“I need to ask Don… about locating someone. A friend of mine is with him—I mean, with the band. Er…” Rory was fumbling her words.
“Okay. First, you claim to be his friend then you claim to be a vendor and now you want to find someone. Exactly what is going on here?”
“I told you, it’s a matter of a rather personal nature,” Rory replied, half-pleading.
“And I’m sure that you are nothing but a fan who either wants free tickets or just wants to meet the band. It’s not like this is the first time we have received a call like this,” the woman snapped.
“No, it’s nothing like that!”
“We’re very busy. Please stop wasting our time.”
Before Rory could say anything else the woman had hung up.
Goddammit!
Rory knew that LA could be a ruthless town, but this level of crudeness?
In my town, they pretend to be my friend. When they need me to save their ass from the cops, they act nice. Now that I need their help, they’ve gone AWOL. Typical LA.
Trusting any of them had been a mistake. Even Arsen or Don, the only two guys who had seemed respectful and genuine. How wrong I was. These people treat others as objects to be used. Rory was furious and wanted to smack someone.
Her biggest worry was Mickey Nicks. With every minute that passed by, the thoughts in her head about him leading Lizzy down a dark path worsened. A naive, impressionable girl like Lizzy could be talked into doing almost anything, and Mickey was the guy who would do just that, if only for his own amusement.
All he cares about is how cool people think he is and how many damn Instagram followers he has. Rory wanted to punch a wall, break things, and yell at the world to stop being so upside down. She wanted to slap Lizzy for being so stupid.
Wait… Instagram. A thought came into her head as she quickly opened the Instagram app on her phone and searched for Mickey’s username. Didn’t take her long to find that, and much to her relief she found just what she was looking for.
The last two posts had been made within the last half hour. Selfies of Mickey in some club, surrounded by loads of liquor and people. Does this guy do anything else but party? she wondered. More importantly, as he had uploaded the pictures, he had also tagged his location. Probably for the benefit of the paparazzi, considering how badly he craves media attention.
Finally, out of nowhere, she had a lead. If she was going to find Lizzy, then this was her best shot. She saved the location to her Google Maps and booked an Uber. Her main priority was to get to Lizzy as soon as possible. Everything else could just wait. As the Uber pulled up, she threw her luggage in the back and told the driver to hurry up. This for her was truly a matter of life and death.
Oh, Lizzy, my dearest Lizzy. I hope you are okay.
20
A big crowd was waiting outside the club as she walked to the entrance. A bunch of them were people who were waiting to get in, while most were fans, wanting to get a glimpse of their favorite celebrities and of course, there were the dreaded paparazzi.
“Can I help you?” A large African-American man stepped in front of her as she tried to cut the line and enter the club. In her obsession with finding Lizzy she had forgotten that this was LA, and one simply does not walk into a club.
“My friends are in there,” she said, trying the oldest trick in the book.
“Oh really? What are their names?” The man picked up a list. What’s the point in lying? she concluded.
“Mickey Nicks and Insurrection,” she replied, mustering up all the confidence she could.
The man smiled then let out a little laugh, looking her up and down.
“You’re ‘friends’ with Mickey?”
Rory didn’t like the way he said friends, because she knew what that meant.
“Yes, he’s my friend.”
“I don’t think so, lady. I’ve seen Mickey come here with a lot of his women ‘friends’ and you ain’t his type,” he smirked.
“I’m not that kind of a friend.”
“Oh, none of them are.” He crossed his arms and a frown came onto his face like he had heard this line a hundred times before.