by Becky Wicks
I'm still holding my Coke can. I swig some more and swallow hard, training my eyes and ears on the traffic below; the swirls and streaks of yellow taxicabs, the sounds of honking horns, the faint smell of hotdogs and exhaust fumes. New York is always amazing to me; and slightly scary. I can't help but imagine the balcony breaking though; both of us falling, falling, falling the twenty-four floors onto the top of one of those cars, right when we least expect it. I could definitely die like this.
'Chloe...'
'I finished it.'
'I know, but why?'
'Something happened in Chicago...' I stop, remembering the look in Cooper's eyes when he caught me watching. 'We were at his friend's house.'
'Whose house?'
'Cooper introduced him as Eric.' Shit. I probably shouldn't have said that. I put the Coke can to my lips, but Noah steps forward, lifts my chin with one finger, forces me to look at him.
'Did someone hurt you?'
'No, nothing like that.' I catch his fingers and look behind me. Jesus, I'm paranoid. 'When we got to Eric's house, his girlfriend took us all inside. She distracted me and Alyssa. She showed us the spare room and the blow up bed and all that, but I remembered I left something in the Jeep...'
I trail off. His eyes are narrowed, but I've started now and dammit, I don't know what it is about Noah... still... but it's like I've swallowed some kind of truth serum whenever I talk to him. 'I went back out to the garage and Cooper was out there with Eric, lifting something out the trunk,' I say. 'I didn't even see them before. Noah, we drove all the way to Chicago with them all in the back!'
'With what in the back?'
'Two hundred pounds of marijuana. In black bags. He had them covered up.'
His eyes grow wide as he drops my fingers, scrapes his hands through his curls. 'Fucking hell!'
'They've been trafficking from Colorado... Eric sells it. It's not even Cooper's stuff. He's just trying to make money.'
'Chloe, two hundred pounds?'
'That's what he said. It looked like it. Noah, I told him we had to leave there and then. He drove me and Alyssa to a hotel and came to get us the next day, brought us straight to New York. I haven't spoken to him since...'
'Good! You should never speak to him again, Chloe, what the fuck else is he involved in that you don't know about? First the stealing... imagine if the cops had pulled you over?'
'I know! You don't have to tell me, Noah!'
His jaw is ticking now. There's thunder in his eyes when I meet them. 'I knew there had to be a reason he wanted to drive all that way,' I say out loud. 'Cooper probably only wanted our gas money to help with his deal.'
'He's probably been planning this for months,' Noah adds through gritted teeth and for the first time ever I realize he's probably right. Shit, have I been that stupid? I should have dumped Cooper ages ago. Years ago. Never mind about anything else; he could have landed me in jail!
'I'm not going back to Boulder,' I say suddenly. 'I'm gonna stay here. And I'm gonna go for that job. And if I don't get it, I'm gonna take the job in Starbucks that you'll obviously be leaving. Do you think I can stay with you while I get sorted? In the Brooklyn place?'
Noah shakes his head with a lopsided smile. 'Pan, you can stay wherever you want. If I get this place all to myself I'm gonna need a roommate!'
I feel my eyebrows shoot upwards. 'Do you think that's a good idea?' I say before I've even finished thinking it. My cheeks flush. 'I'm sure Jayde would love that,' I say quickly. 'Courtney, too. Tell me, which one's in the lead for Noah Lockton's heart right now?'
He rolls his eyes and reaches for my hands, pulls me hard against him. 'Shut it, Pan,' he smiles into my hair.
I breathe in the strawberry laces as my arms circle his familiar, yet unfamiliar body and look out over the buildings. I could die like this. But I get the happiest hop in my tummy when I let myself rest against his muscled chest -- harder than it's ever been. Stronger. Safer. As the last rays of early fall sunshine turn Manhattan orange around us, all I can think is I'm safe now.
9
Noah
The judges are silent. The audience is silent. We're waiting for the results. I've never been so nervous in my life. The cameras are wheeling around us like we're centerfield of a launching pad waiting to be lifted off into space by aliens. The Planet Earth itself used to seem so limitless, but now the whole galaxy is this one fucking room. Impressive as it is, it can hardly hold me in it. I feel like I'm about to explode.
I concentrate on my breathing; in and out. I'll never forget this moment as long as I live -- the total, crippling agony of it. But whatever happens, I got this far, right? People recognize me already, they shout my name on the street, they sing lines from a song I wrote at me, wave at me like they know me, make shirts and banners and flags with my name on. I got to sing and play my guitar for America at the Radio City Music Hall.
My crazy aunt Madeline took me, Jack and Chloe on a behind-the-scenes tour of this place one summer. I remember we all walked around totally mesmerized, soaking up the stories about what they call the Showplace of the Nation. I remember Chloe's hand in mine, pulling me to every guitar case, telling me I should 'get one like that!'
Madeline was a Rockette on the Great Stage back in the fifties and had her run on Broadway in several chorus lines after that. But her stories of her time as a Rockette were the ones we loved to hear. She beat over five hundred other women to the role; it was the original bitch-fest by the sounds of it. She did five shows a day, seven days a week during the Christmas season, had a fling with a married rock star and even now in her mid-seventies, she can still do her eye-high leg kick. I remember her trying to teach us once, at the house she still lives in, up in The Bronx. Chloe was considerably better at it than me. Madeline loves Chloe.
I'm standing on the stage; the same stage Mads pretty much called home back then. I'm hot. Hotter than before in my stupid Elvis suit as the lights shine brighter, even though I'm dressed in skinny jeans and a fitted black shirt. The cameras are honed in on us, the final two. Fuck. I've come so far.
I have to win.
'You're both winners tonight,' Jude enthused before she tottered forwards to collect the envelope containing the name; the one name that really matters in the long run. She's standing here now to the side of us in a cloud of perfume and faux fog, holding my fate in her fake-tanned hands. Keith has got his eyes shut next to her. I can't tell if he's nervous for us, or stoned.
'You've tuned in week-in, week-out for the last two months, just for this moment,' Jude tells the audience and the crowd erupts. Every single one of the six thousand seats is full. As the lights dim I can see the eliminated contestants in the front row - Ronette, Luther, Sierra, Ady - all the people waving over the balconies. I can see the banners, balloons and signs, giant teddy bears dangling from the dress circle. The cameras pan in on a group of teenage girls wearing 'We love Noah Lockton!' T-shirts. More Lockettes. They scream when they see themselves on the screen.
I raise my hand as Courtney does the same and we both force a smile. I've sweated through all three of my songs, smashed the one with Candy Buttola, in spite of her rolling up drunk for the show and almost tripping over her five-inch leopard print heels mid-song (so much for rehab) and I got the hugest cheer I've ever had when I performed The Facebook Song. All three judges and the entire audience were on their feet.
I actually felt a bit bad for Courtney because the song she wrote herself - some pop thing called Winners Never Lose - didn't get anywhere near the same response. Probably because it makes absolutely zero sense whatsoever. But still, no one knows how this will go. What if she does get the sympathy vote?
What if I wasn't as good as I could have been?
I can feel her fear right now, rushing up my arm as she grips my fingers. She's caked in as much make-up as me. Her fake eyelashes could practically sweep the floor. Her hot-pants make her ass look like a perfect fucking peach and I know she doesn't want to go back to the bank. She'
s been drinking herself numb every night out of fear alone and trying her damned best to crawl into my bed, too. After this, in the eyes of the nation, one of us will flare up like a firework; the other will probably fizzle out. It can only go one of two ways.
I have to win.
'Are you ready, America, for the winner of Show Us What U've Got?' Jude shouts into her mic. 'Only one of this talented two will walk away tonight with two million dollars AND a contract with HotFlush Records. Who will it be? Who showed you enough of what they've got, to become your winner?'
Beside me Courtney lets out a groan. I squeeze her clammy hand and blink into the lights now streaming onto my face. I think of Chloe's words backstage, earlier today, when she wrapped her arms around me and I breathed the scent of her blueberry lotion -- the same one she's been wearing for as long as I can remember. Her cuddles have always been like comfort blankets. Her smell is always home.
'You've been ready for this your whole life, Noah', she said. 'I knew it the moment I met you.'
I feel sick but still I smile, smile, smile, nudge Courtney as if to say, don't worry, nothing matters, really.
Please don't make me go back to fucking Starbucks.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' Jude says, opening the envelope slowly, teasingly. 'Your winner for 2014, the one almost guaranteed a hit record and a year or more of millionaire status... the one, the only...
10
Chloe
'So, Chloe Campbell, how much do you know about a photographer's assistant position in general?'
The redhead directs her piercing tawny eyes onto mine and without saying another word I know she's taking in my bangs and how they're probably a bit too long, and my mascara; how it's possibly a bit too blotchy. Beside her, the immaculately-dressed editor of Shimmer - the infamous Marianne Monroe - is looking over my resume with a blank expression. I figure it might just be the botox making her look blank, or it might be the fact that out of the hundreds of applicants for this role, I am the most unimpressive.
'I know a photographer's assistant helps find props to make photo shoots more attractive,' I say, leaning forward, stretching out my spine so I'm instantly taller. 'They set up lights, get supplies in order, learn from the other photographers. Well, I hope so anyway, I really want to learn.'
The redhead lifts her perfect eyebrows, thumbs a copy of Shimmer with an airbrushed Demi Lovato on the cover and trains my fingers with her eyes as they reach for the water glass in front of me. I smile at her, take a sip. Thank God I went for a French manicure with Alyssa yesterday before she went with the others back to Colorado. This time by plane.
'Well, your portfolio is certainly very impressive,' Marianne is saying now and my stomach flips as it hits me again exactly where I'm sitting. There isn't an aspiring writer or photographer in the U.S who doesn't want to work for this woman. Most people would do it for free. She's leafing through the folder I brought with me. 'I like that you've got it online as well as here. Some beautiful shots of the mountains. Is Colorado home?'
'Yes, Boulder,' I tell her, 'but I'm moving here. I've wanted to work in New York for years.'
'What took you so long?'
'I'm twenty-one,' I reply, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. 'I had... commitments at home.'
Marianne slaps a hand on the desk. 'Do you know how many people applied for this role?'
I note how her cheeks look like a porcelain doll's as she fixes me with a hard stare that could probably make a grown man cry; how her dark blonde hair has not one strand out of place, how her designer blouse doesn't even have one crease on it. She must have to sleep in a Tupperware box to look this good every day. 'No,' I say.
'Two thousand, three hundred and four.'
'That's impressive.'
'Yes. That's impressive. Not even fifty were shortlisted but we liked your styling. You've got a really good eye, Chloe. Some interesting angles at this... what is this, a Chuck e Cheese party?'
I feel my cheeks flare as the redhead smirks. 'Yes.'
'Unfortunately, unless I'm mistaken, you don't seem to have any magazine experience?' She's turning the pages of my stuff with one long gel-tip now, looking for what's clearly not there. 'Have you ever worked for a print publication of any kind?'
'No, not yet,' I admit, feeling my battering heart sink. I'm twenty-one and I've never even lived away from home. What does she expect from me? '...but I'm a really hard worker,' I add quickly. 'I have all my own equipment. I've got the Canon EOS 5D Mark II and a 135 millimeter lens, and a 50 mil too. And I'm willing to do anything for this job.' I clutch at Tinker-Bell. God, I sound like a total moron.
'Anything?' Marianne raises her eyebrows. 'Chloe, twenty-nine of the applicants who'd also do anything for this job have already had internship positions at other magazines, in New York. Why exactly do you think we should hire you?'
They're both looking at me intently now, in slight confusion, like I'm a mini martian under a microscope. I'm supposed to dazzle them with my ambition and longing and starry-eyed desire to work for Shimmer, maybe kiss their asses, compliment their clothes. I can feel the eyes of the cover models on me too, glaring with their blown-up, overly-twinkly eyes on the walls. I'm just about to say something, anything, to try and save what's clearly a lost cause when my phone buzzes.
The redhead rolls her eyes for a millisecond. Marianne just looks unimpressed as I reach to the back of my chair and scramble in my purse for the ringing gadget. Shit, shit, shit. 'Sorry, sorry,' I say, pulling it out. For a second I'm convinced it's gonna be Cooper. He hasn't stopped calling me since the finals ended, begging my forgiveness. But Noah's name is flashing on the screen.
'Something important?' the redhead asks as I cancel the call with a heavy finger. Damn Noah; he hasn't called in three days and he calls me now?
'No... no... it's just my friend, he won this talent show thing last week and he's a bit hyped up, and it's all been a little crazy! I don't think he even ever knows what time it is anymore!' I'm rambling, I know it. This is so over.
'A talent show?' the editor repeats. 'Something in Colorado?'
'A dog-sledder's event, perhaps?' the redhead adds.
'No, something here actually,' I say, ignoring her bitchy dig. 'Show Us What U've Got.' I switch the phone to mute before he can call again, turn around to shove it back in my purse. When I turn back they're looking at each other in total shock.
'Show Us What U've Got?' Marianne's eyes are wide. 'You mean, your friend just won Show Us What U've Got?'
'Your friend is Noah Lockton?' the redhead follows. She's clutching the desk now. 'He's so hot!'
I try not to laugh. She's not the only person I've seen reacting like this over the past week. Everywhere Noah goes, people know him now. The TV is already promoting his single - a song called Play Me, which he's set to start recording on Monday. It's tipped to go straight to number one.
'How well do you know Noah Lockton, exactly?' Marianne asks me. She's leaning towards me, elbows on the desk, resting her chin on her clasped hands.
'Pretty well,' I tell them. Too well I think, guiltily. I can feel something tensing up inside me the more I see their minds processing this new information. 'We grew up together.'
'Excellent,' she says, smiling for what I think is the first time since I walked into the room. 'I bet his life has changed a lot since the weekend, right? You speak to him a lot?'
I nod. I'm leaning back in my chair now as they both lean even further towards me. They're looking at me the way dogs look at their owners when they're holding meaty bones.
'He must be so excited. The Facebook Song is great! Everyone in the office has been singing it,' the redhead gushes and they look at each other and sing the line: 'everyone admire my yoga pose, my rabbit has the cutest nose,' while tapping their noses the way Noah does in the video.
'Perez says Tori Amos wants to write a song for him?' Marianne says and I shrug, try my best not to look affected. So this is all about Noah, now? Fuck this. I sh
ould never have said anything.
'Noah's pretty down to earth,' I tell them, gathering my thoughts. 'He's not really the type to let fame go to his head, but yeah, things are different I guess. The new apartment for a start; I mean, we never thought we'd be living in a place like Chelsea, but...'
'Wait. 'You're living with him? In that fuck-off gargantuan penthouse?!' The redhead's eyes are practically popping out of their sockets now.
'OK, Chloe,' Marianne cuts in, shooting her a look. 'We have another candidate waiting, we should probably wrap this up. But we'll get back to you with our decision by the end of the week, alright?'
She stands up and I do the same quickly, grabbing my jacket and my purse and holding my hand out to her. She shakes it and then leans in, air-kisses my left cheek. Issey Miyake assaults my nostrils. 'You give our regards to Noah,' she says, ushering me out with her into the corridor and towards the elevators.
'Will do,' I lie as the doors swing open. When I turn around they're both staring after me and I raise my hand, give a little wave as the doors close on them. I've never had such a bizarre interview for anything in my life... and the guy at Chuck e Cheese wore a mouse suit.
I call Noah back as soon as I'm outside, but he doesn't pick up. I guess he's been swept away again. I've barely spoken to him since he won, but he did say he'd be back at the apartment tonight so I guess I'll talk to him then.
I make my way to the Starbucks he used to work at, close to the Shimmer office in Soho, and a girl called Nadia recognizes me and gives me a twenty percent discount on my mocha latte. I pull out my MacBook and get to work editing some photos I took at the backstage party, the night he won. We moved to a bar in the meatpacking district afterwards. I recognized at least five A-listers and Alyssa still swears she saw Justin Timberlake, but he left before we could confirm it.
