Bright Lights: Book One of the Talia Shaw Series

by Darcy, Christine J

  Manny called Ari and said we needed to be going. His assistant was meeting us on the red carpet to get us through the interviews. She was the short mousy blonde girl I’d not been introduced to in Australia but who I later learned was named Toni. Leif helped get all of the puffy dress into the back of the car. “You look beautiful, Talia.”

  “Thanks Leif.”

  Lucy coughed, in question. “You too, Lucy.”

  “Damn right I do,” she replied. We laughed.

  The drive to the Staples Centre was quick but the wait as the cars pulled up to the red carpet was long. Lucy spent almost the entire thing taking selfies and pictures of me. Leif played music loudly. He grumbled when we wanted to listen to Britney so we let him choose the music. Wu Tang Clan came over the speakers and Lucy let out an extended “Yeeeees!”

  Leif started rapping, just quietly. Lucy and I scooted forward and listened. He had all the words down. “Leif!”

  “What?” he said, bashful.

  “Don’t stop now,” Lucy said.

  He rapped the whole song. We clapped when he finished. He gave a little head bow and a wave. “What’s your Wu Tang Name?”

  “Huh?” he asked, then chewed on the side of his mouth.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know, Wu Tang Fan,” Lucy teased.

  “It’s lame,” he said.

  “It can’t be worse than mine,” I said. Lucy looked questioningly at me. “Dynamic Ambassador.”

  She laughed. “That sounds like it belongs on a resume.”

  “What’s yours?” I asked.

  “Respected Knight,” she said. “I don’t mind it.”

  “It’s better than a Disrespected Knight,” I contended.

  “I always thought so,” she nodded. We laughed. Leif smiled.

  “Your turn,” I demanded.

  “You gotta go,” he said, as we pulled up to the start of the red carpet.

  I shook my head. “We’re not getting out of this car until you tell us.”

  “Don’t be a chicken, Kahani,” Lucy provoked.

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine. It’s… Unlucky Wizard.”

  We cracked up laughing. “That’s unlucky,” Lucy said between guffaws.

  “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up,” Leif said.

  A knock came on the door. It was Toni.

  “Bye Merlin,” Lucy said, as we got out of the car, leading to another round of laughter from us both.

  “How’s it going, ladies?” Toni asked. She was looking nervously between us, maybe thinking we were drunk or high. We calmed ourselves down.

  Toni’s cropped blonde hair had grown longer and had been braided loosely. She wore a black knee length cocktail dress and carried a purse. “Do you need to give me anything? Phone or keys?”

  I had given everything to Lucy to put in her little red clutch. “I’m good.”

  “Do you need a mint or anything?”

  I looked at Lucy. “Do I?”

  She leaned in, I reluctantly breathed. She shook her head. Toni took out a series of envelopes, the invitations I assumed, and her blackberry.

  “Then we’ll get started. First is the photo line which I’m sure you’re used to by now. Then we’ve got six maybe seven interviews. When we get inside, you’ll be taken to your table. I’m seated separately but if you need me you can call. You have my number in your phone.”

  I nodded. She was making me more nervous with this spiel.

  “Let’s do it,” she said, leading us toward the screaming.

  We turned a corner and stepped on the red carpet and suddenly the screaming intensified. I wasn’t sure if the loudness had anything to do with me but some in the crowd were screaming my name. “Talia! Talia! Can we get a picture, Talia?”

  A group of photographers behind the rope barrier were photographing Easton Vane. The black rapper wore yellow sunglasses, a silver sparkling shirt, with less than half the buttons undone, and white jeans. Draped over him was a gorgeous light skinned black woman wearing a short see-through emerald green dress and black thigh high gladiator boots. Her long dreadlocked hair grazed the top of her bottom as she pivoted and posed for the cameras and moved further down the carpet. “Easton! How was rehab?”

  “Fuck that shit, man,” Easton said with a laugh.

  “Aren’t you cold?” they asked the woman. “That’s a great dress, Lis. We can see everything.”

  “What the fuck did you say?” Easton asked before striding aggressively toward the photographers. The security guards on either end of the rope stepped forward and stopped him.

  “Say something else,” Easton taunted, pushing against the security guards. The photographers just kept snapping furiously, loving it. Lis and the security guards pushed Easton toward the row of interviewers.

  And then it was our turn. I looked to Lucy to go with me. She shook her head. “They don’t want me,” she said, matter-of-factly.

  Toni nodded. “I’ll stay with her.”

  I stepped out in front of them. I tried to remember what Ari had said but the flashes, the sound of the flashes and the photographers themselves screaming things, I couldn’t think at all. My hands hung loosely beside me and my eyes darted back and forth looking at each of the lenses. I felt like a deer in headlights. Toni appeared beside me and touched my arm.

  “Take a few steps,” she said. “Don’t forget to smile.”

  She backed away again and I took a few steps. It seemed even louder then. I thought about how I could quiet it down in my mind, how I could distract myself. So, I played music in my head. Ave Maria. It was a great distraction. I took a breath and then I smiled. My fingers played with the material of my dress and reminded me they were there. I brought them up to my sides. In my mind it was Pavarotti singing and I had to stop myself from singing along with him.

  Each time I saw Toni step towards me, I took more steps down the carpet, in front of more photographers. They were asking me things, but I couldn’t hear them. Ave Maria turned into Nessun Dorma and into Time to Say Goodbye. The operatic classics. Before I knew it, Toni was ushering me over to a man with a microphone in front of a video camera and a crew of sound and lighting people and I had to pay attention.

  “Hello, Talia Shaw, how are you this evening?” the man said, a big cheesy smile on his tanned face.

  “Good, thank you. Hi,” I said to all the people sitting on milk crates beside the camera and lights. I nodded to the boom guy and he smiled back.

  “We’re all such big fans of your music, Talia. How does it feel to be nominated for your first ever album? Four nominations, isn’t it?” I started to nod and then heard a slight buzzing coming from the clear earpiece in his ear. “Five nominations,” he corrected himself.

  “It feels wonderful. I’m so happy to be here,” I said, my mouth had dried up.

  He looked me up and down. “My colleague saw you arrive and she says she has to know who made this incredible dress.”

  Ari had told me. Of course she had. But my mind was blank.

  “I am so sorry. I can’t remember the name. I’m sorry. But I love it,” I said, hoping it would make up for the lack of promotion.

  “We’ll figure it out, I’m sure. And the jewellery.”

  I remembered this one. “Harry Winston,” I said with relief.

  “They must be worth a fortune,” he said, staring at my necklace.

  “I’m in awe of it all. I can’t believe they’ve let me wear all of this,” I said honestly.

  “You deserve it. Five Grammies from your first ever album. It’s astounding. Especially for your age. How old are you, Talia?”

  “Nineteen,” I answered.

  “My gosh. So young and so successful already. Who are you excited to meet tonight?”

  I took a breath. “Easton Vane, Phera, Adelaide Mills, the Grander Brothers,” I listed. “So many people here have been my heroes for forever. It’s crazy to be near them.” Did I sound like a stalker?

  “That’s quite a variety,” he probed. “Your
tastes are quite eclectic.”

  “I like most of the music out there, honestly.” I wanted to roll my eyes at myself. I sounded like an idiot. I needed to get away.

  “As do we all. I think we’re in for some fantastic performances tonight. Thank you so much for talking to us, Talia. You have a great night,” he said. He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek and then Toni was pulling me to the next one.

  “That was great, Talia. This is Joan,” she said, introducing me to the next interviewer.

  The interviews went almost entirely the same and I was glad of it. When we got to the end, I watched Phera arrive with her entourage. She looked radiant in a royal purple gown. It had a ginormous train, longer than the white one Ari had wanted me to wear. She skipped the interviews and walked right into the centre. I watched her in awe. “You’re a big Phera fan?” the last interviewer asked.

  “I adore her,” I said, honestly.

  “You’re up against her tonight,” the interviewer reminded me.

  “There is no competition. Phera’s last album was so extraordinary. There’s no competition,” I said. I thanked the interviewer and then Toni was leading Lucy and me inside.

  Toni handed us off to an usher who showed us to our seats and then she was gone. “You’re such a pro,” Lucy said, as we sat down. “You killed those interviews. And, you looked incredible on the red carpet.”

  “Did I?” I asked. “That’s good.”

  “Hi Talia,” a voice said. I turned to find Adelaide Mills standing in right there, looking at me. “I’m Adelaide,” she said, holding out her hand. I stood up and hugged her. She looked so beautiful in a maroon pantsuit, her wide eyes painted with black eyeliner and her caramel coloured hair up in a bee hive.

  “Hi,” I said as I pulled away. “I love your music,” I gushed.

  She laughed. “That’s so nice. I actually came over here to tell you the same thing.”

  “Really?” I asked her.

  She nodded. “Every song on that album. I listened to it on repeat. I’d love to talk to you about a collaboration.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked. “I would love that.”

  “Let’s set it up,” she said, she took out her phone. “Pop your number in there.”

  I did. She dialled me and I turned to Lucy as my phone rang in her purse.

  “This is Lucy,” I said, introducing them. Adelaide reached over, and they shook hands.

  “I’ll call you soon, then,” Adelaide said and then walked away.

  I sat back down, my mouth open in shock. “Did that just happen?” I asked Lucy.

  “I think it’s about to happen again,” Lucy said, looking behind me with wide eyes.

  I turned around to see Colton Blue walking over. He was looking me up and down with an appreciative smile. “Hi,” I said as he arrived. He introduced himself and said great things about my music. I returned the sentiment. He asked if I was going to an after party and I said I was sure I was, but not sure which. He said he hoped to see me there, took another look at my chest and then slunk away. I was disappointed to know he was not the sweet guy he had always appeared to be.

  But my mood improved greatly as I saw Rosen, the young female rapper, notice me from across the room. She shot up and practically ran to me. I met her part of the way. I’m sure we annoyed the table we stood in front of with our profuse compliments for each other. Then the show was starting and she said I had to get in contact with her people. I assured her I would and we went back to our seats.

  “Lucy,” I said, taking her hand as I sat down.

  “You’re shaking,” she said with a smile.

  She held my hand with both of hers. The show began. The host was a supermodel I had seen in Calvin Klein adds. Some of her jokes fell flat but the funny ones were hilarious.

  The first category was best new artist.

  There I was onscreen in Bettys. Do I clap for myself? I wondered. The people at my table were clapping and one of them whooped for me. I lost. But I didn’t mind at all.

  The winners were a girl band. Sirens. Three black girls, each of them with their own individual styles looking unbelievably cool and beautiful. The way they spoke to each other, their body language, it was obvious that they were best friends. Like the Betty Coopers were. It broke my heart a little to watch them get up onto the stage. I didn’t care at all that I’d lost. It was imagining the Bettys in the same position.

  Laurie sent me a message. “Don’t be down. You look so beautiful.” He must’ve been watching live. I smiled. I didn’t want the world to think I was bothered by not winning.

  There was an ad break and Lucy and I decided to go to the bathroom. There was a huge line, but eventually we got in. There were girls taking selfies in the mirror and I heard the distinct sound of snorting coming from certain cubicles. Lucy and I left quickly.

  “I’m going for a drink,” Lucy said, and made her way to the bar as I headed back to my seat. As I was moving through tables, an older woman grabbed my arm.

  “It’s your category,” she said, pointed to the stage.

  “Thank you,” I said and ran quickly to my seat.

  Easton Vane stumbled out to the stage with a quarter-full bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand.

  “What up, motherfuckers!” he said, with a crazed smile. Half the crowd laughed while the others gasped. “Cheers.” He took another gulp of the Jack Daniels.

  “What does it say?” he said, squinting to read the prompter. He rolled his eyes and gave up. “I’m not reading that fucking thing.”

  The crowd laughed. “So, this one’s for ah… best pop… what? Solo. Best Pop Solo. Let’s see these folks.”

  The clips rolled. Phera was first. She was a fierce dancer and her voice exploded through the room. There I was, in Bettys. Next was a boy band that had won a singing competition in the UK, Kira Cho, a teen pop sensation and Lincoln Lyman, an older male vocalist whose lyrics were sexist more often than not.

  Easton tried to open the envelope but the bottle got in his way. He set it down and tried again. He ripped it open and read the name to himself. He scoffed.

  “Nah, man… nah. This ain’t right. This don’t make no mothafuckin sense.” Another gasp went through the crowd. They all started talking amongst themselves.

  One of the guys at my table spoke up. “He’s wasted.”

  One of the women answered, “They shouldn’t have let him onstage.”

  Someone in the crowd called out, “who is it?”

  “I ain’t saying it,” he said.

  Some of the crowd started to boo.

  “I’ll tell you who it ain’t. It ain’t Phera. Phera deserves this award.”

  My picture, my name appeared on the screen. More gasps. Then cheers. Easton hadn’t noticed it. “These awards are bullshit. They don’t know jack shit about music.”

  My heart beat like crazy. I felt sick. I felt so many eyes on me. People pitying me. People laughing at me.

  The host appeared on stage, she was laughing, nervously. “Easton, your rehab called. You’re supposed to be in group therapy right now.”

  A few people laughed awkwardly.

  “Best Pop Solo. Talia Shaw, Bettys,” she said. As if we didn’t know. Easton was shaking his head. He didn’t have the mic but he shouted out, “Phera, you killed this album.”

  The screen showed me, looking frozen, and then reactions in the crowd. Phera’s reaction. Her brows were furrowed, she was shaking her head, mouthing the word no over and over. It almost made me feel worse. I felt pulses in my chest threatening to turn themselves into sobs. My eyes welled up. I couldn’t cry there. I refused to. I stood up. People started clapping, they thought I was going to the stage. I kept my head down and rushed up the aisle. People stood up, they watched me go past, their hands slowing down as they realised I was going. There was a hush, a collective awe and then I was full on crying. The guards at the doors opened them up for me and I stepped into the lobby, crashing into Lucy.

  “Oh my
god, Talia. What’s wrong?”

  “I need to get out of here,” I said. She looked confused but she nodded, grabbed my hand and we ran. There was no avoiding the cameras. There were cameras everywhere, taking pictures as she led me down the red carpet and toward the street.

  She had both hands in the air, waving down a taxi. One pulled up, miraculously in front of us. She ushered me in and got in behind me.

  “Go. Go. Go,” she yelled at the driver. He took off. I tried to gather myself. Lucy grabbed my hand and held it tightly. She was waiting till we got somewhere we could talk. I couldn’t stop picturing it. Easton on the stage. My face on the screen followed by Phera’s. The faces of the people I passed as I ran out of the hall. The cameras that would’ve taken pictures of me crying, running away in my princess gown. I looked like Cinderella running from the Prince at the ball. I worried that I’d done something stupid. That I should’ve just laughed it off. But I couldn’t. Maybe I would one day, but in that car, in that moment, it took a lot to keep from caving in on myself.

  Eleven

  I wasn’t going to any after parties. I didn’t want to be seen. Lucy gave the taxi driver my address and we went home. She was on her phone, reading what had happened because I couldn’t explain it to her. We arrived home to a dark and empty house. Ari and the girls had already left, with all of their things.

  “Do you want tea?” Lucy asked.

  I shook my head. I didn’t want her there and she knew it.

  “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  “Please,” I asked. Lucy finally nodded and headed for the door.

  “You’re going to be okay, Talia.” I smiled at her, sadly, and she left.

  Laurie called, over and over. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Even him. I took off my dress and stuffed it into the black garment bag. I took off my jewels and put them in their boxes. I took off my shoes and set them beside the rest of it. I stood there in my underwear, cold and crying, looking at the things I wore when I was humiliated in front of people I respected and admired, and the people watching on television from countries far and wide. Then I thought about my friends and family who will have been watching. My home phone rang. The sound blared. I pulled the chord from the wall. Again, it was silent.