Voices Carry: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection)

by Diane Rinella

  The game pauses for a commercial, and a green M&M in white boots wiggles her way across the screen. Now there was a brilliant marketing idea. Of course, the product doesn’t totally suck either. It’s hard to sell a product you don’t believe in. In fact, it can be downright depressing.

  Hey, maybe my wallowing can help. People eat when they are depressed—regardless of how the food tastes. God, this is so perfect. Could I really get away with selling our crap candy based on the buyer’s lack of self-worth?

  That brilliance warrants a second beer, so I signal the waitress for another. This is sweet. I may be on the verge on creating the greatest campaign ever, all while totally sane.

  Speaking of waitresses … I eye the room in search of the pixie. I should apologize for not calling and at least thank her for the number. I’ll go up front and see if—

  “Listen scum, I’ve just about had it with you.”

  Every bit of my body tightens and locks—my grip on the beer, my stomach, everything. That was the voice, and I heard it through my ears! This time I am absolutely certain it was not in my head.

  My eyes slowly rise and scan the room while daring myself to find the source. Come on, God, let me see it. Whatever it is, I can face it. I just need to know what I am up against.

  “You don’t want to piss me off!” comes from behind the bar.

  No, from the TV!

  My eyes lock on Katherine Miller—the same actress that keeps grabbing my attention. I huff out relief at solving one part of the mystery, but that is not all I feel. Emotions sweep through me, sending my heart soaring into the air and then spiraling down into my gut.

  “You’d be amazed what happens when I get angry.”

  Yes, that is the voice! But how can it come from her? The woman I saw while on the phone with Dale today had hazel eyes, not to mention freckles—tons and tons of freckles.

  She also didn’t have any makeup on. The bone structure is the same, so is the body and her posture. Colored contacts, matted skin, zero freckles—she’s hardly recognizable. Why do they cover her natural beauty? It seems unjust. Now she looks so … manufactured—so Hollywood.

  Am I really sure …

  “One word of advice—run!”

  Yes. That is, beyond a doubt, the same voice that has been haunting me. Someone is trying to tell me this woman holds something special for me.

  “Thank God you’re here already.” Darla’s voice causes my head to snap in her direction. “Now I can cower with you and not have to deal with a bunch of losers until the rest of the cool kids get here.”

  She plops down across from me and steals a sip of my beer. A fresh bottle? When did that get here?

  Even though the commercial has ended, my eyes go back to the TV in hopes of catching a glimpse of the woman who puts me in a tailspin.

  “Hey, Brandon.” Darla double snaps her fingers. “You with us?”

  “That’s the voice,” I utter, still captivated by the TV.

  “Huh?”

  “The voice I heard the other night—it belongs to the woman in the commercial.” Man, I sound crazy. I need to backpedal a bit. “Remember how I heard a voice? I figured out it was coming from the neighbor’s TV.”

  Darla’s eyes go to the screen where commentators discuss the embarrassing goal the Red Wings handed over before the commercial break. “Brandon, that’s not an ad.” She not only sounds concerned, she looks it.

  “A moment ago they played ads for another station.”

  Her eyes narrow. “What about when you heard it in the car?”

  Yep, she’s convinced I am losing it. “A commercial from another radio. You know how annoying it is when people blast ads.” I shrug and smile. “Go ahead, it’s okay for you to think I am crazy.”

  She chuckles. “Man, you are easy to mess with. Besides, you would be amazed what it takes to make me think someone has lost it.” A chime comes from Darla’s purse. When she sees who sent the text, she looks like her heart has been broken.

  “Is Bailey okay?”

  “Not really. She’s not in physical danger, but the mental abuse is sinking in. It is going to get worse when I tell her what I learned yesterday. You know how I turned in my notice because Rox over in payroll is starting a dating services and I am going to work for her? While I was doing research, I found Bailey’s boyfriend on a dating site. The profile was created long after he moved in, too. This guy is the biggest piece of scum ever to walk the earth.” Darla drops her head, rubbing it like the whole mess makes her feel helpless when it comes to offering true help. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I need to go call her. She’s been waiting on some information all day.”

  I wish her luck as she heads off. “Hey,” I call out, “please be sure she knows we are not all scum. Some of us would do anything to find a good woman to treat with respect.”

  Darla forces a smile before walking off while dialing. Meanwhile, my eyes go back to the TV in hopes of seeing the woman who makes my heart damn near stop.

  Bailey’s brush is about to hit my lips when Darla’s ringtone sends her jerking. She’s been scattered to the point where I felt her hand quaking while applying my eyeliner. This mess with Carlos is really getting to her.

  She closes her eyes and centers herself before apologizing. Is she kidding? I tell her I am the least of her worries and insist she takes the call. Bailey snatches up the phone and answers, “Hey. What did you find out?”

  As words flow through, Bailey hangs her head, hiding the tears forming in her hickory-brown eyes behind long, wavy black locks. Carlos has been mooching off of her for months. Last night, when Darla told her she found his profile on a dating site, Bailey called me, sounding destroyed. She deserves so much better.

  “I know he’s not worth it,” she tells Darla, “but I don’t believe in being an ass because he is. Thanks for the info. Sorry to interrupt your Friday night out. I’ll call you later.”

  Right there is the problem. In the years I’ve known Bailey I’ve known a woman who always gives people another chance, even if it is at her expense. It takes a lot of strength to risk being someone’s doormat because you try to take the high road. I touch her arm, hoping the compassion will help ease her stress. “You okay?”

  “My problems sound like a screenplay for a TV movie on a fifth-rate network.” She turns to hand me a tissue. Either she doesn’t want to face anyone or she is so frazzled she has forgotten I’ve already removed the remnants of my old lipstick. I clean my lips anyway.

  “He closed the profile?” I ask.

  “You mean the one he claimed was generated when he worked in Internet securities and ran test cases for a client? Yeah, and Darla is on the lookout for others.” Her hand scrapes through her hair. “God, Katherine, Carlos is such a slick liar. He even got me thinking the profile could have been related to his old job, especially since I can’t figure out how he is paying for it. Seriously, how long does it take to find a job? Even being a bottle washer would help pay the bills. I know it looks bad, but what if he isn’t cheating? I mean—” She swallows back a sob. “How could someone do that to me? Am I not worthy of loyalty?” Before I can pop up to give her a hug she tosses her hands in the air. “Oh, I can’t take this anymore! Talk to me about something else—anything else—like that new movie. Did they figure out when you will leave this place and head off to the real Hollywood?”

  I force a smile while wishing there were something I could do to help her. Also, as of the last few days I’m not nearly as excited as I should be about an opportunity I have been dying for. I’m still not sure I understand the reasons why, and that makes it hard to talk about. “No, but soon—at least that is what I keep telling myself. We’ve finished the test fittings and makeup design, so I am pretty much ready to rock. I am sick of my schedule getting twisted around. First it happened because of Jason doing a side project. Now they have to flip everything on its head for me. At least the producers are supportive, to an extent. They want me to get more exposure, but they a
lso don’t want me to do so well that I strike gold and bail.”

  “Yeah, throwing off the balance by losing a key player would probably kill the show.” Bailey takes a good, long look at the lipstick she holds. It’s the same one she always uses given the night scene we are about to shoot, yet she seems uncertain. This sudden lack of confidence is yet another thing that makes me worry for her.

  She decides her choice is the right one, but when I raise my chin for her to apply it, she shakes her head and exchanges it for some foundation. My blasted freckles won’t stay hidden for love or money.

  Bailey’s Lucite purse sits on the makeup counter and gives me a great way to change the subject. She has the best taste in vintage fashion. Every day she has at least one thing with her as a reminder of the era she loves, be it an old purse, a compact, or jewelry. “Have I ever told you how much I appreciate your sense of style? That ancient purse is to die for.”

  She snickers at my attitude while touching up my foundation. “The forties weren’t before the birth of Christ, you know?”

  “Made ya smile.” The comment makes her grin turn bold. “I hate how we toss away cool things because they are no longer trendy. I’m seriously jealous of your stuff.” Bailey reaches for the lipstick, and I tilt my head back. Suddenly, my stomach flips, and I swallow hard. “You okay?” Bailey asks.

  No, I’m not so sure I am, and I don’t get why I’ve spent the last few hours trying to hide how I am almost as edgy as Bailey is. Rapidly I nod and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Yeah. For some reason the tension of the day is hitting my stomach.”

  Next it is Bailey’s turn to try to wisecrack my head into a better space. “You’re not feeling sick because you have to do yet another love scene with Evan, are you? This show has the most ridiculously overplayed love triangle in history.”

  “Gah!” I squirm so much I must remind her of a dying fish. Pretending you have a secret thing for a guy you can’t stand sucks.

  “Seriously, Katherine, you and Jason work way too hard. With all of the extra stuff you each take on, it is a wonder you ever see each other at all. How do you carry on a relationship that way?”

  “I often wonder that myself.” The question hits a chord I suspect is tied into how I am feeling today. I work too hard, and sometimes I think it is killing me. The thing is, I have an obligation to keep going. “If I don’t drive my career, no one else will. I gave up a lot to get where I am, and I can’t stop now. I am the one who controls my destiny.” Bailey takes a step back. At first I mistake her look for somehow being offended, but through her tone and reflection I can tell I happened to hit the nail on the head for her.

  “You know, I’ve controlled my own destiny all right, but not in the way I wanted. Cosmetology school led to an interest in theatrical and performance makeup, but my career wasn’t supposed to stop there. I had aspirations of taking business classes. I planned to open a school where the students paid their tuition by working for Indie filmmakers who would in turn pay the school a modest fee. Now I am pushing forty, and the career of my dreams and the family I always wanted are as elusive as ever, all because that is what I have allowed. Why have I limited myself?”

  Bailey’s alarm goes off, reminding her she is due on set soon. “You know,” she says, “this may help me ditch Carlos. It is time to stop wondering what is wrong with him and start thinking about my needs.”

  Reluctantly I stand to leave. I can’t help but worry for Bailey. I wish we had more time to talk about this.

  In an effort to lighten her mood I make a show of turning my head so I can hug her without fear of messing up my makeup. About a month ago, a brief encounter with Jason basically destroyed all of her work, and the memory of how the director flipped out over the time it took to fix it is still fresh in all of our minds. At least what I am doing has her grinning again. “Are you sure you are okay?” I ask. “You’ve got me worried. Why don’t you stay with Jason and me? He won’t mind. Hell, he’s never home anyway.”

  “Thanks, but no. I’m not in any danger. I promise if the situation changes, I will be on your doorstep without giving it a thought.” I raise a brow. As if she is reading my mind, Bailey races to reassure me. “Really, I promise.”

  With her kit and extra blotting paper in her hands, we head our separate ways.

  The cool of the night feels glorious. I really needed some fresh air.

  Why didn’t I open up to Bailey? I know she has a lot going on, but she is also my closest friend. She’d want to be here for me. Also, they say talking to your hairdresser is great medicine. If that is true, trusting your makeup artist when you are about to be filmed for worldwide television makes her as medicinal as penicillin.

  Over the last few days, something has been freaking me out to the point of jitters. I keep telling myself it is merely stress over my career, but that feels like the brush off for something bigger. It must be the fear of things going south with that upcoming movie. The old adage of there are no small parts, just small actors massively applies. The size of the role is minor, but my scenes drive the plot. Nailing this has the power to put my career on a rocketship.

  By the time I reach Stage 19 my heart beats normally, but my blood feels hot and racing. My stomach twists when one of the secondary players dashes past. Now I think I see the real nature of the problem. That girl is only nineteen, yet she already has her foot in the door. The ten years I have on her may only mean I am glued into everyone’s brains as a second-rate network hack. If I don’t pull off that movie role, Vampires Undercover may be my swan song.

  I can’t allow it. I turned my back on someone precious so I could have a career. I have to be successful—even if I am not sure I want it anymore—else I’ll be a more horrible person than I already am.

  Footsteps dash up behind me. I turn to catch sight of The Smile, that famous grin that has won the hearts of millions. With it comes soulful, brown eyes and sun-lightened hair nearly everything female longs to run her fingers through, yet I’m the lucky stiff who gets to know the man who comes with them for more than his looks. How jealous would the female population be if they learned with Jason Day, the fantasy can’t hold a candle to the reality?

  He goes in for a hug, and I’m quick to jerk back. “Oh no, you are not going to get me in trouble again for messing up my makeup.” He baulks and slides his arms around my waist. He’s pretty hard to resist.

  “Am I allowed to do this?” He kisses me on the top of my head. “And people think being an actor is easy. If they only knew.”

  “What are you doing over here? Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

  “A major equipment setback threw everything off. I’ve already sent someone home for my bags, so I can go straight to the airport when we are done. Now while that may suck, this screw up did give me a chance to sneak off and get a couple of calls in, along with getting to kiss your head. That alone is worth all the annoying delays in the world, not to mention I’m pretty sure I am going to have some amazing news soon.”

  Jason’s eyes lock into mine, making me feel as if I am the most precious package in the world. “Everything I want is coming to fruition,” he says with a hope-filled voice, “and I get to have it happen with you by my side.” He risks Bailey’s wrath with a tender touch to my chin and raises my lips to meet his. How they scarcely make contact makes me want to surrender all the more. “I’ll see you Thursday.” He dashes off. With a pump of his fists in the air he screams, “Perfect! Life is perfect!”

  Four days apart … Though we have done it a million times before, it’s still going to feel like forever. He’s right though. Things are happening, and I should share in his enthusiasm. I need to flip my mood and enjoy the moment. For better or for worse, a massive change lies ahead. My bones are buzzing over it.

  What is it about Katherine Miller that sends my heart soaring? Am I experiencing intense fantasies as a cover for the pain over losing Amber, or is there something more? Then again, I’ve never had a true celeb
rity crush before. Are they always this encompassing? No wonder why tabloids are so popular.

  Tonight at Mulligan’s my friends joked and laughed while the TV held me captive in hopes of another commercial. Several times the need for more understanding sent me slipping off to read about Katherine on my phone. I even followed her on social media. If I need someone to help me get over Amber, why her? And why does she make my heart flutter like the wings of a hummingbird? I got so tied up in the mystery that I broke the speed limit to get home, pulled out my laptop, and started up Netflix On Demand.

  Vampires Undercover is already in its fourth season. Netflix has the first three, so I’m telling myself I have the time it takes to watch sixty-six episodes to figure out what is going on inside my brain before allowing my panic to further grow. This show sounds like 21 Jump Street meets True Blood. I’m hopeful that by the fifth episode I will be so sick of it that Katherine Miller will never cross my mind again. The odds have to be good, because under normal conditions I would have no interest in watching a show about teenagers—played by actors pushing thirty and sometimes forty—who bust their own for killing instead of drinking synthetic blood. Watching it couldn’t be more out of character.

  Wait; isn’t acting out of character a sign of mental illness?

  Shut up, Brandon.

  The names of the actors appear in a font that implies dripping blood. This already reminds me of the B-rated films I loved so much as a kid. Is that why this is happening? I want to regress to a time before tragedy struck? It’s not exactly a terrible theory. It’s also a reasonable one.

  The thought of B-rated vampires with red, glowing eyes brings back the giddiness of being nine. Now I’m practically sitting at attention while tapping on my beer and wondering what I’m in for.