Spotlight on Love
Page 15
Nobody else had ever managed to keep me this engaged both physically and mentally. And I wanted to see how far it could go, way beyond just this tour.
The question was how to convince them to want this too. And while I wasn’t too bad at getting someone interested in the sack a few times, I’d never been very good at turning it all into something lasting. Mainly because I’d never felt the urge to. Life was too unpredictable. You had to be flexible, like water. You had to go with the flow.
But these two were shaking me up, making me want to stick around. Making me want more.
And I didn’t know exactly what to do about that.
Which was why, later that day, I was feeling kind of restless and on edge, with too much energy long before the show was supposed to start.
Needing something to do, I decided to grab some sandwiches and swing by Sabrina’s bus. She’d be just starting hair and makeup probably. And I knew she had to be getting tired of the frozen stuff in her fridge by now. She liked turkey with spicy honey mustard and mayo, so I picked up a turkey sandwich with her favorite condiments along with a sandwich for myself, then jogged out to her bus. The guard checked with her then let me in.
Straight into female chaos and mayhem.
“I don’t know what to do,” the wardrobe manager said, taking a step back and propping her fists on her hips. “I swear, it hasn’t shrunk and I haven’t taken anything in. And honestly, it looks like you’ve lost weight, not gained it. So, I don’t understand why it’s hurting.”
Sabrina looked up from where she was standing by the bed, her eyes watery, her face pale. She quickly looked away, swiping at her cheeks with her palms. “Um, hi Jessie. Just having some…wardrobe issues tonight. I’ll be out in a few, okay?” She reached past the wardrobe manager and slid the bedroom closed, shutting me out.
What the hell was going on?
It took another twenty minutes before they were done dressing her. The wardrobe manager left, her expression pinched as she passed me in the kitchen on her way out of the bus. I hesitated, then walked over to the bedroom door and gave it a light rap.
“Everything okay, Sabrina?” I asked.
“Y-yes. You can come in and hang out if you want now.” Her voice was shaking and thick, like she’d been crying heavily.
I slid the door open and stepped in, catching Sabrina’s gaze in the mirror before she looked away.
She sighed heavily. “I’m just not feeling great today, I guess. Ignore me and come on in. I’ll get over it in a minute or two.” She tried a smile, but I knew her well enough to know how tight and forced it was.
I studied how stiffly she sat in the chair while the hair stylist began to brush her hair, and how she closed her eyes and kept them closed, her hands laced into a white knuckled fist in her lap.
She was hurting.
I sat down on the edge of the bed.
She tried like hell not to show it, but still a whimper or two escaped her as the stylist brushed her hair a little too roughly once or twice. Still, Sabrina didn’t say a word, not even to ask her to be more gentle.
A ball of heat grew in my stomach. Wasn’t Sabrina paying this woman’s salary? She had every right to ask her to be more gentle if the woman was hurting her.
When the woman put in the first roller into Sabrina’s hair and shoved a U-shaped pin over it, Sabrina whimpered again and this time actually flinched away from the woman.
“Sabrina?” I muttered.
Sabrina looked at me, her eyes still watery, her face even paler. She gave a little shake of her head. “It’s okay. She’s almost done.”
The woman looked surprised and started to apologize, but Sabrina waved her off, insisting she knew the woman was just doing her job.
Finally, the woman was done torturing Sabrina’s poor scalp. Then the makeup artist began, quickly wiping a sponge over Sabrina’s face. Again, Sabrina flinched but tried to hold herself still.
My knuckles ached. I glanced down at my hands and realized I was gripping the edge of the mattress so hard my own knuckles were white.
“Jessie?” Sabrina murmured, her voice high and tight with pain. “You’re going to be late for your show.”
Shit. I jumped up. “See you later?”
She gave a tiny nod, not meeting my eyes, her cheeks pink before the artist had even added any blush there.
I wasn’t hungry at all now, so I stuck the sandwiches in the fridge and stalked back to the arena.
I’d never cared less about performing in my entire life.
***
Sabrina hid the pain well while on stage for our duet, but I could tell from the tightness around her eyes that she was still feeling it. Once I finished the duet with her, I got through my meet and greet then hung around that area chatting with fans till Sabrina arrived to sign autographs for her own fans. The line was a mile long and growing by the second. From the looks of it, she’d be here all night. It was impressive how much love she created in these people, obvious from both the number of people in the line as well as the excited way they waited for her. When she arrived with a small team of people on her heels, the line of fans actually erupted in spontaneous cheering, which made her smile and wave to them. She flashed me a tight, distracted smile as she passed on her way to her table, her motions stiff and restricted. Again, probably from the pain, I was guessing.
I found a wall and leaned a shoulder against it, watching her work, wondering how the hell she managed it while in so much pain. From the reports online, she already had plenty of money to live on in high style and then some. Clearly, she was like me and did it for the love from the fans. That had to be some love for her fans in order to keep her going.
I thought about what she’d said earlier in bed, how her fans would probably turn against her if they ever found out about her seeing both Shane and me. It made me frown and look at that long line of fans again, this time through a whole different light.
What kind of shallow love did that have to be, that all these people could really turn against her so quickly just because she dated someone they didn’t approve of? So what if she was involved in an ongoing threesome, as long as it made her happy? She lived so much of her life and sacrificed so much, endured so much pain, for her fans. Couldn’t they be a little forgiving of her personal choices in return?
But then they probably only saw the fame and bling, the expensive shit she put on for them, the tricked out bus the record company had her touring around in. They saw the final product, an image created by a marketing team and a hair stylist and makeup artist and wardrobe manager. They saw the hard work Sabrina herself put into every song and performance.
They didn’t see the real Sabrina, the girl with doubts and pain, the very human person I was fast falling…
Falling in love with.
And there it was. The thing I’d always worked so hard to avoid after tasting a little heartbreak as a teen. Except this time it was real, not based on some teen-aged fantasy.
I didn’t even see the same things the fans did anymore when Sabrina was up on stage. I used to. I used to see that tiny curvy package in those crazy high heels, all that luscious hair, that smooth, glowing skin, those sweet lips, and get dazzled by the tiny powerhouse package she presented under the lights and special effects.
Now I saw the woman. I noticed the little details in how she moved. I knew that her steps became shorter when her legs were cramping, and her hand fisted around the mike when her fingers were stiffening up. I knew all that long, gorgeous hair came at a high price, namely having her hair ripped out of her scalp before every show, and that she thought it was a total pain in the ass to wash. That she always stuffed her hair up into a messy bun on top of her head every night to get it out of her way so she wouldn’t have to deal with it, because otherwise the weight of it pulled at her scalp and gave her intense migraines. I knew those sexy high heels weren’t worth the way they made her legs and ass look, because they killed her feet and legs for hours afterwards.
I knew the real woman that she was hiding from all these people who would turn on her on a dime just for seeking a little happiness in her painful and tortured life.
And while a part of me understood why she put up with it, because I was in the business too, a part of me desperately wanted to free her from it all.
There had to be some way this gorgeous, sweet, giving woman could do this job that she loved and still be human and have her own happiness too.
She was there for two hours, signing autographs, posing for endless pictures with fans, her smile always in place. Until towards the end when an eager teen-aged girl flung an arm around Sabrina’s back for their picture. As soon as the girl’s arm touched Sabrina, Sabrina flinched. She tried to recover her smile, but not fast enough; the girl noticed and frowned.
I couldn’t hear what was said. It looked like Sabrina tried to laugh it off and pull the girl back in close for the photo. But as soon as the photo was taken, the girl walked away with her friends. As they passed, I heard the girl say, “Did you see that? What a snobby bitch! Like, ‘oh no, I’m the Princess of Pop. I’m too good for you shitty little fans to actually touch me!’ Wait till I tweet about this. That bitch is raking in the cash from all this while totally sneering at us stupid fans for throwing all our money at her.”
She immediately started typing on her phone.
My insides were on fire as I grabbed my phone, pulled up the Twitter app, and started doing a search for any combination of Sabrina and bitch or snob.
After a few minutes, I found the girl’s angry tweet telling the social media world how awful Sabrina supposedly was and that she wasn’t as nice as people made her out to be at all, and that the girl was going to sell all her Sabrina CDs and posters and T-shirts on Ebay. The girl was all but begging for someone to give her a verbal smack down wake-up call. And I was more than happy to be the person to provide it.
I didn’t even hesitate as I typed out a reply.
CHAPTER 12
Jessie
We were staying in hotels that night for a change, and I was looking forward to a nice, long soak in a tub with Sabrina and Shane. But as soon as I entered Sabrina’s suite, I knew something was up.
She’d already changed into one of her favorite lounge outfits, a pale pink one this time, which I knew was her favorite color in spite of the record company’s nearly overusing it on all her branding. She was barefoot, her hair up in its usual crazy sloppy bun until Shane or I released it so we could massage her scalp and bury our fingers in it.
But she looked anything but relaxed.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I asked her as the guard pulled the entrance door shut behind me. “Shane here yet?”
She nodded, her arms tightly crossed over her chest. “He’s running a bath.”
“Oh, fuck yes. Perfect. Exactly what I was fantasizing about.” I walked over to her, sliding my hands over her hips, and she flinched. Damn. Nearly forgot. “Sorry. Pain really bad tonight?”
She jerked one shoulder in answer, seeming almost pissed. Probably at that horrible little bitch of a fan at the meet and greet.
Sighing, I walked around her and started massaging her scalp where it met her neck in the way I knew she liked. “I’m sorry you’re hurting so much today. Listen, I’ve been thinking, maybe you should call your doctor about this. I’ve been doing some reading, and you know all these spots you have where it hurts to even barely be touched now? That’s not lupus, from what I’ve read. Maybe you should ask him about it, and if they can get you something for the pain. I know, I know. You don’t want to take opioids for the pain because of your mother, and I get it. From what I’ve read, they’re finding that stuff can actually increase your pain sometimes. So definitely not worth taking. But surely there’s gotta be something else you can take?”
She turned to face me with a dark scowl. “What do you know about my mother?”
“Uh, well, just the few bits you let slip in an interview or two, about how she’s struggled with drug addiction most of your life.”
“You really have been busy online, haven’t you?”
Uh oh. I was starting to think maybe the snappish edge to her tone might not be just because of the bratty fan and the pain. I took a step back. “Did I do something wrong?”
Her gaze flashed up to meet mine, held, then jerked away again and she headed for the bathroom. “I’m going to get in the tub.”
Okay.
I hesitated then slowly followed her, finding Shane seated on the edge of a huge garden tub big enough for four people. He was pouring some kind of soft smelling bubble bath in. He gave me a quick “I have no clue, but yeah, something’s up” look as he started to undress.
I decided to follow his lead, figuring eventually Sabrina would relax and open up about whatever was going on, or at least vent about the usual issues for a couple of minutes until she felt better and could let it all go.
She joined us, taking Shane’s hand but not mine as we tried to help her step into the tub. She chose a spot opposite us to sit down, laid her head back on the tub’s edge, and closed her eyes.
I laid my head back too, keeping my eyes half open and on her, waiting for the telltale signs that she was relaxing.
But her shoulders never budged, hunched high and stiff and rolled forward as if even the act of her back touching the side of the tub was painful.
And she wouldn’t let her feet touch mine or Shane’s, bending her knees and shifting her feet away every time it happened.
Something was definitely wrong.
***
Sabrina
I tried to calm down after Roz’s furious phone call while I was on the way to the hotel.
I knew Jessie hadn’t meant to create this disaster with the Twitter storm he’d started with that fan. After getting off the phone with Roz, I’d read all his tweets from earlier tonight. He was just trying to defend me against a fan who didn’t know I was in pain.
But then he’d gone too far and told the whole friggin world I was sick.
And ever since the moment I’d read that bomb of a tweet, my head had been filled with a kind of ringing silence.
And one single thought that kept repeating through my mind like a chant.
I’d trusted him, and he had just betrayed that trust on an epic level.
And wasn’t this what always happened when I trusted someone in my personal life?
I should have learned my lesson with my mother. How many times had she betrayed my trust over and over as a child, forgetting to buy food for us to eat, forgetting to get me up in time for school or being so out of her mind on drugs that I’d had to get myself up and ready and off to school all by myself. By the time Record Company Rick, as Dani referred to him, had found her and fallen for her at some club, I’d already been mostly grown at sixteen and used to having to take care of the both of us. But I’d still been young and dumb enough to trust him and sign all those contracts with him and his record label, making him both my manager and signing a record deal with his Briar Rose Records so he got all kinds of cuts from all my money for years until I finally replaced him as my manager with Roz.
I’d thought myself smarter by the time I fell for Jeromy Sawyer, a rap star on the rise and a bad boy who was edgy and snarky and totally carefree in every way I wished I had the ability to be. I’d trusted Jeromy completely, even bought a house with him and moved in together despite our being so young. And then it had all fallen apart.
And then Jeromy had done that God awful tell-all expose in People magazine about us.
That should have been the l
ast lesson I needed to learn about trusting people in my private life.
But nope. Apparently I’d needed to learn one more…with Jessie and Shane.
Not that it was Shane’s fault. He hadn’t told anyone anything.
But he was part of this whole craziness we had going on, a kind of symptom or accomplice. And Jessie’s social media betrayal was just another sign, the universe trying to wake me up and tell me I was about to destroy everything I and so many others had worked so hard to build.
And I couldn’t afford this. My private life was already in danger of falling apart and taking my career with it thanks to the lupus. Now here I was involved in an ongoing threesome for months?
What was I doing?
And not only was this crazy, but it was also doomed right from the start on so many levels.
Had I really thought this insanity we three were sharing could keep going forever?
It would have been bad enough to risk it all by sleeping with not one but two people who were essentially my industry’s version of coworkers. Compound that with the fact that I’d basically hired these guys to fill out my tour, making them all but my employees, and the fact that I’d had to hire them because my shitty health was risking screwing up my performance capabilities, and this was a recipe for disaster.
And now the media had the first nugget they needed to bring us all down. It would be a matter of days, if not hours, before they started offering big money for inside information. And while I prided myself on paying my people very well, I could never compete with the hundreds of thousands of dollars that an expose on this level would earn an insider.
Who would spill first to the tabloids? My hair stylist? My makeup artist? One of my backup dancers? Or maybe one of the stage crew? Hell, maybe even one of the Drakes might roll over and sing.