My smile is plastic and my cheeks ache. I make a move to release his arm and let him talk to the press alone, but Tyler clamps down on my hand.
“I need you with me, Stella. Just remember: Facts are real. Stories aren’t always true.” Tyler’s voice rasps and I remember these words. They’re the same words he spoke the first night I went to his loft to see his practice space.
The manager gives me a once-over and a word of warning. “What you say and do right now will affect Tyler immensely.”
I swallow and force my grin wider to show Tyler I’ve got his back. We face the throng of reporters.
With each new question, the assault gets more pointed and more personal.
“What’s your relationship with Kim Archer now? Does she know about your new girlfriend?” A blonde in a Grecian-draped navy gown pushes a microphone under Tyler’s mouth and his jaw tenses as he measures his next words carefully. A black-clad cameraman hovers over the blonde’s shoulder.
“Relationships are more complicated that a soundbite, wouldn’t you agree?” He smiles and the reporter’s back arches slightly. She’s responding to his physical presence the way any woman would. With a swoon.
“So you’re still together with Kim? Or are you with…” the reporter looks at me and pushes the microphone closer to his mouth, willing him to fill in my name.
“I’m really excited to see the Spider-Man premiere tonight. Working on its soundtrack was inspiring. Did you ask Emma Stone about the scene that features our song?” Tyler grins again, letting the non sequitur sink in.
He just said no comment without saying that on camera. It’s a technique I learned in journalism school, and I admire his savvy. Tape of him saying “no comment” or looking flustered would be played again and again with the reporter’s voiceover describing an alleged torrid affair. That would be damaging, but what Tyler’s giving right now is harmless.
Facts are real. Stories aren’t always true.
The reporter’s questions have my brain swirling and I’m seething. It’s not quite jealousy—more the empty feeling of being left out of this part of his life. I suspect this is the secret he hasn’t shared with Dave or Gavin yet.
Seeing she’ll make no headway with Tyler, the reporter turns to me. “Have you seen Tyler’s baby?” It’s a point-blank question with only a yes or no response, and I cover my hesitation with a small cough.
“I’ve seen more than you would imagine,” I tell her and lift my eyebrows. She leans in toward me, her eyes coaxing me for a girlfriend-to-girlfriend spill. But this act is bullshit, and I’ve been playing her side of the game long enough to know better.
“I’ve seen Tyler be an amazing friend. His talent speaks for itself, but what people don’t see is a guy who’s willing to go out of his way to help others.” I take a half-step back from the microphone, my smile bright and my body language signaling this interview’s end.
Tyler pivots us and walks to the next reporter, whom I recognize from Entertainment Weekly. Now we’re in lock step, smiling and playing off each other as if this press chat is just a barrel of laughs. This is important—if a paparazzo captures just one cranky look on his ten-frames-per-second digital camera, that’s the shot we’ll see online later tonight.
Tyler answers questions with the minimum amount of information and I glean more about the baby and the fact that Kim Archer is a real part of his past. He won’t say anything more than she’s “an engaging person” and he “wishes her the best” but I feel the strain as his arm tenses through his suit.
I want to ask him about everything right this minute. I want to know who Kim was to him, what she looks like, and if her three-month-old baby girl is, indeed, his.
Could it be true? A year ago, Tattoo Thief’s fame exploded. The band’s first album, Feast, was in heavy rotation on pop, rock and alternative radio. I don’t expect that Tyler’s lived like a monk in the past, but I’m not sure I’m ready to face the real consequences if a fling created something more.
A person. A baby. My stomach clenches at the memory of my pregnancy and I’m not ready to ask him for the truth. Facts are real, but stories aren’t always the truth? Tyler’s statement feels more like a riddle with each moment.
Tattoo Thief’s manager finally rescues us, pulling us away from our last interview and into the relative safety of the theater lobby where press are banned. I look around desperately for Beryl but see no one I recognize.
Tyler tips up my chin and looks carefully at my face. He’s no longer performing for the cameras and his eyes are tight and frightened. “You get through that OK?”
I nod, then shake my head as the weight of the questions crashes on my shoulders. I was so unprepared for this, and it’s clear he was, too.
Tyler pulls his phone from his pocket and sends a hasty text, watching the phone for an immediate response. When it flashes, I read the reply from Gavin. Beryl will be right out.
“I have to go in. Beryl’s going to take you somewhere private. Take all the time you need, OK?” Tyler’s thumb strokes my shoulder and I don’t know whether to run from him or to him. This is all too much to take in.
Beryl sweeps into the lobby in a flash of deep purple and she pulls me away from Tyler, her eyes narrowed with anger. “You have some serious explaining to do,” she throws over her shoulder. The story blindsided the rest of the band and reporters pumped them for information, too.
Beryl leads me to a stairway tucked at the far edge of the theater lobby and we climb, not speaking, our eyes exchanging the knowledge that some serious shit has just gone down.
She pushes open a door to a sitting room with leather couches, a full-length mirror and a long vanity. Beyond that, another door leads to sinks and toilets.
“What just happened?” I whisper, clutching Beryl’s hand and trying to decipher the press rail blur.
“You didn’t know either? Jayce just filled us in. Tyler had a fling with some chick a year ago, and now she claims he’s the father of her child. Gavin and Dave didn’t know this was even happening and they’re livid.”
I look up at the sitting room lights and blink rapidly, willing away the sting in my eyes as the word fling confirms that Kim Archer is real. And she was with Tyler.
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know. Gavin thinks she’s just a hot groupie who caught Tyler’s eye. He said she was all over him for a month or two.”
I grimace, hating the visuals Beryl’s putting in my head. “Why did this all come out now?”
Beryl shrugs. “I guess it was timed for maximum damage. Jayce said her lawyers have been after Tyler for a couple weeks, trying to get him to cough up a lump sum or child support or something. The timeframe fits, but she hasn’t proved the baby is his yet.”
Timeframe? Oh. The time when Tyler was fucking her coincides with when the baby was conceived. I hate the word yet in Beryl’s last words. And I’m also insanely jealous of this other woman, no matter how deeply she’s buried in Tyler’s past.
The sitting room door swings open and a woman in a dramatic red gown sweeps by us on her way to the restroom. Beryl straightens and smiles at her, and I admire her poise. Thanks to Beryl’s housesitting job, she’s spent time in the company of the stratospherically wealthy, and I appreciate that she doesn’t let that wealth intimidate her.
When the woman passes, Beryl gives me a swift hug. “We can’t talk about it here. This is what we’re going to do: go downstairs, sit back and enjoy the movie, and then let the men who are crazy about us take us home to bed.”