus I had you with me, I don’t know what I would’ve done.’

‘What about Jesse? Is he going to be mad?’

‘What do you mean?’ She looked genuinely confused and I wondered for a moment if I had been mistaken about their relationship.

‘He’s your…boyfriend, right?’

‘Mmm-hmmm…’ She took a long drag of her cigarette.

‘And he’s not going to be hurt that you denied that to the entire world?’ Brooke rolled her eyes as I asked this, blowing out a cloud of smoke like a sailor.

‘Both Steve and Sasha think it’s bad if people know that we’re dating. They tell us not to be seen together.’

‘Really?’

‘He’s got all these crazy fans, you know? I think they’d be upset if he had a girlfriend.’ Brooke shrugged, looking down at the caller I.D. on her phone, which had suddenly buzzed to life. ‘Speak of the devil.’ Like a little girl–minus, of course, the Marlboro dangling between her fingers–she clasped her phone to her chest, cradling it like an infant. ‘I’m soooo in love with him!’

Ten seconds to show time and I hustled over to the security barricade at the front of the stage, trying to dodge the throngs of screaming fans that had assembled. A pair of bulky bouncers in matching red T-shirts chatting on their two-way radios nodded as I flashed them the tour pass hanging around my neck. ‘’Sup?’ a familiar voice asked.

‘Hey T-Roc,’ I said cheerfully, turning around. His typical gentleness had gone, replaced with a definite no-nonsense vibe. He stood with his enormous frame between the concertgoers and the stage, eyes scanning the crowds. His dark clothing and stern expression made it clear: this was not a time to be congenial; every single person, every hysterical teenage girl, was a potential threat. How was I supposed to act toward him under these circumstances? ‘Quite a turnout, huh?’

‘It’s crazy, right?’ he responded gruffly, not taking his eyes from the crowd for a second or even cracking a smile. ‘Jackie.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m in Defcon Mode.’ I flashed him a grin, laughed to myself, and left him to his work.

Slipping past the wooden blockade into the pit–the closest you can actually be to the stage without being on it- a group of teenage girls congregating close by stared in my direction, except not really at me, but at the backstage pass dangling from my neck. From their looks of longing and envy, this feeling of importance suddenly washed over me. For once in my life people were actually jealous of my good fortune and success.

They wished that they were me!

Wading past the handful of photographers, I found Brooke’s mother and stepfather with ear-to-ear grins on their faces, excited to watch their girl in action. Sitting to their right, David had a half-pained and mildly amused expression on his face as ‘the Tweedles’ clung to and hung from his back, shoulders, arms, neck. I chuckled. He looked like a human jungle gym. Catching my gaze, he winked at me and smiled, and, of course, I blushed. Before either of us could say anything the auditorium darkened and a computer-generated voice commanded the attention of the audience. It was routine–the snap-crackle-pop of the robotic voice as Brooke’s silhouette appeared behind a screen onstage. But as I prepared myself for the high-octane introduction I noticed that the voice overhead didn’t sound fuzzy like usual; in fact, it didn’t sound like anything at all.

‘Shi—’ David looked down at the twins, rethinking his words. ‘Oh, crap…’

‘What’s happening?’ I asked, concerned.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, staring in confusion. ‘The backing track must be out or something.’

The screen rose to reveal a nervous Brooke unsure of what to do as her voice was drowned out by the precision-timed pyrotechnics. Without the layered, prerecorded vocals, she went through her regular high-athletic-style dance moves at a snail’s pace, clashing achingly with the song’s high tempo and throwing off all her backup dancers. She kept shooting looks offstage left toward the sound console in confusion. In the pit, we were one collective held breath (save for Brooke’s parents who–still all smiles–didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong).

It took two full songs: two agonizingly long songs, for those of us who knew better, to fix the problem. Brooke, it seemed, who had already been shaken from the press earlier in the day, couldn’t fully recover. It was the end of the world as she knew it. After the final pyrotechnic flashes signaled the end of her set, we quickly navigated through security and followed the sound of sobs. We found her, elbows resting on her knees, hands covering her face, in a chair next to a boy in a tailored, scoop-necked vest and straight-leg chinos. Whispering in her ear, Jesse twirled locks of her hair around his fingers while passersby just stared. We all tried to find something to pretend required our attention, but I snuck glances, still upset by the sound failure but intrigued by the two lovebirds. They made a cute couple, I decided–with his tanned skin and shaggy, dark brown hair, loose curls, paired with Robert’s trendy flourishes (the leather-tab elastic suspenders limp at his sides) he was handsome–seeing him for the first time as Brooke’s boyfriend rather than as a teen pinup.

No longer able to ignore the summons he was receiving to the stage, Jesse kissed her tear-stained face. Taking his place, Steve pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket as Brooke rehashed the mishap.

‘Jackie! It was horrible…it just went out, I didn’t know what to do!’ Brooke sprang from her chair, throwing her arms around me as I walked up to join them.

‘But I thought Gary said that it couldn’t happen?’ I asked.

‘Well, it obviously did happen, so I guess that would make Gary wrong, wouldn’t it?’ Steve snapped. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised me, but the iciness of his tone sapped what energy I had left right out of me. Not even an hour ago, covetous looks from high school girls had me on a temporary high. It was funny how Steve could put me in my place so quickly–how fast he could snap me back to reality.

By the time we made it back to the hotel, crowds of people were still outside, though thankfully there were far more fans now than sign-toting, Bible-belting protesters. Crowding both the front and side doors, they hoped to catch a glimpse of the teen stars. Under Sasha’s instruction, the inexperienced hotel staffers on duty helped clear a path that allowed us to enter relatively unscathed. All of the fanfare excited Robert, who secretly dreamed of starting his own supermarket-checkout-lane tabloid, and here he found himself on the inside, snapped candidly alongside someone famous. He, of course, made sure to walk close to Brooke, though to his disappointment, all of the professional photographers had long since gone home.

Seeing that their daughter was upset, Brooke’s parents had sat with her on the ride back to the hotel. Mrs Dianne (as everyone, I found, called her) followed her upstairs while Willy took the boys to the restaurant in the lobby for milkshakes–the reward that he promised them if they were able to sit still during the concert. I was a bit confused as to what the Parkers’ definition of ‘sitting still’ meant, as they hadn’t stopped moving the entire time.

As I packed my set case–color-coordinating tubes of lipstick by their varying shades of pinks, reds, and berries–I half-listened as Mrs Dianne attempted to boost Brooke’s spirits with a little pep talk, though it didn’t appear to be doing much good, while both Steve and Sasha argued over something petty in the corner.

‘You know you can come home with us tonight darlin’,’ Brooke’s mother, perched on the end of the bed in her room, cooed as a last attempt. ‘Might be nice to relax in your own bed.’

‘I don’t know,’ Steve said, breaking away from Sasha and patting the opposite side of the mattress. ‘These pillow tops are pretty hard to beat.’

Ignoring him, Mrs Dianne continued on. ‘Don’t you have tomorrow off?’

‘She’s scheduled to be on one of the morning radio shows along with the Emerson boys, actually…’

‘Boyyyy, I dunno–you think that’s a smart idea? Are you completely nuts!’ Sasha bellowed. ‘After all that craziness, uh-uh, she’s not going on.’

‘Steve,’ Brooke chimed in. ‘I want to go with my parents. I really need to go home.’ Her chin quivered and for a moment I thought she might cry. Regaining control, she flashed him a faint smile. ‘They can drop me off on Saturday. Pretty please?’

A night, Steve knew, was better than a couple of months. The original plan had been for Brooke to return home after finishing up the last leg of the tour, to wait and see how well her album did. But with the growing media buzz, everyone felt it necessary–after getting it under control, that is–to strike while the iron was hot. According to Steve and Sasha’s ongoing discussions, it was no longer about a handful of songs. She was now a package, their newest singing, dancing commodity.

‘It’s all about her image–the Brooke Parker brand,’ I had heard him say. ‘I know I’m not the only one that feels that way.’ Back in Los Angeles there were additional music videos to be shot, magazine covers to grace, talent agents to meet, and a second album to record.

Knowing it was better to lose a battle and win the war, he smiled warmly at Brooke. ‘Whatever you want, princess. We can do the radio show without you. Get some rest and let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.’

With my belongings slung over my shoulder, I tiptoed behind Steve’s back toward the door, flashing Brooke a victory smile.

‘Actually, there’s just one more thing,’ she smirked. ‘I wanna take Jackie with me.’