Chapter 22

Brock's first foray into Hollywood society was an eye-opener. Randi had returned from her tour only two days before the Emmy Awards and immediately set out to ensure he would have everything he needed for the evening.

"We'll put a suit in the limo with us and we'll need casual clothes, too," she had told him.

Of course he wanted to know why.

"You don't want to wear your tux after the ceremony," she had explained. "Some of the parties are fairly formal so you'll need a tie. Others are more casual, so you'll want to have clothes for those, too. Normally, the later the party the less formal it is."

Randi had flitted around his house for both days she was home, mostly wearing as few clothes as she could legally get away with. It hadn't helped Brock process the information she was providing.

Brock had asked (and Randi and her mother had answered) many questions during next two days but nothing prepared him for the Sunday night awards ceremony.

The Dodgers played at one p.m. so thankfully he would be finished in plenty of time to get ready – or so he expected. In a rarity, Brock was allowed to shower as soon as the game was over. A few of the veterans decided that it was the perfect time for another beer shower afterward but Al, Josh Hart and Wade Watson promised huge amounts of bodily harm if anyone even attempted it.

The first problem was with his tuxedo. After fumbling for a minute or two, Brock turned to Al, Josh and Wade who were staying nearby in case some dumbass thought a beer shower in the tuxedo would be just swell.

"Can any of you tie a bow tie?" Brock asked helplessly.

"Hell, Rook, I get the clip-ons," Al answered.

"I sort of thought you were smart enough to go that route, too," Josh chimed in.

"Hey, your wives are the one who dragged me out to buy this thing so I'm placing the blame squarely on your shoulders," Brock replied. "And if I come off all lopsided on TV, well, I'll be sure to point Mandy and Esmi in the right direction to find the cause."

Wade Watson was married with two children and he couldn't help but laugh loudly.

"Yeah, you two need to control your women better," he joked but quickly continued. "Please don't tell them I said that."

Brock was still trying to figure out his bow tie when Randi called to ask if he was ready to go.

"It's only 4:15," he said.

"By the time we fight traffic and get through the red carpet stuff we'll barely have time to find our seats," she insisted.

"OK, but you'll have to tie this damned tie," he told her. "Otherwise we won't get there until day after tomorrow."

He had to admit that Randi looked stunning in her black sequined off-the-shoulder dress. He told her how nice she looked and Randi practically beamed at him. She made sure she pressed as much of her body against him as she could as she helped him with his tie and she didn't move very far away from him as the limo drove them through the crowded Hollywood streets.

Brock was certain 2,000 camera strobes fired at once when he and Randi exited the limo. He was equally certain that 2,000 voices screamed in his ear at the same time. Some were the notorious Los Angeles paparazzi, vultures that made their living by stalking and photographing celebrities. But most were Randi Raver fans, meaning that the voices all had the high-pitched squeal of adolescents.

They had barely taken three steps on the red carpet when a woman in a headset directed Randi aside for a quick interview. Brock stood off to the side and was corralled by another person nearby. Before he had a chance to grab for Randi, there was a camera pointed at him and a microphone in his face.

"I'm with Brock Miller of the Los Angeles Dodgers who is escorting television and music superstar Randi Raver tonight," a woman with 40 pounds of makeup on her face said into the camera. "Tell me, Brock, who are you wearing?"

"What?" Brock asked.

"Who are you wearing?" the woman asked in a louder voice.

"I heard what you said," Brock replied. "I just don't understand the question. What do you mean 'Who am I wearing?' That doesn't make a bit of sense."

"She wants to know who made your suit," Randi whispered from his elbow.

Randi had been speaking to a crew from 'Celeb Spotlight' when she saw Brock being herded away toward Gloria Gables, a harridan if ever one existed on earth. She made a quick apology to the CS crew and hustled to Brock's side.

"Then why in the hell didn't she just ask me where I got the suit instead of asking me who I was wearing?" he wondered aloud. "Does anyone in Hollywood behave like a normal human being?"

"He's wearing an Armani original from the upcoming fall collection," Randi cut in. She was smiling broadly and doing her best not to laugh at the shocked face of the interviewer. "And, no, Brock, it would be completely unacceptable for someone with a microphone to ask a question in a way a normal person might understand. That would lack the pretentiousness that we so thrive upon. Anyway, we're off."

"That was live, you know," Randi whispered as they walked away.

"Oh, shit," Brock muttered. Randi elbowed him in the ribs.

"And that was probably caught by a camera somewhere, too," she said. Brock realized she was almost speaking like a ventriloquist. He heard the words but he didn't see her mouth move from the permanent smile it seemed to be set in. He decided that was the way to go. He gave her a wide smile and a wink. Randi laughed and looped her arm through his as they made their way to another interview.

By the time they made it inside, Brock was certain he wouldn't be able to see again for weeks. Between the klieg lights and the strobes, he was positive his retinas had been permanently scarred.

"If I have to go on the DL with optical problems after this, you're going to have to answer to the GM," he muttered without moving his lips.

Randi tugged him to a stop.

"It's OK, we're inside now," she said.

"I am really sorry, Randi," he said.

"Jesus, Brock, that was classic," she told him. "'Why in the hell didn't she just ask me where I got the suit?' I loved it."

"This was probably a bad idea," he said. "I am really out of my element."

"This is a great idea," Randi insisted. "I about pissed myself when you made that old bat look like an idiot. I kept hoping one of the others would ask you something just so you could do the same for them. I hate that bullshit. Some of these assholes get off on the fame, you know. Stand here with me for a minute and watch the door. In the next five minutes you'll see a dozen guys with woodies and dozen women sporting high-beams come through. They literally get aroused by the thought of a thousands of people sitting at home listening to them blather like what they have to say means a shit."

"So I take it that you're not one of those types," Brock joked.

"Nope, I got aroused when I was helping you with your tie and I'll stay that way until we're back home," Randi said with a leer. "Now, this area is the safe zone. It's where actors can come and grab a smoke or fix their makeup without a camera or a microphone catching them. While we're in this room, we can pretty well say or do anything and no one is going to make a fuss about it. But once we head through those doors, you can bet there will be a camera pointed at you or near you at all times. So don't pick your nose or anything gross."

"Or reach over and slide my hand up your dress?" Brock asked innocently. "Your legs look really amazing tonight."

"You're a bad man, Brock Miller," Randi said with a sigh. "No, you can't feel me up in the auditorium – or out here either. But I'll look forward to a quick grope in the limo afterward. How's that?"

Randi and Brock found their seats along with a few of Randi's cast mates in plenty of time. They had just sat down and gotten adjusted when Brock felt a hand on his arm and a pair of boobs on his back as someone leaned over him.

"That was awesome!" a girl who looked like she was maybe 15 squealed.

"It hit the 'Net already?" Randi asked with a smile.

"Oh ... my ... God!" the girl said. "It was up in like two minutes. She said something snarky as they cut to a commercial. Then Twitter went nuts. Your boy has a lot of fans and they tore her a new one."

"Good," Randi said smugly. "I hope they went up one side and down the other."

"I didn't mean for her to get blasted," Brock put in.

"Oh, it wasn't you," Randi said. "That woman deserves everything she gets."

"She is one of the gossip queens who pass along any hint of innuendo without bothering to verify if it is actually true," the other girl explained. "I hope she fries."

Brock managed to sit through the first 15 or 20 minutes before boredom set in. Outside of sports shows, he rarely watched TV. He had never seen Randi's sitcom so he didn't recognize anyone he was seated around. In fact, he didn't recognize more than one or two people who were introduced on stage. The ones he did recognize – from shows he would watch with his mother years before – looked a lot older than he remembered.

But he toughed it out by focusing on the conversations Randi was conducting during the pauses in the ceremony. He really didn't understand much of what she was talking about but he apparently nodded and smiled at the appropriate times because she was still beaming at him as they left the amphitheater for their waiting limo.

"Sorry you didn't win," he said as they took their seats in the back.

"It's fine," she said. "It works out better this way. If we had won, they would have pulled out all the stops to try to get me to return. Now they might actually let me leave without too much of a fuss."

"If that's what you want, I hope you get it," Brock told her.

"I want to focus on my music," she said. "I have so much more freedom there. I can pretty well set my tour schedule for when it suits me. I can cut my demos and do my writing on a timeframe that I'm comfortable with. I'll still have deadlines to meet but it won't be as structured as doing 23 weeks of television each year."

"So you're done with acting?" Brock asked.

"For now," Randi said. "I still enjoy it. What I would really like is to change my style of music. I think once I manage that, it will open me up to more adult roles. Right now I'm typecast. The only roles I'm offered are the ditzy blonde Lolita spots. I don't want to do that. If something interesting comes along, I'll probably give it a shot. But I'm not going to play the same character with a different name for another five years. I've done that for the last five years."

"You'll do fine no matter what you decide to try," Brock assured her. Even though he had never seen Randi act – nor had he heard her sing – he had heard dozens of people give positive reviews of both. "It sort of works out that your fan base is growing with you. They're ready to face new challenges at the same time you are."

Randi narrowed her eyes and Brock wondered if perhaps he had said the wrong thing again.

"I guess I hadn't looked at it that way," she said finally. "I always looked at it in the manner of constantly performing for people's kids. I mean, our show got new viewers each year. We lost the older ones. But I guess as I move on, a lot of them will move on with me."

"And the ones who've left will find you again," Brock said.

Randi hugged herself to Brock's arm.

"Thanks," she said. "I know we got off to a rocky start but I feel really lucky to have met you when I did."

"I feel just as lucky, Randi," he replied as the limo pulled up to the Ritz-Carlton.

"Crap, I haven't changed clothes yet," he muttered.

Randi laughed and hugged him again.

"You didn't think we were going to get naked in the back of the limo, did you?" she asked. "Hey, wait, you were supposed to be feeling me up on the way over here. Well, it will have to wait until we're upstairs. We have a suite, Brock. We'll do our change here and then hit a couple of parties. Then we'll come back and change again and hit a couple of more. I guess I should have taken some time to fill you in a little better. I've just been so busy."

"And I haven't been around much," he said. "I probably should have asked better questions when I had the chance."

The suite at the Ritz was opulent. Randi had obviously not skimped on providing a luxurious location for changing clothes. Brock had no trouble with his tie this time and was sitting out front drinking a bottle of water when Randi emerged from her room.

She was carrying a red dress in one hand and blue dress in the other. But it was what was in the middle that caught Brock's attention. The only other things Randi wore were a pair of "barely there" panties and thigh high stockings.

"Which one do you think?" she asked, glancing at each of the dresses while covertly watching Brock's reaction.

"Neither," he gulped. "I mean, the blue one. It will make your eyes stand out."

Randi gave him a wide smile, for both of his comments and for his reaction, before turning and sashaying back into her room. She returned a few minutes later wearing the blue dress that fit her form like a second skin. He suddenly understood the need for hidden undergarments.

"Wow!" he said. "I take it back. No one is even going to notice you have eyes. You look really sexy in that."

Randi came forward and pulled him down to kiss him. It was only a light peck on the lips but it still felt nice.

"It is a damned shame you are such a nice guy," she said as she backed away.

"A shame?" Brock asked.

"Yeah," Randi replied. "Because if you were the typical Hollywood asshole, I'd just push you on the bed and ride you for a minute or two. Half the sluts at the party will have someone's jizz dripping out of them. But, no, I know how it would be. If I get started, the next thing I know I'll be picking up a tabloid tomorrow. 'Teen songstress Randi Raver disappeared into the Ritz with her dishy ball-playing beau shortly after the Emmy ceremony closed. She didn't reappear until late the next morning, looking bedraggled but remarkably satisfied'."

"You're terrible," Brock said with a blush.

"I'm dead serious," she said. "I've talked to all of your ladies. If we start rolling around, I won't be seen again for 12 hours and then I'll come out walking bowlegged and looking dehydrated from cumming a thousand times. Well, not tonight mister. Well, not right now, anyway, mister."

The first party Randi went to was at a trendy downtown eatery. It was hosted by a production company whose show had won the award for 'Best Drama'. There was a line a mile long outside but Randi and Brock were shown straight in and met by a man with champagne flutes on a tray.

"I know," Randi muttered. "No alcohol for either of us. Mom already told me."

"Sorry," Brock said. "But I think it's for the best."

The bartender didn't bat an eye about pouring two ginger ales into fluted glasses and the pair set off to make their rounds. Apparently the young woman at the ceremony hadn't been the only one to catch wind of Brock's faux pas on the red carpet.

Brock actually recognized the next person to mention it, a woman who appeared in a show Brock and the women watched religiously in college. She was on a different show now but she still looked the same.

"Mr. Miller, I have to say that was about the greatest thing I've ever heard said to that old bitch," Tiffany Wells said. Randi was nearby talking to another actor – but one Brock didn't know.

"Well, it just sort of slipped out," he admitted. "Truthfully, I had no idea it was live."

"She'll be fired by the morning," Tiffany promised. "What she said was way out of line."

"We heard she said something but we didn't hear what it was," Randi put forth from Brock's elbow, where she had reappeared as if by magic.

Tiffany looked uncomfortable when she answered.

"She, uh, she said he probably learned to be a barbarian while in prison," she said softly.

Brock's face went white but he stopped himself from saying anything. God only knew who might be listening in and reporting to the tabloids.

"That fucking bitch!" Randi said loudly enough to be heard over everyone in the room. "They better fire her and then she better get the hell out of this town. I will track her down and make her eat her own shit for saying that."

Brock put a calming hand on Randi's arm but she still looked pissed off.

"They pulled her right after she said it," Tiffany said quickly. "They cut to an unscheduled commercial and when they came back they had someone else there. She read an apology from the network on air and clarified what was said. You could see two or three major stars going by in the background. No one would talk to them afterward. I mean, I heard Twitter went wild, so everyone knew. Between Brock's fans and your fans, Randi, I think they got their message across. After that, people would walk right past and ignore the network. Like I said, she'll be fired by morning if she hasn't been sacked already. I'm sorry; I didn't realize that you hadn't heard what was said. I never would have brought it up."

"It's fine," Brock lied. "You get used to it after a while. At least she didn't break into the 'Or-phan' chant like the Diamondback fans did."

"They did not!" Tiffany gasped. "How do you put up with shit like that? I would go crazy."

"I went a little crazy at first," Brock admitted. "But I have some really good people around me. They know who I am so it doesn't matter as much."

He put his arm around Randi, and she smiled up at him.

"I need to give a big shout out to my followers," Randi said. "I had no idea but I want them to know I appreciate their support."

Grudgingly she pulled away from Brock and fished out her cell phone to type in a message.

"No Twitter account for you?" Tiffany asked.

"Uh, no," Brock said.

"I'm surprised," Tiffany replied. "I read that you have a computer science degree from Duke. I would have expected you to have all the latest things."

Brock shrugged.

"The truth is that I'm one of those people who think my thoughts are nothing more than inconsequential," he said. He hoped he hadn't offended the young woman across from him. Her loud laughter told him he hadn't.

"Oh, Randi, you better hang on to this one," Tiffany said. "If you don't, I'm going to scoop him up and take him home with me!"

Randi locked herself back onto Brock's arm in case Tiffany Wells was serious.

"I happen to agree, Brock," Tiffany said. "Some people have some interesting things to say. Others just annoy me. I have an account but it's mostly for my publicist to use. I honestly don't have that many interesting things to say."

"I hear you," Brock replied with a smile. "The athletes are the worst. That guy in Florida is hilarious. I mean, you can tell he is really funny but he's also pretty insightful. Me, I got nothing but at least I recognize I got nothing. Some of these other guys are just stupid – and every time they start to type, they just prove it. They're not humorous; they're not inspirational; they're insipid."

"Brock has a great sense of humor but it's too subtle for Twitter," Randi contradicted. "He's also pretty private. I mean, he's given me a lot of great advice that I've passed along. I hope you don't mind, Brock."

"Are we talking royalties?" he asked.

Randi shook her head.

"Potential civil liability?" he tried.

Randi smiled but shook her head again.

"Then why would I care," he continued.

"See, that's what I mean," Randi said through her laughter. "His jokes are always in context to something else. He doesn't have a lot of one-liners."

The talk turned to industry matters, and Brock tuned out to watch some of the other people in the room. He still didn't see many whom he recognized but he saw several people smile and nod when they caught his eye. He returned the gesture, not knowing what else to do.

"You know, Randi, I heard a rumor that you were going to focus on music," Tiffany said. "Is that true?"

"Right now it is," Randi replied. "If the right thing comes up, I'll consider it."

Brock didn't know how she might know Tiffany Wells. Tiffany was probably a year or two older than Brock. Then he considered that the purpose of this party was to talk business with people you probably wouldn't normally interact with.

Tiffany glanced around the room to make sure no reporters were nearby.

"We're going to wrap up 'Waking Dreams' after his season," she confided. "But the network is putting together a vehicle for me. It's an ensemble cast based on the Iconoclast books. Have you read them?"

Randi nodded.

"I loved them," she admitted.

"Well, your name has come up for the role of Helga," Tiffany said. "That's when someone said you were just going to record. But if you're interested, I would love to see you as part of the show."

"Seriously?" Randi asked.

"I'm serious," Tiffany said. "Here's my number. Think about it. We'd be shooting in L.A. I'm done with New York. I miss my Lakers and Dodgers too much. It's going to be adult in nature. I mean, purely 10 o'clock. I don't want you to be surprised."

"It would have to be," Randi said. "Are you going to play Greta?"

Tiffany nodded.

"That's pretty racy," Randi stated. "I mean, you know."

Brock was trying to follow the conversation but was failing miserably.

"I know," Tiffany replied. "I was in the same place as you after 'Downtown.' I got lucky with 'Waking Dreams' but it was still pretty much the same character. This is wholly different. I mean, seriously, I get to play a dominatrix. I'll be strutting around in my skimpies every show. You know, Helga would have to do the same thing. I'll probably use a body double for nudity and I'm sure you'll want to think about that too. But like I said, if you decide you want to keep your hand in Hollywood, too, this is there for you. Just let me know in the next few months."

Randi was practically floating on Cloud Nine by the time they left for their second stop, another hotspot with an A-list reputation. But once again, Brock and Randi were ushered in without hesitation.

It was after midnight and it was obvious that the alcohol – and probably a few other substances – had been free for a while.

They had barely entered the doorway when a small, sweaty man headed toward them. He grabbed Randi and pulled her to him, kissing her on lips, despite her efforts to keep him away.

"Randi, baby, you're here," he slurred. "Let's go have a private, uh, chat."

"She's here with me," Brock said, stepping forward and towering over the guy. "You might do well to remember that."

"It's OK, Brock," Randi said. "Pete just gets a little enthusiastic after a few drinks. No harm done."

Brock didn't move but continued to stare down at the smaller man who had to crane his neck to look up at Brock.

"Yeah, no harm meant," he said. "Sorry, Randi. I, uh, I'll talk to you later in the week."

"Sure, Pete," Randi said. When he left, she turned to Brock. "You can't be getting pissy with some of these people."

"Why not?" he asked. "If they haven't learned the appropriate way to behave, perhaps it's time someone showed them."

Randi crossed her arms and glared at him. He glared back at her.

"Look, Randi, I don't know what you're comfortable with but I'm not comfortable with people accosting you right in front of me," he said. "I noticed when Tiffany Wells started to talk to me you rushed over to make sure she knew who I was with. So I'm supposed stand by and let some smarmy toad slip you the tongue and pull you into a broom closet because his daddy left him a little bit of money? Sorry, not my deal and you should have recognized that before you invited me to this thing."

Randi's look softened.

"OK, fine," she said. "I guess I did race over to mark my territory when I saw you with Tiffany. But these guys do have a lot of money. They control a lot of the music industry. So if Pete Weinberg wants to kiss me, I pretty well have to let him."