“She was nicer before the drugs,” Ginger told her, sewing sequins onto a dance costume for Daphne’s third number. “Used to be the sweetest girl. Funny, too. Now she’s just a cunt.”
Kylie blinked at the harsh language. “She seems okay to me.”
Ginger shrugged. “She’s actually not that bad this week because her new dancer boy toy has the good drugs. Or so I’ve heard.” She mimed snorting a line of blow, then went back to her sewing. “Until he runs out of his stash, he’s her new favorite person.”
Wow. Kylie licked her lips, uncomfortable. “Does, um, the label know?” Should she tell someone that Daphne was getting high before her first performance?
“They don’t care,” Ginger said. “Who do you think started her on the drugs? It’s cheaper to keep them happy when they’re well medicated. And as long as the tour sells out, no one gives a shit.” Ginger stabbed a needle through the shimmery fabric, then tugged at the thread. “I’ve been with her for five years. She goes through this cycle repeatedly. She’s clean, then someone gives her a new drug. She gets hooked, she gets nasty, she falls to pieces, then goes to rehab and she gets clean. Then someone gives her a new kind of nose candy and we start all over again.”
She was so blasé about it. Kylie thought about the track marks on Daphne’s arms. “She doesn’t look so good, though. Doesn’t anyone worry about her health?”
“Not as much as they care about making money.” Ginger bit the thread gently and then shook out the costume. “She’s probably going to need you soon. You might want to surface.”
Kylie grimaced and glanced at the door to Daphne’s greenroom, where the pop star relaxed prior to the concert. Vague crying could be heard from the other side. Her false lashes were going to be hell to stick if Daphne’s eyes were puffy from crying. So with a sigh, Kylie braced herself and headed in to the greenroom to see what was going on.
Sure enough, Daphne was sitting in front of the makeup mirror, crying. She wiped her eyes with one hand and dug through all of Kylie’s neatly sorted makeup with the other. Pinning a smile to her face, Kylie approached. “Hey, Daph, what are you looking for?”
Daphne continued to weep, sniffling loud. “Have you seen Marco?”
“Marco?” Kylie gave her a puzzled look.
“Marco Polo?”
At first, Kylie thought it was a joke. But Daphne kept crying and digging through Kylie’s stack of eye shadows and she realized this must be another nickname for someone. “I haven’t. Can I get you anything?”
This was the wrong thing to say. Daphne’s eyes lit up and she turned to Kylie, a crazed look on her face. “Do you have any stuff?”
“Stuff?”
“Rock? Blow? Pills? Something? I need a pick-me-up.” She rubbed a hand across her eyes again and for a moment she looked incredibly young. “I’m so tired all the time.”
“I don’t have drugs,” she told Daphne softly. Part of her wanted to hug the pop star, and part of her wanted to give her a good shake. She settled for picking a tube of lip gloss up off of the floor and putting it back in its place. “Can I get you a water or something?”
But Daphne began to cry again. “Marco has all the good stuff and I don’t know where he is and I’m so sleepy. I just want to take a nap and I go on stage in an hour and a half.”
“You can’t cry,” Kylie told her, taking a determined tone and offering Daphne a box of Kleenex. “Your face is going to be on all kinds of magazines tomorrow and you want to look your best, don’t you?”
“I don’t care about magazines. I just want a nap. Why is Marco hiding from me?”
Kylie gave her a helpless look. “I suppose I could go look for him—” She stopped that train of thought when Snoopy showed up in the corner of her eye and gave her a silent shake of her head and a throat-cutting motion. Okay. So Marco was “hiding” deliberately. They probably didn’t want Daphne on something when she went on stage. Poor thing. She stroked Daphne’s hair, feeling sorry for her. She should be excited to start a tour, not miserable. “You know what? I think there’s a coffee place up the street. I could go run and get you something to pep you up before it’s time for makeup?”
Daphne’s tearstained face lit up. “Really? You’d do that for me, Fat Marilyn?”
“Yup,” she said. Anything to make Daphne stop crying. “How about an espresso?”
Daphne clapped her hands. “I need an extra-large iced coffee with a quad-shot of espresso. Heavy on the sugar, heavy on the cream.”
“That sounds awful,” Kylie said with a small laugh. “But it does sound like it’ll wake you up.”
“Short of them grinding the beans into the ice cubes, yup.” Daphne actually looked happy. “Thank you so much. Coffee sounds awesome. I’m thinking about adding it to my goddamn rider, not that anyone reads the fucking thing.” She bellowed the last part and gave Snoopy a glare.
“I’ll just run and get that coffee,” Kylie said, grabbing her wallet and running for the door.
“Flee while you can,” Snoopy told her, and it sounded like good advice to Kylie.
—
Parked in front of the coffee shop was a hot pink Lyons roadster that made Kylie drool with want. She was so busy admiring it and staring that she automatically reached for the door to the cafe . . . and ended up grabbing at someone’s belt buckle and the fabric below.