Oreos for Breakfast: Chapter 30

Oreos For Breakfast: Chapter 30
By the Paperbag Princess and Pumpkin Coach

Rachel was across the room, laughing with James over something, and I started to make my way to her. It was one in the morning, and I could see how exhausted she was. Jet lag from Europe and now the excitement tonight… In a few hours, she'd have to be making the rounds of the talk shows to discuss their award. So I could take her back to the hotel now, couldn't I? We could have a little time together before we both had to get back to our lives. Besides a few minutes backstage, I hadn't seen her much. We were at the same parties, but Sudden Silence was doing press and I was just in the way.

The rest of my band had left for the night, taking the limo. I could catch a ride with Rachel back to the hotel. I hoped. Did she even know I was here?

She laughed at something James said, and then caught my eye and smiled, waving me over to them. Finally! She was done working for the night.

I needed to be alone with her now.

It had been nearly a month since we'd been together. I needed to be alone with her in our gorgeous hotel room, tangled up in the sheets on our big bed. Hell, it wasn't even just sex. I wanted to lie there with her and listen to her talk about tonight. Emails and phone calls weren't enough, when I wanted her in my arms.

Grinning, she took a step towards me, and then… she collapsed. One second she was smiling at me, and the next she was on the floor. "Rachel!" I yelled, running over and dropping to my knees next to her. James was already kneeling next to her, and we looked at each other, shocked.

"I… she was… I guess she fainted?"

Too much to drink? Had someone slipped her something? Rachel didn't do drugs, but someone could have put something in her drink.

She opened her eyes, looking at me with confusion. "What…?"

"You just fainted, Rache. I'm going to get us out of here and take you to a hospital."

"What? No!" She struggled to sit up, and I helped her.

"Buttercup, we're going to a hospital. You are not okay."

"I'm seeing spots." That could not be good.

"The woman just fainted, and you're taking fucking pictures?" James jumped up, pushing someone away from us. Okay, a flashbulb might explain the spots. There was a Grammy winner on the floor. I guess that was big news.

Lola knelt next to us. "What happened?"

Rachel shook her head. "Nothing, I… I'm dizzy."

"Rache, you can't even shake your head without getting dizzy. We're taking you to the hospital."

"I'll get a car," Lola said. "Probably quicker than an ambulance."

"No!" Rachel's voice was forceful, even if she was holding her head in her hands. "Get me a car back to the hotel. I am overtired and I haven't eaten anything today. That's all this is."

"Rache…" I started, but she looked up at me, her eyes pleading.

"If I go to a hospital, they'll keep me there for three hours and tell me I need a sandwich. I can do that back at the hotel with you. Please, Nick. Just get me out of here."

I met her eyes. She might go to the hospital if I made her, because she didn't have the energy to fight me. But she was probably right. Right? If she was really sick, she'd want to go to the hospital. "Okay," I whispered, then looked back at Lola. "We're going to the hotel."

I could see Lola reviewing something in her mind, and then she gave Rachel a guilty look. "I should have made you eat today."

If Lola didn't think we should go to the hospital, then this was okay. Lola should know if Rachel ate today. She'd been with her all day.

Rachel smiled, shrugging. "You're not my mom, Lola. We were all busy. Not your fault." Wasn't it Lola's job to make sure that Rachel got something to eat, though? "I need to be away from here now."

"Okay. Nick, there's a door at the back of the club. We'll go out that way."

I'd be mad at Lola later. She got up, and Rachel leaned her head against my chest as Lola's legs shielded us for a moment from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. "The back door doesn't matter. There are plenty of pictures of me fainting already."

"Fuck them."

"I'll have a drug problem by this time tomorrow won't I, Nick?"

She was making a joke, so I knew she was okay. "Ah… maybe you'll just be a plain old drunk."

"I did have too much champagne," she admitted.

"You had something to celebrate, baby. You just should have eaten something along with the champagne."

"I know that now!"

I laughed, kissing her cheek. "Can you stand?" I helped her to her feet, and she stumbled. Both James and I dove to catch her, but she righted herself with a smile. "I'm fine. Stop fussing."

"What are we doing?" James asked. "Lola said she was getting a car, but then she disappeared."

"We're going back to the hotel," Rachel told him. "I'm just exhausted and hungry."

He gave her a worried look just as one of the nearby photographers snapped a picture, and Rachel winced at the flashbulb.

"Would you back the fuck off?" James said, turning to the guy. "How many times do I have to ask that?"

The guy took another picture instead, and I went for him. What a fucking asshole. I'd been down on the floor with Rachel, so I hadn't noticed that we had four guys standing here taking pictures.

James stopped me. "He is so not worth it, Nick. C'mon, let's get out of here."

The photographers trailed us as we made our way to the back door, but I was pretty sure that James and I blocked their view of Rachel. She made jokes about feeling like a real celebrity now, but I was shaking with anger. Every flashbulb made me want to punch someone, but I knew I had to take care of Rachel.

Lola came in through the back door just as we got there. "Good. We've got the car. We just have to pass through all the photographers to get to it."

"What the fuck? Shouldn't they be out front?"

"Evidently they got tipped off that Rachel collapsed and we're sneaking her out."

Rachel sighed, and I stood up, trying to see over people's heads. Where was Frank? He'd take care of this.

I was pissed off enough to take care of it myself, but probably better if I left it to him. I was about to ask Lola if she'd seen him when he opened the door, waving me through. Guess Lola had found him already. She was smart that way.

It was only a few steps to the car, but it was like daylight from the flashbulbs. They kept yelling my name, and Rachel's. I ignored them, but one particularly loud call got her attention and she stopped walking. "Get in the car, Rache," I told her, pushing her towards it.

Nick pushed me, and I stumbled into the limo, landing in an undignified heap. Damnit. More fucking pictures. Pictures while we were in the press room tonight were one thing, but I knew none of those were going to make the papers tomorrow. No, tomorrow would be all about my collapse and now they had pictures of me looking like an idiot.

I'd had two glasses of champagne, and even I was wondering how drunk I was. I could only imagine how this would look on the news.

Nick climbed into the limo, sitting next to me, and I slid away from him. "What was that?"

"What was what?" But he didn't look at me. Instead he stuck up his middle finger at our tinted windows. "Bastard photographers."

"Those four inside were worse," James told him. "They must have called their partners outside when they figured out we were leaving."

"I thought they all worked alone, since it's all about the most ridiculous shot."

I whacked Nick. "And now they've got me falling into the car like I can't stand. Why the fuck did you push me?"

"You weren't moving! Did you want to give them an interview or something?"

"I was a little overwhelmed. I just fainted, remember?"

"Maybe if you'd eaten something today, we wouldn't have this problem."

I glared at him for a second, and then turned to look out the window. A heavy silence fell over the car as we pulled away from the flashbulbs and shouting photographers. Three minutes ago, he'd been great, and now he was acting like I was an irresponsible idiot. I didn't want to be having this fight in front of Lola and James.

After a moment, Lola handed me a bottle of orange juice from the tiny refrigerator under the seat. "Drink this. What else do you want?"

"I want to go back to the hotel. Alone."

"You can fight that one out with the boyfriend. I'm calling the hotel so you don't have to wait for room service. What do you want?"

"Whatever." I was so hungry I couldn't think straight, let alone decide what to eat. It was really stupid that I hadn't eaten all day, but I knew I hadn't. I couldn't think of a minute today where I could have. Well, maybe while we sat there during the Grammy telecast, but I was too nervous then to think about food.

"She'll have a tuna sandwich," Nick said, and I interrupted him. I could make up my own mind!

"Turkey sandwich. A club. Wheat toast. And soup. Whatever they have. And a gallon of iced tea." I was dehydrated, too. I hadn't wanted to drink anything before the show, because I didn't want to have to get up to pee. This orange juice tasted amazing.

"No mayo," Nick added.

"Extra mayo," I told Lola.

"You hate mayo on sandwiches!" James said, and I kicked him. I was the one who had fainted. I was allowed to be unreasonable. Lola was on the phone with the hotel already, and I heard her ask for mayo on the side.

That was worse. I hated looking at it, all white and gloppy. And the smell… ew.

Groaning, I leaned forward, resting my head on my knees. "No mayo," I admitted, and I felt Nick take my empty juice bottle out of my hand. When I didn't growl at him, he leaned down, wrapping his arms around me.

"Sorry," he whispered. "Sometimes I forget to eat, too, when we're really busy."

"You've never fainted." Had he? He was a guy. Guys didn't faint. That was a stupid girl thing to do. Damnit. I just needed a sandwich, and I'd be sane again. Then I needed to sleep for three days, but we had press commitments starting at 6 a.m. That was only a few hours away, wasn't it?

"No. And definitely not in public."

I groaned again. I couldn't even begin to imagine what we'd have to do to deal with the crappy publicity we were going to get from this.

"I'll clear your schedule for tomorrow, Rache," Lola said, and I managed to sit up to look at her.

"No. Otherwise then they'll have me in rehab. I just need some food and a little sleep, and I'll be fine."

She snickered. "You need to look in a mirror. You look terrible."

"Thanks."

She looked at Nick. "Tell her."

"She's beautiful," he said, putting his arm around me protectively. He could be good, sometimes.

She waved him off. "Whatever. You're not going out in public tomorrow."

"That's what make-up is for. I need to be out there showing them I'm fine."

She considered me for a moment, but she knew I was right. "Noon, then. I'll let the boys do the early morning stuff."

"Thanks!" James said. "If I faint, do I get to sleep in?"

I smirked at him. "Too late. I get the fainting card. Next time we win a Grammy, you can be the one that goes down."

"He'll take half the room with him." I let Nick and James tease one another, and snuggled up against my boyfriend. It felt like it was only a couple of minutes later that Nick was telling me to wake up.

I guess it was actually only a couple of minutes, but I'd managed to fall asleep, anyway.

Food, then sleep. No. Get out of this tiny dress, then food, then sleep. It had been weeks since Nick and I had been together, but no way were we having sex tonight. The mere thought of it made me even more exhausted.

The limo was stopped, and a hotel employee opened the back door. "Ms. Connor, I'm sorry to hear you're not feeling well."

I smiled at him, and let him help me out of the car. "Thanks. I'm sure it's nothing serious."

"Your room service order is waiting in your room. This is a back entrance, so I'll show you…"

"There she is!"

Flashbulbs were going off again, and my name was being called from all around me. Damnit. How many photographers were out here? Why was this a big fucking story? It was nothing. I was no one important.

Well, I was a Grammy winner now, I guess. And I had a famous boyfriend. But we'd never been harassed like this. Ever. I hated L.A.

Nick was on one side of me, and James on the other. Where was Frank when we needed him?

As soon as they were within shouting distance, the questions started. "Rachel, what happened? What were you doing? Why didn't you go to the hospital?"

How did they know we weren't going to the hospital? Did our driver tip them off? Lola? Who had answered the phone when Lola called in my room service order? I hadn't really listened to her, because I was pissed off at Nick.

All right, we'd probably been followed from the party. I was getting paranoid.

Hell, I'd just been followed home from a party so that someone could take my picture. I should be paranoid!

"Is that bruise on your cheek, Rachel? Did someone hit you? Nick, we know you have an anger management problem."

Did one of those assholes just say…?

"I'll show you an anger fucking management problem!"

Yeah, guess he said it. Because Nick was responding. Whoever said it was on my other side, and I felt Nick go for him. But James got there first.

James?

"You fuck," James said, standing over a guy who was flat on the ground. "Pictures aren't enough, so you have to make up stories?"

The guy got up, and the brief second of silence was over. Everyone started screaming 'assault,' and Nick left my side when some of the other jerks started pushing James around.

I don't think James had ever hit anyone. Ever.

At least it got them to forget about me for a minute, and the next thing I knew, I was standing in the bright lights of the hotel kitchen with the nice hotel person. I guess Lola had stayed out there to rescue the stupid boys in my life. It was nearly silent in here, after the chaos of outside, even with a couple of cooks fixing late night room service orders.

"Ms. Connor, I am mortified by what just happened out there…" My nice hotel person started to say. I looked at his nametag. Guntrum? He did have a bit of an accent. German? Whatever.

"So am I, Guntrum. All I did was faint for about ten seconds, and it's turned into a media circus. I'm sorry they're attacking your lovely hotel."

He smiled at me. "It's my job to make sure they don't get inside my hotel. Let me take you up to your room. Once my security gets out there, I'm sure your friends will be right up."

"Thanks." I followed him through the kitchen, as he issued quiet orders into a microphone on his shoulder. He was like a secret service agent.

One of the cooks smiled as I passed by. "Congratulations on the Grammy," he said, and handed me a cookie.

I smiled back, feeling tears in my eyes. I was really overwrought. And this was a really great cookie. "Thanks."

Guntrum gave the guy a stern look, but he relaxed when he saw that I was okay with it. Guess the help wasn't allowed to talk to the famous guests.

I wanted to tell the cook that I used to do catering jobs. He wasn't the real cook. He was arranging plates on a tray, and making sure it looked nice. I had plated thousands of meals in my life. I wonder if he had, too. Wasn't catering where lots of foodies got their start?

Suddenly, tonight, everyone was treating me like a celebrity. Paparazzi wanted my photograph in embarrassing positions, and the kitchen help wasn't allowed to talk to me. But I didn't feel any different. I was just a girl from Long Island who made music. There was a little part of me that still thought I'd have to hook up with my catering jobs again when this tour was over. Most of me knew that with the money I'd been making lately, I'd never need to cater again, but… there was still that little voice that wasn't so sure.

But I didn't get to say any of that, because Guntrum had me on the service elevator before I realized what was happening. I was so freaking out of it. "Don't yell at him," I said, finishing my cookie.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "You would. It was very nice of him. And the cookie was delicious."

"I'll see that you have as many as you'd like, Ms. Connor."

He held open the elevator door so that I could get out. With my luck of the last few minutes, it probably would have shut when I was halfway out.

Damnit. I stood in front of my door and realized I didn't have a key. Fuck, I'd been carrying a purse all night. It was probably lying on the floor of the club where I'd passed out. My room key would be on Ebay in an hour or so.

Guntrum saw my distress and pulled a key out of his pocket, opening the door with a flourish. "Forget your purse, ma'am?"

"It's probably… if you see Ms. Emmanuelli, could you tell her that my purse is probably back at the party?"

He came into the room with me, moving around efficiently to make sure that everything was perfect. "I'll take care of it. I'm sure you just want to get some sleep."

"I do," I admitted.

My dinner was set up on the table in the corner, and he uncovered the plates, stacking the covers in one hand to take them away. "Eat something. You'll feel better. Good night, Ms. Connor."

"Thank you. You've been very kind."

"Just doing my job." With a smile, he let himself out, and I sat down in front of my food.

It was so quiet in here. There had been the show, and then all those parties… I wasn't even sure how many. They all had a red carpet. How many pictures had been taken of me tonight? Good thing I was all styled and dressed up.

Then again, Lola said I looked like hell. Fabulous. Biggest night of my life, and I looked like crap.

If it was the biggest night of my life, why was I alone in a hotel room with a turkey sandwich? Shouldn't I be with the man I loved, having great sex and an amazing meal? Where the fuck was my boyfriend?

There was a knock at the door, and I ran for it. Nick must have forgotten his key, too. He'd be here now, and my turkey sandwich wouldn't seem so pathetic when he shared it with me.

But it was Guntrum again, with a basket of cookies and a bottle of milk. He handed them to me with a smile, accepted my thanks, and left me alone.

He wanted to clear out before I started crying on him. I tried really hard to seem pleased that he'd brought me more cookies, but I just wanted my boyfriend. Fuck the cookies. Where the hell was Nick? Had the fight gotten worse?

Did the asshole photographer press charges, and now Nick had gotten arrested? Two arrests in one year. That was great. 2002 had not been a good year so far.

Well… except for the fact that now I had an AMA and a Grammy. That made it a pretty decent year.

But I wanted to share the Grammy with Nick. We'd beaten Backstreet for it, and I needed to know that he was okay with that. It seemed like he was. He was genuinely happy for me, and he'd told me a million times that he'd never thought they'd win. But… now we'd won, and they hadn't. That had to sting a little. After all, they'd been doing this for ages. They'd been nominated dozens of times, and now my little band won on our first nomination? That had to suck.

Maybe that's why he was so pissed at the paparazzi. Displaced anger.

What was James' excuse, then? I mean, someone made a stupid crack about Nick, and James freaked out? What was up with that? Maybe James had a crush on Nick, and he was protecting him.

Okay, that made me laugh. Nick wasn't exactly James' type. More likely, James was just being his overprotective self. There had been plenty of times when James had wanted to punch Jeremy, but that would have led to more problems than it would solve. But an asshole paparazzi? James could deck him.

James didn't need to be so overprotective, though. I was just overtired and…

I was so overtired and hungry that I'd been standing there staring at a basket of cookies for five minutes, while my mind rambled. I put the cookies on the desk and went into the bedroom, unzipping my dress as I walked. I opened Nick's suitcase, pulling out a T-shirt. I had another one of his t-shirts in my luggage, but I'd worn that one throughout the European tour. I needed a new Nick shirt to sleep in.

When I went into the bathroom to wash my face, I realized why whoever it was had asked if I was bruised. I must have rubbed my eyes at some point, and my make-up was everywhere. The pictures tomorrow were going to be bad. I looked like I had a black eye. Somehow, I'd managed to ruin the make-up more on my left eye than my right. Good one, Rache.

I couldn't think about it too much. I'd handle the stupid publicity tomorrow. Lola and I would come up with a statement and no one would believe that it was as simple as forgetting to eat, because making up crap was more interesting, but I'd do what I could.

After I'd washed my face and finished my dinner, there was still no sign of Nick. I tried calling his cell, but he didn't answer, not that I'd really expected him too.

No Lola, either. She probably figured that I was asleep already. Or was she bailing James out of jail?

I worried for a second, and then I yawned. Lola could handle it, if it needed to be handled. I had to lie down now. Nick would be here soon and amuse me with the details of what happened. Tomorrow we'd be laughing at the whole thing.

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