incredibly witty," he laughed as he held his Grammy. "But since I'm not really the crying type and I assumed that Coldplay were just going to win this anyway, I'm a bit lost for words." As the screens focused on a close-up of his face, he looked right at me. "Instead, I'm just going to thank you for appreciating that I don't need to be part of the band to be a credible artist. And…this is for Amy, the most beautiful woman in the world. You make me a better musician and a better man. I love you. Thank you."
Dozens of cameras spun around to focus on me as Rick made his way back off the stage and into the audience. He threw his arms around me, holding me tight to him. I could feel his heart beating as we kissed and I ran my fingers through his tousled dark hair. "That was lovely. You looked so handsome up there. I'm so proud of you. Are you going to stop whining about the Grammys not being relevant now?"
"Okay," he smiled, settling back into his seat. "I don't want to get too settled into the establishment. But that was cool. I'll take it."
"So where's your award?"
"They keep them backstage. They need to engrave my name onto it, you know."
"Where are we going to put it?"
"Well, we need a doorstop for the kitchen."
I playfully slapped his knee. "Knock it off. Stop trying to be so nonchalant. You're not fooling me."
"That's what I love," he whispered. "I never could and I never want to."
Several hours later, after some hot and not-so-hot performances, we headed out of the Staples Center and towards Sunset Boulevard. We had been invited to Red Light Management's post-Grammy party at Skybar. As we headed to our limo, we were accosted by an interviewer from Entertainment Tonight.
"Congratulations, Rick, on your award. Does this mean the end of Beautiful Losers?"
"Thanks, Shelley. No, probably not the end. But I think it's pretty fair to say we are on permanent hiatus for the foreseeable future. Sorry to rush, got to go."
As the car pulled away, I turned to Rick. "That's going to ruffle some feathers."
"What?"
"About the band being on hiatus. We hadn't made any comments about it up until this point."
Rick kissed my cheek. "I don't care. Right now I want to show off my woman and get completely shitfaced."
"Your woman?" I gasped in mock indignation. "I didn't realise I was up for ownership."
"You're not. That's why you're mine and only mine."
"Sexist pig," I giggled. "You just set back women's rights by about fifty years at least."
"About time someone did. Everything went to hell the moment we gave you lot the vote. Oh, here we are."
I playfully slapped him as we stepped out and into the Skybar. As we made our way past the paparazzi and into the club, Rick gently placed a finger under my chin and closed my gaping mouth. My jaw had literally dropped when I saw who was in the room.
"Try to remain calm," he said. "They're just people."
In addition to the dozens of industry managers and producers, I tried to pull myself together when I saw the huge stars around the room. Alicia Keys, the Dave Matthews band, Miley Cyrus, Lionel Richie…not all of them were the most rock 'n' roll of stars, but my mind was officially blown nonetheless.
"Lionel… that's Lionel Richie…" I stammered.
"Yup, it is. Go and say hello. Ask him if it's you he's looking for."
"Shut up," I laughed. "I'm not used to shit like this. It's Lionel fucking Richie , for God's sake!"
"Even better. Let's go and say hello to Lionel fucking Richie. He'd appreciate you using his full name."
My encounter with the former Commodore was going to have to wait until another day. Jake Walker, the manager of Beautiful Losers, pushed his way through the throng of people in front of us and slapped Rick on the arm.
"Rick! Congratulations on the win."
"Thanks, man."
Jake looked me up and down. "Amy, you look gorgeous as always. Do you mind if I steal Rick away for a second?"
Before I had chance to answer, Rick interjected. "No, if this is about business you
Dozens of cameras spun around to focus on me as Rick made his way back off the stage and into the audience. He threw his arms around me, holding me tight to him. I could feel his heart beating as we kissed and I ran my fingers through his tousled dark hair. "That was lovely. You looked so handsome up there. I'm so proud of you. Are you going to stop whining about the Grammys not being relevant now?"
"Okay," he smiled, settling back into his seat. "I don't want to get too settled into the establishment. But that was cool. I'll take it."
"So where's your award?"
"They keep them backstage. They need to engrave my name onto it, you know."
"Where are we going to put it?"
"Well, we need a doorstop for the kitchen."
I playfully slapped his knee. "Knock it off. Stop trying to be so nonchalant. You're not fooling me."
"That's what I love," he whispered. "I never could and I never want to."
Several hours later, after some hot and not-so-hot performances, we headed out of the Staples Center and towards Sunset Boulevard. We had been invited to Red Light Management's post-Grammy party at Skybar. As we headed to our limo, we were accosted by an interviewer from Entertainment Tonight.
"Congratulations, Rick, on your award. Does this mean the end of Beautiful Losers?"
"Thanks, Shelley. No, probably not the end. But I think it's pretty fair to say we are on permanent hiatus for the foreseeable future. Sorry to rush, got to go."
As the car pulled away, I turned to Rick. "That's going to ruffle some feathers."
"What?"
"About the band being on hiatus. We hadn't made any comments about it up until this point."
Rick kissed my cheek. "I don't care. Right now I want to show off my woman and get completely shitfaced."
"Your woman?" I gasped in mock indignation. "I didn't realise I was up for ownership."
"You're not. That's why you're mine and only mine."
"Sexist pig," I giggled. "You just set back women's rights by about fifty years at least."
"About time someone did. Everything went to hell the moment we gave you lot the vote. Oh, here we are."
I playfully slapped him as we stepped out and into the Skybar. As we made our way past the paparazzi and into the club, Rick gently placed a finger under my chin and closed my gaping mouth. My jaw had literally dropped when I saw who was in the room.
"Try to remain calm," he said. "They're just people."
In addition to the dozens of industry managers and producers, I tried to pull myself together when I saw the huge stars around the room. Alicia Keys, the Dave Matthews band, Miley Cyrus, Lionel Richie…not all of them were the most rock 'n' roll of stars, but my mind was officially blown nonetheless.
"Lionel… that's Lionel Richie…" I stammered.
"Yup, it is. Go and say hello. Ask him if it's you he's looking for."
"Shut up," I laughed. "I'm not used to shit like this. It's Lionel fucking Richie , for God's sake!"
"Even better. Let's go and say hello to Lionel fucking Richie. He'd appreciate you using his full name."
My encounter with the former Commodore was going to have to wait until another day. Jake Walker, the manager of Beautiful Losers, pushed his way through the throng of people in front of us and slapped Rick on the arm.
"Rick! Congratulations on the win."
"Thanks, man."
Jake looked me up and down. "Amy, you look gorgeous as always. Do you mind if I steal Rick away for a second?"
Before I had chance to answer, Rick interjected. "No, if this is about business you
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