The Stage (Phoenix Rising #1)

by Shelby Rebecca

  “I know who you are,” I respond. I realize my hands are shaking and my breaths are coming in little short bursts. I set my fork down on the plate. “I’m a fan. I know all of your songs—I…”

  “You impressed me today,” he says. He looks at me with an odd expression that I can’t read at all. It’s like he’s worried about me, or angry with me, or something in between.

  “Thank you.” And before I can think of another way to put my foot in my mouth, he takes my hand, skin to skin, leans into me and, I swear to God, he’s scenting me like an animal.

  “Hmm,” he says, looking straight into my eyes. They are the purest green I’ve ever seen, except for one red fleck in the upper corner of his right eye.

  He says nothing, but he says everything. I see worlds in his eyes; pain, love, promises, and desire. It’s like he finds that broken part inside me and pricks at it. It hurts. It feels good. It’s been seconds. It’s been hours. He blinks before taking a step back.

  He looks shaken for a second, his jaw tensing. Then a veil drops and he’s emotionless, distant. I want to say something, but, before I can, he says, “Hmm,” releases my hand, turns, and walks away.

  A leggy blond in a gypsy dress runs over to him. “Thank you so much for this opportunity,” she says. “How can I ever repay you?”

  “Work hard,” he says. “That’s how,” but his jaw relaxes and he smiles. She moves her arm around his back and he puts his over her shoulder as they pose, her arm outstretched for a selfie.

  He’s gone again, just like that, back out to finish searching for his team. I still feel him, though. It was the weirdest experience I’ve ever had. I try to calm the shaking in my hands, to no avail, and I can’t eat another bite.

  “Mia Phoenix,” says a production assistant.

  “Yes?”

  “You can go back to the hotel now. You need to be here at seven am for the team shoot. You’ll have your close-up taken and then the group photos.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I say, getting up. Was I waiting for that? For Kolton Royce to come out and talk to me? What else could it have been?

  * * *

  The next morning I have to leave Riley with the staff sitter while I get made up. They have me change into the same outfit I’ve been wearing for the past few days, and the dreaded, tall boots I’ve grown to hate.

  They take several shots of me smiling and standing in front of a blue screen. Afterward, Riley and I wait for the group portion. I don’t want to leave her with the staff sitter all day. Usually I go on early and we get to go back to the hotel. But today turns into tonight as I watch the other teams do the scene and leave.

  Blaire, my New York roomie, made it onto Team Pulse. Somehow that seems like the perfect place for her to be. I mean, Pulse’s wardrobe is anything but boring. Last night over room service, she told me she hasn’t interacted with Pulse at all since joining his team. I’m wondering why I’ve seen Kolton so many times, talked to him, too. It’s weird.

  Team Kolton has to wait for hours longer; I get Riley some pizza from the food service table, and she and I play ro-sham-bo. That gets old, though, and I’m getting anxious.

  “Excuse me,” I say to a production assistant lady walking by. “Why is our group still waiting?”

  “Kolton Royce isn’t here yet,” she says. “He’s running late.”

  “Oh, okay. Thank you.” I wonder what he’s doing. And it’s funny how we all call him by his first and last name. Do I do that with all celebrities? Yeah, I guess I do.

  Riley, sick of playing her Pokémon game on my phone, lies down on the couch and falls asleep. I’ve been writing lyrics. It’s actually been a productive day for me, three songs.

  Green eyes with a red fleck keep passing along my thoughts.

  “You need to head over to the stage in fifteen for group shots.” When I look up, one of the production assistants is standing in front of me. I’d completely zoned out.

  “Is there anyone who can stay with Riley?” I ask.

  “No. The staff sitter leaves at five pm. Don’t you have any family here?”

  “She’s my only family,” I say. To be honest, the thought of how competing on this show is going to impact Riley makes me panic again. There’s no one to take care of her, just me. I start to shake. What if I have to drop out?

  An older woman comes over and whispers to the production assistant, who turns and walks off. “Hello,” she says to me. “I’m Deloris Taylor. Mr. Royce has sent me to help you with your sister,” she says, warmly.

  “I’m sorry?” I say. “Mr. Royce? Oh! Kolton Royce.”

  “Yes, I’m a credentialed, multiple subject teacher, fully background checked,” she says, as she hands me a folder. I look over everything and she’s got an amazing resume. I’m not very good at math, but it looks like she’s got nearly thirty-years experience.

  “So, you’ll be, like, a nanny?” I ask.

  “Yes, exactly,” she says, and smiles.

  “Does he do this for all of his team, or—?”

  “No, actually. I was surprised to get the call from his assistant this afternoon. Usually I’m hired by the production company, but he took care of this personally.”

  “Oh—um, okay. Well, thank you,” I say. Why is he doing this? Did he find out about my parents already? Does he feel sorry for me? I feel bare all of the sudden, vulnerable. My feet start itching inside my boots.

  “No problem. We can go over her schedule when you get back. I’m going to keep her very busy.”

  “I know we’re going back to Sacramento for the break between the taped and live shows. We’ll figure that out once we get there, I guess.”

  “I believe you’ll still need my help then, right? I can travel with you.”

  “Sure. I mean, I can’t think that far ahead. But, for now, she loves going to the park,” I say, looking at Deloris’ round glasses and her short blonde hair. She reminds me of a grandmother, all soft and gentle—if I’d ever had one. I’d never met my mom’s mom. She’d died when I was a baby. And they’d never let us around Dad’s mom.

  He’d told me later that she was a bad alcoholic and a hoarder. Child Protective Services checked her out after the fire. It was found that: “The home environment of the only living grandparent is insufficient, unhealthy, and unsafe for a child occupant.”

  That’s why she was given to me, or allowed to stay with me, I should say. I was eighteen, after all, just by a few months. I run my fingers over Riley’s temple, lean down and kiss her. I straighten the jacket I’d laid over her before standing up and walking toward the stage again.

  “Thank you, Deloris,” I say, as she sits down on the couch next to Riley.

  “She’ll be fine,” she says, as she pulls a book out from her nanny bag. I idly wonder what she has in there. My make-up is touched up and I’m sent to stage right. I know there are sixty-four of us and four teams. How many of us are in each team?

  After counting twice, I’m the sixteenth on Team Kolton. Everyone is chatting, looking excited. I stand back a little, put my head down, and wait.

  “Hey, what’s your name?” I look up and there’s a tall, cheerful brunette staring down at me. She reminds me of my best friend, Kaya, only taller. “I’m Brianna,” she says, briefly taking my hand. “Mia,” I say. “I know my hands are shaking.”

  “Mine, too,” she winks. “No worries. I didn’t even expect to get this far. Everything else is just whipped cream on top,” she says, and I smile. It feels like a relief.

  “Some of these people really think this is their big break. I know better,” she says.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “It’s a reality show, not a real competition. We were cast for these parts, to some extent. I mean, the silhouette auditions were real, but there were a lot of great singers that were passed on for stupid reasons during the call backs,” she tells me.

  “Like, ‘cause they didn’t have a story?’” I ask.

  “Yeah, that, or their look
s weren’t right.”

  “Attention Team Kolton,” an older white haired gentleman announces. “I’m Jackson Diles, the executive producer of The Stage, and I’d like to be the first to officially congratulate you on having made it on to a team.

  “There are a few things I’d like to go over with you all. First, we have a record contract as well as a confidentiality agreement that you all must sign.

  “The record contract is because your songs will be recorded in the studio about two weeks ahead of time. The songs are released the night of the live shows. You will be singing the songs live, but we release the studio version on iTunes.

  “We need to control your image. That means you are not to talk to the media at all until after the taped shows air in August. Also, there is to be no contact between the team and the coaches outside the show, unless it’s in the nature of promotional work we approve of.

  “What I’m saying, to be blunt, is there is no dating of one’s coach or any of the other coaches on this show,” he says, looking specifically at me. “You will automatically be released from your contract if you don’t abide by your contractual agreement.”

  I feel heat rising on my cheeks and a little sweat forming on the back of my neck. What’s going on? Am I just feeling paranoid?

  “We’re going to bring Kolton in. The cameras are rolling. In fact, you should always believe that the cameras are rolling.

  “We are utilizing all the footage we have to give our viewers more of a behind-the-scenes perspective of this show than any other singing competition, give it a more ‘reality’ feel to it. We’d like to see him interacting with his team, and then we’ll take some stills. Is everyone ready?”

  “Yes,” I say, along with the other fifteen. The lights turn up and hum, a soft current of energy igniting us as Kolton enters from stage left. He takes my breath away. I move to the back of the group as he’s surrounded by his minions.

  I’m not some groupie. I’m not going to get myself kicked off the show. I won’t sleep around to get to the top. I need this. I want him to take me seriously. I need a real record deal. Bad.

  As he moves in my direction with all of his hotness, I force myself to feel cold. He starts shaking hands with the members of his team.

  I feel like hiding. But he hones in on me, and as he takes my hand, I look behind him, not into his eyes. I’m smiling, but just past him so the camera will see, and I won’t look like a frigid bitch.

  He squeezes my hand tighter. “Look at me,” he whispers.

  Shit! My eyes dart to his, quickly, and then back away. But he doesn’t move to the next person. He holds tight to my hand, making it obvious he wants me to look into his eyes.

  When I do, it’s in defeat. I’m angry and I glare at him. His jaw is tight. “I sent you someone to help with your sister.”

  “Thank you,” I say, trying to pull my hand away from his.

  “Still working on it,” he says.

  “On what?”

  “On earning your trust,” he says, his jaw tightening again as he lets go, smiles for the cameras, and moves on to the next person.

  In his wake, I’m completely shaken. I’d like to put my hands on my knees to get a good breath; I feel faint.

  What the hell is going on? I’m on a team with someone so unnerving that I don’t know how I’m going to keep my head on right.

  “Okay, that was good,” says Jackson. “We need some stills. Let’s get in two rows, guys in the back, and ladies in the front.”

  I’m walking to the edge of the first row when I feel someone grab my hand. I freeze when I realize it’s Kolton’s firm hand holding mine.

  “Stand next to me,” he demands. The room begins to spin. I think I have some deathly, ghost look on my face so, I pretend I’m alone. He’s not holding my hand, forcing me to stand next to him.

  “Let go of her hand, Kolton,” Jackson says.

  “What the fuck?” Kolton says. “I want her next to me. She’s my star. If you move her, I’m out.”

  “Okay, okay,” Jackson says. “We’re not moving her. She looks good front and center, but we can’t have you holding her hand. It doesn’t look right.” His words are authoritative, but an apology at the same time. Did I just wake up on some other planet? I look around at shocked team members as Kolton lets go of my hand. He’s smiling now, like a kid who’s just gotten his way.

  I look right at Brianna, the cheerful brunette, and she shrugs her shoulders, kind of like, ‘told-you-so.’ But the other’s, shocked, pissed off faces stare at me from all directions. This is bad. Really bad.

  I turn back toward the photographer as he snaps shots and they move a few people around. Not me. Me, he keeps me next to him—protectively.

  I force a smile, stick my elbow out and arch my back. I imagine I own the stage, that it’s mine, and all the people inside the camera’s lens love my voice, love me. That’s the only way I’m able to smile whole heartily.

  I do my job, but the world is spinning faster than usual. There might have been an earthquake in LA, because my knees are shaking.

  “Okay. We’ve got what we need. Thank you all. Contracts and master schedules are on the table on your way out. Be sure to read them carefully. Everyone is dismissed,” Jackson says.

  As I turn to walk away, the girl from yesterday in the gypsy dress bumps into me, hard. My nerves can’t take it, but I just keep walking.

  “Miss Phoenix,” Jackson calls after me. “We need to speak.”

  Kolton is standing next to him as I slowly approach. “Listen, you two,” he starts, “she may be your star, as you said. I know she’s an amazing find, but playing favorites is not going to be good for the show. It ruins the suspense,” he says and Kolton nods. “If they know you’re going to choose her during the Challenge Rounds, there’s no point even having them. After those taped rounds, it’s up to the audience. At that point, Kolton, you’re more than welcome to express your favoritism toward her, because it won’t be up to you anymore whether she wins.”

  “I understand,” Kolton says. “I apologize, Mia, if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he tells me.

  “I don’t think the rest of the team is going to like me much,” I mutter under my breath, rubbing my arm where I was just bumped. I’d already seen the dirty looks, too. I imagine a competition of this nature could get brutal.

  “I don’t want you worrying about that; it won’t happen again,” he says to me, a concentrated look on his face.

  His interest in me seems to be my singing, my talent. It doesn’t seem to be emotionally motivated. I don’t feel like he’s hitting on me; it feels different than that, although I don’t have much experience. I’m still as confused as ever.

  “It’s fine. Thank you for giving me this opportunity, I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t,” he says, in that smooth way he has with the corner of his mouth tilted up. It melts me, like I’m cold one moment and a puddle the next. That’s how he does it, gets so many women. I don’t have time for this kind of game. I’m here for a reason and he’s not going to ruin my reputation or my chance at a music career.

  I nod to both of them while twisting my fingers and make my way toward stage right. I feel him behind me, so I walk faster. I just want to get to Riley and go back to the hotel room. I know I can’t go home now, but a very persistent part of me wants to go back to our rented apartment, to my own bed. To regular life.

  “Your contract,” says a woman from behind a table I’d nearly bolted by. I stop and pick up the pen. As I sign the first page, he walks past me.

  I can finally take a breath. I initial the highlighted spots she points out and the last page, and pick up the master calendar. I look it over: in two more weeks they film the Challenge Round. There’s a few months break between the taped and live rounds. Those start in November. The live rounds go until just before Christmas. This is going to take up the better part of the year.

  I need to think one day at a time, so I don’t over
whelm myself. Tomorrow I get to record my song and the scene shoots leading up to the actual taping. It seems they give us a short time to tie up loose ends in our lives before the next round.

  When I walk back to Riley on the couch, Kolton is already there talking to Deloris.

  God, how am I going to get Riley back to the hotel room?

  It would be horrible to wake her up and make her walk. Deloris comes toward me, “Mr. Royce wants to carry her and give you a ride back to the apartment,” she whispers.

  She must mean the hotel. It’s kind of weird, but this will give us a chance to talk alone so I can let him know I have no intention of sleeping with him to get ahead. I look past her. He’s waiting for me to say yes and I nod, almost imperceptibly. I wonder, can I get in trouble for him carrying my sister to our room?

  He smiles and picks up Riley, her legs are dangling over his arm and her back resting on his other arm. She stirs, but stays asleep. I pick up my bag and check my phone. It’s 10:28 pm, well past her bedtime.

  “Thank you, Deloris,” I say.

  “No problem at all,” she confirms, as I turn to follow Kolton toward the exit. The hotel is very near the set. We only need to take the shuttle to just outside the gates, but there’s a black car waiting for us when we walk outside.

  A man opens the door and Kolton slips inside, still holding Riley. And as I slide in last, I’m wondering what I’ve just gotten myself into.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Call Me Kole

  Once inside the car, he sets her down and puts her seatbelt on. She snuggles up against him and he puts an arm over her shoulder. If she only knew she was doing this, she’d probably say, “Ewww, boys are gross!” in that way she does. It makes me chuckle.

  “Something funny, Mia?” he asks, his face half shadowed as the car begins to move forward.

  “Riley hates boys,” I say. “She’d be so pissed if she knew she was nestled up to you like that.”

  “Well, it can be our secret,” he says, and a chill runs up my spine. I want out of this car, now.