by Lacey Black
The lighting is subtle, but only for a moment. When I’m positioned center stage, the blinding lights flash and the familiar melody of Miranda Lambert’s “Mama’s Broken Heart” starts. I smile brightly at the first few rows of the audience since that’s as far as I can see and bring the mic to my mouth.
“I cut my bangs with some rusty kitchen scissors. I screamed his name ‘til the neighbors called the cops. I numbed the pain at the expense of my liver. Don’t know what I did next, all I know I couldn’t stop.”
I love this song. I love the lyrics, the sass, the drama. I especially love what is coming up. Part of being a performer, I’ve learned, is acting; being someone else for a short period of time. And this is the performance of a lifetime. I’m moving, I’m singing, I’m entertaining the audience to the best of my ability.
And here comes my favorite part…
“Powder your nose, paint your toes, line your lips and keep ‘em closed. Cross your legs, dot your I’s, don’t ever let them see you cry.”
The music drops off completely along with the lights. The massive room is bathed in pure darkness with the exception of minimal lighting at the stairs for safety. I spring into action, ripping off the top dress which was designed to breakaway easily. The second dress underneath is the exact same dress, yet this one is torn and tattered. I release the clip at the back of my head and my hair falls in a crazy mess of hairsprayed chaos. I kick off a single shoe, and toss it to the woman waiting just off to my left.
When the lights return–just a few short seconds later–I’m left unruly and disheveled on stage, just as the song reflects. My movements are choppy and hurried as I walk towards the edge of the stage, mic poised at my mouth to continue the song.
“Go and fix your makeup, well it’s just a break up. Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady. ‘Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together. Even when you fall apart, but this ain’t my mama’s broken heart.”
I stick the ending like a damn Olympic gymnast. The crowd doesn’t even wait for the music to fade. They are on their feet, cheering for me. Excitement and relief washes over me like a spring rain. I glance over and see Beau. There he is: the man I love. He’s standing at his chair with his arms raised high above his head in victory. My beaming smile surely matches the one I see on his gorgeous face.
Becker asks me questions, and I’ll be damned if I know what answers I give. I could have told him aliens invaded my body and I wouldn’t have realized it. My eyes remain locked on gray orbs of radiating excitement and pure love. I can feel it from twenty yards away.
And it’s the best feeling in the world.
Note to self: Sometimes you just have to let go and be free.
After spending last night following the broadcast with my mom and Eli, waking up with his little body next to mine was like a dream. When we go home to Chicago, I’m not sure I’ll be able to let him sleep in his own bed again. For now–or at least the next three nights–Eli will be snuggled securely against my body in my hotel room while mom sleeps in the second full-size bed in the room.
Today is the day.
The Rising Star Finale.
One show to determine my fate. The voting period is almost closed. The stage is almost set. One last performance–just for the fun of it.
I’m sitting down in the makeup chair, the tiny black spandex piece of material that they call a dress hidden beneath the cape. My leg is bouncing which only causes looks of annoyance to be thrown my way from Mary, my favorite makeup artist. The other artist, Sasha, preps her station beside me. I always cringe when I get the busty redhead with long manicured talons. Not only is her attitude snippy and she treats you like you’re a bother from the moment you sit in her chair, but she tends to go heavier on the black eyeliner than anyone without a streetwalker position listed on their resume wants to wear.
“Are you excited?” Mary asks as she brushes loose powder on my forehead.
“Are you kidding? I’m so excited, and I just can’t hide it,” I smart off, knowing that the petite blond will get a chuckle out of it. Mary is the queen of one-liners.
“You’ve got this in the bag, girl. I’ve been voting for you since week one on my smartphone,” Mary whispers and offers a wink through the mirror.
I’m just about the reply when the chair next to me moves and a new face appears in my peripheral vision. Holy. Shit. Nancy Wilson just sat down in the chair next to me.
“Hey! You must be Layne,” she says with a big smile.
Holy. Shit. Nancy Wilson just spoke to me. And she knows my name.
Note to self: Uhhhh…I got nothing. Holy! Shit!
“You are Layne, right?” Nancy says with a knowing smile. All the while I just gape at her like a freaking moron.
“Uh huh,” I finally choke out. Smooth, Layne.
“Well, Ann and I are super stoked to sing with you tonight. We’ve been rooting for you since the beginning,” she says casually as Eagle Talons starts working on her makeup.
“You have?”
“Sure have. We’re big fans of the show. We both actually cheered when you knocked Shawna out of the first round. I could tell right away that she was a crazy diva. But you? You’re more my style. You’ve got a natural talent that is pure and edgy. Your light will shine brightly if you let it, Layne. You need to just let go and be free. Let the music guide you and you can’t go wrong.”
Seriously, I have no words. All I can do is stare at Nancy freaking Wilson–my musical muse–and blink. My brain officially shuts down. I’m fangirling so hard right now, I’m afraid I won’t ever be able to speak again.
“Thank you,” I finally get past my dry throat.
“No, thank you for sending that girl packing not once, but twice,” she says with a wink before turning her attention back to the mirror. “Sorry we weren’t able to make it here sooner so we could practice for tonight. I know we’ll be rushed to run the song a few times before the broadcast starts, but I’m not worried. After you performed ‘Crazy On You’ a few weeks back, I knew that if anyone could pull off a quick rehearsal right before going on stage, it was you. And Beau says that ‘Barracuda’ is the perfect song for us to sing. I’m excited,” she adds.
“I can’t believe I’m going to share the stage with you. That right there is a dream come true.”
“Well, we’re honored to share the stage with you,” Nancy says as Mary removes my cape and prepares to send me to hair. “And we’ll meet you in the green room as soon as we’re camera ready,” she adds.
“Thank you,” I whisper for the second time before standing. My legs feel boneless and I’m afraid they won’t hold my body upright. I’m going to freaking fall flat on my ass right in front of Nancy Wilson. And Sasha will probably have her cell phone out quicker than a drunk takes that first sip of whiskey and broadcast that shit all over social media.
Heading towards the room where hair is done, I turn back and face a beaming Mary. “You’re the best, Mary.”
“Yep. Working in front of this mirror all day is something I can totally see myself doing,” she quips, causing Nancy and myself to bust up laughing. Sasha, on the other hand, looks as if she just sucked on a lemon.
“You’ve got this, Layne. Go win this damn show,” she says with a bright smile.
“Thanks. Well, I’m off like a prom dress,” I say with a wink before slipping away.
*****
Standing mid-stage with the Wilson sisters is the culmination of my time on this reality show. Performing one of my favorite songs with them is beyond epic. Sharing this stage, mere feet away from my musical inspirations is a surreal feeling. It’s like an out of body experience where you’re dreaming of standing naked in Times Square, but no one really sees you and keeps walking by. Except now, everyone and their little brother sees me. And, thankfully, I’m not naked.
Note to self: Get their autograph before they leave.
The distinctive voice of Nancy Wilson starts to sing the lyrics I could sing
backwards in my sleep. I watch starstruck as Nancy sings the first lines of the song. Her smile is wide as she looks at me expectantly to sing the next part.
“Smile like the sun, kisses for everyone. And tales, it never fails.”
Working the stage, I let go of everything: the stress, the drama, the show, the long nights in a claustrophobic hotel room, the coming and going until I’m dead on my feet. I feel the words and live the beat. It consumes me like a raging wildfire, nomadic and gaining in intensity as it devours everything in its path. I do what Nancy said and let go. I’m free.
“If the real thing don’t do the trick, no, you better make up something quick. You gonna burn, burn, burn, burn, burn it to the wick. Ooooo, Barra-Barracuda.”
Next thing I know, I’m standing at the back of the stage next to the drummer. He winks at me, my cue to dramatically give him a little shove. He steps away from the stool and hands me the drumsticks. Beau and I practiced this part endlessly over the past twenty-four hours, and I’m ready. Positioning the sticks in my hand, I take over where he left off. Nancy and Ann are each just off to the side of the drum set, bouncing their heads along with the beat while Ann plays along with me on her guitar. It’s an easy line of music to drum. I’m basically just repeating the same thing over and over. But I’m doing it. I’m playing the drums on the stage with the Wilson sisters.
Best. Moment. Ever.
The applause at the end of the song is eardrum-shattering. My ears ring, my breathing is labored, and my heart pumps feverishly in my chest, and you couldn’t scrape the smile off my face with a putty knife.
Of course, instantly, my eyes seek out Eli. He’s standing on his seat, cheering endlessly, next to my mom. I don’t even attempt to fight the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes. To have my family with me as I stand on this stage for the final time is humbling and heartwarming. To see the man I’ve come to love watching on is surreal and breathtaking.
Standing up from the stool, I join Nancy and Ann center stage and give the audience a bow. Beau’s sexy smirk is so bright you could probably see it from an airliner flying at thirty-thousand feet. With another quick bow, Becker says something to the crowd before the lights dim and the cameras are put on standby.
There it is. Done. My final performance on Rising Star.
*****
“Ladies and gentlemen, it all comes down to this. Your votes have been tallied and the results are in. Every single vote counted in what is probably the closest vote we’ve seen yet on the show. Three contestants remain, but only one will become the next Rising Star.” Becker beams at the camera as Ben, Jamal, and I stand just off to his right with our hands linked.
I can feel the nervous energy coursing from their hands into my sweaty palms, and vice versa. I’m barely breathing as I stand there on shaky legs and await the decision of the voting public. My stomach is a mess of nerves and excitement. If this is what a politician goes through before the votes are in–and continually go through it election after election–then I think I’ll pass. This nauseatingly stressful situation is for the damn birds.
Note to self: Never run for office.
“And now, it’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Who will be your Rising Star? Ben Atwood of Team Beau? Layne Carter of Team Beau? Or Jamal Jefferson of Team Felix? Let’s find out. Right. Now.”
The silence in the massive studio is deafening. It’s as if the entire world is waiting with bated breath to find out who the winner is. As Becker draws out the suspense, a few fans give in to the silence and shout a name. “Ben!” “Go Jamal!” “It’s Layne!” My grip on the hands I’m holding tightens as the answer is revealed to the host from within the confines of the white envelope.
“Your next Rising Star is…” I suck in a deep breath and hold it. Praying that my legs keep me upright, I lock eyes with Beau’s gray ones. “Layne Carter!”
I feel weightless, as I’m shaken, hugged, and lifted from the ground. I have no idea who is holding me, but I’m thankful to not have to stand at this moment. This surreal, incredible moment.
I’m swept from person to person on the stage before I eventually make my way to Becker. I can’t see through the sea of confetti raining down on the stage. My tears are real and my smile genuine as I try to soak up this incredible moment.
“Layne, tell me what it’s like to be the next Rising Star?” Becker asks, his arm firmly around my shoulder in support, which I’m incredibly thankful for. It’s probably the only thing keeping me from kissing hardwood right now.
“Becker, I have no words. I don’t even know what to say. This moment is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.”
“Tell me who is here with you today?” he asks.
“My mom, Grace, and my son, Eli, are here for me tonight, and I just wanted to tell them that I love them more than anything. And thank you to my friends back home in Chicago. Tiffany and the rest of the Chaser’s crew, thank you guys for your continued support.”
“Layne, let’s talk about your coach, Beau Tanner. What was it like working with Beau?”
“Incredible. When I entered this competition, Beau was the one coach that I really couldn’t see myself working with,” I say honestly, rewarding me with chuckles from the audience. “But that last split-second decision was probably the greatest of my life. Beau is amazing. Not only as a person, but as a coach, a vocalist, a mentor, and a friend. His advice was invaluable and indispensable for me as I advanced through the show.”
“Of course, no one can forget the rumors you and Beau were plagued with throughout the show. Anything to say to that?”
Before I can answer, I feel his presence. Without setting my eyes on him, I know Beau is there. And he’s close. His voice skims over my skin like smooth, soft cashmere, as his breath tickles the shell of my ear. Warmth in the form of Beau’s hand caresses along my hip as I slowly turn around. Without even thinking, I launch myself into his arms. The first thing I notice–besides the fact that I’m wrapped in Beau’s strong arms–is his smell. It’s intoxicating and comforting all at the same time. It’s familiar. It’s home.
“I knew you’d win,” he whispers against my ear.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I tell him honestly.
“That’s not true,” he says as he sets me back down on my feet. “You had it in you all along, babe. You did this. You. I just helped everyone see what was there all along.”
Without thinking, without caring who is watching, I kiss him. Right there in the middle of the stage on live television, I kiss Beau Tanner with everything I have, and everything I am. I pay no attention to the noise around us; the whispers and the giggles and the gasps are all but nonexistent. I kiss the man I love in celebration and in acknowledgement. With his hands weaved in my hair, Beau claims my lips, my heart, and my life right there in the middle of the stage.
A smile spreads across his lips as we slowly pull away. A small hand tugs on the hem of my skirt, causing me to release the man before me and turn my attention to the other man in my life–a much smaller man. Eli’s excitement is contagious as I pick him up, giving him the hardest squeeze I can manage without crushing his little body.
“Mommy! You did it!” he exclaims. The only response I can give him is a teary smile and gently rain kisses down on his adorable little face.
“I’m so proud of you, honey,” my mom says behind me. Without setting Eli down, I turn and throw my arms around my mom. She believed in me way before I believed in myself.
“I love you, Mom. Thank you for the nudge,” I tell her.
“Oh, you’re welcome, sweetie. I knew you could do it all along.” She gives me another fierce hug, wrapping her arms around both Eli and me. It’s so natural, so right. It’s been the three of us against the world for a few years now, but as I feel Beau place his warm hand possessively on my lower back, I know that we’re a trio no longer. Now, we’re a quartet.
Eli jumps from my arms straight into Beau’s. As I wave to the crowd through
the raining confetti and smile brightly for the cameras, I know that not many things in life will top this moment. With my son in one arm, Beau wraps his free hand around my waist and pulls me in tight.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, I guess we have our answer. I’m Becker James for Rising Star. Have a good night.”
Note to self: Closets are a pretty great place to hangout.
I’ve smiled and grinned my way through dozens of interviews and hundreds of photos. Through the whole thing, one person has remained by my side or just off to the side, never out of view. Even after he sent my mom and Eli back to the hotel to get some sleep, Beau’s presence hasn’t wavered. He’s my constant, my calm, in a moment of pure chaos.
When the madness starts to ebb, I finally find myself alone in the interview room with Beau. We both stare at each other through tired, glassy eyes. Before either of us speaks, Beau gives me a knowing smirk. That look, combined with that sexy lift of the corner of his lips, does crazy things to my lady parts. I find myself crossing and uncrossing my legs several times to try to alleviate the ache. When his eyebrow arches and disappears beneath the brim of his Stetson, I almost orgasm right there in the chair.
Beau is laughing at my evident discomfort when Gabby, who has been stationed outside the door running interference and organizing the plethora of interviews, pokes her head inside the room. “Hey, guys, you’re all done for the night.”
“Thank God,” I mumble as I take a drink from the bottle of water she brought me earlier in the evening.
“You’ve been awesome as always, Gabby,” Beau says as he stands up and stretches. The muscles in his arms flex while his shirt pulls from the waist of those sexy Wranglers. A sliver of tan skin is exposed and it takes every ounce of restraint I possess to not lean over and run my tongue along the bare flesh.
