Beca
It didn't take Beca five minutes.
Aubrey didn't seem to be on social media, except Linkedin. It yielded nothing aside from her current job at Bristol and Cahill. Chloe's Instagram, however, was a gold mine. The redhead over-documented everything: dinners with friends, dressing room changes, even mundane Philly street signage.
Aubrey and Chloe had pints at Finnigan's last month. Three months back, from a series of beach photos in Montauk, she held hands with some guy. Moneybags from US Weekly. They bore a surreal glowing bliss only possible in Abercrombie & Fitch's summer catalogue; Chloe's warm-tone filter only magnified their perfect tans tenfold.
Chloe's caption read: Congrats to the most adorable couple I know! xoxo, followed by a series of emojis – a bell, fireworks, a glass of champagne, a top hat, a diamond ring, and plenty of hearts.
Well, fuck.
"Your secretary is so weird."
"She's like that all the time."
"Is she Russian? She looks – ow, don't pull the straps!"
"Sorry." Beca unhooked Stella's bra, the other girl shimmying against her to help slip the offending straps off.
"She might hear us through the wall."
Beca slid off the girl underneath her, trying to contain her impatience. She performed in last year's Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, met Stella Maxwell backstage during rehearsals, and had been sleeping with the blonde model since. Two hours earlier she informed Beca she would be in New York. Her first stop from the airport was Residual Heat Records. And now they were undressing on the couch.
Also, Stella won't shut up.
"Stel, I have a flight in an hour."
"Mmm-hmm. Hey, you know, I was talking to Suki W the other week, and she told me about this thing you did…"
"What thing?"
"You were at Monte Carlo, and she said she came so hard you had to call room service for ice. Is that true?"
Beca fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I don't remember."
"Well, try."
"I was coked out. Rolling so hard I was flexing in the mirror, like that guy from American Psycho."
"Is she good in bed?"
Beca started to get up, but Stella wrapped a leg around her. "Come on, we all hate her! I wouldn't hang with her if she wasn't so close to TS."
"You're too damn hot to be this jealous of Suki."
"I'd die if she was better than me at anything."
"You've got an ass so perfect you walk for the most famous lingerie brand in the world. I think you're good."
The words were completely inane, but it seemed to be what Stella wanted to hear. "Really?"
"Really. You're a vision in angel wings. It's a miracle I got through the VS show performance."
"Suki's such a cow. She can't even go topless at Gronk's party." Beca moved towards Stella's neck, tuning the rest of her words out. Stella held her back. "When will you be back?"
Beca shook her head.
"But I wanna see you again."
"I'm in LA the entire week."
"Then come to my show. First week of March."
"Won't your girlfriend be there?"
Stella's smile flickered. "She's at some shoot in the Alps. Come on, Maroon 5 is playing the afterparty! It's gonna be totally lit!"
That sounded like the worst afterparty ever. "No. We can't be photographed together."
"We won't! It would really make my night if you come."
Beca sighed. Kommissar can deal with this later. "When is this again?"
"Fourth of March."
"I'll be there."
Stella looked visibly happier. "Will you take me to dinner?"
"After the show? Sure."
"Can I see your new place?"
"Absolutely." Beca punctuated the lie with a kiss.
"How many girls have you taken there?"
"Just you."
"Can you score coke? OMG, the one we had at Mykonos was amazing. And I've bought from Leo! Remember we were at Jonah Hill's balcony after like three lines, and I didn't know everyone could see us from the pool until they were whistling us on?"
Beca kissed her again, really intent on shutting her down this time.
"Please tell me you are in the car," Luke scolded over the phone.
"I am in the car."
"Please tell me it's moving."
Beca's driver, Ray, shook his head at the snaking traffic ahead. "We are on our way to the airport," Kommissar said. "Estimated arrival in LAX at five pm."
"That's barely cutting it. Christ, Becky. I warned you about shagging during office hours. Spotify paid you a few million quid to, you know, not be late at their party."
"What do you want me to do, fly the plane myself?"
"We should start scheduling these girls. 'Nooner with Stella Maxwell, one pm'."
"Dude, take a Xanax or something."
"This is why it took you so long to defeat the Nazis," Kommissar said, effectively putting an end to their bickering. "Beca, it would be courteous of you to update us of your, ah, personal plans the next time."
"It's courteous of you to grace the Grammys with that fine ass," Beca muttered before catching herself. "Ah, fuck. If you wanna file sexual harassment charges, I completely understand."
"Not at all. The occasional bursts of wit in your compliments reassure me."
"I'm still here," Luke interrupted irritably. "Kommissar, can we go over the schedule, please?"
"Tonight, Spotify event at Belasco Theater at ten. Then you have to appear at two parties downtown: Jeremy Scott's and Adidas. Tomorrow morning: production with Rih eight am. Lunch meeting with Roman GianArthur at Poppy + Rose. Mic test for Delta's Grammy party at two pm. The actual event starts at six. After Delta, you have the Clive Davis gala at Beverly Hilton. Sunday, you have some free time before the Grammys – Marion is coming by for hair and makeup at one pm. The limo is coming by at three; you should be headed to Staples Center with Luke by three-thirty. You're seated next to Abel Tesfaye and Selena Gomez –"
Beca groaned. She didn't like Selena Gomez very much.
"If it's any consolation, it's near the bar," Luke said.
" – and Emily is seated next to Ed Sheeran," Kommissar continued. "Post-show, you're headed to Chateau Marmont for the night – that's the GQ afterparty. Chance the Rapper is hosting."
Beca curled up in the backseat. "I'll never sleep again."
What precious little time she had on Sunday was taken away by Keegan, who insisted on meeting her downtown for brunch.
"We got a problem."
Jesus, they haven't even been seated for two minutes.
"I don't like the choices you've been making for the indie division," Keegan continued, scowling at her from across the table. "You didn't attend any VIP events I lined up this week. You're signing guys no one's ever heard of. You did not sign The Chainsmokers."
"They're fucking repulsive."
"We could've made two mil just last month! Now they're with Sony!"
"There's not enough money in the world to ever sign those bro-thumping –"
"Who cares? Reggie, it ain't called the music industry for nothing. In-dus-try. Meaning you have to make me money."
"I made fifty million last year. Heck, I made half a mil yesterday with Rihanna."
"Your division can't survive on your music alone. Who's your biggest earner right now, Lana del Rey? She makes you what, two grand per month? Make. Better. Investments. And I don't mean yourself. Who knows how long you gonna be around."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Beca demanded.
"It means you won't be number one all the time. Even right now you got a shitload of bad press –"
"I got three Grammy nominations, how is that bad press?"
"You're not winning Album of the Year."
"I wasn't expecting to."
Keegan started scrolling through his phone, oblivious to Beca's mounting irritation. "I warned you not to release an album the same year as Beyonce and Adele. Even Pharrell would be fucked, man. I'm talking about Alana Mason. What the hell was that?"
"No one believes her."
"If she wins a Grammy tonight, everyone will." Keegan waved his phone at her. "Do you know what the Internet is saying? Pull quote from Billboard: 'At 19, Alana Mason seemed to think that the promiscuous STOKR should have treated her with a little more care.' That's some T-Swift-level shit, Reggie. You? You're John Mayer."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Wear something skanky on the red carpet."
"…what?"
"Make out with Rita Ora, suck up to Kanye in your acceptance speech, whatever. You hate The Chainsmokers? Punch Drew Taggart. God knows I want to. Just make it loud. Make it badass. Make it the TMZ headline tomorrow."
"Jesus fucking Christ," Beca groaned.
"I'm not done. I want you to keep this up for as long as you can. You got this invite to Marc Jacob's spring show next month. Flood your IG with models. Justin Bieber. Marc Jacobs. If I hear Mick Jagger was there, if Jesus Christ was there, you'd better get selfies."
Nothing would have given Beca greater joy than to throw a plate at Keegan's head, but she did her best to compose herself. "Fine."
"Good." Keegan stood up. "You know B.o.B.? Bobby Ray?"
"The flat-earther?" B.o.B.'s last hit Flatline was a diss aimed at Neil Degrasse Tyson, after the astrophysicist corrected the hip-hop artist's Twitter claims that the world was flat.
"Yeah. What a dumbass." Keegan threw a few bills on the table – more than enough to cover the bill for the entire restaurant. They didn't even order anything. "I want you to draw him a contract, and I want it on my desk before you leave LA."
"B.o.B.," Beca said through clenched teeth. "The Airplanes guy."
"Blame Atlantic. You're a better producer."
"That's not the kind of music I want to make."
"Reggie."Keegan clapped a hand on Beca's shoulder, staring her down. "I haven't heard whining like this since I managed Mariah in 1999. From now on, you sign all the bro-thumpers. Be a curator in your own damn time."
Stacie called just as Beca and Luke were heading to Staples Center.
"What are you wearing?"
Beca smiled. "Come see for yourself." They both knew this was impossible; Stacie had work in Austin for Sampha's new music video.
"Trust me, I'd rather be there stalking Iggy Pop. Helloooo, Daddy."
"Oh my god. You know you're on speaker, right?"
"I'd blow him so good he'll live twenty more years."
Luke, who was eating a hotdog in his tuxedo, put the paper bag down sadly. "I am never eating again."
"Oh, hi, Luke. Beca, darling, as I was saying, I would totally kneel and swallow all his 'lust for life' –"
"I got it, Stace, thank you."
"Beyonce will be there, right? What if you meet her?"
"I haven't really thought about it," Beca said. "I could bow."
Stacie laughed. "Anyway, I just wanted to wish you luck, darling."
"Thanks. Wish you were here."
"Awww."
"Shut up."
NEW COUPLE ALERT? STOKR and Cara Delevingne Spotted Kissing After GQ Grammy Party
TMZ | Filed under Sighting, Love Line, STOKR, Cara Delevingne, St. Vincent |
STOKR is bouncing back from Alana Mason's single just fine by smooching supermodel Cara Delevingne!
Alana caused a stir last month for the stinging barbs she threw at STOKR in You'll Never Have Anyone Better. But nothing can bring down this three-time Grammy winner! After nabbing Best Dance Recording for her Drake collab On Fire, STOKR partied it up at Chance The Rapper's GQ bash with pals Luke Gainsbourg, Emily Junk, The Weeknd and Selena Gomez. STOKR was snapped trading kisses with Cara Delevingne in the backseat of her Hummer afterwards! Meanwhile, does this mean Cara Delevingne is finally moving on since breaking up with singer St. Vincent in 2016? Stay tuned!
Back in New York, Stacie whistled and showed Beca something on her phone: another gossip site sharing her picture with Cara.
"It's a stunt."
"…you're not with Cara Delaminge?" Stacie stared at her for a bit, then grabbed her around the waist. "I knew you loved me."
They sat at a booth in Clandestino. Beca had been yawning for the last thirty minutes; she didn't even bother evading Stacie's groping embrace. "Where's Luke? He lives closest, for fuck's sake."
"He'll be here."
"If he's not here by ten, I'm going home."
"Okay, grumpy." Stacie waved down the bartender, Eddie, to replace Beca's empty glass. "All partied out from LA?"
Beca nodded.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"You didn't do coke?"
"No."
"Not stalking Aubrey or anything?"
Beca snorted at her friend's complete inability to hold back. "Subtle."
"What? You've been completely weird after you saw her on US Weekly."
"I left something at Black Flamingo that night, so I had to go."
"Baby, baby, baby," Stacie sighed. "I told you this would come up."
"What?"
"You were leaving Barden, then you banged Aubrey, then you came to me next morning and promised you wouldn't bang her again. Then I bet you my used thongs you would."
"You got one of those things right. And not the good parts."
"Whatever, I embellished. Have you looked her up?"
"Who are we talking about?" Luke said, squeezing in the seat across them. "What are you doing here?" he asked Beca. "You know nothing about parties! Hell, you can't tell what a roulade is if it smacked you in the face."
Beca glared at Stacie. "What's this?"
"We're planning my birthday party, dear."
"You said this was urgent." Beca started collecting her things. "I came straight from the airport. Jesus."
"Aww, don't go!" Stacie grabbed her coat before she can get to it, holding it hostage. "It is urgent! It's two months away and I need you to get Calvin Harris to come. Then I'll make him come."
"Not gonna happen."
"Oh, don't be miffed. We'll take half an hour at most, then you can go back to gabbing about your love life," Luke said. "Who's she talking about? Cara? That was a stunt."
"This is Luke Gainsbourg with the late report," Beca muttered.
"Beca's jerking her tits off to Aubrey. Our former Bella captain."
"I thought Chloe was your captain."
"She was co-captain, but she's not El Capitan. El Capitan is Aubrey. Dictatorial A-personality head bitch in charge. She's smoking-hot, top of her graduating class, teaches choreography in tight, tight yoga pants…"
"Keep it. I don't wanna touch it again," Beca declared, motioning to the coat under Stacie's arm. "Bye!"
"You don't just give away a D&G topcoat, you heathen, what's wrong with you?" Luke nudged Beca back into her seat with his foot. He turned back to Stacie. "I thought you only fancied men."
"Oh, that was only after college. And it's Beca who's into Aubrey –"
"What?! What about that girl you stole from me last time we went out?"
"Carlie the Hungarian? I sent her home."
"You cockblocked me for nothing?"
"Okay, you caught me. I do it out of jealousy." Stacie kissed the top of Beca's head before she could squirm away.
"That's disturbing," Luke remarked.
"Cause that's how your mummy kisses you?" Stacie held on to Beca tighter. "Our love may be illicit, tinycakes, but it's pure. Don't let anybody tell you different."
Luke chuckled. "Is Aubrey blonde?"
"You bet. A real Betty Draper. Beca used to fight her all the time. Gave her the jollies."
"Fuck off," Beca snapped.
"Anyway, they banged before they parted ways, 'cause Beca showed Aubrey her soft side – or front, if you know what I mean. Beca caught feelings, but she never did anything about it 'cause I guess she became famous or something? Then we learned Aubrey's in New York. But out of respect for our sexual chemistry, Beca won't admit her undying love for Aubrey and her I'm-guessing-also-very-blonde pussy."
"It's true. I'm super in love with this distant schoolmate I haven't heard from in six years," Beca deadpanned.
"You caught feelings?" Luke asked. "Like that time you proposed to Elke Alizio?"
"Shut up."
"Aubrey's a lawyer now," Stacie said. "She moved to Brooklyn last year or something. Chloe told me."
"So?"
"So look her up, babe, were you even listening?"
"You do that, because I'm not a creep. I don't go around stalking people I see in tabloids."
"Good call," Luke agreed. "How come I've never heard about this Aubrey before?"
"You heard Stacie: she lives in Brooklyn."
"Least it's not Jersey," Luke chuckled.
Friday, a short rap on the office door interrupted Beca at work: Kommissar, saying goodbye for the week.
"You have the Marc Jacobs fashion show tomorrow. Would you need reservations afterwards?"
Beca was going with Luke and going home with Stella. Neither of them sounded like an interesting dinner companion. "No, thanks."
"Klar. Well. Enjoy."
"That's a tall order," Beca replied, waving her out.
It rained the whole day Saturday. At four pm the New York skyline was obscured in sheets. Beca looked through the windows of her apartment, aware it was pouring, and yet hearing nothing but a faint ticking somewhere in the living room. It was too late for lunch. Too early for a drink. Too late for a nap. Too early to get dressed.
At least she had things to do when she was into blow. Unnerved by the strange melancholy of the afternoon, she called Luke.
"Yeah, yeah, you're sick, cue fake cough and so on," Luke said, in lieu of a greeting. "Get stuffed. We're still going."
"I'm not –"
"We're going! I got you a driver. You can piss off wherever after the show. Just make sure you –"
"I'm not canceling. It's just…" 'I feel weird' was inadequate, but there was no way she could put a name to what was happening. "…yeah."
"…you're not skiving off?"
"No."
"…blimey. Well. I'm at Clandestino. Pre-gaming, as the kids call it."
"Right."
"You sound odd."
"I guess."
"You'll be alright," Luke said reassuringly. "Come on down."
Luke grabbed her by the arm before she could even clear Clandestino's doorway.
"You took so long, I met a girl," he said, steering Beca off the side of the bar. "Will you help me?"
"What do I do?"
"Talk me up. She's a bit posh. I can't tell if she's into me."
"Okay. Um…I'll drop by, she'll freak out, I'll say I keep you around because you're up to date on the club scene in London."
"…really?"
"Well, it's not a lie."
Luke grinned. "Brilliant."
"Yeah, whatever. Where are you guys seated?"
"Furthest booth."
"Let me check in with Eddie. See you in ten."
"Old-fashioned?" Eddie the bartender asked, watching Beca settle on a barstool.
"Sure."
She finished her drink like it was water: the first of four, her new personal rule for a night out. Drinks two to four would have to be at the show. Nights like these used to bring out a completely different person: STOKR the manic, who trades air kisses with supermodels and keeps up the endless flow of champagne for everyone, drinks cocktails to the point of incoherence, snorts Hollywood lines in the bathroom. Fucks girls in her car with reckless chemically-induced confidence. Charismatic. Above the law. Completely out of control.
She read the bottle labels behind Eddie, trying to distract herself. Boodles. Bulldog. Plymouth. Gin Mare. Bombay Sapphire. Pink Gin. Tanqueray…
She felt the faint buzz from the whiskey upon reaching the vodka section of the shelves. Stop moping, she told herself. She looked great, she wouldn't have to drive, she was guaranteed a fantastic lay. The speakers even played The Weeknd's I Feel It Coming. It was a hell of an omen. It was going to be a great night.
She smoothed the lapels of her coat and got up.
She kept her eyes trained on Luke the whole time she approached their table.
"Hey, man."
Luke glanced up with a carefully-studied expression of happy surprise. "Becky!" He grabbed her in a one-armed hug – highly unusual, since she normally didn't let him into her personal space at all. "I thought I'd be seeing you later at the show."
"Had to get out of the house. It was driving me nuts."
"Everything all right, mate?"
"Yeah." And before she could stop herself, "Just…felt somewhere in between. You know?"
Luke shook his head. "Huh."
"Was it at four in the afternoon?"
"Yeah, actually, how did you…" Beca turned to Luke's date with a smirk, ready to flatter her off her feet. The next moment, the words dried in her throat.
"Douglas Adams wrote something about it," Aubrey said, smiling up at her. "He called it 'the long dark teatime of the soul'."
