Winter came crashing into New York with the fury of a frate train, the two feet of snow did all but cripple the swarming metropolis. But to most local commuters the extra little delay was hardly noticeable. Dyan Riley was one of those local commuters, but on this day it was the final nail in the proverbial coffin. The only thing she could think of to do was to bang her head on the steering wheel.
"Why today?!" she pouted, looking up at the gray, dull sky. "Ha ha, your so funny"
Dyan rolled her eyes and switched on her turn signal. With only three blocks to go she figured walking would be faster the sitting it that nightmare.
Walking, running actually, proved faster but also a lot more dangerous. Through the two intersections full of angry drivers and the sidewalk with fresh ice slicks all along her route, made it a treacherous journey. What a day this was turning out to be. Relief flooded over her as she came in view of the Sheraton hotel, with its red carpet and warm, soft glowing lights.
This was the hotel that famous and infamous alike would stay to have the mobs of press kept at bay, only a select few would be issued press badges with authorization to interview them. Dyan figured that almost anyone would welcome an interview from Rolling Stone. And that's why she was there to get the inside story on one of the most secretive and provocative rock star of the last 30 years, the excitement was almost to much. No, not excitement it was fear, Dyan had never had such responsibility thrust upon her. She was usually just ushered in to a small theater to watch some bad movie then rip it to pieces in the next issue to be released, or just interview some garage band trying to book a local dinning hall. All small potatoes compared to a one on one with Drake Blain.
Dyan Stepped into the warm lobby of the hotel and thawed out for a moment before heading to the service desk to ask the thin, pail man in the red uniform for Mr. Blain's room number.
Drake Abel Blaine stepped out of the bathroom followed by a wafting cloud of steam. He yawned and lazily rubbed his wet, blond hair with a towel, once sufficiently dry he tossed the towel across the room. He spotted the black silk robe he had laid out before his shower, and put it on.
" I think, maybe I should take this into the bathroom when I shower" he said to the stout little man who was slowly inching his way into the room. "That lady from Rolling Stone might have been out here" Drake grinned " she would have gotten en eye full just then."
Drake laughed and flopped unceremoniously onto the white leather sofa In the middle of the room. He looked around the lavishly decorated suite, high ceilings and chandeliers where common place now that he was a malti-platinum selling rock star. He sighed, it was all so boring some times.
" So, Taylor" The man winced at hearing his name, Drake laughed at him. "It alright Taylor I'm in a splendid mood today, despite this appalling weather"
Taylor relieved, smiled wryly. "Glad to hear that" He ran his hand over his balding head. " This interview is an important one."
A smile spread across drakes elegant and oddly feminine features "Ah yes, Miss. Riely" Drake leaned back and crossed his thin legs. "When is she arriving? I might want to get dressed"
"Oh umm" Taylor wrung his hands "She should be here soon. I talked to the assistant editor and he said this is her first major interview." The color drained from his face, perhaps telling him that was not a good idea.
A wild grin spread across Drakes features. "Ah, I'm her first. How splendid."
"Drake, you have to behave yourself" Taylor said with a mock sense of confidence.
Drake tossed his blond mane "When don't I?" He asked sarcastically.
"I mean it." Taylor said, suddenly growing a back bone and straightened his Hawaiian shirt "Your US popularity is still only half of what it is in the UK. The last thing you need is a bad write up in a forum like Rolling Stone."
Drake rolled his icy blue eyes and stood up, his beautiful lithe form clad only in the luxurious black silk robe. "Fine, I'll be good." he said with a sigh and headed over to the dresser.
Taylor blinked in disbelief. "Really?" He asked nervously, back bone completely melted away now. "Just like that? Your not gonna fight me over it?"
Rummaging through the dresser draw, Drake shook his head. "Why should I? Your right, I need to make an impression that'll last. No one will bother to remember another womanizing, drug addicted, over the top rock star in ten years." He paused and closed the draw, "That reminds me, do I have time to do a line of coke before we are to be joined by the lovely young miss?"
Taylor sighed "No, and I wish you'd quite that altogether. It's not good for you and it's hurting your music." And as those words tumbled out of his moth Taylor knew that not only had he crossed the line, he tap danced over it.
Drake slowly turned around, his eyes cold and unfeeling as they locked onto Taylor.
"I..I didn't mean for that to sound that.."
Drake waved his hand silencing the small man. "Your job is to find me hotels, get me cars, and make sure I wake up in my room. Nowhere in your job description does it say that your are to be my personal music critic. The day I start taking music advise from you will be the day they lay me in the ground. I don't tell you how to do your job so don't try and tell me how to do mine!" The volume of his voice had slowly risen to a commanding growl by the time he had finished his little speech, and Taylor even while feeling slightly frightened by this petite man stupidly said "But you do tell me how to do my"
Drake balled his delicate hands into fist and started towards Taylor.
"Ya know maybe I should wait out in the hall for the reporter." Taylor said already half way out the door, he barely cleared out before Drake slammed it shut behind him.
"Stupid fucking road manager, who does he think he is!?" His usually calm and placid face had turned red as he paced back and forth in front of the door. He stopped and looked over at his dresser. "Fuck him, I want to do a line and that's what I'm gonna do."
He crossed the room in a few seconds and opened the draw, pushing aside the clothes he found his small red travel bag. Taking it out he turned around and sat down on his bed. "Fucking, balding bastard 'It hurts your music' what's he know about music?" he unzipped the bag and remover his small circular mirror, a rolled up 100 dollar bill and a small bag filled with 500 dollars worth of cocaine. "I've heard that Barry Manilow shit he listens to, HA he calls that music?"
He tapped a small amount of the powder onto the mirror, taking a straight razor from the bag he divided the powder into two small lines.
"Here's to you, you Barry Manilow listening fat fuck!" Drake called out as he brought the rolled up bill to his nose and inclined his head towards the mirror.
In the elevator door reflection Dyan brushed back her mousy brown locks of hair in a vain attempt to repair the horror that the wind had reeked on it. Moving on from her hair she surveyed the train wreck that was her face, to most people she was vary beautiful and striking woman, but all she saw was someone who really needed more then fore hours of sleep a night. The puffy bags under her brown eyes was all that was needed to come to that conclusion.
"Ugg I look horrible" she muttered.
Tiring her eyes away from her reflection she checked the batteries in her tape recorder. Locked and loaded she when back to worrying over her appearance. She paused "why do I care what I look like? I never did before."
But before she could come to the conclusion that she actually wanted to impress someone for the first time in her life, the elevator doors opened in to the bright and splendid hallway of the penthouse suits. The walls were bathed in a rich cream wallpaper, with the accessional water colored painting dotting the way down the well lit corridor. At the end of the hallway she could see a fat little man in a Hawaiian print shirt pacing back a forth while biting his finger nails.
'That must be Mr. Taylor, the road manager' she thought, only someone that important would dress so badly while staying in such a lavish hotel.
As soon as he spotted her he darted down the hallway and shook her hand. "You must be Dyan Riely, from Rolling Stone."
"That I am, and I take it your Mr. Taylor who spoke with my editor."
His whole face turned a bright red. "Yes yes that's me, I didn't mean to go over your head like that but we need to do our own research about the people we let take interviews, ya know security reasons and all."
"Of course" she said smiling politely as she started to wonder when he was going to stop shaking her hand.
"Is Mr. Blain in his room?"
The change of subject snapped him back to reality, "Err right, Drake" he turned and looked at the door "He was getting dressed last I saw, I'll see if he's ready now."
They walked together to the door when he turned to her and said "Just stay here and I'll be right back"
Before she could answer him he was already inside with the door shut. Dyan took out her tape recorder and pressed recorder. "Mr. Taylor seems uncomfortable when talking about Drake" She stopped the recorder and stood there waiting for the door to open.
'This is bad start for an interview' she thought with a sigh.
Closing the door quickly be hind him Taylor made sure that Dyan couldn't follow, and good thing he did because he found Drake sitting on the edge of his bed sniffing and rubbing his nose.
"Jesus Christ, Drake!" Taylor hissed in a loud whisper. "What do you think your doing?!"
He ran over the bed a grabbed up the mirror and baggie, and shoved them back into the little red bag. "That reporter is here, and look at you your not even dressed!"
"She's here?" Drake asked, his eyes glazing over. "Good send her in!" he said cheerfully.
"What? With you stoned like this?" He shook his head "I'll tell her your sick or something, your not going to do this interview high." he said as he replaced the red bag in the dresser draw.
"Sure I am!" Drake cooed as he stood up. Taylor grabbed for his robe to stop him, but even when stoned Drake was to fast for him. Missing completely he landed face down on the floor.
"Miss, you can come in now!" Drake called.
Taylor picked himself off the floor in time to see Dyan walking in through the door. 'oh shit'
Dyan heard through the door, "Miss you can come in now" so she walked in. And standing in the door way she knew something was a little off about this already.
The vary handsome, pail, feminine man in the black robe was no doubt Drake Blain, and the only other person in the room was Mr. Taylor, but why was he on the floor? And why was Mr. Blain not dressed like he said he was? Before a single question could be put into words, Drake swooped over to her and took her hand.
"You must be the lovely Miss. Riely sent to spy on me." Drake said with a charming bow as he kissed her hand.
"I'd hardly call it spying, the world just wants to know something about you." Dyan said drawing her hand back. "All anyone knows is your name and some sketchy rumors."
Drake waved her to the over stuffed, white, leather arm chair. "Well, have a seat so we can dissolve these nasty little rumors that you speak of."
As Dyan took her seat as she dug through her hand bag for her tape recorder, when she glanced up she saw Drake slide rather sit himself into position on the couch. He gave her a toothy grin, then turned his head towards Taylor who had been chewing his finger nails by the bed.
"Three's a crowd Taylor, if you don't mind." Drake drawled in his most proper British accent, then sniffed and rubbed his nose.
Taylor shook his head, "No I think it would be better if I stayed." he said barely removing his hand from his mouth. Dyan pressed record.
"Come now, don't you trust me?" Drake flashed him a thousand watt smile.
"Not as far as I can throw you." Taylor muttered.
"Well I believe you can throw a hundred and two pounds quite far, so scoot." He turned back to Dyan "I already told you, I'll behave myself."
Taylor looked from Drake to Dyan, "I'll be right outside the door if you need me."
Drake laughed, "Don't be silly, I'll be fine."
"I was talking to Miss. Riely."
(( It's not finished yet, I really need some Creative Criticism, or any thing really ))