by Marisa Logan
I sat there, clutching my guitar, unable to find my voice. I was shaking, and I was pretty sure I was going to throw up. I was stupid. I was so, so stupid. I hadn't thought that this new recording gig and my identity as The Faceless Soprano would ever be linked. No one at Grace's Goodies had ever recognized my singing, so I had never realized I might be found out. Plus Ashe had told me I'd be recording new songs when I got a real contract. I'd just assumed that no one would ever know that my new songs were written and performed by the same person who'd been posting videos on YouTube since I was a teenager.
Ashe smiled at me, gesturing animatedly with his hands. “You're going to be a star, kiddo. A giant star!”
I looked up at him, my face etched in a frown. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I'm sure, Maddie darling. You've got talent, there's no denying that.”
“No, I mean...” I sighed and set my guitar back in its case. “I mean, The Faceless Soprano. She can't become a star.”
He looked at me like I'd said something crazy. “What are you talking about? You're already a hit. I checked your stats.” He pulled out his smartphone and looked over my YouTube page again. “Hundreds of videos, over a million subscribers. Even your average videos score a few hundred thousand views. But the big ones?” He let out a delighted sound as he scrolled through the page. “A million views. Five million. Fifty on that sweet little number you just played me.”
I shrugged. “It's just the internet. People get millions of views on videos of their kids acting stupid when they come home from the dentist.”
He leaned forward so he could look at me eye to eye. “Maddie, you listen to me now.” There was a dark glint in his black eyes, like staring into the abyss. “You're something much more special than any of that. You just need to stick with me, and you'll be a hit. Radio, television, live concerts. I'll get you on Opera, book you as host of Saturday Night Live.”
The whole idea frightened me. It was just too big. But at the same time, it was exciting. “You're exaggerating,” I said.
“Baby doll, I never exaggerate. Not when it comes to business.” He reached out and took my chin between his fingers, tilting my face up towards his. Our eyes locked. I thought he was going to kiss me. I started to lean forward.
But instead he just smiled at me and said, “Your sweet face is going to be the biggest hit since American Idol went on the air. There are people out there who would sell their souls to be this famous.”
“Really?” I looked up at him, breathless. “I mean, I guess I would.”
“You guess?” He frowned at me.
“I mean, of course I would.” I turned away, brushing my bangs back out of my face.
He reached out and turned my face towards him again. “You would what?”
I shivered. There was something in his eyes in that moment. Something frightening. I was scared that if I tried to pull away, he might do something to me. Something dangerous. I knew that was silly, but I couldn't help it.
“You would what?” he asked again.
I swallowed. “I'd sell my soul to be famous.”
He grinned. “What does that mean to you? To 'be famous'? You're already famous, in a way. What's the one goal you want most of all? What is that one thing you'd really sell your soul for?”
I had to think about that. What did my music mean to me? Normally when people asked, I gave them the indie, artsy, hipster answer. That my music was about expressing myself, about my inner secrets, about the pains no one else could know. But anyone could express those things without being famous.
What did my music mean to me? What did I want, more than anything else? Ever since the first day I'd posted a video as The Faceless Soprano?
Deep down, the answer was simple.
I wanted to be loved.
My voice trembled as I tried to speak. Ashe held me in his gaze, unblinking, waiting. I cleared my throat and struggled to find my words. “I want people to tell me they love me. I...I want to hear screaming fans shouting my name. I want to know...”
“Know what?”
I looked down, ashamed at my vanity. “I want to know that I'm really good, that I'm the best. That people love my music. That they're devoted to me, asking for my autograph, everything. I'd...I'd give anything to know what that feels like.”
“Including your soul?” His eyes bore into me like he was appraising the very soul he spoke of.
“Including my soul.” I swallowed, feeling a weight on my shoulders.
He took my hand and shook it. “Done.”
“Done?” I frowned at him. His hand felt cold in mine. Like stone.
“Baby doll,” he said, leaning close and whispering intimately into my ear, “I'm going to give you everything you ever dreamed of.”
Chapter 8
The next few weeks went by in a blur. Ashe had me down at the recording studio several days a week, recording songs that he could pitch to different record labels. He kept saying that he was trying to get interest from multiple parties in the hopes of a bidding war to drive up the price. I didn't really care about any of that. It wasn't about the money. I mean, it would have been nice if I ended up being able to quit my job after all of this, but I didn't need to be rich.
My secret desire, deep down, was to be loved.
Ashe and I spent a lot of evenings together, going over business. We had to decide which of my original songs were good enough to end up on an album. I was still worried that I wouldn't get a contract at all, but Ashe acted as if it were all already guaranteed. He spoke about my future as if he could already see it, and knew that it was his job to make it happen.
Every time I saw him, I wondered if today would be the day we crossed the line from business to pleasure. He was so passionate, so sure of himself, and so confident in me and what I could do, that it was inspiring. I kept secretly working on “I Never Asked” when I was home alone, trying to get all of the words just right. But I didn't know if I could ever play that song for him. Then again, like the lyrics said, I'd never know unless I tried it.
I sat in Ashe's office one afternoon, going over a few offers we were considering, when I decided I couldn't keep my feelings inside any longer. He was reading over some legal details that went over my head, but I wasn't really listening. I was looking at his face, wishing those dark, enveloping eyes would look up from the contract and capture me, holding me in their embrace.
He glanced up at me, and something in my expression made him smile. “What is it, baby doll?” He reached across the desk and took my hand.
I licked my lips, trying to figure out how to say what was on my mind. Every day I felt like he was flirting with me, from the pet names he called me to the simple yet tender touches we shared. But I couldn't tell if I was imagining things. He hadn't brought up romance since our first awkward blind date. It was possible he only thought of me as a client now, and he might not want to cross that line.
“It's...nothing,” I said, laughing it off. I looked away, trying to hide the redness that crept into my cheeks.
He squeezed my hand, smiling at me. “There's something on your mind,” he said. “But you just wait until you're ready. I'm not going anywhere.”
I looked back over at him. There was a quiet comfort about his presence. He could be flashy and full of energy when we were talking about work, but in the moments in between, he was softer, more gentle. It was nice not to be pressured into talking. I didn't do well under pressure.
We were quiet for awhile longer, except for going over details of the contract. Finally, I said, “It's just that...sometimes I think about...about us.”
A smile spread across his lips. “And what about us is it that you think about?” He set the papers aside and closed the folder, giving me his full attention.
“Well...” I looked down at my lap, then peered up at him through my bangs. I chewed on my lip while I searched for the right words. “I guess...whether there is an 'us.'”
“Oh there most definitely is.�
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“Really?” My eyebrows shot up and I sat a little straighter. “What, umm, what kind of us?”
“What kind do you want there to be?” He got up and walked around the desk, then sat on the edge of the desk right in front of me. He took both of my hands in his and waited.
I thought about doing something bold. For a moment I imagined sweeping all the papers off his desk and asking him to take me right then, right there. I was wearing a short skirt, and that hadn't exactly been by accident. But then I worried about the mess of papers all over the floor, and the possibility that we'd be awkwardly cleaning it all up after he rejected my advances.
It's not that I'm shy, I just didn't want to make a mess.
I looked up at Ashe, hoping he'd make the first move. But somehow, I knew he wouldn't. Partially because we were in a business relationship, and he might feel like he was taking advantage of me or using his position to get something out of me. But partially because I could tell it was just his nature. He was the type to guide someone, support them, help them achieve their goals. But he couldn't do everything for someone else, no more than he could sing my songs for me.
If I wanted this, I was going to have to make the first move myself.
I looked away, studying my hands in my lap. “Maybe we should finish up with the contracts.”
Ashe sighed. I couldn't look up at him, fearing I'd see disappointment in his face. He traced his fingers through my hair, ever so slightly, sending a shiver through me. Then he returned to his chair and picked up the contracts, and it was back to business as usual.
I'd told Ashe once that I wanted people to love me. To be devoted to me.
I wondered if he realized that I wanted the same thing from him.
Chapter 9
Before I knew it, I had a contract. It was full of stipulations about my big reveal, that I was forbidden from telling anyone I was The Faceless Soprano until we did it officially, and very publicly. I also had a twelve song guarantee, all of which had to be new, original music. The record label would set up CD sales, MP3 downloads, and have my songs streaming on Pandora, Spotify, and all the other major online music sources. And to start it all off would be a live on-the-air performance on The Sheryl Kenner Show, where The Faceless Soprano would take off her mask for the first time.
“Do I have to, I don't know, wear an actual mask?” I asked, frowning.
“No, no, baby doll,” Ashe said, smiling reassuringly. “It's just an expression. They'll have you waiting backstage. They'll introduce you. You'll go out there, sing your song, all in front of a live studio audience. Then there's an interview, and then you're done.”
He traced his fingers down my arm, trying to soothe me. I felt like I was going to throw up, and it was still two weeks away from the TV performance. I felt like I would have preferred a real mask. If people never saw my real face, they couldn't judge me.
But then again, if they never saw my face, how could they love me?
“You're going to do fine, Maddie.” Ashe pulled me into his arms and held me close. Like the first time we'd hugged, this was far more intimate than a hug between friends. He rubbed my back, and his hands rested just above my waist. I ached for him to slide his hands lower, touching me, taking advantage of me. I pulled him tighter, pressing my breasts against his chest, hoping to spark a reaction.
Then the moment passed and he pulled away. He sat back behind his desk and gave me the final paperwork to be signed. I scrawled my name across the pages, feeling like I was signing my soul away. Maybe I was. I hadn't been back down to Grace's cafe in months, and I felt like I'd lost touch with the indie music scene and the friends I had there. Maybe I'd sold out. But this was what I wanted.
If I had to trade my soul to feel the love and adoration of my fans, it would be worth it.
Two weeks later, I stood backstage on the set of The Sheryl Kenner Show. I'd been watching the show every day for the last two weeks, trying to get a feel for what it was like. She didn't have any other live music acts on those episodes, though, so I felt a bit lost. I never used to watch Sheryl, since her show was on at a time that conflicted with my work schedule at the vegan cafe. Of course, I'd quit that old job as soon as I'd signed my contracts and gotten my sign-on bonus. That had been one of the scarier moments of my life, giving up the safety and security of a full-time job for a big time recording gig.
What if I didn't make it? My hands twisted in the folds of my skirt as I waited backstage for my name to be called. I had one recording deal, sure, but there were plenty of One Hit Wonders out there who had their fifteen minutes, then disappeared. A year from now, if my music didn't take off, I could end up back at Demeter's Harvest, begging the manager for my old job back. Ashe had promised me that would never be true, that I was going to be a star, but I still worried.
I worried more about the song I was about to sing. I'd finally worked out the finishing touches of “I Never Asked,” and I'd decided that today would be the song's big debut. Revealing my deepest feelings right alongside revealing my identity to the world. Millions of people would be watching The Sheryl Kenner Show. The Faceless Soprano's website had been abuzz about this day for weeks, with the message boards filled with excited fans speculating about who I was, what I would be like, whether I was pretty or ugly. There were plenty of trolls, too, calling me a sellout and telling me I was going to burn in hell. I ignored them, though, and tried to focus on the love and adoration of the fans who supported me.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I wasn't paying attention to Sheryl's voice coming from on stage. Before I knew it, she was announcing me. “And here she is, revealing her true face live for the first time on The Sheryl Kenner Show...The Faceless Soprano!”
My knees locked in place. I couldn't move. The stage manager gave me a gentle push and quietly mouthed, “You're on!”
I started walking forward. For a moment, the lights over the set blinded me. I focused on the microphone set in the center of the set. Sheryl stood a few steps behind it, leading the applause. It was deafening.
I looked out across the studio audience. There were more people than I'd imagined. Hundreds. They were screaming, shouting my name, crying out their adoration. A few people waved signs and banners with “We Love The Faceless Soprano” and other adulations etched across them. I couldn't help but smile.
A line of teenage girls stood up near the front, held back by a few members of the stage crew who were making sure the audience didn't rush the stage. They waved their arms at me and squealed. I flashed them a smile and waved at them.
“She saw me! She waved at me!” one girl shouted.
Another cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “I love you!”
My heart felt tight in that moment. This is what Ashe promised me. What I'd been waiting for. They hadn't run away when they saw my face. They wanted me. They adored me.
I felt cold inside, but warmth spread across my skin. Like I had no other source of life, of warmth, than my screaming fans. They were everything. All I'd ever wanted.
I raised both hands and turned in place, waving to everyone. Drinking in their adoration. Letting their applause and their screams fill me with life.
I glanced to the side and saw Ashe standing just off stage. He was cloaked in shadows, and only his eyes were clearly visible. Deep pools of black agate, holding me in his gaze. A wicked grin spread across his lips.
It was in that moment I knew. That I understood the price I'd paid to be here today. I felt it as clearly as I felt the void inside my chest. I truly had given up my soul in order to achieve this perfect, shining moment.
And listening to the cheers of my fans, of The Faceless Soprano's fans, I couldn't care less about what I'd lost. The price had been worth it.
A stagehand brought me my guitar. I slung the strap over my shoulder and settled it in place. There was a stool, but I didn't sit down this time. Somehow it seemed wrong to sit.
I stood before the microphone and closed my eyes. I t
ook a deep breath. The audience quieted, but there was a buzzing energy just beneath the surface. Almost like they were still applauding with their hearts and souls instead of their hands.
I raised my hands to the strings and did something I never did while performing. I opened my eyes, looked out into the crowd, and met the gazes of my adoring fans.
Then I started to play.
My voice carried throughout the studio. Every eye was on me. The people in the audience made my voice stronger, made every line of the song ring out true. I poured all that I had into it, into this one moment. I tore off my mask and threw it down, putting my entire being into this performance.
When I got to the end of the song, some urge made me change the last lines, the lines I'd tweaked and refined over and over again until I'd thought I had them perfect. Now I knew that they had been wrong all along. I felt a swelling in my chest as I sang out loud, “I never knew I'd long...to feel your tender touch. Never knew I'd crave your closeness. Never before...but now I know I'm yours!”
My eyes slid to the side and I met Ashe's gaze from across the studio.
“But now I know,” I sang, then the guitar stopped, I paused for a beat, and I smiled. “And now...I'll try it.”
The audience exploded. I pulled the guitar strap over my head, already moving towards Ashe. I handed the guitar to a stage hand and nearly broke into a run. The audience applauded louder, hooting and hollering, crying out for me. They cheered when I threw my arms around Ashe's neck and eagerly pressed my lips against his. Our first kiss was met with even greater applause, people crying out, “Ooooh!” and “Woooo!” Their cheers encouraged me to even greater passion, my tongue parting Ashe's lips. He held me up, his arms tight around my waist, and I bent my legs back and up off the ground until I was fully supported by his embrace.
When he finally set me down he whispered in my ear, “There's time for that later, my little starlet. You've still got a show to do.”
