Believe Me, It's You

  Believe Me, It's You

  The Love Songs Trilogy

  Book One

  by S.A. Cook

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 Stephanie A. Cook

  All Rights Reserved

  Chapter One

  Eva walked through the double doors of the penthouse suite at the Beverly Sunset Hotel. She'd seen pictures of the great hotel, with it's white, castle-like exterior, and it's sparkling swimming pool, but it was much more impressive in person. She felt out of her element, and she was nervous. She only knew two people who were going to be at this party. She tugged at the midnight blue, silk dress she'd just bought, making sure the hem was hanging and her ass wasn't showing. In doing so, she had to be sure her breasts didn't pop out the top. The saleswoman had assured her the soft silk '20's style dress draped her curvy body nicely. But weren't the women from the '20's known for being flat-chested? Teetering on heels wasn't making her feel any more self-assured.

  She was trying to make a graceful entrance without stumbling, looking around for a familiar face. Namely, Tyrone Crumb, better known as the multi-platinum album selling, hip hop artist Capital T. How was it she was not seeing him? He was 6'3” and usually wore white leather with his trademark thick gold, old school chain around his neck. Now people were starting to notice her. Some were staring, then turning away, probably trying to figure out her level of importance in the music industry.

  Just as she was about to flake out and leave, pretend she was ill, and go back to her own room, she heard a familiar voice.

  “Hey! Eva, over here,” it was Calvin Blume, Capital T's agent, and the man who hired her to ghostwrite the rapper's life story ten months ago. Everyone close enough to hear his shouts over the thud of the bass on the audio turned to look at her. Calvin made his way over. He bent down when he got to her and gave her a peck on each cheek.

  “This is her, people!” he addressed the room. “This is Eva Porter, the lady who made this book happen.” Everyone turned to look now. She wanted to sink into the floor, but smiled instead. She hated being the center of attention, and it was almost unbearable in this room full of celebrities and soon-to-be-celebrities.

  “Listen up, everyone. This beautiful lady spent ten months in hell,” they all laughed, “listening to Cap's pitiful life story and helping him sort it all out so beautifully....I know we have a bestseller on our hands. Thank you, Eva. You're fabulous.” The room applauded and she stood there and blushed, enduring the praise.

  And there was Capital T, emerging from the crowd. He looked like a true star, dressed in white with his gold chain catching and reflecting the light with every movement he made. He put his arm around her. She knew him pretty well by now. She had devoted the better part of the last year to him-meeting him for lunch, watching him wheel and deal in the industry, hanging out for hours while he recorded his music. She had been flown back and forth from Chicago to L.A. just to sit around and get a few minutes of his attention for the book. He was a master at the game of self-promotion and she had become a part of his plan.

  It made her feel like a teenager again, going to clubs and shows with Cap and Calvin. But even though she had the mind of a teen, she had the stamina of a 32 year old and the time spent on this assignment took its toll. She was ready to get back to her quiet life in Chicago, at least for a while.

  “I love this girl,” Cap was addressing the room now. “She brought out the best in me and the worst in me, just like a woman should.” The room laughed. She laughed too, looking down at her shoes.

  “Anyhow, I hope y'all enjoy the book. We worked hard writing it. We laughed, we cried...,” he looked down at her and smiled as the room laughed and clapped. Calvin and Capital clinked their glasses together, then looked for hers to clink. Calvin looked toward the bar.

  “Dyl!” he shouted over to someone. “Dyl, get Eva a drink. Gin and tonic?” Eva nodded. “Gin and tonic, Dyl and ask for the good gin.” He caught sight of someone he knew across the room, and abruptly walked away. Cap looked at her and chuckled.

  “Uh, listen Eva. I need to thank you. You helped me deal with some stuff I hadn't thought about in a while. It really helped,” he squeezed her and she looked up and saw that his eyes looked misty and realized he was being sincere. Or maybe he'd had some good weed in the other room before Calvin called him out. Either way, she was going to miss him. He was a good guy.

  He walked away, maybe embarrassed by his emotion, and to her horror, she was alone again. Would anyone notice if she cut out now? She made an appearance and accepted her congratulations, wasn't that enough?

  She was debating leaving, when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled around, a bit startled, and came eye to eye with a pair of brown eyes. She knew this person but didn't all at the same time. Dyl. Dyl was Dylan, as in Dylan Moore. Dylan Moore, pop sensation, loved and adored by millions of girls. Invited to sing at the White House. For the President. THAT Dylan Moore. She was speechless.

  “Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you. Here's your gin and tonic,” he said, and oh, that voice. Soft and smooth, lovely, and heard on radio stations around the world.

  “Oh, thank you!” she said, feeling very star-struck. He was a couple inches taller than her, even with her heels on. She was surprised by this. His sandy hair was perfectly messed in a spiky tangle on his head, the sides expertly sheared close, James Dean style. He glowed in a soft black jacket and black t-shirt with black pants. He wore a single silver chain. He was gorgeous.

  “No problem, “ he said. “So you wrote Cap's book, huh?”

  “Yes, well, we did it together, “ she said. Were her knees really a little weak, or was the gin getting to her after one sip?

  “I read Cap's advance copy. You're a good writer. I've known Cap for a few years. I spent months with him on tour and I never knew all that stuff about him,” he smiled at her. She was mesmerized. If he'd been a cult leader, she would have joined on the spot.

  “Oh, thanks, I'm glad you liked it. I hope he accomplished what he set out to do,” she said.

  “Well, you know, he does love his press, good or bad” he laughed.

  “They say there's no such thing as bad press,” she laughed.

  “Not for Cap,” he said. “He rolls with it.”

  “Dyl!” Calvin was shouting again, from across the room. “Dyl, get over here a minute. I've got a good friend I'd like you to meet.”

  “Oh, sorry. I better go take care of business,” he smiled. “Congratulations and it was nice meeting you, Eva. Oh, I'm Dylan Moore, by the way. Sorry I forgot to introduce myself.”

  “No need,” she laughed and so did he, but he also blushed.

  “Oh yeah,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away, “that's a pretty dress.”

  Chapter Two

  Eva was glad to be back in Chicago. Ghostwriting the book for Capital T had been a lot of fun, but a lot of hard work. It was slowly climbing up the New York Times Bestseller list just as Calvin had predicted, with a lot of media promotion by Capital. Since she got home from L.A., she'd seen him on Today, Good Morning American, Wendy Williams, and a half dozen other shows. He'd even been on the local Chicago station and she had no idea he'd been in town.

  She had to admit it was weird watching all the promotion and accolades for the book and never a mention of her name. But that was the nature of the job and she learned two books ago to accept that. At least if she wrote a clunker, no one had to know she was involved. She had been shocked to be asked to Cap's party in L.A. Most celebrities wouldn't want her hanging around, letting friends and business associates know they didn't sit down and actually pen the book themselves. Cap didn't care,
though. He seemed to appreciate what she'd written for him.

  She was happy to be back in her apartment. Even when bad memories crept in. Like when she got the mail and there was something in it for Paul. She'd let it send her into a tailspin of anger and sadness, ruining a perfectly peaceful afternoon of solitude. That was what was best about being in Los Angeles and going to clubs with Capital. It occupied her mind and offered a few genuinely fun moments in an otherwise dreadful year.

  She stretched out on her couch with a new magazine that had just come in the mail. She was paging through the ads when her phone started vibrating on the table. Ugh, what now? She didn't recognize the number, but it was a Los Angeles area code.

  “Hello,” she answered.

  “Hi, Eva?” the caller said.

  “Yes?” she had no clue who it was.

  “Oh hi, Eva. You probably don't remember, but we met in L. A. at Capital's party? This is Dylan. Dylan Moore?”

  She was being played. But it sounded like him. That voice.

  “Oh, really?” she said. She needed to hear more before she accepted that the real Dylan Moore was calling her on a Saturday while she was lying on the couch reading a magazine.

  “Oh sorry, yeah Calvin gave me your number. Um, I don't know if you'd be into this or not but...do you have a second to talk? Is this a good time?”

  “Sure, Dylan. It's fine. I was just reading...” she believed him enough to be intensely curious about what she might not “be into.”

  “Well, we were talking, Calvin and I, and we were thinking maybe it'd be a good idea for me to tell my story.”

  She couldn't help thinking, how long would that book be? You're twenty!

  “I mean, I'm young, but I feel I have something to say about my early life, and all that's happened to me, you know. Anyhow, he suggested I get together with you and maybe talk about it. See if you think you'd be interested and maybe the two of us could decide if it was a good idea, and if we should go ahead with it. Are you writing for anyone now?” he asked.

  “No, not at the moment. I had one prospective client lined up, but she backed out,” she said. The money from the deal with Capital had been good, and she'd negotiated a small percentage of the royalties, which was turning out to be a smart move, but it wouldn't last forever. She needed to have something solid in the works. And how awesome would it be to ghostwrite for the hottest male pop star in the universe?

  “Yes, it sounds like a great idea. I'd love to talk more about it, Dylan.”

  “Okay, cool, Eva. I wanted to talk to you myself and get a feel for how enthusiastic you were about the project. You know. When do you think we'd be able to meet up?”

  “Um, are you going to be in town, or do you need me out there?” She had no clue where he was calling from.

  “You're in Chicago, right? I can be there on Wednesday. Could we get together around 7pm?”

  “Sure, that's fine. Where do you want to meet?” Wow, so quickly. Her stomach felt a bit nervous.

  “Would you mind if I just came by your place?”

  What? Here? “Oh, it's not very comfortable here. I mean it's probably not what you're used to.”

  “I don't care, Eva. Don't worry about it. As long as it's quiet and we can talk, it'll be fine.” he said.

  “Alright, if your sure. I guess I'll see you at 7:00 on Wednesday.”

  “Sounds great. I'll get your address from Calvin, if that's alright. And I'll call if anything changes.” he said.

  “That's fine. Have a safe flight, Dylan,” she said. “'Bye.”

  “Thanks, talk to you soon. Bye, Eva.”

  The second they hung up, she called Calvin to verify he'd given Dylan her number. He had. He thought “it'd be good for the kid” to get some things off his chest and get some good publicity. He'd had it rough lately. Apparently, he'd broken up with his movie star girlfriend, Vanessa Ackers and gotten some bad press over the whole thing. Eva usually listened to the news on NPR and they failed to cover this bit of gossip. She felt close enough to Calvin by now to ask him a few questions about Dylan. After all, he'd given Dylan her name and number. First, she wanted to know why Dylan wanted to meet at her place.

  “He's, you know, a quiet kid, really,” Calvin said. “He has a big image to live up to and he has his bodyguards and drivers around all the time. Listen, I don't want to scare you off this project, but he's a one man three ring circus. The fans are going to find out he's in Chicago and where he's staying if he checks into a hotel. He won't have any peace there. I thought it'd be smart to go directly to your apartment from the airport, and by the time he's finished with your meeting, it'll be late and he can go to the airport from there.”

  “You mean he's flying in and out on the same day?” she asked, incredulous. He'd be logging about eight hours of flight time. She knew, she'd done it before.

  “Sure, he's up for it. He's a world traveler.”

  She said it'd be fine, and thanked him for the referral. So she hadn't been punked. And pop god Dylan Moore would be sitting on her couch, the one with the hole she covered with throw pillows, on Wednesday at 7:00pm. Her head reeled. Tomorrow she was going sofa shopping and she was going to pay through the nose to have a new one delivered by Wednesday morning.

  Chapter Three

  Eva got up early Monday morning after spending all day Sunday looking for a new sofa. She had finally found a pretty, soft gray sectional. Paul had chosen their old sleeper sofa. He liked it because it was wide and he could lay on it and watch sports. She hated it, but agreed because she was so thrilled to be furniture shopping with the man she'd wanted to marry for so long. But that was ancient history and she couldn't wait to have the new one brought in and the old one hauled away. She'd bought soft, bright yellow throw pillows and it was going to look pretty.

  She took her coffee out on the balcony to drink it. Even though it was almost October, the air was still warm and the sun was shining. Down on the street, at the corner she could see a group of little kids waiting for the bus. It felt strange, being autumn, the time she always associated with new things-a new school year, the start of the semester at college, getting down to work at the office, knowing there would be no more vacations for a while. Now September came and went, no different than any other month. She thought for sure she'd have a child by now. Four years ago, the September after getting married to Paul, she remembered thinking to herself, “next September I'll have a little baby to care for.”

  But the baby never materialized. Paul didn't want children “just yet.” He used the excuse, he was just getting to know her, he wasn't ready to meet another family member. Stupid, she thought. Now you have two new “family members” and I hope you're all getting acquainted. She felt a stab of guilt. Somewhere out there was a little baby who hadn't asked to be the brunt of her hostility, and she softened at the thought. But it still hurt, and sometimes righteous anger was more tolerable than the pain. She brushed those thoughts away.

  After her coffee, she went back inside and decided to tackle all the cleaning she'd been neglecting, using the excuse she was too tired after getting back from L. A. Jet lag, and all that. But now she was forced to confront the dirt. She couldn't have Dylan Moore, a potential client thinking she was a dirty slob.

  She devised a strategy, first conquering the rooms Dylan was sure to see-the entry hall, the dining room, the kitchen (you never know), and of course, the living room where she figured they would sit and chat. Then, the little guest bathroom. Surely he'd want to pee after a long trip from the airport. She giggled at the thought of Dylan Moore peeing in her guest bathroom. Which reminded her to remove the extra box of tampons she stored in there. What if he was a snooper? And the medicine cabinet still held Paul's cologne and a pack of men's razor blades. She tossed them in the trash bag she was carrying from room to room, and finished up.

  By evening, her apartment sparkled (if you didn't count her bedroom and master bath) and she remembered why she loved this place so much. The wood floors
were lovely. The walls were exposed brick. There was an old, wood burning fireplace in working order. The kitchen and bathrooms had been redone and were shining granite and stainless steel. And she had ample room to cook. She was so glad her writing was paying off. She would have hated to have to move after Paul left.

  She sat down, still on the old sofa because the new one was to be delivered tomorrow morning. She propped her feet up lightly on a pile of photography and architecture books sitting on the cocktail table she'd gotten from her best friend Sarah. She and her husband Jack moved to the Northern suburbs and got new living room furniture, so Eva gladly took the big, round brass and glass cocktail table. She was even more happy now that she realized how great it was going to look with the new sofa.

  Her mind got still for a second, and she let nerves about Wednesday creep in. What would she and Dylan talk about? Maybe she should prepare a list of questions so she could get a good feel about what exactly he hoped to accomplish by writing a memoir at the tender age of 20. He was 20, right? She wasn't sure. She didn't follow the teen music scene too closely, but wasn't totally clueless either. She decided it'd be a good idea to look Dylan up on Wikipedia and get the basic biographical information before Wednesday evening. She wasn't going to read Perez Hilton, or anything like that. She'd learned while working with Capital just how incredibly wrong those stories could be. She would just research the facts and leave it at that. She wanted to have as few preconceived notions about her potential client as possible.

  She grabbed her tablet and looked up “Dylan Moore”. The number of pages at the bottom of the search engine page was damn near infinite. She ignored the headlines and went right to Wikipedia. Yes, 20 years old, born in Indianapolis, Indiana, mother and father's names-no links to go to, no siblings, discovered by Calvin Blume when he was 15 at a talent show in Detroit. Shot to fame. He's had five platinum albums and more hit singles than she cared to count. Several awards, including Billboard's Best New Artist. Dated actress Vanessa Ackers for the last two years. Relationship ended in March of this year. That was it. That was a good starting point. She felt pretty confident she'd have a few talking points in case he really was quiet.