Page 2 of Uncharted Desires
“I don’t know how that works on anybody.”
“Worked on you once,” Lydia quipped.
“Oh my god, Lyd! That was almost a decade ago, and we do not bring it up!” Kat said, turning her attention back to the video.
“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just get to the point. I am retiring as a musician and performer. The world tour I have completed was my farewell tour, and I want to thank every one of you who was a part of it; you all made it that much more special to me. But there comes a time in our lives when we realize we are ready for something else, something different, and that is where I am. I don’t know what the future holds, but for now, I will be taking an indefinite break from music. Thanks, everyone.”
“That’s it? He’s just done?” She looked up at her friends, who both looked as stunned as she felt. “Is he serious with this shit?”
Cher nodded as she chewed on her thumbnail, a nervous habit that drove Kat nuts.
Kat walked across the deck, her long brown hair whipping in the salty sea breeze. She leaned against the bar and smiled at the bartender. “A mai tai, please,” she said. Despite the beautiful surroundings of their trip, her mood was soured by the arrogant jerk who happened to be footing the bill for their lavish vacation.
She gritted her teeth and took a sip of her drink, pretending everything was fine. She was too old to start over—thirty-two-year-old women didn’t just magically begin music careers out of nowhere—ten years in the industry had taught her that.
Almost a year on the road and Weston hadn’t seen fit to mention the tiny detail of his retirement. It hurt more than she cared to admit.
Cher and Lydia joined her, each ordering their own drink.
“We’ll find a new project,” Cher said, always the optimist.
“Damn straight,” Lydia piped in. “We are nothing if not resourceful. We’ll ask Declan for our next gig.”
Kat stared into her drink. “Declan’s a useless prick.”
“You always know the best new musicians,” Lydia said to Kat. “Whose album should we be on next?”
“Forget that. Let’s start our own girl group,” Cher joked.
“Yes, because the world is really clamoring for a middle-aged thirty-something girl group,” Kat grumbled, downing the rest of her drink and signaling the bartender for another.
“Bitch, please. I think it’s just what the world needs,” Lydia laughed. “Besides, don’t you think society is sick of watching a bunch of skinny children bouncing around singing pop songs?”
“No.” Kat dropped her head on the bar. “It reminds them of the good old days. We just remind them of reality, and nobody wants that.”
“Damn, Kat, we’re trying to lighten the mood,” Cher said. “Although thinking about it, I’m not surprised. Didn’t you notice how we were in smaller venues this entire tour? I think he wanted out before he became obsolete.”
Kat lifted her head. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to process all this.”
“Kat, we will be fine.” Cher placed her hand on Kat’s shoulder. “West is not going to throw us to the wolves.”
Kat wasn’t convinced that wasn’t exactly what he was going to do.
Lydia nodded, pointing toward the bow of the ship. “There’s the man of the hour now.”
Weston walked aboard, his chin held high, broad chest pulling his shirt taut, surrounded by his usual group of adoring acolytes. His dark golden hair shimmered in the bright afternoon sunlight. His best friend Luke was laughing like a hyena at something Weston had said—typical of him. Luke’s father was some kind of oil baron, and he was wealthier than Weston, but here, fame outranked everything else.
Conspicuously missing this trip had been Weston’s on-again, off-again, supermodel girlfriend Gia Patrizia. But unlike all the other times they had broken up, there had been no social media buzz.
The rest of the crew joined them, mingling around the deck, chatting and laughing without a care in the world. Clearly, they weren’t worried about Weston’s retirement. A light breeze carried the scent of salt in the air while laughter punctuated the surrounding conversations. The guys would be fine. Everything was easier for men in the music world.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kat caught sight of Declan walking down the stairs at the center of the yacht toward the dining room. Maybe, just maybe, he would help her out. He was a manager after all. Lydia and Cher were deep in conversation with the tour guitarist and bassist, so Kat slipped away and followed him.
Finally catching up to Declan in the dining room, she called out his name.
“What, Katy? I’m due on a call,” he said, looking at his cell phone.
Kat bit the side of her cheek, annoyed that after ten years he still couldn’t get her name right. Declan had always been a domineering presence on tour. Tall and looming, he had big meaty hands that looked like they could snap her neck in two, and being alone with him always made her uneasy, especially when he was high. Forcing herself not to fidget, she pulled her shoulders back, looking him in the eye. “Now that Weston’s retiring, would the label be willing to listen if I record some new stuff?”