by John, Ashley
As she was about to run for the door, Nolan gripped her wrist, spinning her around and pulling her close to his body. He planted his lips firmly on hers and kissed her forcefully and passionately.
“I'll see you tonight,” he pulled away from the kiss and bit his lip.
“Tonight,” she nodded, panting at the same time, lips still wet.
With one final kiss, he let go and showed her to the door, not letting his eyes leave hers until she managed to fiddle the key in the lock.
After a quick shower and change, Marcus banged just as expected, filled with panic. He was half surprised to see her there, and equally surprised that she was alone. It didn't take long for him to pull his phone out.
“I went down to the pool earlier and managed to get a signal.”
“Good for you,” she shouted as she blasted her hair off with the tiny dryer in the bathroom mirror.
In the reflection she saw Marcus smugly hold out his phone. On the screen stood a beautiful woman in a flowing gold dress posing elegantly for the camera. It took Delilah a moment to realize that the elegant and beautiful woman was her.
“TMZ, E!, BuzzFeed, Fox...they're all running the same story. 'Delilah White and mystery hunk attend Madrid's Annual Fine Art Gala ahead of her big performance'.”
She tried to hide her shock at the media picking up on the story so quickly, but she shouldn't be surprised. She couldn't sneeze in LA without somebody catching it on camera.
“I don't care,” she shrugged.
“Tony does,” he tapped on the screen to show her over a dozen angry texts in capital letters which she didn't bother reading.
“Good for Tony! Tony isn't here.”
“But he's still your manager!” Marcus snapped, “He's blaming this on me saying I should have a tighter leash on you.”
“Leash?” she threw the dryer onto the counter, letting the wire retract and pull it back into its stand on the wall, “I'm not a fucking dog, Marcus.”
“He's not happy De,” his voice dropped as he read over the texts again, “he's really not happy.”
“Like I said, I don't care,” she tried to sound strong, but her stomach turned.
She tried to imagine how much trouble she'd be in once she was back in LA.
“That's not the worst bit,” Marcus whispered, “they're running another story.”
If it wasn't for Delilah's curiosity, she would have told Marcus not to tell her., “spit it out.”
“There's a quote on TMZ from André. A pap showed him the pictures of you and Nolan linking arms and he said that he was going to fight for you.
Delilah almost snorted with laughter.
“I'm not his to fight for,” she snapped angrily.
Snatching the dryer, she carried on blasting her hair, making sure to send spurts of hot air in Marcus' direction.
“He said, and I quote 'I won't let a man with glasses take my beautiful Delilah. She is the one I will marry'.”
Delilah couldn't contain her laughter this time. She thought about all of the times they'd spent together, and how much of that time they'd spent alone. They usually went to bars and restaurants, occupied by an entourage and an army of chasing paparazzi. The time they did spend together was usually spent naked. She hadn't even had sex with Nolan, but he'd made her feel more alive than a quickie with a deluded French model.
“I don't want him anywhere near me,” she stopped drying and made fierce eye contact with Marcus, “you don't give him this hotel's address, you don't tell him about Nolan and you don't let him anywhere near me. Understand?”
“Delilah, you know I-”
“Understand?” she growled through gritted teeth.
Marcus dropped his eyes and nodded. He stuffed his cell into his pocket and scurried out of the bathroom, leaving Delilah to dry her hair alone. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, and imagined Nolan next door. She hoped and prayed that he didn't have a secret addiction to gossip websites.
***
They arrived at the studio with plenty of time to spare. Marcus kept his mouth shut and only spoke when Delilah spoke to him. She felt bad that he was taking it so badly, but he needed to remember which side he was on, and she was sure it wasn't hers.
Quickly, she was sat to the same dressing room as last time, and sat in the chair as the same stylists started to work on her. The little man with the ponytail started to apply her makeup, but he seemed even angrier and heavy handed than last time.
“Is the translator here yet?” Delilah asked Marcus.
“I don't think so, I'll go and ask the director.”
He disappeared, leaving Delilah alone with the team to create the pop star. Every time she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, she saw how extreme her makeup was looking.
“This isn't what you did last time,” she shot at the makeup artist.
She guarded her face to stop him applying more eye shadow, but he quickly slapped it out of the way to carry on.
“Don't you know who I am?” her voice trailed off to silence when she realized she hadn't said that seriously in a while.
In the mirror, she looked over to the small leather sofa where Nolan had been sat last time, and she was glad he wasn't there to see her retreating back into her diva ways.
The man barked something at her in Spanish and carried on with his work. Soon, she had a full bag of hair clipped into her head, curled and backcombed to within an inch of its life.
When Marcus returned, it was enough to push her over the edge.
“Translator?” she demanded.
Looking nervously at the ground, Marcus shook his head, “they are stuck in traffic. The director doesn't know when they'll get here.”
“Does this director speak English?”
“Kinda,” Marcus shrugged, “not very well.”
“Get him here, I need to talk to him,” she winced as the stylists from hell yanked at her hair, adding more hair than she thought her scalp could handle.
“I think he's busy -”
“Does he want me out on that stage? If you don't get him here, I'll go on that stage on live TV and I won't move my lips once. Go!”
Marcus scurried off, leaving Delilah alone with the stylists. She screamed at them to stop, and for once they listened to her. The makeup artist with the ponytail pulled a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and the other two stylists followed him out of the room, leaving her alone.
She slammed herself back into the makeup chair and stared at her reflection with hatred. If she looked like a clown last time, she looked even more like one this time. The man with the ponytail had done so much structure altering contouring, she didn't look vaguely like herself. She was looking more and more like the Photoshop'ed version of herself that the label plastered on her single covers. Normally, she wouldn't complain. She used to enjoy transforming into someone else by makeup or digital trickery, but this time was different. She couldn't put the genie back in the bottle. She was nothing more than a puppet, and she knew that now. Nolan had helped her see that.
“What is wrong?” Marcus dragged the director in the room by his arm.
He had a headset around his scalp, a clipboard in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. He didn't look the slightest bit interested in Delilah.
“I'm not happy with all of this,” she circled her finger around her face, “your stylists are making me look like something I'm not, but they don't speak a word of pissing English, so I can't tell them to stop.”
“My dear, they do speak the English,” he sighed, “you look fantastic. You be on stage in an hour to rehearse.”
“You're not listening to me,” Delilah could feel herself getting heated under the pounds of heavy makeup, “I don't want any of this. I want to look like me.”
The director looked up from the clipboard and sipped his coffee. He flicked through a few of the papers on his clipboard and pulled a photograph from the mix, handing it to Marcus to hand to Delilah. It was one of the heavi
ly edited promotional images they used to send out to the press.
“See, this is you,” the man walked over and held the picture up to Delilah in the mirror, “and this is also you. You look beautiful.”
“You don't understand,” she sounded defeated, “none of you even try to understand.”
“You want coffee?” the man asked, “I get you coffee. Chocolates?”
“Just go away,” Delilah waved her hand, “everyone just go away!”
She kicked the makeup counter in front of her and slammed her elbows onto it, dropping her face into her hands. She didn't care if she ruined the makeup, she just wanted to lock the door and stay there all night. The performance was the furthest thing from her mind.
When she lifted her head, the director was gone, but Marcus was stood behind her, nervously hovering with his cell in his hand.
“Why are you still here?” she let out a long sigh, “isn't there a cute boy you should be trying to have sex with?”
“De,” Marcus tilted his head and put his hand on her shoulder, “I don't like seeing you like this.”
“Get used to it,” she said, letting another sigh escape her mouth, “I don't want to do this anymore.”
“You're just having an off day, but you'll get through it. You love singing,” he rubbed her shoulder, trying to sooth her, but it was aggravating her more than anything.
“Exactly Marcus. I want to be a singer. I never wanted this,” she pulled at her gigantic hair, “I never wanted to be this puppet.”
“You're not a puppet De. We all care about you. Tony cares about you.”
“Tony cares about his bank balance.”
Tony was the first person to believe in her when she was 18, but since then, he'd turned from a father figure into a figure of control and power. Delilah was his prize pet, and he wasn't going to let anything get in the way of the pet making him money.
“Just get through today, and when we're home, you can talk to him. Try and compromise on something, yeah?”
“LA isn't my home,” she shrugged his hand off, “England is my home. London is my fucking home Marcus. Do you know how long it's been since I went home?”
“I don't -”
“6 months,” her voice trembled, “when did you last see your family?”
“Last week before we went to the airport,” he dropped his eyes from hers.
“How is that fair?”
“It's not but you're a -”
“A what? A star? A singer? I'm a paycheck. A cash cow.”
“C'mon De, just -”
“I'm done with this life Marcus. I'm exhausted. I've been doing it since I was 15. I'm 23 and I've only just got my big break, but people are never satisfied. They want me to work harder and get bigger. They want me thinner, and they want my hair bouncier and my makeup heavier. They want me to dance more and smile when asked. Do you know how tiring that is? I've just gone along with it, because I thought the people around me had my best interests at heart, but they were just distracting me with shiny things and luxurious places so I didn't notice them taking away my identity and my freedom.”
She closed her mouth and rested back onto the chair, letting her head roll forwards. Saying it all out loud had drained her. She had nothing else to give.
“Is there anything I can do? Is there anything I can get you right now?” Marcus rubbed the back of her neck.
There was only one thing she wanted.
There was only one person she wanted.
“Get Nolan,” she mumbled, “I want to see Nolan.”
Chapter 21
In between every stage of the rehearsal process, Delilah asked Marcus if he'd managed to get hold of Nolan, and every time he disappointed her. He'd tried ringing the hotel over and over, but nobody would answer, or his signal would drop out.
“Try again,” she spat at Marcus as one of the production team hooked the mic pack onto the back of her costume.
There had been some slight alterations to the costume since she'd last tried it on, mainly making it even smaller and more revealing. After she told her stylists she knew they could speak English, they couldn't hide their surprise and started to communicate with her. She insisted they give her some tape to tape the costume to her breasts so she didn't have an embarrassing reveal on live Spanish television.
He finished attaching the mic pack and handed her a pink glittery microphone. She rolled her eyes at the tackiness of it as the production members held out his hand, letting her know she had 5 minutes before she was due on stage.
“Well?” she called to Marcus.
He pulled the phone away from his ear and held his hands out, shrugging dramatically. She planted her hands on her hips as the makeup artists brushed her face with powders and rubbed glittery lotion onto her arms and torso. As they stood behind the stage, she was too busy thinking about Nolan to get nervous.
When she heard the presenter announce her name, she was suddenly dragged out of her daydream and thrown behind the opening stage door. Taking a deep breath, she had a couple of seconds to register her nerves before the music started and the doors slowly slid open.
Just as practiced, she walked down the stairs onto the stage, assisted by the male dancers, and when she hit her mark in the center of the stage, right in front of the judging panel of Spanish celebrities she didn't recognize, she opened her mouth and started to sing. When she hit the first big note of 'Fight 4 Love', the crowd jumped up and went crazy, and the judges started to clap along and cheer. She tried to block it all out, but she wasn't in the zone like she usually was. Her vocals were flawless, and the backing track wasn't drowning her out after her outburst at the last rehearsal, but she was finding it hard to remember any of the dance steps. The dancers kept giving her side glances as she fumbled around on the stage.
Delilah was grateful that she had natural singing ability, because she wasn't showing Spain that she could dance. Half-way through the song, it came to the part where she had to grind and sexy dance with one of the male dancers, and her memory suddenly triggered and the moves came flooding back to her.
As the second verse kicked in, she started to hit every mark, every move and every note with perfection that many pop stars would be jealous of. The crowd went crazy, and by the end of the song, they were jumping and whooping. The judges all stood up and clapped enthusiastically for the pop star they didn't know, and the presenter reappeared, letting her know it was her time to hurry off the stage.
She hovered for a second, and soaked in the applause before bowing and sending kisses into the crowd. She ran after the dancers, and they all hugged each other, ignoring Delilah completely. Marcus pushed through the hordes of people and wrapped his arms around Delilah's neck and pulled her into a hug.
“That was amazing!” he gushed, “Oh my god De, I haven't seen you perform like that before?”
“Are you kidding? I was off the entire first half!”
“If you were, nobody noticed. They were too busy hearing your voice. I never knew you could sing like that. Seriously, wait until you watch it back. You'll die!”
When Delilah went on stage, she forgot everything else and performed. She might have been in a daze for half of the song, but she had enough professionalism to carry herself and hide her lapse in memory. Usually, she hated watching herself back, but she was curious to see how she had done on her Spanish debut. Her tantrum from earlier had almost left her mind. The spotlight had bitten her, and her veins were pumping.
“Did you get hold of him?” Delilah asked Marcus, suddenly remembering Nolan.
Before he could answer, the director appeared and grabbed Delilah's arm before dragging her backstage.
“Interview time, we're filming early,” he mumbled, “c'mon.”
She knew there would be an interview, but she was told that it would be filmed after the show and she'd have a translator with her. She let herself be dragged and assumed that the translator was on a tight schedule so they were filming ahead of time.
/> Marcus trailed behind, but the entourage of makeup and hair stylists suddenly appeared to touch up what the energetic performance had melted away. They reached the small setup where the interview was taking place, but when she turned around to find Marcus, he was gone.
“Where's my assistant?” Delilah demanded.
“Doesn't matter,” the director snapped, pushing her into a chair.
He yanked the earpiece from her ear and unplugged it from the mic pack attached to the back of her costume, replacing it with another one. She assumed it was so the translator could talk to her.
“Is there anything I need to know?” she asked.
“No,” the director snapped before disappearing.
Somebody yelled something in Spanish and the set suddenly cleared. A woman in a black dress and a card in her hand appeared and sat in the seat opposite Delilah. The studio lights suddenly turned on, almost blinding her, and a man behind the camera started to count down in Spanish. When he reached 'uno' he suddenly went quiet and pointed to the woman. The sound of a theme tune played out in the distant, and the camera honed in on the female presenter. Another camera focused in on Delilah and a little red light switched on.
The woman started to speak directly into the camera in a happy voice, speaking fluent Spanish. In Delilah's earpiece, somebody else started speaking Spanish to her, making her press it harder into her ear.
The speaking in her ear stopped, but the woman turned to her, smiled and asked her a question. She wasn't speaking English. She waited for the translation. Nothing came. She pressed the earpiece tighter into her ear.
“Di algo!” an unknown voice shouted in her ear.
She stared at the woman and then glanced to the camera that was honed in on her. Squinting through the lights, she tried to see the director, but everything behind the cameramen was in complete darkness.
The presenter repeated the question and Delilah could hear the nerves in her voice.
It was then that it hit Delilah.
They were live.
