Free American Diva by Julia London Page B

shiver. Honestly, who did this guy think he was?

Seven

    On the way to the arena, Audrey stared out the window at the passing scenery, one shapely leg crossed over the other, one booted foot swinging dangerously close to Jack’s leg. There was no conversation—for which Jack was thankful, for the girl could really infuriate him. Pills? Who was she, Janis Joplin?—Jack studied the smooth skin of her thigh.
    That was not helping him rid himself of the image of her in skimpy underwear.
    Dammit . He could throttle her for not getting up this morning, because he had a feeling it was going to take him a good long while to stop thinking about those panties.
    He wondered what she was thinking—she looked miserable. But when they turned into the parking lot of the arena, there was a small group of young girls hanging around the gated entrance. When they spied the limo, they screamed and jumped up and down, waving at it.
    “Oh!” Audrey said, instantly lighting up like Times Square. “Stop here, stop here!” she cried to the driver, and as soon as he rolled to a stop, she popped out. Jack did, too, moving instantly to where she had walked up to the group of girls, who had broken into pandemonium at the sight of Audrey.
    “What are you doing?” he demanded of Audrey.
    “Hold your horses, Rambo,” she said, and turned a brilliant smile to the girls. Their screams pierced his eardrums, but Audrey didn’t seem to notice it—she was all smiles, dipping down to speak to the girls, taking their CDs and posters and autographing them. He watched in amazement as she spoke to each of the two dozen girls gathered there, answering their questions, complimenting their outfits, and looking every inch a star.
    When she had signed everything she could reach, she told the girls she had to go and practice, said good-bye, then turned a warm smile to Jack. “I’m ready now.”
    He opened the door to the limo and she stepped in, giving one last, enthusiastic wave to the girls as Jack followed her in and shut the door.
    The driver continued to the arena.
    Jack couldn’t help looking at her. She was still smiling. He’d been in Hollywood for too many years, had seen too many stars refuse autographs or to acknowledge their fans. He was astounded, really, by her eagerness. “That was really nice of you,” he said, meaning it sincerely.
    “Are you kidding?” She laughed warmly. “That is the one bright spot in my day. Girls like that are why I started the Songbird Foundation.”
    “The what?”
    She laughed again, the sweet sound of it a stark contrast to the way she had spoken to him the last twenty-four hours. She seemed almost a different person somehow. More real. More alive.
    “I guess you wouldn’t know about my foundation, would you? I set it up when my second album went platinum. It’s an organization that helps disadvantaged girls get into music. I would have killed for a little encouragement at that age, a little constructive, progressive instruction. Mostly I got the put down the guitar and do the dishes sort of thing. So now that I’m in a position to do it, I really want to give girls the chance to rock and roll that I had to fight to get.”
    Jack tried to picture Audrey at the age of ten or so, guitar in hand. He had an image of a scrappy little girl with dirty knees and tangled hair and a determined glint in her green eyes.
    “I was lucky,” she said as the limo drove up to a pair of glass doors at the arena. “I asked my old music teacher from high school to help me set up the foundation, and she’s been fantastic. In the first year, we gave two hundred girls from across the country scholarships to study music.” She smiled broadly, obviously proud of that accomplishment.
    She had every right to be proud.
    And when she smiled like that, it went all through Jack, warming him from the inside out. She looked young and fresh . . . and beautiful. “That’s really cool,” he said. “Too many people don’t give