Page 3 of Thanks for Coming Along
"Don't be shy, Mr. America. My reputation won't rub off on you with a single touch," her tone was conspiratorial. She reached out again, and Quentin sighed as he laced his larger fingers through hers, his big, tanned hands contrasting with her thin fingers and chipped dark navy nail polish. She flashed him a cheeky smile and heard the paparazzi shuffle aggressively to get the perfect shot.
"Like a moth to the flame," she whispered, batting her eyelashes behind her designer sunglasses. Quentin nodded his head listlessly, his lips quirking upward.
"Ugh, I feel like I'm holding hands with my elderly grandmother," Quentin remarked, his nose scrunching up in playful disgust.
Eden decided to lean into the act. She transformed her voice, adding a shaky, elderly quality to it.
"Come on now, Quentin dear. Do me a favor and grab me a hard candy."
"Gross, dude, that is too real. Why do old people love hard candy?" Quentin asked while laughing.
Her phone buzzed on the black metal table, the nameCommander Sloaneflashing across the screen. As both her manager and publicist, Sloane had earned the nickname—she commanded every room she entered with an authority that made "commander" feel less like a nickname and more like an official rank.
When Sloane spoke, everyone listened. If she tells you to jump, you don't just ask, "How high?" You ask, "Which planet? Jupiter? Shall I begin colonization efforts on Mars?" Sloane was the key that jump-started Eden's rise to fame. Before Sloane entered the scene, Eden only performed in dive bars across New York City. Don't get it twisted, Eden loved a good dive bar but dive bars aren't synonymous with fame and recognition. She released Quentin's hand and grabbed her phone.
"Fuuuuuuck," Eden murmured, her stomach churning last night's gin. "Should I just let it go to voicemail?" She pointed the phone at Quentin, who rolled his eyes. The reluctance to answer Sloane's call had less to do with Sloane herself and more to do with the fallout from "Push-gate"—Eden's personal nickname for last night’s debacle.
"Sure, Eden, if you want the wrath of the Banshee. I hear Hell has a lovely penthouse available once Sloane smites you." Quentin smiled, giving her his Mr. America smile. Eden shook her head at his bright white grin. She pressed the green button on the touch screen of her phone.
"Hey, Sloane! How are you on this lovely morning? Did you get my email from last night?" Eden attempted to inject pleasantness into her voice. She had sent out an email to Sloane late last night, so her team had ample time to frame the events of last night in a favorable way for Ingrid's sake. The email was likely filled with typos, but she hoped she got the message across.
"Oh, just peachy," Sloane's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I received your lovely email. 'SOS, Ingrid tried to bitch-slap some bitties tonight at the bar. Please don't hate us, love you, bye.' I must say, I adore these late-night reconnaissance sessions. Nothing quite like burning the midnight oil to cover up a catfight." Sloane's voice droned sarcastically.
To be fair, Eden had always managed to keep Sloane on her toes. From her initial ascent in the underground rock scene to her more recent journey into more mainstream music, Eden had never been one to play by the rules. Whether it was partying into the early morning hours or causing mayhem at various award events, Sloane was often left with the unenviable task of damage control. Eden couldn't help but cringe at Sloane's words while Quentin responded with a thumbs-up, showcasing his tanned and thick thumb. It just looked obnoxious. Did his solitary thumb bench weight?
"Surprisingly, that isn't what I'm calling about. Although I think we have it under control. There will be some coverage of last night but nothing too damning. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not a wizard." Eden could practically hear Sloane's eyes rolling over the phone.
"Anyway, I've been approached by BNN regarding doing a documentary about you." Sloane's voice lowered dramatically. "I know you haven't done any formal interviews in the past, but this may be a good opportunity for you. Especially with you working on the new album."
"My knee-jerk reaction is no. I have never done any interviews, so why start now?" Eden replied. She was always hesitant when it came to sit-down interviews. She honestly never felt comfortable doing them. There was a lot in her life that she wanted to keep a mystery. She liked keeping her private life, well, private. There were things she didn't want the whole world to know.
"Well, everyone wants to know more about you. And I meaneveryone, not just your fans," Sloane urged, her voice filled with conviction. "You've kept your past so under wraps that it's got people even more curious, not just your fans. Your lyrics give only a glimpse into your life. Doing this documentary could be a game-changer, helping take your career to the next level. Think about playing bigger venues and reaching way more people."
Eden hadn't gone into music for the money. She genuinely and wholeheartedly loved music. She obviously needed to make a living, but she was happy playing to a crowd of 5 people as long as those people enjoyed her songs. Music was the lens through which she saw the world; it was how she expressed and interpreted her emotions, her innermost thoughts. Music was the one constant in her life, alongside Ingrid and Quentin. Unlike people, who often proved fickle, she knew music would never betray her trust.
She learned the hard way that people can’t be depended. When push comes to shove, people leave when things get complicated. She knew it was cynical to believe that, but throughout her life, this theory had been proven time and time again. She was accustomed to loss. She had lost her biological family, her fiancé, and then her original bandmates—loss that was inherently rooted in the fickleness of the human condition and the mercurial heart.
She couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she was the problem—that maybe she was so unlovable it made people leave. Even the two people who were supposed to love her unconditionally, her parents, didn’t. She was always more surprised when people like Ingrid and Quentin decided to stick around. She’d lost count of how many friends had come and gone. Ingrid always said it was just the superficial nature of Los Angeles, but Eden wasn’t so sure. The thought that the issue might lie with her still haunted her.
"Can I have some time to think about it? I'll get back to you soon. And I'm sorry about last night. It was all just a big misunderstanding." Eden said in a subdued tone.
"I'll send over the contract for you to review." Then the line clicked.
"You should do it!" Quentin declared loudly as if the thought had a mind of its own. "You can't keep your past hidden forever, and who knows, your story could help someone out there." Quentin flashed his best puppy-dog eyes, a well-practiced expression.
"Okay, Mr. America. Relax yourself." Eden grumbled with a playful eye roll.
8/26 7:06 AM PT
EDEN PERCY'S MESSY BIRTHDAY NIGHT OUT
Eden looked ready to party as she showed up for dinner on Thursday night to celebrate her 26th birthday. The singer showed up in a baby tee with the words "Sex With You Sucks" with an oversized leather motorcycle jacket and showed off her long legs in a micro mini skirt. She stepped out with chunky combat boots and smokey makeup. She was accompanied by long-time friend and ballerina Ingrid Dubois, seen in a simple cropped button-up sweater, oversized jeans, and pumps.
Inside the club, Eden took to Instagram to share a blurry, sexy selfie in the bathroom. An hour later, bouncers escorted the pair out. Eyewitnesses state that the pair were fighting with a group of girls.
The pair were spotted entering their UberX, with Eden flicking the middle finger to the cameras. Things have been messy for Eden since her breakup with long-time Ex-Fiance Liam Oliver. When will Eden clean up her act?
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