"You threw me off. I'm usually on top of things, but you were like a curve ball. You're not like any girl I've ever met before."
I took a big gulp of my drink, my stomach doing cartwheels again. What was going on here? I had assumed he was such a womanizer, and yet here he was, assaulting me with an authenticity that made me weak in the knees. I wasn't even sure what he meant, but I wasn't about to ask.
A lot of things were running through my mind at once, like a montage in a movie. I thought about Jesse, probably wondering what was going on between the famous guy and me. I thought about work, thought about how much the deal meant to Sam. I thought about myself and the stress that had led me here to New York City. And finally, the bizarre series of events that dumped me next to this rich, gorgeous man I knew so little about.
"You look stunning tonight, Effie," he whispered, his words tickling my ear as his breath touched that delicate skin.
I blushed again, breaking eye contact and not knowing what to say. "Thanks. Aren't you already dating some famous actress or something?" Jack's features tensed up. It actually looked as if I had offended him. "Effie, you're missing the point here. Do you really think I'd be here if that was all I cared about?”
"I don't know," I said defensively. "I don't know anything about that. I barely know anything about you!" I sipped and waited.
"For your information, I am single. I have been since the last Hollywood starlet I dated."
"Stacy Levons?" I asked abruptly.
He started laughing. "You don't know me, but of course you know Stacy."
"I like her," I admitted. "A lot." It was an understatement, but I didn't want to sound crazy.
"She's a great actor, but not great to be in a relationship with. Stacy's awesome, but she's always super busy with projects." He nursed his drink and then continued. "You probably don't believe me, but when you have access to Hollywood people, it's no longer the most exciting thing in the world. They're just like you are, flaws and everything. You stay together for the good press even when you hate the other's guts—well, for as long as you possibly can stand it. Breakups with Hollywood people are never simple."
I did my best to look and be understanding, even though these were like problems from Mars to a simple gal like me.
"What if you were around rich people like this all day and night? The supposed best of the best? Would you give a damn anymore?"
A thought experiment for me, Jack, eh?
"I guess not," I said honestly.
"You probably loved the free food when you walked in. The good drinks. The old, sleazy men that make more in a second than you make per year."
I nodded, following along with his game.
"Okay, so you get my point, then? I'm tired of this, Effie." He made a grand swoop with his arm, effectively writing off the whole party. "I love my work, really I do. But this part drives me nuts. Talented people are talented people, one way or another. Some of these guys are just rich and think that because they're rich, they can call the shots when it comes to art. It's bullshit."
I was quickly understanding his position. He had probably witnessed things that changed his life and perspective forever—and he'd never go back. "That sounds kind of unfair," I said humbly, "to the artists." I felt dumb when it came to this serious stuff.
"If I wanted to make an album that's just nothing but belching from beginning to end, I could get some of these guys to fund it because my word means that much. They wouldn't even check on the progress. They'd write me a blank check and go back on vacation."
I started laughing hysterically. "What about when they hear the final product?"
"Oh, they'd be pissed. But I've made them millions—maybe even billions if you count touring revenue—so I'd get another chance. It's why I'm shopping around from now on. I want my artists to work with labels that give a damn about art, not just money."
This was heavy philosophical stuff, and although I didn't know a lot about music, he sure as hell did. It felt like he was just looking out for those who had less of a voice than he did, sort of like a Robin Hood of the music industry.
A few moments passed by where we both sat silently. He was thinking as hard as I was, but I had no idea where he'd go next.
"Listen," he said. "I don't want to sound too forward or anything but please, Effie, come with me up to my suite. I want to show you something."
My mind immediately thought the worst, and I let out an awkward laugh. "Jack, I just don't know if that's the best idea."
"There's no pressure, okay? It would just mean a lot to me. I seriously just want to show you something. It's not a code word for anything else."
God, I really didn't know what I should do. His intentions weren't clear at all, other than his remarks about it not being a big deal. He kept eyeing me, anxiously awaiting my response. I needed to do or say something, to end this tense moment of trepidation as soon as possible.
"Yeah, okay," I said, hoping that I wouldn't regret my decision later. I finished the rest of my drink and left the glass on the bar, a relic of our conversation.
"Let's go," he said softly. I stood up with him and we slowly walked together until we exited through a side door that led back into the lobby. My legs felt wobbly, so I was glad that our pace was so slow.
The skeptic in me ran through every possible negative outcome while I continued along this strange path with him. My body appeared to
