I’m starting to understand the dynamics here. These people think Roger is in charge of Karl. Band manager or not, this is a gross invasion of Karl’s privacy.
Roger gives a subtle tip of his chin. Everyone sets their drinks down, then slowly trickle into the elevator until only four of us are left. Karl, Roger, myself . . . and Sandy.
Sandy uncrosses her legs and stands to face Karl. “The housekeeper, Karl? Really? You’re withhernow?” She sizes me up slowly, disgust etched in her twisted mouth. I can’t blame her for her animosity toward me, given our last interaction. I feel a little sorry for her. Based on the way she looks at Karl, with so much pain, I think she might actually have feelings for him.
Karl sticks his hands in his pockets. “Yes. I’m with Lola now.”
“But I thought we—”
“No,” he says. “I was clear from the start. You and I—”
“Karl!” I snap, and he stops mid-sentence to look at me. “This is really uncomfortable for me.” I throw Sandy a sad smile. “And I’m sure for Sandy too. Why don’t you go into the office to talk?”
Sandy squares her shoulders as she follows Karl down the hallway, and I spin on my heel to look at Roger.
“I’m sorry about this,” he says.
I narrow my eyes at him, emboldened either by alcohol or the anger I feel on Karl’s behalf—I’m not sure which. “Are you?” I ask him.
Roger sets his drink down, and I study him. He is polished despite the casual jeans and t-shirt number he wears. ‘Expensive’ comes to mind. He is fit and handsome and wouldn’t be out of place next to the band members on an album cover. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.
We stay quiet for a long moment as we size each other up. “You use him,” I say simply.
Roger chuckles. “What?”
“You use him. All the parties, the women . . . none of it is Karl, is it? All the photos on all the tabloids, it’s all you? You stage it to make it look like, like . . .”
“He’s no innocent little thing, Lola. Karl enjoys being a rock god.”
Lies.
I think about that first day I cleaned his house. How bad the first floor was. That was Roger’s doing. But the top floor where Karl lived was pristine. And it’s stayed that way since I cleaned that first time. Anything that is currently a mess in Karl’s life is a direct byproduct of Roger’s meddling. I’m sure of it.
I shake my head. “No. He likes making music. He likes performing. And sure, he probably likes the money too. But this little charade”—I wave my arms around the room—“this nineties clichéd rock-star image you’ve conjured up, it’s all you. I see it now. Your hand is in every leaked photo, in every spilled secret, in every police report after a rager got out of hand.” I tick off on my fingers a long list of grievances, suddenly grateful for all my years of stalking the band online.
Roger cracks his neck. I’ve hit a nerve with my accusations.Bingo. He steps closer to me, doing his best to tower over me, and though I’m much too short to try to intimidate him back, I keep my posture tall and lift my chin up in defiance.
His eyes narrow.
“Does he know?” I ask.
“Does he know what?”
“That he’s your puppet? And more importantly, does the band know? That who you’ve made him out to be isn’t who he is?”
“Fuck.” Roger runs a hand through his light brown hair. “You’ve known him all of two seconds, and you think you know him? You don’t know anything.”
“I know manipulation when I see it.”
“It’s for the good of the band—”
“Not foreveryonein the band. It’s not good for Karl. It’s not good for the band dynamics. Bren is half-ready to trade Milo back in.”
“He wouldn’t do that. The label wouldn’t allow that.”
“Wouldn’t they?” I bring my hands to my hips as if that will help me drive my point home. I have no idea if that’s true, but planting the idea in Roger’s head seems like a good battle tactic at the moment.
Roger stays quiet.