Untouchable - Chapter 13

A rock 'n' roll romcom — Lucy takes up the invitation to visit Jack's hotel room and the two are, finally, alone with one another

Photo by Justin Ziadeh on Unsplash

Note to readers: This is a story set in the outrageous world of 80s rock ’n’ roll — meaning adult content.

It’s a full-length novel focused on our two romcom protagonists, Jack and Lucy, and the chapters published to date are available here.

You might want to read previous chapters to catch up with what’s going on. Or below is a quick recap of the plot points in case you prefer to jump right in.

A guide to the characters is available at the bottom of the post.

Please note that Jack insists on the best of everything — wine, instruments, hotel suites, you name it. He wants you to know that he takes no responsibility for the quality and accuracy of the images used in this series.

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The story so far

Lucy has been recruited by Dolos Discs A&R executive Barry Bartholomew to pose as a groupie and spy on his secretive and difficult client, the English rock band Pirate, for the last six concerts of their big US tour. In exchange, he’s promised her a recording contract, but only if she reports back every single day and the band doesn’t find out why she’s there.

Meanwhile, Pirate manager Dunk MacGregor and lead singer Jack St James have finally captured a guy who keeps following the band and sneaking into off-limits backstage areas. Using groupie ‘persuasion,’ they discover that he’s Barry’s nephew sent to spy on the band, and they insist that he and the two groupies, Suze and Carly, remain for the rest of the tour as ‘honored guests.’

Flying out to the band’s next location in Albuquerque, Lucy wangles her way into the arena to meet the band, but finds herself confined to the hospitality room by a weird Cockney “merch guy” named Vic, who unbeknownst to her is actually lead singer Jack. She doesn’t recognize him out of his Pirate costume and makeup (a la KISS).

Lucy shares her Guide to the Rock Stars with the prim-and-proper arena chef, Alison, and succeeds in meeting and making a secret pact with Pirate’s disgruntled lead guitarist, Keith. Jack’s concerns about this groupie running amok (Lucy) are dismissed by band manager Dunk, only to prove true when her meddling causes a blowup in the band.

Jack convinces Dunk to give Lucy the boot after that night’s concert, but when she raves about his music afterwards, he not only changes his mind and insists that she be allowed to stay, but also rushes back to his hotel room to finish composing a song about her that has suddenly popped into his mind.

The next day, he throws all scruples to the wind in a quest to find out more about her by concealing a walkie-talkie in the band bus and listening in to her singing and talking. But his plans go awry as she figures things out and, at a rest stop, deliberately badmouths Jack to him when he’s pretending to be Vic. Upping the stakes, Jack asks Randy to invite her to his room that night for some ‘wild and kinky sex,’ wondering if she’ll show up.

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Enjoy today’s post as Jack and Lucy finally spend some time alone together.

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Chapter 13

Jack

Six hours later and our entourage has checked into the new hotel in Phoenix for a four-night stay.

Tonight is a rare night off, followed by three nights of concerts. Dunk prefers a longer stay in one place to give the crew a break from putting up and taking down the stage. I don’t mind, as long as we play a good-sized arena and sell out. Fortunately, at the moment, we’re not having a problem selling out anywhere. Knock on wood.

I spray Wipe-It-Fresh on a paper towel and wipe down the coffee table, followed by the remote control and telephone.

“I hate to say it,” Dunk says, “but that Lucy? She’s gotta go.”

“What? Why?” Only yesterday Dunk had been arguing to let her stay. It has to be something serious if he now wants to banish her.

“Keith was with someone else last night. Not Lucy.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw them. Twins. Leaving his room this morning.”

I straighten and look for something else to clean. “So?”

Of course he was with someone else. It’s becoming clear that Lucy is not just a beautiful face, what with that voice and that composing talent. She wouldn’t be with Keith. He’s not good enough for her. She’s rather… extraordinary. For a groupie, that is.

“So?” Dunk says in a piqued voice. “Who said yesterday that we can’t have a groupie like her around because it’s too big a risk?” Putting a hand on his chin, Dunk looks upwards as if trying to remember. “Oh, yeah, that would be you.”

I check my teeth as I wipe down the full-length mirror. Maybe I should get my teeth cleaned before tonight, so they shine and sparkle. The concierge should be able to get me in with a local dentist.

“Look, I hate to say this,” Dunk continues, “because you’ll never bloody well let me forget it, but you were right. She’s turning everything upside down. Rob and Sam were competing over her on the bus. And Randy was having sex in the back lounge with Alison. Locked all of us out for over an hour. Randy!”

I turn toward Dunk. “Randy? Really?” I can’t help grinning with delight. “Our little boy is growing up.”

Dunk throws up his hands in disgust. “Earth to Jack. She’s not with Keith, like she’s pretending, and she’s brewing trouble. So it’s time to send the wee lass packing.”

“Relax, I’m on top of it,” I say, turning back to the mirror. “I’ve scheduled a meeting with her tonight. I intend to find out why’s she here and why Keith has been pretending she’s his girlfriend.”

Dunk raises his eyebrows. “You think she’s another spy?”

“No, Barry wouldn’t send someone like her. I’m thinking maybe Netherlude sent her to fuck with us. Payback for the boys playing that prank on them.”

Dunk cocks his head to the side, regarding me. “You might be on to something there.”

“Don’t you worry. I fully intend to get it out of her.”

I’m the obvious one to do that, as the only member of Pirate who hasn’t been fooled by her little act. The only one who’s kept his head in the face of her wily beauty.

“You want me in on it?”

Playing bad cop and scaring the bejesus out of her? I think I’ll spare our little songstress that indignity.

“I’ll call you if I need you, yeah?”

Dunk ambles over to the door. “Come by after. Give me the blow by blow.”

“Will do,” I say as he bangs out of the room. That guy never makes a quiet exit. Not in his nature.

I sing “Your Eyes” as I continue cleaning. I want the room to be absolutely flawless if she shows up this evening. Not to impress her or anything. Just so she has no excuse to hold back from telling me what I want to know. That’s all.

It’s not as if I care what she thinks. A groupie like her.

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Lucy

I yank down my red miniskirt and adjust the off-the-shoulder black top Alison has lent me.

I can’t believe I used to wear this kind of stuff all the time. My younger self was willing to suffer all kinds of discomforts to look sexy. From living in the ashram, I now know it doesn’t matter at all: men are men are men are men, as me and Cindy like to say.

Wearing the lace-up stiletto heels from my younger days makes me feel like a groupie again. But that’s the point tonight, isn’t it? Or is it? I’m not sure anymore.

I’m not even sure why I’m here, or what I’m expecting to happen.

All I know is that, for some reason, I’m eager to know more about this Jack, or Vic, or whatever you want to call him.

Odds are that, behind Jack’s clever disguise as Vic, he’s one of those insufferably arrogant and condescending rock stars. But his music is beyond sublime, and there was something vulnerable about him after the concert when I threw myself at him that tugged at my heart.

Not to mention, it was beyond fun to spar with him today when he was pretending to be Vic. The most fun I’ve had in ages.

OK, Lucy Goose, let’s do this.

I raise my hand, take a deep breath, and knock on the door.

After a moment the door swings open. Jack is standing there looking at me in that intense way he has that makes my breath catch in my chest.

“Hello, Lucy. I’m Jack… and Vic… as I think you’ve figured out.” He motions for me to enter.

I walk past him into the room. Darn, I’ve completely miscalculated. He’s dressed in stonewashed jeans and a Pirate t-shirt, like when I first met him as Vic. He smells divine—that’s Aramis cologne, if I’m not mistaken—with an intriguing undertone of Wipe-It-Fresh.

Select lamps are on here and there, giving the room a relaxed but not intimate ambiance. He has a cheese and cracker tray on the coffee table and a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket.

“You look lovely,” he says.

“No, I don’t,” I blurt out. I know I look ridiculous, like a past-her-prime groupie.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise and laughs. “OK, should I say fetching instead?”

“Yes. Fetching some of that wild and kinky sex you promised. But that’s not on the menu tonight, is it?”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.”

“Any night?”

It’s not like I would engage in wild and kinky sex—I haven’t even tried the straight old vanilla sex our parents do yet—but I have to know. Is he gay? I’ve fallen for gay men before and made a blooming fool of myself. I promised myself I would never do that again, but darn if the gay nation isn’t full of obscenely attractive men. A lot of gay men are hiding in plain sight in rock bands, as I well know.

“Ah, the question of the day. Is Jack gay?” He smiles at me. “No, I’m not gay.”

Fireworks pop off in my heart hearing those words. Really, I admonish myself, you shouldn’t care what he is. You swore off rock stars forever after Russell Hammond, remember?

“Do you mind if I take off these awful shoes?” I say. “They’re killing me.”

“Please, be my guest.” He picks up the bottle of wine. “Do you like chardonnay?”

I smile and nod as I take a seat on the couch, unlace the stilettoes, and nudge them off. Now I don’t look so much like a groupie. Well, that is to say, if I didn’t happen to be wearing a tiny red miniskirt that’s riding up my thighs and my butt.

Thank heavens I’m not showing much cleavage, just my shoulders and neck.

Oh sure, Luce, you don’t come across as a tart at all with your legs on full display.

Maybe I should put a pillow over my lap. No, that would be so obvious.

I really did not think this through, as usual. What am I doing here?

He pours us glasses and hands me one. Sitting on the couch next to me, he lifts his glass in a toast. “To what I hope will be a personal and artistic friendship.”

Friendship? Is that all he wants? Or is he playing it cool and being coy?

After our sparring this afternoon, I wouldn’t put it past him. Having clearly won that round, did I wound his ego and make him uninterested? Did I ruin things with him already?

What am I saying? I’m not interested in a full-of-himself rock star.

We clink glasses and sip.

“I apologize profusely,” Jack says, “but I need to get some business out of the way first.”

Here we go, putting business ahead of me, and even worse, right after I get here. Typical.

“Go ahead,” I say without enthusiasm.

He grins. “No, I mean with you. I need to know… about Netherlude.”

I choke on my wine, and he hands me a tissue as I cough to clear my throat.

“Netherlude,” I finally manage to croak out. “You know about Netherlude?”

“We played with them at a benefit concert in Philadelphia. They told me about your—what shall we call it?—unusual visit with them in Cleveland.”

I stare at him. I can’t believe they told him about me. I’m so embarrassed.

“OK, so, in my defence—”

“They’re behind this, aren’t they?”

“Behind?”

“Behind…” he waves his hand at the way I’m dressed. “You… Here… Like this.”

“Well, Russell did tell me I should dress sexier, but—”

“That guy. Takes everything to the limit, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” I agree, surprised he knows that.

Jack rubs his hands in glee. “Russell will assume you’re causing big trouble in the band, like you did with Netherlude. I think we should tell him you’re having the opposite effect in Pirate.”

“I am?”

I can’t believe how kind and generous Jack is being, offering to redress my reputation in Netherlude by telling them how well I’m getting along in Pirate. Maybe then I won’t be so embarrassed and ashamed if I run into any of the Netherlude guys again.

Jack jumps up and paces next to the couch, running his hand through his hair. All of a sudden he turns to me with a mad look in his eyes.

“You know what will really get their goat?”

“No, what?”

“Not only do you stay on with us, but we make you an important part of the band.”

This meeting is going better than I expected—the lead singer arguing to keep me around the band. Recording contract, you are mine.

“A backup singer?” I say hopefully. What a boost that would be to my career. Although I don’t want to go near the stage, so that was the wrong thing to suggest. Foot in mouth again, Lucy.

“No, they’d never believe that,” he says to my relief. “We don’t have backup singers. The only thing I think they’ll believe is if you’re someone’s wife or girlfriend.”

“Well, I am Keith’s girlfriend,” I say, to seal the deal.

Jack laughs. “No one believes that. That was your first big mistake.”

I feel myself get red. “It was?”

Here I thought everyone believed it.

“Yeah, Keith never sleeps with the same woman twice. Come to think, neither do the others, and the guys in Netherlude know that. The boys’ reputation doth proceedeth them, sorry to say. Except for Randy, who’s now with Alison. So that only leaves one person it could possibly be.”

I stare at him without breathing.

“Me,” he says. “I don’t have that reputation. So you can be my pretend girlfriend, and we’ll show Russell and Netherlude never to mess around like that again. It will be an absolute blast, as you Americans say, and the best revenge, don’t you think?”

My eyes go wide at this abrupt about-face in my circumstances. I get to stay with the band and be his pretend girlfriend? Just to teach Russell and Netherlude a lesson?

Wow, Jack is certainly intense. But he’s giving me a killer smile—gosh, he has sparkly teeth—and darn if looking at that gorgeous face isn’t making my blood surge in unmentionable places.

“Tell me you’re game,” he says.

Shouldn’t I think about this? He’s the lead singer, for crying out loud. The guy who’s always the most full of himself. The most controlling, arrogant, condescending, and difficult to control guy in the band. I said I wouldn’t get involved with guys like him again.

Yes, but, another part of me says, it would only be pretend.

And there is that little issue of a recording contract. If I’m the lead singer’s girlfriend, I’ll be in the very best position to gather intelligence on the band and report back to Barry.

This is kind of a no-brainer, isn’t it?

“I am so game,” I reply, grinning back at him.

“Brilliant,” he says.

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Jack

“We’ve got to make it look real, so everyone believes it,” I say to her. “Otherwise, the Netherlude guys will smell a rat.”

She sighs. “Let me guess. You want to touch me, kiss me, sleep with me. Yada, yada, yada.”

I draw back in alarm. “No, that’s not what I meant at all.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I meant we need to get to know each other better.”

“Oh,” she says, a look of confusion on her perfect little face.

I have to remember, she’s a groupie. Girls like her are used to sleeping with rock stars. So why does she sound like she’s being asked to wash the dishes or take out the rubbish? Are rock stars that bad in bed?

“Like how?” she asks.

“Well, I think we’d bond over music, don’t you?” I disappear into the bedroom and come back with one of my acoustic guitars.

Retaking my seat next to her, I strum the guitar and tune it up. Without giving her any warning, I launch into her song “Saying Yes,” and sing the entire first verse.

“Are you cold?” I say when I finish. She’s clutching herself and there are goosebumps up and down her arms.

“No,” she says, rubbing tears from under her eyes. “I’ve just never had someone sing my own song to me like that. It sounds different but… wow.”

“Sing it with me,” I say as I launch into the second verse.

As soon as she joins me in singing the melody, I switch to harmony. I don’t know all the words yet, so I’m listening closely and singing them a moment behind.

When we finish the final verse, I drop my strumming hand and regard her.

“Has anyone told you that you have a real gift for composing, both music and lyrics? Not to mention a pitch perfect voice. If you had more songs, you could put out your own album.”

“But I do have more songs,” she says.

“I want to hear them.” I extend the guitar toward her and she takes it. “Let me just grab another guitar.”

Once we both have acoustic guitars in hand, she goes through her catalogue of songs. I play along as best I can, following her lead.

She wasn’t kidding. We spend a couple of hours playing a good twenty songs—enough for two albums. I haven’t had this much fun in ages.

I’m not sure what to call her style. It’s not rock; more on the pop end of the scale. But not even that, really. Her songs remind me of Joni Mitchell’s exhilarating musical fluency in Court and Spark and the driving harmonies of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young on such hits as “Carry On” and “Woodstock.”

“What kind of album were you thinking?” I ask her.

“Um, folk rock?” she says.

“Do you have a producer yet?”

She looks down. “I’m working on it.”

“Can I give you some advice?”

She looks up at me through her long blond lashes without lifting her head.

“Don’t jump at the first offers that come your way. You’re very talented, Lucy. Take your time, or you might get stuck in a bad deal you later regret. Like us.”

She jolts when I say that. Huh. Maybe she already has some overly aggressive A&R executives pursuing her.

“I want something to eat,” I say. “Let’s order room service, yes?”

I can’t believe how fast the time flies. We talk non-stop through dinner and a somewhat decent bottle of cabernet. The poor girl barely has time to draw a breath because I keep asking her questions.

I don’t know why, but I want to know everything about her. And I usually don’t care to know anything about anyone, except my musical heroes.

Where did she grow up? I ask her.

What’s her family like?

Where did she go to school?

What does she do for fun?

Does she have any pets?

So many questions, so little time.

What I’m discovering is that we couldn’t be more opposite. And yet, I find myself hanging on her every word.

There’s something fascinating about her, something that relaxes and excites me in equal measure.

I suggest that we decamp from the table to the couch again, and I pull out one of the big guns—a very nice bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild—before asking her what I really want to know. “Tell me about your time touring with Magnus.”

As she talks about how much fun he was, I realize I despise the guy. I don’t want her to think another guy is more fun than I am. But, in all honesty, who describes me as fun? Everyone thinks I’m a total freak, is the sad truth.

I don’t stand a chance with this girl, do I?

Do I want to stand a chance? She’s a groupie who’s probably slept with dozens of rock stars. A super-groupie. The very definition of a tart, in some people’s books.

And yet…

“Why did you leave him?” I ask, hoping beyond hope that he was a rotter she was happy to see the back of.

She stares off into space, lost in thought, and then shakes her head. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Forgive me,” I say. “I was just asking why you left him. None of my business, really. You don’t have to tell me. Although, of course, you can, if you wish.”

I cross my legs as if I don’t care about her answer. Look how relaxed I am, no real interest here, Lucy. When, actually, I’m holding my damn breath, eager to hear her answer.

I am so bloody pathetic.

That’s when she starts crying. I quickly uncross my legs and put down my wine, not sure what to do.

It’s hard not to notice that she’s beautiful even when she cries.

“It’s OK,” I say helplessly. Should I pat her back or something?

That’s when she climbs into my lap and puts her head on my shoulder. To say I’m surprised is putting it mildly. After a moment of indecision, I put my arms around her and hold her.

It feels so comfortable. Maybe a better word is comforting. A perfect fit really.

It strikes me now how tiny and light she is. Why did she seem so threatening to me? She must be half my size.

Plus, she smells like incense or something. Patchouli, I’m guessing. The smell and her shifting around in my lap are turning me on. I struggle to control a growing erection. Not cool when she’s crying.

“It was in Buffalo,” she says. “I was standing in the wings, like usual, watching him sing.”

Thank god she’s talking. My erection is gradually abating. I think.

“He was on fire that night, which might be why it happened. When he did call-and-response, the sound coming back from the audience was like a massive roar. It was thrilling and scary at the same time. You know what I mean?”

“Yes, I do.”

“He was cracking me up, doing all kinds of funny poses while he sang. Like singing backwards through his legs, or reclining and stretching his top leg toward the ceiling, like he was doing aerobics or something. He’s always tons of fun, but he was off the chart that night. Snorting lines of coke behind the horn section.”

I frown. Not cool, Magnus.

“He looked over at me and winked,” she continues, “and that’s when it happened. The barrier separating the audience from the stage gave way, and the audience surged forward, overpowering the security guys and climbing onto the stage. The band got up and ran, and the roadies grabbed Magnus and carried him off the other side of the stage.”

“But what about you? What happened to you?”

She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.

“I couldn’t move. I just stood there watching what was happening in total shock. A roadie—Butch was his name, I found out later—scooped me up and carried me away. He saved me from… from… from what happened to those other people.”

Tears are streaming down her cheeks now, and she swipes at them with her free hand.

I squeeze her. “You don’t have to say any more. I know what happened.”

“Nine of them trampled to death, and I saw it.”

“You couldn’t have done anything.”

“Yeah, but I lived, and they didn’t. It wasn’t… it wasn’t fair. Some of them were younger than me. Just kids.”

“No, it wasn’t fair. That shouldn’t have happened. The arena and the band should have had security measures in place. What did Magnus say about it?”

Lucy gives a shaky sigh. “They bundled him into a limo and got him out of there before the police arrived. Because he was off his head, y’know.”

I clutch her arm. “So, hold on. What about you? You weren’t with him?”

“No, they left me with the others in the band room. But that was OK, because we were kept safe until the police got there. They interviewed us, and took us back to the hotel, which managed to find rooms so we could stay there the rest of the night. My parents drove to Buffalo as soon as I called them. It’s a four-hour drive, so they got there later that morning. I lay on the back seat and cried all the way home.”

“And Magnus didn’t go to the hotel to take care of you?” I can’t keep the outrage out of my voice. That cad should be shot.

“I know it looks bad. I can’t tell you where he went because he made me swear on a Bible. But you can’t blame him. He did what he needed to do, and I forgave him for leaving me there.”

“Well, I can’t forgive him,” I say in a fierce voice. “That was absolutely inexcusable, from start to finish. I would have protected you and taken care of you. That would have been my top priority. Full stop. No question whatsoever.”

“It would?” She looks up at me with genuine surprise.

I nod and, without thinking, lean down and give her a gentle kiss.

Probably not something I should be doing when she’s crying and baring her soul to me.

I pull back to look at her, and she lifts her head and kisses me back.

A very sweet kiss, and a kiss that promises more.

I kiss her again, this time shifting my body to bring her closer and angling my head to kiss her more deeply. She opens her mouth to give me access and a shard of fear pierces my gut. I pull away.

“Uh… I’m not sure… I think I should get you home.”

“Home?”

“Back to your room, I mean.”

The disappointment is written across her face as she extracts herself from my lap.

She straightens her errant clothing and puts her stilettos back on. Maybe I should help her by kneeling down and putting her shoes on for her—be more Prince Charming-ish—but I hate touching shoes. Germ colonies. Nasty. I notice she has no qualms about touching them. Perhaps I should have a word with her about hygiene when she’s in a better mood.

But I definitely cannot touch her hands in that condition. I walk her to her room several floors down, denying the overwhelming impulse to grab her hand. I see why she’s a successful groupie. I’m dying to put my hands all over this girl.

When we get to her door, she turns to face me. “Thank you for such a wonderful evening, Jack. Or should I say Vic? It was so much better than I expected. Not that that wild and kinky sex you promised wouldn’t have been wonderful too, but—”

My mouth is suddenly on hers—despite another, less intense, spurt of fear—devouring her lips and seeking access to her inner sanctum with my impatient tongue. I plunder her mouth as if I have to know every single bit of her.

Her arms go around my neck and her hands knead my hair—now I’ll have to wash it—as her tongue duels with my own.

I’m vaguely aware of people walking by and snickering, but I couldn’t care less. I’ve no idea how long we’ve been kissing, but I’ve got her backed up against the door and I’m holding her breathtaking face in my hands.

I could kiss her all night, but it’s late and I shan’t let this go any further. It just can’t. So I force my mouth to relinquish hers. I must say, my mouth has never misbehaved as much as it has since I met her.

“Um… I should let you get some sleep,” I say, looking into her unfocused eyes.

I’m pleased to see, she looks properly kissed and reluctant to have me stop.

“Do you have your key card?”

I step back to give her room, and watch as she rummages around in her bag and pulls it out.

She fumbles with getting the card to fit in the slot, so I take it from her and open the door.

“Are you coming to the concert tomorrow… I mean, tonight?” I ask as I wedge the door open with my foot. “It’s already tomorrow, so the concert would be tonight, actually. As my pretend girlfriend, of course. No obligation, but it would be good in case someone tells Russell. Right?”

Stop babbling, Jack. Don’t make an arse of yourself. You sound so needy.

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it,” she says. “Good night, Jack.”

She steps past me into the room and I smile at her as I pull her door shut.

A grinning idiot is what I must look like. No one can ever accuse me of playing it cool with women.

To be continued next week…

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Our two protagonists:

Jack St James / Vic - co-founder and lead singer of English rock band Pirate, pretends to be a Cockney crew member named Vic when he’s not in his costume and makeup

Lucy Sabatini - singer-songwriter, head of the music program at the Spirits Rising ashram, and a former supergroupie known as Lucy L’amour

Members of rock band Pirate:

Dunk - band manager

Manny - tour manager

George - drummer

Keith - lead/rhythm guitarist

Randy - keyboardist and Rob’s twin

Rob - bass guitarist and Randy’s twin

Sam - lead/rhythm guitarist

Others:

Alison - arena chef who becomes Randy’s girlfriend

Barry Bartholomew - A&R executive for Dolos Discs

Carly - avid Pirate groupie and friend of Suze, ‘assigned’ to Howie

Cindy - Lucy’s best friend since childhood and her second-in-command at the ashram

Howie - Barry’s nephew, an ‘honored guest’ of the band after caught spying

Magnus - the rock superstar Lucy previously toured with as a supergroupie

Mandy the Snake - admin manager for the ashram

Mister Wanker - Lucy’s nickname for Vic

Rhonda - Barry Bartholomew’s executive secretary

Russell Hammond - drummer for rock band Netherlude

Suze - avid Pirate groupie and friend of Carly, ‘assigned’ to Howie

Swami - the head of the ashram