by Sadie Grubor
"Jack…" Julia stops abruptly at the sight of Chris. "Sorry, I didn't know you—”
The panic on her face concerns me. Mom.
"What is it?" I place my guitar on the bed and stand in a pair of black basketball shorts. Her eyes focus on where they ride low on my hips and continue to roam over my half-naked body before giving herself a shake.
"Information has gotten out about Liza." Her eyes fill with concern. "Here." She holds out her iPad.
It takes four long strides before I can reach out and take the tablet from her hand. As I scan the popular entertainment website, I feel Christopher's presence on my left.
The site has pictures of Liza plastered all over it: from the hotel footage, personal photos, and another of her with Lucas and Kel.
My muscles tense, heart races, and my mouth is suddenly dry.
"What the hell?" Chris asks from beside me.
"Someone gave them her name and enough information for them to go on. I don't know what all they got on their own or if it all came from a source," Julia rushes out, causing my head to spin.
"Get Una on the fucking phone," I growl, scrolling through the online article claiming Liza is a prostitute working under the guise of a stripper, a single mother in L.A. ghetto housing, and, the worst, her son is a product of child molestation.
"She's already—”
"Now, Julia." I toss the iPad onto the bed. "Fucking now!"
She freezes in fear. I march to the bedside table and pick up my phone. Tapping her contact, it barely rings once.
"I'm working on it, Jackson," Una answers.
"I want Kristy," I growl into the phone.
"So do I," she answers. "But we don't have any solid proof. I've got people tracking down the cause of the leak, but the reporter won't give up the source."
"It's not a fucking leak, Una." I begin to pace. "They’re fucking lies. She's not a whore!"
"I didn't mean to imply she is what they are saying, but we have to—”
"Did you see what they are saying about her son? He's just a fucking kid." All of my energy drains and I sit down on the bed. Running my free hand through my hair, I sigh.
"I'm sorry, Jackson." Una's words are sincere. "We'll get this figured out, but you need to stay away."
"How the hell can you expect me to—?"
"Because if you show up, the media will crush you both. You will only make it worse for them."
"Fuck," I breathe out, realizing she's right.
"Julia's getting the apartment secured for you today," Una informs. "Work with her to get it set up and I'll work on getting Liza and her family moved into the hotel suite."
"No, get her into the apartment," I demand.
"But… Fine," Una concedes. "Work out the apartment details with Julia. I'm going to work on this shit storm." She disconnects.
I drop my phone to the floor and fight every instinct I have to rush to Liza.
"You got an apartment?" Chris' question tears me away from my thoughts.
"Yeah." I rub my face, leaving my hands over my eyes.
"What do you need me to do?" Julia asks from the spot where I left her.
"We have an apartment to finalize and furnish today." Dropping my hands, I look at her.
She nods, moving into action. Grabbing her iPad, her fingers fly over the screen.
"It's going to affect the show," Chris states.
"Christ," I groan, flinging back onto the bed. "I didn't fucking think about the damn show. It's a family program," I emphasize. "This is my fault, Chris."
"She didn't have to come to your hotel with you," he argues.
I push up, leaning back on my elbows. "Fuck you."
"I'm not being a dick…" he pauses, "this time. I'm just saying, she made a choice and crazy shit has happened. You can't take all the blame."
"Oh, I don't. I blame that fucking bitch."
"Kristy?" Chris sneers her name.
"I know, I know." I push back up to sitting. "You told me she was trouble."
"I am always right," he adds.
"Dick."
"Yeah, pretty much." He shrugs. "Go shower and get dressed. I'm going to make some calls."
"You're calling in the cavalry, aren't you?" I ask, walking to the bathroom.
"Why do this alone when you have all of us?" With a wink, he puts his cell to his ear. "Baby, I need you," he says with a grin on his face. "Fuck, don't say shit like that when I can't get my hands on—”
I close the bathroom door just in time to cut off their conversation.
Liza
Having just finished stage rehearsal for the show and not expecting to see three assistant producers waiting for me, I stop short.
"Miss Campbell, Mr. Thorne would like to speak with you privately." The woman in the middle speaks.
"Mr. Thorne?" I choke out the question. Why would the show’s producer want to speak with me directly?
"Yes," the man on the right answers.
"Is there a problem?" I swallow my nerves.
"He will tell you everything once—”
"Liza!" Sid calls, rushing toward me.
A security guard puts an arm around her waist.
"Let me go, you steroid ridden jackass!" She hits his arm, but turns her attention back to me. "Liza, it's Lucas!"
Something snaps inside me and I rush to Sid. Voices call out from behind me, but I can't hear them. My temples pulse, breathing labors, stomach cramps, and every muscle in my body is tense.
"What happened?" I push the guard’s arm from her waist and grip her upper arms.
"I'll show you on the way. Let's go." Grabbing my arm, she pulls me down the hall and out to an awaiting taxi.
Inside the car, I turn to her.
"Sid, please," I beg for answers.
She shoves her phone in my face.
I swallow down the bile rising at the words written on the website.
Sid pulls the phone away. I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself.
They know who I am. They think I'm a whore.
"Then, there's this." Sid pushes the phone into my hands.
Lucas and Sean’s faces flash in the video as the reporters call out to Lucas and surround him, separating him from Sean.
"Lucas, did you know about your mom?"
"Lucas, do you need help getting away from your home?"
"Who's your father? Do you know him?"
"I'm going to be sick." I cover my mouth.
"Drive faster," Sid orders the driver.
Kel breaks onto the screen, pushing through the crowd, and picks Lucas up.
"Kelvin, are you and your sister in a romantic relationship?" a report calls out, shoving a camera in his face.
Kel rears back, balls his fist, and punches the guy. Though holding Lucas is an obstacle, he still gets a clear hit and the guy's camera flies to the ground.
"You'll pay for that!" the asshole calls out.
"You deserved it," another reporter yells, stepping up and helping Kel get Lucas out of the crowd. The screen goes dark.
"Oh my God. What am I going to do?"
Sid takes her phone and replaces it with her hands.
"Lucas is fine. He's in the apartment, but those jerks are still outside."
I roll down the window and let the cool air hit my face. Inhaling deep, Sid squeezes my hands.
"It's going to be okay. We'll get out of town if we have to," she assures.
"The show," I groan. "That's why they were waiting and wanted to talk."
"You think they're going to kick you off?" Sid asks, anger in her tone.
"Probably," I laugh humorlessly.
Minutes feel like hours, but we finally arrive at my apartment where the media sharks are indeed surrounding the entrance.
Sid pays the driver and we slip from the car.
"Liza, look here?"
"Is it true Jackson paid you?"
"Does Jackson like rough sex?"
They are relentless, but I push by each of th
em.
"Get back!" Sid screams, shocking a couple of them still.
This gets us through the last of them and into the building. I take the stairs two at a time and burst into my home.
"Lucas?" I gasp.
"Mom?" He jumps up from the couch and rushes into my arms.
"I'm so sorry," I say to his head.
"I'm okay." He squeezes.
"We're going to go visit Aunt Char and Uncle Marc to get away from—”
"What?" He pulls away, looking up at me. "What about the show?"
"Forget the show, Lucas. I need to get you away from this chaos." I cup his face.
"No." He pushes my hand away. "I know it’s all lies. Don't let their lies win."
"It's not that easy." I drop my bag to the floor and take a deep breath.
"Yes, it is."
My phone rings, but I ignore it.
"No, it's not. They will probably release me from the show because of this anyway." I place my hand on his shoulder.
"Tell them they’re lying. They can't remove you from the show without proof," he insists, and for a brief moment, I wish I was this naïve once again.
My phone rings again and this time, Lucas grabs it.
"See? It's the show."
Before I can stop him, he taps the screen and answers.
"It's the show."
That it isn’t some media hound allows momentary relief, but then knowing this is the call where I'm going to be kicked off the show before it starts sets my nerves off.
I take a deep breath and answer.
"Hello?"
"Liza Campbell?"
"Yes."
"This is Ms. Smythe. I'm one of the assistant producers for Hidden Talent."
"I'm sure you're calling about the current story in the media. I assure you it's not true," I defend before she's able to judge me.
"Yes, well, while we are a family show, we do not have facts regarding this…development. The first live show is tomorrow evening. You will perform, but we will be investigating the allegations. I wanted to personally call you and let you know so you aren't surprised upon your arrival."
"I understand." I swallow.
"Good. We'll see you tomorrow." She disconnects before I can respond.
"See, you are still on the show." Lucas' face lights up. "They have to prove this crap is truth and we know it's not."
"I'm not going." The words aren't easy to say, but getting Lucas away is the smartest thing.
"You have to." His face drops with disappointment. "Don't let them win. This is what you've always wanted."
"Lucas—”
"No, mom," he snaps. "This is your dream and you would be living it if you didn't have me."
My head buzzes from his words and chest restricts, as if all the air has been sucked from the room. Dropping to my knees, I wrap my arms around my little boy.
"Oh, baby," I finally choke out. "No."
I squeeze him one last time before pulling back. Taking his face in my hands, our tear-filled eyes meet.
"You are the dream I never dared to dream, Lucas." A tear spills over his boyish cheek. "I love you so much. Don't ever, ever think there is something I want more than you." I hug him again, cupping the back of his head with one hand.
His tears dampen my neck as mine streak down my cheeks.
"I'll do the show for you," I whisper.
Lucas pulls out of my embrace and furrows his brow.
"You'll stay on the show?" The hope in his eyes warms me.
I nod. "Yes."
A smile splits the frown he wore moments before and my heart swells at the sight.
Leftover pizza and salad are eaten around the TV, but we don't watch live television. Instead, we watch movies until my son falls asleep in my arms. As I'm about to doze off, my phone chimes.
Unknown Number: He wants to come for you.
Setting my cell on the end table, I sigh, putting an arm over my face. I know it's irrational to want him, to fantasize about him showing up just to be close to me. It's stupid and crazy, but my heart has enslaved my brain.
Chapter Seventeen
Liza
Lucas' smile is the only thing that gets me through the group of photographers and reporters. Thankfully, their numbers are down, but there are still twenty too many.
"I can't believe the bastards are following us." Kel looks out the rear window.
Sid snorts from the front seat. "Of course they are. They want to be the first to get whatever story they can."
I drop my head against the back of the seat.
"It's okay, mom." Lucas takes my right hand and squeezes.
"They're a bunch of jerks," Sean grumbles, leaning his head on my left shoulder.
Freeing my hand, I wrap them both under my arms.
"I'm sorry you guys have to go through all this." I kiss Lucas' head before turning to Sean's.
"If they don't leave you alone, I'm gonna kick them in the balls," Sean mumbles.
The car falls silent for a moment before Sid starts laughing and the rest of us do, too. Even the driver chuckles.
Luckily, the theater has a gated rear entrance only authorized persons can enter. My gratitude dissipates when just inside the building, I have to say goodbye to my family.
"Here." Sid holds out the small flash drive.
"You finished it?" I ask, excitement and nerves battling inside my stomach.
"Stop worrying," she orders.
"I'm not—”
"Yes, you are, and you don't need to. You can do this. You're the strongest person I know, Eliza." Sid leans in and kisses my cheek before a show assistant leads them in the opposite direction.
Once they round a corner, I comply with the assistant's request to follow him.
"I need to speak with the band, staging manager, and lighting—”
"You're needed backstage to meet with producers and then in the green room for quick interviews with reporters." He motions for me to climb a few steps leading to a dark gray door.
"Fine, but I need to change my song for tonight."
"That's not possible." The assistant finally looks at me.
"Make it possible. I need to do this."
A look of confusion crosses his face, and then irritation.
"It's for my son." I hold up the flash drive.
His face softens. "Okay, but we have to be quick."
He opens the gray door and looks back and forth before hurrying us toward the stage. We find the band in a small makeshift studio working on a song with one of the other contestants.
The music director looks up from his piano.
"We aren't done here yet." The irritation in his voice is evident.
"She wants to change her song," the assistant states, pointing accusingly at me.
The director drops his head, sighs heavily, and leans forward to rest his arms over the shiny lacquered finish of the piano. Folding his hands together, he raises his head and gives me an annoyed look.
"Look, this is kind of zero hours. A song change is going to be a lot of work."
The other contestant snorts loudly before adding, "It's not like it will help you anyway."
All eyes turn to the young, tan-skinned girl.
"What? Everyone knows the show is only using you for first-night ratings. That's why you perform last tonight. After that, I'm sure you will be given your walking papers."
"They put her on last for ratings?" a backup vocalist scoffs.
The contestant shrugs. "No one has said it directly, but come on, why else would they put a singing prostitute on stage last? They want the ratings her scandal is going to bring."
"I'm not a prostitute," I growl, growing angrier every time the girl opens her mouth.
"Whatever," she says, drawing out the word.
"Look, you clearly don't know anything about burlesque or cabaret, especially since you're barely out of high school. There is a difference between selling myself for sex and performing on stage in a style that some
of the greatest female singers have done in the past."
The girl opens her mouth, but I continue.
"And the fact that my personal affairs are being publicized doesn't give you the right to assume one damn thing about me. If your privacy were invaded, I bet you wouldn't look so sweet and innocent, would you? In fact, I'm sure I could get some easy information from that other contestant..." I turn to the assistant. "The guy with the long, dark hair and neck tattoo, what's his name? Ya know, the one with a pregnant girlfriend back home?"
"You don't know what you're talking about!" the girl screams, yanking her headphones off her head.
"Neither do you, so try to remember that," I snap at the little bitch before turning back to the music director. "I am changing my song for my son."
"Let the girl change her song, Ray," the backup vocalist says, joining my plea.
He shakes his head and grins. "Fine, let's see what you got."
"We aren't done going over—”
"Wait outside for a minute," Ray instructs. "After I speak with her real quick, we'll get back to you. Alright?"
She stands rod straight for a moment before stomping out of the room while complaining under her breath.
"So, what song are you doing?" He motions for me to step closer.
I do, handing him the sheets of music. "Nightingale."
"Demi Lovato?" He raises a brow.
I nod.
"Okay, let's run through the keys real quick. I'll try to get you in here before the show tonight, but I can't make any promises. Understand?"
"Yes, and thank you."
When we finally reach the originally planned destination, we're stopped short by three men and two women in suits.
"Miss Campbell, we've been waiting for you." I immediately recognize Gideon Thorne, judge and Bel Suono Studios producer.
"Yes, I'm sorry about that. I needed to speak with the directors to make some changes for tonight." I fail to sound as strong and sure as I'd intended.
"Changes?" He raises one dark, perfectly arched brow over his piercing blue eye.
"Um, Miss Campbell decided to change her performance song and—”
"You changed without speaking to us first?" A woman in a dark gray suit steps forward, exasperation on her face.
