Rock My World

by Coulter, Sharisse

  Not everyone “got” his work. But music was subjective, and he had fans that got him. That meant something—to him, at least. He’d read somewhere that for every one fan he knew about there were 100 he didn’t.

  Maybe, after all this time, all these years of playing thankless gigs at bars, cafes, bookstores and restaurants, his lack of success had nothing to do with being “unlucky,” as his father-in-law put it. Maybe it testified to his complete and utter lack of talent.

  His desk at home was piled high with business cards and numbers scribbled on napkins from people who’d seen his show and told him to “Call me!” They promised to be just a step away from realizing his dreams. Over the years, he heard the same message over and over again. “Shawn Jax is your father-in-law? Why don’t you just go on tour with him?” Then they’d ask for an autograph (Shawn’s not his), never to be heard from again.

  So when a privately-funded independent label with major distribution wanted to sign him, how could he turn them down? If he did, he’d be admitting he was talentless—his failure earned—and that he let his family down through nothing but his own ineptitude. He didn’t see a choice. He wanted vindication for all the dues he’d paid. He wanted to know what the view was like from the top, as acquainted as he was with the sidelines.

  He wouldn’t let this stop him. He resolved to find a way out of this mess, and to do it before Shawn’s Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Even if she still refused to take his calls, he knew he’d see Jenna there. And she would avoid making a scene, giving him his best shot to talk to her. If there was any hope he could reclaim his life and save his marriage, he had to extricate himself from Jackson Jones’ grasp. His puppeteer now named, he boldly took his next step toward freedom.

  Chapter 31

  “You’re back!” Noelle said, leading Jenna up the stairs to her photo studio. Jenna had come by to thank her for being so understanding about her abrupt departure, hoping she might still have a job.

  “You picked a good day to come back,” Noelle said. Jenna opened her mouth to say she hadn’t expected to be back to work so soon and then quickly shut it, drinking in the most extravagant set she had ever seen.

  The entire floor had transformed into a Lilliputian-sized Parisian café, complete with building façades, umbrellas, tables, and purse-sized dogs. Off set a barista, brought in to make cappuccinos and lattes for the army of set-dressers, hair stylists, make-up artists and models littering every corner of free space, took orders as the espresso machine frothed and foamed away.

  “Here,” Noelle handed Jenna an intimidating looking camera, weighed down by its massive lens. Before Jenna could protest, Noelle bounded off, animated as always, gesturing to a hair-stylist, hands above her head, miming bigger hair.

  Jenna turned the camera over in her hands, feeling its heft, trying to decipher the foreign piece of infrared technology blinking at her from the hot-shoe. She looked through the wide-angle lens and clicked, just to see what popped up on screen. As she depressed the shutter, two bright lights flashed in her peripheral vision. The two main strobes, set up on opposite sides of the set, flashed and the image simultaneously showed on the back of the camera and on a large computer screen sitting atop the only non-French piece of furniture.

  Noelle’s desk—made from an old wooden door, its chipping paint of decades worth of color changes—was covered by a thin piece of glass. It stood in contrast to Noelle’s otherwise modern taste.

  Scanning the room, Jenna watched the organized chaos coming together to create a single image. From her modeling years she would have guessed it was an editorial fashion shoot. Emaciated models looked bored in their chairs as make-up and hair artists primped and prodded them. They looked so young—like kids playing an expensive version of dress up.

  “Vogue.” Noelle said, with a wave of her hand.

  Jenna nearly jumped out of her skin. “Wha-?”

  “It’s a Vogue shoot. Spring. Paris. It’s cliché, I know, but you win some, you lose some, right? I tried to argue Moscow in spring, but alas,” she flicked a hand toward the edges of the room, the floor obscured by metal racks of clothing and shoes.

  “They’re tying it into the release of some movie based on a Hemingway novel.” Noelle said, rolling her eyes.

  “Who’s the actress? Is she here?” Jenna’s eyes darted around the room, landing on a familiar face.

  “Natalie something-or-other. Brunette. Cute.”

  “Primm.”

  “That’s it! Oh, what are they doing now?” Noelle said. She bounded off, shouting something in French at someone near the wall of shoes. Jenna couldn’t believe it. She had stumbled into the middle of a photo shoot for Vogue!

  She recalled her long-ago dream of someday appearing on the cover of the infamous September issue. Though she hadn’t kept up with the fashion world (except what Airika told her) she knew Vogue still represented the cream of the fashion crop.

  She had underestimated Noelle. She made a mental note to Google her later. As she stood, quietly taking in the bustling scene around her, goose bumps erupted all over her body. Since childhood, she’d used what she called her “goose bump meter” as the physical manifestation of her intuition patting her back, telling her she made the right decision. She hadn’t had goose bumps in forever, it seemed.

  The shoot flew by in a whirl of creativity and heightened tension between strong personalities that were diffused time and again by Noelle’s strong direction. Jenna watched, awed, as Noelle gave orders, not intimidated by anyone’s title or tone. She executed her vision with unwavering confidence.

  As Natalie modeled the gown, they encountered a problem. She was too short, even with heels, for the gown to skim the floor like Noelle wanted. The hem was too intricate to pin without sacrificing design. A vein in Noelle’s forehead pulsed in frustration.

  “What if we had her jump off the curb next to the cafe?” A stylist suggested. Noelle glared.

  “Why don’t we give her an umbrella and call it Avedon?” Noelle said through gritted teeth.

  Silence settled over the set as they awaited further instruction. No one dared speak.

  “What if we used the café chairs?” Jenna said. “We could have two guys behind her balancing the chairs, with the train draping over the front and have her feet spread apart on opposite chairs?”

  A stunned crowd waited with baited breath for Noelle’s wrath. Everyone stayed quiet, shifting their feet, awaiting instructions. Jenna was oblivious to the tension, trying to picture exactly how the angles and shadows would work.

  “Let’s try it.” Noelle said, gesturing to two of the larger guys in the group. “You and you. Pull those chairs over and hold onto them as if your lives depend on it.”

  They snapped to attention and did as they were told. A flurry of activity followed as everyone reset for the new direction. Jenna stayed where she was. Noelle came over to her side.

  “What are you doing?” Noelle asked.

  “Nothing. I mean, just waiting for you to tell me what you want me to do.” Jenna said, flustered by the commotion.

  “Take the shot.”

  “What?” Jenna said. She must have misheard.

  “It’s your vision. You see it. You take it. Tell them what you need.” Noelle gestured to the myriad assistants and stylists scattered around the room. Terror crept in, a cold sweat replacing the goose bumps.

  “I’ll be over your shoulder, making sure it works.” Noelle placed a hand on her shoulder.

  After a few moments of procrastination, Jenna held the camera up to her eye, trying to frame the shot. She heard herself direct people around the set, moving lights, adjusting angles. Even Natalie Primm was listening to her direction, adjusting accordingly. Jenna couldn’t believe it. These people took her seriously.

  She clicked the first frame and watched Noelle’s face relax as she saw the image appear onscreen. She approved. She made a few suggestions along the way, but let Jenna take the reins. When Noelle saw exactly what she
wanted, she pulled Jenna over to show her.

  “See this angle on the chair?” Noelle asked. Jenna nodded. “See how her other arm goes in the opposite direction? And how the dress flows over the edge of the chair rather than just draping along it like in this one?” She pointed out another shot where the angle of the chair seat was visible through the dress fabric.

  “Mmmhmm,” Jenna nodded.

  “That’s the shot,” Noelle smiled. Jenna’s throat closed over happy tears.

  Noelle yelled, “That’s a wrap!” and the room burst into applause and happy chatter. Champagne flowed and hors d’oeuvres circulated, even passing the lips of a few of the more ravenous models.

  “I’ve never done anything like that. It was … amazing. Thank you.”

  “It’s nothing,” Noelle said, waving it off. “All I did was hand you a camera.”

  “No one’s ever listened to me like that. I’ve never been so in charge.”

  “So? You in, then?”

  “In what?” Jenna asked. Noelle raised her brows, in a do-I-have-to-spell-it-out expression.

  “Yes, I’m in.” Jenna grinned. Jenna Jax-Anders: Photographer. It had a nice ring to it, she thought.

  Noelle smiled triumphantly and slapped her on the back. “Come,” she said, dragging Jenna around, introducing her to everyone, whispering tidbits of gossip about each one. The glad handing gave way to evening and, by the time the set was dismantled, only Jenna and Noelle remained in the cavernous space, hunched over the odd desk, reviewing images.

  Chapter 32

  Another day, another city. Alex disembarked the rolling metal cage that transported him across the country. His neck, stiff from sleeping in the tiny bunk that was two inches too short for his long frame, cracked and popped as he twisted his head from side to side. He was grateful that his time on the bus this tour was limited, but it didn’t help his mood this morning.

  “You coming?” Asked Pete, his twenty-something drummer, slapping him on the back.

  “I’m starving!” Bellowed Joe, the large Texan bass ingénue they recruited out of high school.

  “Yeah, be there in a sec.” Alex said, checking his phone for missed messages. None. He looked up at the truck-stop diner reeking of day-old grease at seven in the morning. The word “glamor” didn’t exactly pop to mind.

  The second bus pulled into the oversized parking lot, spilling hungry roadies into the diner. They moved in groups, talking and laughing. He’d never felt so alone amidst so many people.

  He slid in beside Joe on the vinyl booth seat, and took a sip of the coffee in front of him. It tasted bitter, burnt. His face twisted in disgust. No amount of sugar could cut through the acrid flavor. He drained it in a single gulp. Joe and Pete bantered across the table but Alex didn’t hear a word they said. The next stage in his battle for freedom was about to begin. He just had to figure out where to start.

  Simon sidled up to their table, handing out sheets of paper with names and times written out. Every day he gave them a schedule and every day everything got done without ever adhering to the stupid thing.

  “Did you hear me, mate?” Simon said in his best effort at a friendly tone.

  “Sorry, no. Say again?” Alex said without looking up at him.

  “You’ve got an in-station appearance in an hour and then I need you to call the other stations on your list and record station ID’s. Keep it light. Keep it clean.”

  Alex nodded. I know what I’m doing! He wanted to shout. He yearned for the days of his hard-edged immigrant father lecturing him about applying himself in his work. “The most important thing”, his father used to say, was to “take care of your family”.

  His father, a man’s man by any account, spent years drilling the message of one’s own hard labor being the only sure thing in this world into his son’s young brain. He put his calloused builder’s hands on Alex’s shoulder, lecturing him.

  “I work hard day after day to feed my family, and you will too. You do whatever you need to do. You understand?”

  Alex’s creative ambition clashed with everything his father stood for. He made it clear that Alex had disappointed his family and himself by pursuing a selfish career of “chasing fame”. He frowned upon the frivolity he associated with creativity. Alex despised his father’s cave-man attitude and denigration of the arts.

  On Alex’s wedding day, his father asked him what he planned to do now with a baby on the way. He told his father he was still pursuing a career as a musician. His father walked away, shaking his head. Alex hadn’t seen him since. He’d never even met his granddaughter.

  Alex excused himself from the table. He flipped open his phone, dialing the first number on his list.

  “Hi, Alex Anders here and you’re listening to KTKS, your station for yesterday’s hits and today’s favorites.”

  Was this success? Pitching sales for companies, traveling with a bunch of hygiene-challenged guys, glad-handing people with impressive job titles, left finding out about his own family through reporters who were more up-to-date? For the first time in his life, he felt like he’d sold out.

  Chapter 33

  “So? You gonna tell me what happened?” Noelle said.

  Jenna squirmed. She wanted to run, to protest, but she was rooted to the spot under the weight of Noelle’s gaze. And touched, too, by her concern.

  “Where do I begin?” Jenna sighed.

  “At the beginning.” Noelle placed her small hand over Jenna’s.

  “I guess it started when we were kids.” Tears fell as Jenna spoke, though her voice remained steady. She talked and talked, reliving the wretched sight of her husband and best friend kissing in her living room. When she got to the part about the article and her conversation with Airika, she slowed down.

  “I snapped. I think I just … ” she said, searching for the right word, “had enough. I don’t know, maybe I overreacted. He didn’t cheat on me, exactly. And I knew somewhere deep down that Airika had feelings for him. I ignored it. I guess I hoped it would just go away. I didn’t expect to feel so … gullible.” Jenna looked up, imploring Noelle to tread gently on her exposed soul.

  “Did I ever tell you the story about how I came to America?”

  “No,” Jenna said, confused. They’d only had a handful of conversations, all work-related. And not to be selfish, but did she not hear the story Jenna just told her?

  “The short version is: I ran away from my marriage.”

  “Really? Why?” Jenna couldn’t help herself. She was nosy.

  “He was a duke. You know, typical uptight royal upbringing. Private schools, polo star. He was the smartest man I’d ever met. The usual story. He swept me off my feet and when he asked me to marry him, I was sure my life had been made.” Noelle sighed, her features softening, making her look younger.

  “He wined and dined and romanced me until I suffocated from the stench of roses. My life—my being—became a dance of royal obligations broken up only by family obligations. My education, hobbies, interests and friends were relegated to the realm of trifles, to be entertained only when bored.” Noelle mimicked a stuffy royal with a prim jut of her chin. “I was never bored. When you turn your back on your friends often enough, they stop calling. I couldn’t blame them.” Her eyes flashed from anger to sadness.

  “So what did you do?” Jenna scooted forward on the chair, rapt.

  “I did what women do. I suppressed my feelings and got pregnant.”

  “I didn’t know you had kids.” Jenna blurted. Noelle’s eyes glassed over, like she was somewhere else. Jenna regretted saying anything.

  “I don’t. It turned out to be a tumor. I was told I had mere weeks to live. My husband wasn’t equipped to give the emotional support I needed, so I called my friends. They tried to understand. But they didn’t know what to say either. Too much distance lay between us and I couldn’t muster the energy to bridge the gap.”

  “So what happened? I can’t imagine … ”

  “It was a long ti
me ago.” From the look on Noelle’s face, Jenna wondered if time had softened the grief.

  “Anyway, I realized I was alone. And I decided if I was going to be alone, I better do something I loved with the time I had left. When weeks turned into months and I seemed to be improving on my own, the doctors were stunned. They called it a miracle. I knew, deep in my heart of hearts, it was a sign I needed to get out of that life and start fresh. So I took a job as a nanny for a family emigrating to America, and voilà, here I am.”

  “How did you get into photography?”

  “In university, I’d taken a few courses and amassed a portfolio of portraits of my classmates. Hanging out, playing polo, some studio poses. Later, when many became important figures in the world—as children from prominent families do—my little student portfolio looked more important. I got a job assisting a fashion photographer in New York and one thing led to another.”

  “You make it sound so simple.” Jenna said.

  Noelle smirked. “Things sound simple when years of struggle are whittled down to a paragraph. Nothing worth anything is simple.”

  ***

  Jenna returned to the cabin late, still absorbing the day. Noelle’s story reverberated in her head and heart as she thought about how brave she’d been. Jenna breathed in the pine of the walls. She took in the view, the moon sparkling upon the dark water. Then she picked up the phone and dialed without thinking.

  “Hello?” The sound of Airika’s voice pierced Jenna’s softened heart. In equal parts, she wanted to talk to her best friend—to tell her about the Vogue shoot and Noelle—and also, if at all possible, cause bodily harm through her venomous rhetoric. Instead, she hung up.

  Her heart clenched as though in a vice-grip. Her fingers itched to make another call, but her earlier bravado dissipated, giving way to sadness and self-pity. Bravery sounded so clear the way Noelle told it, uncomplicated.