Isabelle Reid's Train Wreck

Chapter Eight

"What the fuck was that?"

I didn't open my eyes as Karl opened the limo door. He got in, slamming it angrily behind him. Carmen had already been rushed out when we arrived at the hotel. I didn't need to ask what he was referring to. It was my wonderful drunken radio interview from 6:30 to 8am. It wasn't supposed to be that long, but I had found it so entertaining that I stayed. The DJs were thrilled. My manager and everyone else were certainly not.

"They let me play records." I half-heartedly attempted to stick up for myself. I was too tired for this. I had gotten about forty minutes of sleep in the car ride to and from the station. I needed to crash and who knew when I was going to be able to do so.

"And what are you wearing? Are you trying to ruin everything? Jesus, what are you thinking?"

"Jeans. They are called jeans," was my tired response. "I was too tired to get dressed up. You told me to go to a party."

Karl angrily banged his hand on the door. "You aren't taking any of this seriously. This has put everything in jeopardy. Did you see the papers today?"

I lifted my head worriedly. Blake wouldn't rat me out, would he? He was too good of a guy. Then again, what did I know about him. It could all have been for a story. It wouldn't be the first attempt. It would have just been the first time anyone succeeded.

"What are they saying?"

Karl's eye narrowed. "Who is Harrison Colton?"

I groaned. "A bad fucking mistake. And no, before you can yell at me, nothing happened. I flirted with him and made the bad judgment of going off with him. He kissed me but I told him to get off of me and that was it."

"And the fight?"

"How did they get all of this in? Someone had to be at the party." I rubbed my eyes. "The fight I don't know about. I wasn't there. Lars came back pissed. One of his friends stuck up for me when they heard him saying shit. He knew it was a lie."

"Lars screwing some other girl in the booth?"

I shook my head, looking up at the car ceiling. "What do you want me to say Karl? I don't know. Ask Lars. Why do you always come to me with this shit? I'm tired. I was up all night, I'm still drunk and you are harassing me with questions you already know the answers to. Yes, I screwed up. But for fucks sake, get off my fucking case."

"Get off your fucking case?" Karl sneered. "Nice language. I made you a star. I'm trying to keep you one. It is my job to be on your fucking case. One mistake like this, fine. People generally think tabloids are full of shit. But if more and more stories come out, which they will, then you are doomed. We both know Lars is not loyal. And then you had to go on the air today. Next time you are drunk, call me. I'll take care of it. But no, you went on the air. And what did you say?"

I winced.

"What did you say?"

"A lot of things," I mumbled.

Karl laughed humorlessly. "Yes, a lot things. One such thing was that Lars was in some hotel room probably sleeping at that moment though you weren't sure whose room he was in. You also said how you had been playing strip poker all night, how alcohol was very good at numbing the pain in your ankle, how you thought hotels should provide condoms in every room of a hotel suite, and my personal favorite, how you had no intention of getting married and getting stuck with Lars anytime soon." I closed my eyes, wishing I could run away and hide. "So, let me ask you again, what the fuck was that? I don't care how drunk you are. Are you trying to ruin your career? Your image?"

I sighed, resting my head in my hands. "I don't know. I just wanted to be me for once."

Karl scoffed. "The public doesn't want you. They want the Isabelle I have made. This one is too human. They want to beauty queen who could be their best friend if only she gave them a chance. The untouchable Isabelle."

"Wasn't I supposed to be touchable now?" I mumbled.

"Get out of this car. Sober up and pray you still have a career after your little stunt. Grow up. This is your life I'm trying to keep together."

I opened the door, stumbling out on shaky legs. I hurried towards the back door as the limo took off. I wondered at that for a moment. I was never by myself. Ever. Someone was always with me. Karl had to be madder than I thought. I put my sunglasses on, walking faster than ever. The door wasn't too far.

Then they appeared. The paparazzi. They thrust their cameras in my face and surrounded me. I struggled to keep standing as the shouted at me, the glaring light blinding me.

"Who's the other woman?"

"Is that why you fucked Harrison?"

"Was he good?"

"He said you were bad in bed. Is that why Lars gets it elsewhere?"

"When are you calling the engagement off?"

"She's probably prettier than you, huh?"

The questions came at me from every side as I pushed at them to let me through.

One of them knocked into me and I went sprawling to the floor. The pictures continued as I tried to get up. But they were all so close, allowing me no room to breathe or space to move.

Finally one of the hotel's staff members noticed what was going on. I managed to keep a stoic face as pushed through the crowd. He pulled me up, ushering me into the safety of the hotel.

"Thanks," I managed to say calmly. I wanted to burst into tears but I had been doing this for too long to make that rookie mistake no matter how drunk I was.

He nodded, his blue eyes wide with excitement. "No problem. I'm a big fan. Is it true? About you and Lars?"

I just shook my head, not bothering to reply as I headed for the stairs. I wasn't going to make the mistake of getting trapped in an elevator with someone just waiting to quiz me on my relationship.

I arrived at my room and I opened the door with a heavy sigh of relief. I was finally alone. It should have made me feel better but it didn't. I wanted someone to be here for me. Someone I didn't have to pay to actually care about what just happened. Lars probably had no clue. He was probably sleeping it off. Same with the other guys. They never bothered to listen or read any of my interviews. They just expected me to take care of it. Usually I did. All alone.

My pity party was cut short by a knock on the door. Briefly I allowed myself to hope that it might be someone other than Carmen to check in on me. Maybe Lars or better yet Blake, with a condom.

But no, it was just Carmen.

"How did it go?" she asked as she walked into the room. In her hands was garment bags. I must have an appearance. "With Karl?"

"Wonderful. He thought I did brilliant."

She turned. "Really?" she asked in disbelief.

I took the bags from her hand. "Yes. Now get out."

"But you have to get ready. There is an afternoon party you need to attend with the head of the label. He wants to talk to you about the direction of the new album. Karl asked me," she continued as I pushed her out of my room.

I glared. "I'll be at the fucking party. Just back off right now."

She opened her mouth to continue but I just closed the door in her face. I hung up the clothes in my closet before heading into the bathroom. Once there, I sat in the tub, pulling my knees up close to my chest. I slowly began counting as the tears trickled down my face.