Title: Don’t Look Away: Chapter Twenty-six, Can't Do A Thing About It
Rating: R [language, alcohol]

Summary: Pete should be working on the album, but finds concentration difficult with Cady so far away. Keith & John attempt to help him out. Cady lets her hair down - and more - in France.




Leaving his studio, Pete stalked over to the phone. Snatching it up, he mashed Kit’s numbers and tapped his foot impatiently. With the curtains drawn, as Cady was much too far away to open them, Pete had no clue what time of day it was. Nor did he care. This kind of information was important, no matter the time of day. Next, he was calling John.

“Hello?” a scratchy voice answered after the seventh ring.

“Hi. I don’t know if I interrupted anything or whatever, but you need to hear this. I have figured out the next album.”

The voice on the telephone coughed, “That’s nice, Pete. Can’t we talk about this when it’s not four in the morning?”

Pete glanced over at the clock above the dining table, “Oh. Well why the fuck does it matter? You weren’t really sleeping.”

“It doesn’t bloody matter what I was doing. It’s four am, Pete.”

“Well whatever. I know the concept for the album you bloody wanted done yesterday.”

“Splendid. We can talk about it in the morning.”

“It is morning! You see, I was thinking we can link all the songs together by–”

“Good night, Pete.”

“But–”

“Good night, Pete,” the manager hung up the phone.

Hearing the dial tone, he sighed and dropped the phone down. Rather than ring John right away, not that he cared if the bassist slept, Pete headed into the kitchen. He opened cupboard after cupboard, not entirely sure what he was looking for. Food did not seem appealing at all, not that their cupboards contained much. Ending up in front of the fridge, he pulled it open and shook his head. He was living a bachelor-life, as evidenced by the contents of the fridge. Pushing aside the jar of pickles, Pete pulled the single beer from the cold confines, cracked it open, and headed into the living room. Sitting on the sofa, he sighed and wondered what Cady was doing, if she missed him, if she was coming home in the morning…



Struggling with the lock to her hotel room, Cady giggled before righting her key and forcing the door open. She limped into the room, letting the door slam close behind her. Stepping out of the single shoe, vaguely wondering what happened to the boots she wore out of the room, she made a beeline to the large bed. About to collapse face-first onto the bed, her drunken mind barely managed to realize she wore a dress made of tiny mirrors. If she did not remove it first, she would have… decades of bad years from all the broken mirrors.

Dropping the mirror-dress on the floor a moment later, she carefully and dramatically stepped over it, lost her balance, and fell to the floor. For a long moment, she considered sleeping on the floor, but some thread of sanity still existed in her muddled mind and forced her off the floor and into the bed. Within moments, she passed into a champagne-induced coma, completely naked on top of the blankets.

When she awoke many hours later, bars of light shimmered through the cracks in the heavy drapes. She rolled over slowly – and promptly fell out of the bed. Groaning, she rubbed her temples as she sat up. Once the spinning stopped in her head, Cady pushed up onto her feet and reached for the lamp on the nightstand. Trying to remember the night before, she vaguely remembered removing her dress at the end of the bed, explaining her nudity. She had no idea where her panties were, at all. Slowly she approached the end of the bed, hoping to find her panties with the mirrored dress.

The floor was empty.

Her blue eyes glanced around the hotel suite. Something did not seem quite right about the room. It was… cleaner than she remembered leaving it when she went out for the night. Slowly making her way to the telephone, intending to call down to the front desk, Cady froze. On the desk next to the phone was a tall glass of water and small bottle of Tylenol. With a smirk, she broke the seal to the vial, popped it open, and shook out two pills.

After drinking about half of the glass, Cady picked up the phone. She conversed easily with the front desk for a while, confirming that housekeeping had been the one to take care of her. In any other situation, she might have found it odd in the least, or an invasion of privacy. However, in the course of conversation, she learned her father knew she was at that hotel and made certain the staff knew to take care of her. She bit her bottom lip slightly to keep from sighing, thanked the front desk, placed an order for food, and hung up the phone. Deciding to shower before her hangover meal arrived, thinking it would help with her champagne hangover, Cady still could not remember where her panties were. Not so much as a flash of memory entered her mind. She would certainly have to ring Marlene soon. Hopefully the French model would have some answers for her.

After eating an early dinner, if time was considered when labeling a meal, Cady moved to the sofa, still wrapped in a fluffy robe since her shower, and dialed her friend’s number. The phone rang a dozen times without answer. Not really wanting to talk to Pete before straightening out the night before, she hung up and turned on the television. After flipping through the few stations, she gave up, turned off the device and picked up the phone again.

On the third ring, a familiar voice answered, “Bonjour?”

“Marlene!” she smiled. “It’s about time you answered.”

“Oh, ‘ello, Cady. Ca va?”

“Alright, for the most part. You hungover?”

“Oui… oui…”

“I don’t even remember most of the night…”

Marlene paused for a moment, “I still cannot believe vous gave that movie star your panties.”

Cady remained silent for a moment, “Who?”

“Warren Beatty.”

She bit her bottom lip to keep from giggling, “Really?”

“‘E vanted in your panties, so you gave them to ‘im.”

Cady broke into giggles, “How drunk were we?”

“Je ne sais pas. Did vous vake up alone?”

“Oui.”

“Zen vous did not get drunk enough!”

She paused, her face becoming serious, “I’m not here to cheat on my boyfriend, Marlene. I’m here to get a sense of who I am.”

“Vous need to get fucked, Cady. Vous know it.”

Rolling her eyes, she reached for her glass of water, “I am not here to sleep with random men. Last night was fun, but I’m not doing it again.”

Marlene whined, “But I ‘ave missed vous! We ‘ave not ‘ad fun like this… ever!”

“If having fun means I’m going to wake up in my hotel room with a hangover and the maids having cleaned up while I was passed out, I’ll pass.”

“No! Vous must come out tonight! Vous promised!”

She sighed, “But, Marlene, I don’t–”

“I vill not take no for une answer. I vill be zere in une hour. I vill bring zee dresses for tonight. Vous cannot say no.”

Before Cady could protest again, the model hung up. Sighing she dropped the phone down for a minute. She rubbed her temples. While she did not want to have a repeat of the night before, she supposed it would not be a bad idea to go out again. She needed to change her mindframe to enjoy it though. In addition, she needed to call Pete.

Placing the international call, she instantly grinned when he answered the phone, “Hello, love.”

“Oh god, Cady. I MISS you.”

“Aw, baby, I miss you too. I’ll be home soon.”

“Today? I’ll pick you up. Airport or train?”

Cady chuckled, “No, baby, not today. Perhaps soon. Have you done any writing?”

“I can’t write when you’re not here.

“Baby…”

“I can’t. I’ve tried. I just have shit tunes.”

“I’m sure they’re better than you think.”

He sighed, “I need you back, Cady.”

“I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I just can’t… I just can’t…”

“You did fine without me before you met me, Pete,” she pointed out.

“I guess.”

“What about the rest of the band? Have you asked their opinion?”

“John is on his way over. Should be here any minute.”

Cady paused, “Well I will stay on the line until he gets there. Tell me your musical ideas? Maybe I can help over the phone…”

“Well, you see, I was thinking…”

Hanging up the phone once a knock sounded on the door, Cady shook her head as Marlene swept into hotel room, her arms laden with clothing, a couple of large bags hooked on her arms. She held the door open, letting the model in. The French model whirled around the room, setting up the different outfits about the room. Cady let the door close and moved to the sofa, stopping to grab her glass of water before sitting. The other woman continued to flit about the room.

Finally pleased with her set, Marlene popped a bottle of champagne, poured two glasses, and joined Cady on the couch, “Now vous can decide. Just like old times.”

Cady glanced at her friend, “Are you going to model for me too? Should I phone my father to pay for it?”

The Frenchwoman laughed, “No, no. Dis is all your size, not mine. It ees yours. Just choose for tonight.”

Her blue eyes looked around the couture-filled room. It was clear her best friend knew fashion, as expected of all models, but her selections tailored to Cady’s body and tastes. The color palette leaned towards blues and greens, with a few shocks of blue-toned reds. Boots, pumps, and stilettos finished off the expensive outfits. She assumed Marlene brought along jewelry and other accessories.

“Whatever you think would be best,” she finally stated, sipping the champagne. “Also, do you know what happened to my boots last night?”

Marlene waved dismissively, “It does not matter, Cadence. I vill choose somefing for vous.”

“Marlene, I don’t even want to go out. I lost my panties and my favorite pair of boots last night. I don’t need to go out again tonight.”

“Vous are going out vif moi. Do not try to get out of it. Vous are going.”

Sighing, Cady focused on finishing her glass of champagne. She knew it was useless to argue against the model. Once she had her mind set on something, Marlene usually got it, one way or another.



Plopping down on the barstool, John clipped Keith on the shoulder and motioned to the bartender for another drink. After being roused by Pete early in the morning, by noon he was half-drunk. Now that suppertime rolled around, he was certainly very drunk. He had not yet fallen off the stool, but certainly had difficulty with his aim in the loo. No one really cared about the cleanliness of bathrooms in bars much anyways.

And when did Keith show up?

It did not matter in the grand scheme of things. Keith was rather fun to get sloshed with; beat drinking alone in any event. Moreover, the drummer never asked why he was not at home with his wife; probably because he was escaping his woman just as much.

“You know,” he spoke softly and slowly, trying to not show his level of inebriation at all, “Pete has this bloody brilliant idea for the next album.”

“Tits,” Keith muttered and downed the rest of his drink. “Needs more tits.”

“Our album doesn’t need any bloody breasts, Keith,” he growled.

The drummer looked at the bassist, “Everyone needs more boobs!”

Glancing around to see how many people looked their way at the outburst, John smirked as he noticed no one seemed to care. Taking that as a sign they needed to shake up the bar customers, he softly began to egg Keith on. Within minutes, the drummer jumped up onto the bar and shouted for all the women with “fine flapdoodles” to come forward for judging. Moving away from the bar, John lit a cigarette and smirked as women actually began to filter forward in the bar.

When Pete arrived at the bar an hour later, topless women moved about the bar, many with ink marks on their breasts. The guitarist did not even glance at them, nonplussed by the nudity, especially upon finding Keith drinking a shot from between a girl’s breasts. He shook his head and sat down next to John, ordering a drink. He drank in silence, not saying anything to his best mate, until the first beer was gone.

“I can’t do it, John,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?” he glanced sideways at the broody songwriter.

“I can’t do a goddamned thing without her here.”

John finished his drink and motioned for another, “Why not? You functioned just fine a couple of months ago without her.”

“That’s because I thought I missed out on being with her! Then she found me and everything seemed right in the world and… fuck, John, what am I supposed to do? I can’t stand it.”

The bassist stared at Pete, “Seriously?”

“I can’t…”

“KEITH!” John bellowed.

The drummer’s hands froze on a woman’s breasts. His face turned to John, a marker perched between his teeth like a cigar. The bassist motioned him over. Obediently, Keith dropped his marker and trotted over to the booth his two bandmates now occupied. Wordlessly, he picked up a beer on the table and quickly emptied it.

Belching loudly, he smirked at the bassist, “Whatcha need?”

“Pete is forlorn and missing his woman. I think it’s up to us to make certain he forgets her for a little while,” he declared.

The drummer’s bushy eyebrows rose, “Oh really?”

“Yes. Do you think we can help?”

“Certainly,” he nodded in faux-dignity. “I have just the thing.”

“Oh?”

Keith nodded again, turned in the booth and called two topless girls over. Motioning for another round of drinks, John settled back into the booth. With Keith in charge, no one was likely to be thinking about anyone come morning – except hating the drummer for whatever damage done during the night. Pete would not be worrying about Cady much longer at all. That was precisely what he needed.



Stepping into her hotel room, the morning sun already encroaching on noon, Cady glanced around at the mess of clothing still scattered about. Pulling the chain across the door after locking it, she mechanically moved around and collected the garments. Leaving them in a pile on the sofa, her bloodshot blue eyes glanced at the bed. Her soul was exhausted from the night out with Marlene. No later than midnight, she was ready to return to the hotel and crawl into her big, comfortable bed. However, the model and her friends were not about to allow that. Cady was plied with champagne and white powder, fueling her energy until morning. Careful to watch her alcohol intake, as she did not want to have forgotten hours again, Cady was lucid all night, although higher than she had been in months, due to whatever they snorted.

Crashing from the high and refusing all pills pushed towards her, Cady finally convinced one of the men to bring her back to the hotel. Refusing him sex nearly left her on the street, but had that happened she knew she would be able to find her way back to the hotel. Instead, she granted him a few kisses and a couple of gropes before closing the car door on his face to keep him from following her in. Guilt slightly touched her actions, but she presumed Pete would understand – not that she intended to ever tell him.

But that was all behind now. All she wanted to do was strip off her couture clothes, kick off her shoes, and embrace the fluffiness and comfort of the bed. While she knew Marlene would tell her to not worry of tearing the dress upon removing it, Cady carefully twisted about to pull the zipper down enough to shimmy out of the dress. She discarded her bra and large bangles. Stepping out of her heels, she managed to pull the blankets back on the bed before collapsing once more into it. Turning on her side, she pulled the blankets around her and held a pillow tightly. If things kept up at this pace, she would need to sleep all day, just to withstand Marlene for another night. Maybe she would check out and hide from the model…

Waking with a start, Cady sat up, her bleary eyes focusing on the door. It took her a few minutes to realize she was woken by a rapid knock at the door. She stumbled out of the bed, wrapping a sheet around her body. Eyes half open, she struggled to slide the chain off the lock. Yanking the door open, Cady gasped, accidentally dropping her sheet.

“Daddy?”

With a porter standing behind him, Richard Kersey’s eyes went wide. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight to block the porter’s view of his half- nude daughter. Regaining her senses, Cady quickly scooped the sheet back up and pulled it tightly around her, her cheeks redder than the crimson dress she wore the night before.

“I will give you a few minutes to make yourself presentable, Cadence,” he stated sternly.

Not that she would have fought his words, Cady nodded in compliance. He turned and crossed the hall, inserting a key in the door before she closed hers. Once the door clicked shut, she came alive. Hurrying back to the bed, she tossed the sheet on it before turning wildly to find clothing. Pulling on one of the couture outfits, she quickly brushed her hair and teeth and scrubbed the remnants of makeup from her face. Her heart did not have the chance to stop pounding, for a knock sounded at her door once more.

Opening the door again, she forced a smile, “Daddy.”

Richard pushed the door fully open and stepped into the suite, “Much better, Cadence.”

Taking a deep breath, she closed the door, “Would you like a drink, Daddy?”

He did not answer, but wandered about the hotel room. His fingers picked up some of the garments from the pile, appraising them. Though in his mid-sixties, Richard did not look a day over forty-five. He was trim and tall, only the slightest silvering of his dark brown hair graying at his temples. Recently taking up wearing glasses fulltime, his dark blue eyes still easily assessed and cut a person down. He certainly never knew the meaning of a language barrier, regardless of how many languages he did speak. Always modestly attired, Richard nonetheless only wore designer garments and rarely more than once. His very presence filled any room, no matter the size, no matter the crowd. It made him one of the most powerful – and richest – men in Philadelphia. His wealth of influence extended beyond Pennsylvania to the US federal government. Richard had never been one to defy.

And yet, Cady had much of her life. Unlike her brothers and sisters, she refused to go to the schools he wanted, to marry the person he deemed acceptable, to do what he told her to. To everyone’s surprise, Richard never expressed any displeasure in such, but rather supported her. Many claimed his reaction was due to her being the baby of the family, but he would never confirm or deny their claims. He was never a man to gossip or speak when not necessary. Her mother, Rebecca, certainly did not share her father’s beliefs and would harass Cady about letting down her father every time she spoke to her. It was one of the leading causes that kept the young woman from phoning or visiting the family.

The fact he stood in her hotel room in Paris was unbelievable and she really did not know what to do or say, so she merely stood in the middle of the room, waiting for a cue from him.

“I see that your taste in clothing has not changed,” he dropped the dress in the pile before looking to his daughter.

“Marlene brought them over for me,” she responded softly.

“You are still friends with that model?”

Cady nodded.

“That would explain your activities the past two nights.”

Her eyes darkened, “You’ve been spying on me?”

“Cadence, you are staying here as my guest, are you not? The staff has been kind in giving me updates since your arrival.”

“Oh.”

He glanced over her appearance, “I will give you one hour. Then we shall depart.”

“Excuse me?” indignation filled her voice.

“For dinner, Cadence,” Richard explained.

“Oh.”

“And try to wear something modest,” he headed towards the door. “You have one hour.”

After her father left the suite, Cady let out a breath she did not know she was holding. She quickly replayed the day’s brief events over in her head. Her thoughts kept snapping back to the fact he was there. She had not been in the same room as him in… well over a year. Now they were to dine together? She did not see this going well at all. Something was certainly on his mind. She was not certain she wanted to know, at all, but also knew she had no choice in the matter – unless she snuck out while she was supposed to be getting presentable for dinner with her father.

Her eyes set upon the telephone. She wanted to snatch it up and call Pete. But what could he do from England? He certainly could not make it to Paris in time to save her from her father. She would deal with this on her own. And that would mean a shower and a cocktail dress, neither of which she really wanted.

Paris had not been such a good idea.