I keep my head down and my sunglasses on. People scream my name and try to reach for me. Several cross the line. When we get to the top of the steps where the microphones are waiting, Mateo picks it up.
"Many of you have been concerned about Zoe Diego's whereabouts in the last fifteen months. Ms. Diego needed a break and has been at a luxury resort during this time, creating new songs and is eager to get back to work. We felt it was best to keep it private for her to rest and get her creative juices flowing. She will resume her tour in Mexico in two weeks."
My heart drops. Two weeks. A tour? New songs? Oh God.
"Ms. Diego will make a statement now." Mateo hands me the microphone, and with shaking hands, I take it.
Just get this over with.
Dirk, please tell me you're watching.
I clear my throat and force myself to smile. "Thank you so much for being here today. I'm sorry for disappointing any of my fans over the last fifteen months, but I needed to take a step back to give you more of what you love. I'm excited to be back and am looking forward to taking the stage soon. I prefer not to discuss anything regarding my personal life over the last fifteen months or going forward. And I ask for the media to please respect my privacy. Thank you." I hand the microphone back to Mateo, and the guards whisk us back to the car.
When the car pulls away, I ask Mateo, "How many shows are booked?"
He calmly says, as if it's not a big deal, "One hundred shows in one hundred days."
My hand covers my throat. I'll have no voice left.
"You said two weeks?"
"Yes, it's all scheduled."
"What am I doing those two weeks?"
He crosses his arms and sits further back in the seat. "Writing another album. And every song better be good enough to be a number one hit."
23
Zoe
The first few days, I write nothing, sitting for hours in a room full of instruments, a pad of paper, and a pen, but nothing comes out.
Every morning, Mateo comes and yells at me for my lack of progress. He reminds me that time is ticking, and if I don't have something to show him the next time he comes back, then there's going to be consequences.
I try to tell him that it doesn't work like this. "You can't just expect to snap your fingers, and I'll create a platinum album."
He slams his hand on the table, and I jump. "Stop making excuses. Have something for me by tomorrow, or you'll be entertaining the President of the United States when he comes to town tomorrow night. Got it?"
I shudder.
He sees it and scoffs. "That's right. I'm not playing your games anymore, Zoe." He starts to leave but stops. He spins and pulls out a small box then sets it on the table. "Try a pick me up. It always worked for you in the past."
My pulse creeps up. I don't need to open the box. I know it's full of cocaine. I almost tell Mateo to take it away, but I know he'll find a way to make me take it if I refuse. So I put the box on top of my notepad.
"You can leave so I can get back to work now."
He scowls, throws a metal tube on the table, and slams the door.
I lock it, even though he has a key, and go back to the table. For several minutes, I focus all my energy on the box, fighting my demons. I debate whether it's even worth resisting it anymore, especially when Dirk is probably dead.
But what if he's not.
You saw him bleed to death.
You don't know for sure.
I put my head on the table, wishing he was here to take it away and make my decision for me, tapping the metal straw on the table.
You don't need me to take those from you. You're strong enough to make that decision on your own. His voice once again is so clear I turn to see if he's in the room.
But he's not.
I take a deep breath, pick up the box, and dump the contents down the sink. I rinse it out, so there is no residue then dry it off.
Once it's gone, part of me panics. I could have made the despair disappear for a bit. But the other part of me is