Peg had to hold me back from giving Hanna a roundhouse right to the jaw, I was so exasperated with her warbling. I was sitting between Peg and Hanna in the main cabin on our flight to Berlin, Sunday evening. Yes, Sunday evening. The plane departed LAX at precisely 6PM, scheduled to land at Berlin Brandenburg in 15 hours, 6PM CEST Monday evening. There would be a 2-hour layover in New York’s JFK. Since it would be 2AM in New York, I expected to spend the 2-hour layover in a dark corner of McDonald’s, charming the sparse crowd with my ladylike snoring.

Saturday morning, Juan had called to tell me that he’d miscalculated the departure time for our flight to Berlin. In order to be there, bright-eyed and raring to go on Tuesday morning, we would need to leave at least a day earlier than originally planned. Consequently, our premium class seats would have to be downgraded to the main cabin. As Peg pointed out, the benefit of this change in travel plans was not having to get up at the break of dawn to catch the Monday 6AM flight.

Fortunately for both Hanna and me, Peg didn’t have to hold my arm back too long before they served us our first of two major meals on a 13-hour flight. For what it’s worth, Hanna thought I was just joking around so, as the attendant placed the food on her tray table, I put my arm around her shoulders and smiled. There was no singing while we ate our chicken dinner and quinoa and cherry tomato salad. There was the promise of ice cream for dessert!

Because of Hanna’s cringe-worthy singing, at least half the plane now knew who I was. Girls and women were waving at me while men and boys just stared. Fortunately, seatbelts were on. Otherwise, I could just imagine lines forming in the aisle, waiting for a selfie and an autograph. Oh, the humanity! That’s what I get for doing a good deed. And for eating at Burger King.

Thankfully, there was no more singing after the ice cream. Instead, I had to sit between Hanna and Peg as they discussed my “love life” as if I were invisible. Even with my Bluetooth earbuds snugly in place, I couldn’t escape the point-counterpoint battle being waged.

“Hanna, you’ve been in Hollywood long enough to know that matinee idol types like Trent are just a heartbreak waiting to happen. Our girl here must be very, very careful not to fall for his charming lies…”

“I’d stare into those lying eyes anytime. Not saying giving it away for free, Peg. Trent’s the one on the hook. From what I’ve seen and read, he’s head over heels for the girl—”

“Hanna, I keep telling you. Trent and I have a professional relationship. We’re just putting up a good show for our potential audience. Explain it to her, Peg.”

“I don’t know about Trent but Evie’s a great little actress. She has zero interest in the guy…outside of working with him. The only thing Evie really loves is baseball. Right, Evie?”

“Well, that’s a bit of an exagger—”

“She doesn’t have to love the guy. He’s nice to look at and he’s worth zillions. He’s box office and he’s shipping platinum in cds—”

“Nobody buys cds anymore, Hanna.”

“You know what I mean. And people do still buy cds and dvds! Get a ring from the dude and your own career will zoom! And if you get tired of him, listen, there’s community property in this state…”

“This state? We’re over Texas right now—”

“There are nine states that have community property laws.” She counted on her fingers. “Starting from the West: Washington, California, Nevada, Idaho, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, and Wisconsin. I’ve been married in three of those states.”

“I’m not getting married to Trent!” I shouted. It was louder than I realized because of the earbuds. The buzz in the cabin subsided to near silence. I blushed beet red and hid my face behind my hands as Peg tried to calm me down.

“Just leave the girl alone, Hanna. Please.” Peg kissed my head. “Listen to your tunes, Evie. Close your eyes. There, there, sweetie.”

“Juan said Danny would send someone to pick us up. Peg, look for some guy in a chauffeur’s cap…” I pointed in a vague direction as we stood in the arrivals area of Berlin Brandenburg Airport, Terminal 1. Fortunately, we didn’t have to loiter at the luggage carousel since all three of us carried minimal baggage for a 3 day stay that we stowed in the overhead bins. Well, Peg did have her professional makeup case that she managed to just barely fit under her seat. It took us a surprisingly brief 20 minutes to get through Passport Control/Immigration and so, there we were at 6:40PM on a Monday evening in Berlin.

“There’s a guy over there holding a sign with your name on it,” pointed out Hanna.

“Do either of you speak German?” They shook their heads. “Well, I had two years of high school German which I’ve never had to put into practice. Here goes nothing.” I approached the guy with the sign, giving him my best friendly smile.

“Hallo? Sind Sie hire, um Evie Rivers abzuholen? Das bin ich. Und meine beiden Freunde.” I indicated Peg and Hanna standing ten feet behind me. “Hat Danny Dantley Sie geschickt? Wir arbeiten am Trent Foster-Video...”

He lowered his sign, took off his sunglasses and laughed. I was taken aback. Had I unknowingly said something untoward in my poor German? I only got a B minus in German. It wasn’t UN translator level, I’m sure.

“I don’t know what you asked me since I don’t speak a word of German but I’m guessing you’re Evie Rivers.” He clicked his heels and bowed his head. “I’m Julian. Mr. Dantley’s assistant. Now if the three of you young ladies will follow me, I’ve got my van parked outside.”

I turned around to call for my traveling companions, but they were both standing right behind me. We followed Julian outside. Being a gentleman, he carried Peg’s heavy makeup case for her.

“We’re staying at Hotel nhow. It’s the place where all the bands stay when they’re playing Berlin. Depeche Mode and Simply Red just left this weekend. Last month, Elton John and The Who had whole floors to themselves. You must be hungry. The hotel’s only 30 minutes from the airport.”

“Actually, we’re still on West Coast time. It’s like 10 in the morning for us. We just had breakfast on the plane.”

“That’s perfect. It’ll give you a little more time to settle in before Danny takes you out for the evening.”

“Where’s Danny taking us?” I asked, not expecting to do anything more physically demanding than catch a late dinner and finally lie down on a real bed.

“I’ll let him surprise you but I’m sure you ladies will enjoy it. I know Danny will.” He laughed.

“Will Trent be coming with us?” Hanna asked, almost breathlessly.

“He’s in Paris right now. Appearing on some French TV show. You know he’s got three concert dates in Paris next week. Then he’s touring UK and Scandinavia.”

“I was so looking forward to meeting him tonight,” Hanna sighed.

“Well, it’s only an hour and a half flight from Paris. He’ll be back in his hotel bed by 2AM. Or, at least, some bed in town.” He laughed again. “He’s pretty popular. I don’t doubt he’ll have to beat off the frauleins with a stick…uh, sorry, I mean, Ms. Rivers—”

“It’s alright, Julian. It’s no skin off my nose.” I turned to Hanna. “Maybe Trent is into milfs. Julian, can you get Hanna into Trent’s hotel room? She can be a one-woman welcoming committee.”

“If only you weren’t joking, Evie. That boy is a rizz monster. Most women would die to get next to him…”

“I’ve only been around Trent a short time but he’s always talking about you, Ms. Rivers. I know he fought with the label to get you hired for this video. They wanted someone better known like one of those supermodels. But, no, Trent told him it was you or no video. He was adamant. And Mr. Dantley too. He thinks you’re going to outshine Trent on the show…when and if it premieres.”

“If?” Peg asked, in an arch tone.

“Well, I’m not supposed to say anything, but Mr. Dantley thinks if the strike goes past September and October, GlobalNet will just toss the project, not even re-schedule it. Of course, that won’t happen if both sides can come to an agreement before then.”

Duly disheartened by that tidbit, the rest of the half-hour ride was spent in pensive silence as I watched the green and red Ampelmännchen traffic lights switch back and forth along the streets of the Gray City.

The three of us stood in the lobby of the Hotel nhow, nestled on the eastern bank of the Spree River, waiting for Danny Dantley to emerge from the elevator. We had claimed our respective hotel rooms, freshened up and changed into suitable going-out-on-the-town outfits. That, of course, meant a charming top and modest, short skirt for me. Oh, and slinky low-heeled sandals.

“I hope it’s not German food. I’ve heard it’s real heavy in carbs and fat…” Hanna declared.

“Berlin’s a very cosmopolitan city, Hanna. I’m sure a bon vivant like Danny knows all the 3-star restaurants in town—” Peg interjected.

“3 stars? That sounds pretty meh to me. I’d expect at least 4 stars—”

Danny Dantley appeared before us, as if materializing out of thin air. He was wearing a dark shirt with a button-down collar, his gray t-shirt showing underneath. Black jeans and sneakers completed a picture of utter casualness. Suddenly, the three of us felt over-dressed.

Hanna whispered in my ear. “We’ll be lucky to get 2 stars. I think we’re going for Das Cheeseburger and Fries…”

“Ladies! I hope you’re ready for a hot time in Berlin town tonight! Our car is waiting. It’s a 20-minute ride to Potsdamer Platz. We can catch up on the way.” He waved us ahead toward the front doors. “And after our evening’s adventure, we’ll have a late dinner in the best Indian restaurant in Central Berlin.”

Peg took Hanna’s arm. “A nice curry will do you a lot of good, dearie.”

Turning to me in the passenger seat of our rented Tesla, Danny refused to divulge our destination as he merged onto the Bundesstraße 1, a highway that would take us directly to Potsdamer Platz and environs.

“You’ll all be pleasantly surprised. I’m excited for it myself, to be honest. Anyway, how have you been, Evie? The strike’s put a crimp in our plans, eh?”

“Juan, my agent, told me it could be a long strike. Well into Fall. Like November.”

“I’ll be straight with you, Evie. The best we can hope for with the series is we get moved back to the Spring of next year. These things can get really sticky. Both sides are dug in.”

“That sucks, Danny. I’m having real second thoughts about pursuing this acting thing.”

“Don’t tell Trent but, frankly, my dear, you’ve got more acting ability in your pinky fingers than he’ll ever develop in his entire Hollywood career. He’s not half bad as a singer. I’d advise him to concentrate on his music. You, on the other hand, are going to win at least two Oscars—”

“Listen to him, Evie. You were born to be a star!” Peg declared enthusiastically from the peanut gallery.

Hanna moved close to the side of my head rest and whispered. “As a fallback, you should rethink your ‘professional’ relationship with Trent. Just in case.”

“We’re here.” Danny was inching the car toward the ticket booth of the Tiefgarage Potsdamer Platz, convenient to all the restaurants, shops and cultural attractions in the area. “It’s a five-minute walk to our destination.” He retrieved a ticket and drove through after the barricade was raised. “Good thing I can expense the parking. If you thought parking in LA was exorbitant, you ain’t parked in Berlin, sister.”

I was stunned, flabbergasted, confused, embarrassed. I still couldn’t believe we were sitting at a table closest to the stage of a male strip show in The Sixx Paxx Theater and Ladies Club. The mid-sized room was near capacity with tables full of women of all ages stretching from wall to wall. We were not the only tourists in the crowd. The woman from the table right next to ours told me she was from Canada, seconds after asking for my autograph. Even here, in a strip club in Berlin, sitting in semi-darkness, I got recognized.

“Does Trent know you’re here?” she teased. “We’ve got tickets for his concert tomorrow night!” She indicated her four friends at the table. They waved at me and giggled.

“Trent who?”

The lights went down and One Direction’s ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ banged out of the speakers. They were loud, the speakers, and I’m glad because it almost drowned out the voices screaming like banshees around me. Including Hanna, Peg, and, yes, Danny! I was shocked that a man of his age and size could scream in such a shrill tone. Then a booming voice began the countdown. I clutched Peg’s arm. ZEHN. NEUN. ACHT. The women were shouting along. SIEBEN. SECHS. I tried to look casual and normal like I was enjoying this, but I was not. FUNF. VIER. This promised to be excruciating. DREI. ZWEI. EINS. LAAAAAADIEEEEES! HERZLICH WILLKOMMEN BEIM SIXX PAXX!

Five giants bounded onstage. Their biceps and chests and smiling faces and slicked back hair filled up our line of sight right away. They started doing a dance routine to Justin Timberlake’s ‘Like I Love You’. The five of them were in perfect sync. Suddenly and without warning the men jumped forward, ripped their t-shirts off and threw them into the crowd. The women screamed in unison. My head was in my armpit and my arms were clutching my face and my elbows pointed upwards. I peeked out at Danny. He was mesmerized by the spectacle, mumbling the lyrics to the Timberlake song, clapping his hands arrhythmically.

The studs on stage ripped off their trousers now, which had velcro down the sides, and the music slowed down. Disappointing myself, I found two of the strippers oddly attractive. They were both bearded, built like brick shithouses, and they looked the most decent in my opinion, like underneath it all they were really good, caring guys. One of them even reminded me of Ray Crawford a little. Or maybe it was top of mind since I’d just seen him last Friday for the first time since our college days. I also realized that I’d taken my arms away from my face and was no longer curled up against Peg. She gave me a maternal look.

“It’s o.k., Evie. It’s natural for women to react to musk.” She laughed and resumed clapping.

The curtain drew closed, hiding the SIXX PAXX from view, and a brown-haired dimpled man, the Sixth Pack I suppose, came onstage with a microphone. “Ladies ladies ladies,” he said (he spoke in German, I’ll translate). “Welcome to SIXX PAXX!!!!!!” There were loud screams. “Tonight, I want you to forget about your boyfriends! Forget about your husbands! Tonight is all about YOU, ladies!!!” More screams. “Is anyone here from North America?!” he asked in English. Hands went up. Hanna, Peg, and Danny raised their hands as well. “Well – we’ll make sure you enjoy your visit to our fair city.” Danny’s hand pumped feverishly. I sank lower into my chair, trying to hide from view.

“Now I don’t want to see anyone being bashful.” He leaned forward and moved his microphone past me. He stopped in front of Hanna.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“H-H-Hanna.”

“Well, H-H-Hanna, honey, I want you to get up here and stand behind me and I want you ladies out there to shout ‘stop’ when it gets too steamy.”

Hanna jumped on stage and stood behind Dimples like there’s nowhere else on earth she’d rather be.

“I guess they don’t often pick men out of the audience,” Danny muttered. “It’s a damn shame.”

Dimples took Hanna’s right hand and put it on his taut chest. He slowly ran it down his body, bump, bump, bump over his washboard abs. The room was quiet. No one shouted stop! Bump, bump, bump and she reached his pubic bone and now it was under his belt and – I can’t believe it – her hand was inside his pants. Hanna was clutching his manhood!

The rest of the two-hour show seemed interminable to me. There were more set-pieces in which the dancers impersonated, in some random order, fighter pilots, firemen, highway patrolmen, sailors in the German navy, heavy metal rockers, and, curiously, characters from action movies like The Matrix, John Wick, Mission Impossible, and Black Panther.

As a finale, they roamed the room for women to bring up to the stage for some lap-dance shenanigans. I really didn’t want this! I cowered in Peg’s shadow, hoping they’d overlook me. But Hanna raised my hand just as the guy who reminded me of Ray Crawford passed by our table. Before I could resist, the guy dragged me onto the stage and sat me down on a comfy chair facing the room. I trembled visibly as he went behind me. Some kind of electronic dance music was assaulting everyone’s ears. He rolled his hands down my body, over my ersatz breasts and ON my groin area (which I don’t believe is legal). Then he started body-rolling all over me like a giant eel. He took off his shirt and made me feel his abs and, to be absolutely fair, if someone held a gun to my head and demanded my opinion, I would say that yes, okay, it was kind of hot. It was over relatively quickly, and I was escorted off the stage, wobbly and half-blinded by the footlights, to a loud ovation. I practically fell into Peg’s arms as she helped me into my chair.

“Oooh, he really likes you,” Hanna cooed. “He got in some extra body-rolls on you, honey.”

“We had a lot of fun tonight, didn’t we, girls?”

Danny was leading us up the street toward India Club Berlin, a five-minute stroll from the Sixx Paxx Theater. I was between Hanna and Peg, our arms interlaced as we walked. Strangely enough, I felt light-headed, not because of the discomfort of having been groped on stage in full view of 200 screaming, estrogen-fueled women, but the night seemed like my unofficial initiation into true womanhood. Yes, it’s silly to think an event so trivial could signify so much. But, that night, I was one of the girls. Absolutely to the nth degree.

I was lying wide awake in my hotel bed at 2AM Tuesday morning local time, trying to read myself to sleep. But my eyelids didn’t start drooping, even as I reached page 80 of some random book loaded onto my kindle. My body was still on Los Angeles time, specifically 5PM, Monday afternoon.

There was a loud knock on the door. Maybe it was one of my fellow Angelenos, also unable to fall asleep. I walked to the door, forgetting to put a robe on over my babydoll nightie.

“Who is it?”

“Evie, it’s me. Trent. Did I wake you?”

I opened the door and was gob-smacked by Trent’s smiling face. Good lord, he’s a cutie. Even at this ungodly hour.

“I’d like to say you woke me up out of a deep sleep but, honestly, I’m still on LA time.” I looked down and realized my state of undress. “Eyes averted, buster! Come on in. I’m going to put on my robe. Keep looking away!”

“I’m not looking. I’m not looking. So, Danny texted me that he was taking you girls to that strip show. How was it?”

“I felt dirty.” I came out of the bathroom, tying my robe tightly together. “One of the dancers slithered all over me. On stage!”

Trent crossed the room to me and began to mimic what the stripper had done to me, rubbing himself against my backside. “Like this? Bet you enjoyed it.”

“Well, he didn’t slobber all over me like you’re doing.”

“Can’t help it, Evie. My mouth waters immediately when I see you.”

“Okay. We’ve dispensed with the pleasantries. Now go back to your room and sleep fast. Danny says the whole crew is meeting in his suite at 9 in the morning. Bring your own coffee.”

“Before I go, Evie, I just wanted to tell you how ecstatic I am that you’re in this video. Danny and I almost threatened to shut it down if the label didn’t accede to your participation.”

“I’ll try to do my best, Trent. It’s nice to know you have so much confidence in my acting skills.”

Just before he shut the door behind him, Trent turned toward me. “I think a lot of you and a lot about you. Night.”

Peg and I were sipping our morning coffee, sitting together on one of the couches in Danny’s suite, watching Selene, a Berlin native who was the makeup and wardrobe person on the video shoot, having an apoplectic breakdown, shouting at Danny in both German and English.

“Also bekommt sie ihre eigene Make-up-Person? We can’t fit four people in that tiny trailer. Ich dachte, ich wäre die einzige Make-up-Person in diesem Video. I’m not getting my pay cut in half! Das ist lächerlich!”

“Calm down, Selene. We’ve picked up another trailer for Evie and Peg. You’ll continue to work with Trent and Peg will do Evie. Separate trailers. And you’re not getting a pay cut. Verstehst du?”

Selene eventually calmed down and Danny moved onto the other items on his agenda. Trent sat down on the floor in front of me, shooting puppy dog eyes at me while Danny droned on. The bullet points of his roll call speech were:
1) neither Trent nor I was involved in today’s shoot,
2) Hanna would double for me in long shots and driving a VW bus on location today,
3) Peg would spend today setting up the trailer with my makeup and wardrobe for Wednesday, and
4) Danny expected to wrap up the shoot by sundown Thursday.

I was about to accompany Peg and the crew out to today’s location when Trent stopped me in the hallway.

“Where are you going?”

“To keep Peg company and to watch them shoot today’s footage. I could observe by just watching. Yogi Berra, philosopher.”

“I’ve got a better idea. I’m not scheduled to do anything until the concert tonight. Let me take you on a mini tour of Central Berlin. It’d be a shame to be here for three days and not seen any of the sights.”

“Don’t you have to do a soundcheck?”

“We’ve done the same setlist all summer. The whole band can play it with their eyes closed by now.”

“Wish we had someone local as a guide. My German is pretty piss poor. Do you sprechen sie Deutsch?”

“Not really. But 60% of Germans speak pretty good English and they’d prefer foreigners not try their bad German on them anyway. Plus, my parents and I spent a month in Europe when I was 16, including 4 days in Berlin and 2 days in Cologne. I won’t be too bad a guide, will I?”

“Lead the way, my personal Indian guide, Mr. Sacagawea.”

Our day of being typical tourists began with a 15-minute stroll along the East Bank of The Spree River that started the second we left the front entrance of The Hotel nhow. The first sight of the day was The Eastside Gallery, a series of murals painted on a 4,000-foot-long remnant of The Berlin Wall. In the Spring of 1990, after the Wall fell, this section was painted by 118 artists from 21 countries. The artists commented on the political changes of 1989/90 in a good hundred paintings on the side of the Wall that was formerly facing East Berlin. Due to urban development measures, it is no longer completely preserved, and instead of the originals from then, only the replicas from 2009 exist today, including The Fraternal Kiss by Dmitri Vrubel. The painting depicts Leonid Brezhnev and Erich Honecker in a socialist fraternal kiss, reproducing a photograph taken in 1979 during the 30th anniversary celebration of the foundation of the German Democratic Republic.

After a 10-minute walk to The Berlin Ostbahnhof, Trent and I hopped onto a 300 Line double-decker bus to cross the Spree River into Central Berlin. From our perches on the top deck, we could take in all the sights on route to The Brandenburg Gate, a 30-minute ride through Berlin’s central borough of Mitte. The Brandenburg Gate is an 18th-century neoclassical monument built on the site of a former city gate that marked the start of the road from Berlin to the town of Brandenburg an der Havel. It is considered not only a symbol of the tumultuous histories of Germany and Europe, but also of European unity and peace.

Only a block north of the Gate sits The Reichstag Building. Originally the seat of the German Parliament, it was burned down 4 weeks after Adolf Hitler was sworn in as Chancellor in 1933. Hitler used the incident, which he blamed on communist insurgents, to suspend civil liberties and pave the way for the establishment of the Nazi Regime. Reconstruction of the building was completed in 1971 and it has been the seat of unified Germany’s Bundestag since 1999. The addition of a glass dome on top of the building in 1999 has made The Reichstag Building the second-most visited attraction in Germany.

Also within walking distance is The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, a memorial inaugurated in 2005 to the Jewish victims of the Holocaust, consisting of a 200,000 square foot site covered with 2,711 concrete slabs or "stelae", arranged in a grid pattern on a sloping field, organized in rows, 54 of them going north–south, and 87 heading east–west at right angles but set slightly askew. An attached underground "Place of Information" holds the names of approximately 3 million Jewish Holocaust victims.

The next half-hour was comprised of visits to Checkpoint Charlie, the best-known Berlin Wall crossing point between East Berlin and West Berlin during the Cold War (1947–1991), as named by the Western Allies, and The Berlin Wall Remains, east of Checkpoint Charlie along Zimmerstraße. These are the sparse remnants of the former 96 miles long concrete wall that separated West and East Berlin.

It was well past noon and we decided to try Berlin’s signature street food, doner kebab. The best purveyor of said kebab was a food truck parked near the Mehringdamm metro station, Mustafa's Gemüse Kebap. There was a long line waiting to have their kebab and eat it. Trent told me that sometimes it takes an hour to get to the front of the line. Luckily, we only waited half an hour. When I finally chomped down on the much-ballyhooed kebab, I discovered it was a slightly better version of what we call in the States, a gyro. I couldn’t finish mine, so I fed the remainder of my kebab to Trent. This got a reaction from an elderly couple who were walking by us. The woman smiled and said, in lightly accented English, “You make a lovely pair. And you, young man, must never let this one get away. Einen schönen Tag noch.”

Ten minutes later, we were riding the N6 bus north toward Weidendamm Pier, where we could catch the 1:30PM departure of The Spree River Cruise Boat. It’s a leisurely nautical jaunt up and down the Spree River that lasts approximately two and a half hours. Everyone sits on the open top deck and looks across from one bank of the river to the other.

You can see in passing, the TV tower in Alexanderplatz, the old quarter of Nikolaiviertel with structures that date back centuries, Museum Island which contains five iconic museums, including the Bode Museum, the Pergamon Museum, and The Old National Gallery, as well as the Berlin Cathedral, an historically prominent edifice linked to centuries of German dynastic power. We also passed the Mercedes-Benz Arena, where Trent would perform three concerts starting that evening, and our own hotel, The nhow.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” observed Trent.

“Right now, my future is all mixed up. I have no idea where I’m going—”

“They’ll eventually settle the strike. I’m not too concerned. With my new album coming out, I could just tour non-stop for the next six months. My manager tells me they’ve had inquiries from Japan and Korea…”

“That’s all well and good for you, Trent. And you deserve it. But I’m stuck in a precarious situation in the job I have right now. The job I was going to start in a few weeks might not even exist in a few months. And I’ve got…uh…some medical issues I’ve got to deal with.”

“Medical issues? Nothing serious, I hope. You seem pretty healthy to me. But, of course, I’m no doctor—”

“Well…I’d rather not talk about it. But it’s going to cost a helluva lot more than I currently have or expect to make in the near future.”

“I can help, Evie. I’ll write you a check. How much do you need?”

“No, Trent, thank you but it’s something I want to pay for myself. Chuck Connors has already offered to pay but I’m going to turn him down.”

“He’s the kind of rich kid who tries to buy people, Evie. Good for you turning down his offer. But me, I’m not looking for some kind of quid pro quo. Please let me help.”

“Why do you want to help me so much, Trent? I’m not a good target for your lust, I’ll tell you now. The last thing I need is to deal with a relationship. Eyes on the prize and all that.”

“I’m not the lothario people make me out to be. It’s just…I’m a celebrity. You wouldn’t believe the number of girls who try to latch onto me. They all want something from me, you know—”

“Some of them even get weekends in Cancun with you—”

“That was Cozumel. And it was my way of breaking it off with Bambi…gently. Look, anyone else would’ve just ghosted her. But that’s not how I roll—”

“Whatever, Trent. I like you. Really, I do. You’re funny, cool, easy to look at. Everything any other girl would want in a guy…”

“But not you. Is there someone else? It’s not Chuck. He’s as boring as watching paint dry. Who?”

“Are you Trent Foster?”

She was 16, maybe 17 years old, with a distinctive Boston accent.

“Yes, do you want an autograph?”

“Well, can you take a picture?” She held up her phone.

“Sure. Do you want to slip in next to me and take a selfie?”

“It’s not with me. It’s my mother.” She pointed to a woman in her late thirties, smiling nervously, seated several rows in back of us.

“Okay.” Trent turned to the girl’s mother and shouted above the white noise of the boat slicing through the river. “Come on over! Let’s all get in the picture.”

The girl managed to get all four of us in frame with her selfie and then Trent handed her and her mother two tickets to his concert that night. They were obviously thrilled to get free tickets and the mother even gave Trent a quick peck on the cheek before they went back to their seats.

“Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?”

“Nowhere important, Trent. I think we’re on different paths in life.”

After we got back to the hotel, Trent had to leave for the Mercedes-Benz Arena. He explained that he always took a nap before a show, just to recharge his batteries and clear his head of any extraneous matters…like me, I suppose. His shows start at 8PM. We agreed that I would see his final concert in Berlin on Thursday evening, after wrapping up the video shoot. Peg, Hanna and I were booked on a flight out of Brandenburg Airport on Friday morning.

Around 7PM, Peg and Hanna returned from their day of shooting. Hanna was brimming with energy despite 8 laborious hours doubling for me in long shots and even driving a VW bus through the streets of Kreuzberg, a trendy, bohemian neighborhood in Central Berlin. She and Peg planned to explore the nightlife in Kreuzberg and asked me if I wanted to go. I begged off, saying I was tired from sightseeing with Trent.

My stomach was grumbling so I decided to have dinner in the hotel restaurant. When I walked in, before the maître d approached me, Danny Dantley waved at me from a corner table. He was by himself. I made my way to his table, followed by the maître d, who deposited the menu on the table in front of me as Danny held my chair for me to sit.

“You look either tired or sadly wan. Which is it?”

“Maybe a little of both, Danny. I could use some laughs or words of wisdom.”

“Yup, that’s the usual result of spending some time with Trent Foster. Listen, girl, he’s bad news. Good singer, decent actor, but not the most serious person I’ve ever known. Just keep your emotional distance from him.”

“So…what’s good on the menu?”