by R. E. Blake
The privacy window slides up with a hum, hermetically sealing me in a cocoon of comfort, Bon Jovi wailing from hidden speakers and enough booze to down a regiment within easy reach. I settle for a Diet Coke and tie my shoes as the car glides away from the curb.
My phone vibrates and I check the screen. Melody.
Mel: You were mentioned on MTV.
Me: Really?
Mel: Your release party. Film at 11.
Me: Wow.
Mel: You bigtime, babee.
Me: Are you making this up?
Mel: Jealous.
Me: I don’t know what to expect.
Mel: Male strippers. Bieber. Both.
Me: In your dreams.
Mel: Is Sebastian going?
Me: Dunno. Been super busy.
Mel: Say hi if u c him.
Me: Will do.
Mel: Good luck.
Me: I’m not doing anything but showing up.
Mel: U r a star!
I settle back into the seat and play with my hair. I had it dyed jet black yesterday for the tour – the blondish roots had been showing for a good week, but I didn’t have any free time. It feels processed and slick, and still has the dye smell even after rinsing it and using a ton of conditioner. My nails are also black, and I debated wearing my lucky hat but fanned it at the last minute – no way it went with the glitter girl top.
Traffic is moderate on the way to the hotel, and we’re there in twenty minutes. We pull up to a side entrance and my stomach does a somersault – there’s a red carpet, a small throng of photographers, a larger one of fans held back with a velvet rope and some security guards, and a camera crew, all watching the limo arrive. Two spotlights are sweeping the night sky in total festive excess, and it dawns on me this is a really big deal – nothing like the small party I was expecting.
An attendant in a tux swings the door open and offers me his hand. I take it and step out of the car and a gazillion flashes blind me momentarily. I probably look like some nocturnal rain forest creature caught in a floodlight, and I blink as a cameraman nears, his lens pointed at me, trailing a young woman I recognize from MTV, microphone in hand.
“Sage! Tonight’s the big night! How does it feel to release your first album?” she asks, her voice suitably breathless, like she’s just run a mile to get here.
“Great. It’s a dream come true. I can’t wait to see what the fans think.”
“Well, I heard it about an hour ago, and I’m a total fan now. It’s really awesome.”
“Thanks.”
“Anything you want to say before you go in?”
I wave at the camera. “Just hi to everyone. Wish you were here.”
She grins. “Is that for someone special?”
I blush and look away. “Thanks for coming out.”
“You bet. See you inside.”
The guy in the tux is motioning for me to go to the double doors, where his twin is waiting with a bouquet of flowers. He hands them to me and I hold them like I’ve seen beauty queens do on TV. I feel like a complete fake.
But I don’t have enough time to think more about it, because then I’m through the doors and in a foyer. A young woman, all legs, wearing an impossibly tight black skirt and tux top, offers a beaming smile and gestures to another set of doors.
“Everyone’s waiting for you. Welcome!” she says, and pulls the nearest one open.
Music blares from a stage at the far end of the ballroom, where a band is playing an instrumental version of my second single. It’s dark, and I have a hard time making everything out until my eyes adjust from the glare outside. Then I see Saul sitting nearby and suddenly everyone’s standing at the twenty or so tables in the room, clapping like I just cured cancer. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, so I hold the flowers in the air and wave, smiling my performer’s smile and hoping somebody’s thought through what will happen when the music stops.
I don’t have long to wait to find out, because the band cuts off after thirty seconds and the lights come up. I look around in shock – my dad’s at the table with Saul and his wife, Ruby by his side, Terry across from them, Sebastian next to her, and…Ashton. I flush, remembering his message and that I blew him off. There are at least a hundred and fifty people in the ballroom, most of whom I don’t know, and they’re still applauding as Saul waves me over.
I approach and he hugs me, and then my dad’s on his feet and hugging me too. In spite of my best efforts I’m crying, but they’re tears of happiness and I’m laughing at the same time. Sebastian is next – he smells really good, expensive and musky – and then Saul’s wife is giving me a less enthusiastic hug. Finally Ashton gets into the act, and I’m totally embarrassed and feel awkward as I return the embrace, noting that he smells great, too.
The applause fades and the band starts playing an up-tempo dance tune. A microphone materializes in Saul’s hand and the band kills the music for a second time. A spotlight blinks on, freezing him in its glare, and me with him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s with sincere pleasure that I welcome our guest of honor, the future number one album recording artist in the country and an all-around exceptional talent…Sage!”
He sticks the microphone in my face and I grin. I can make out my band at the next table, seated with a collection of cute girls I’m guessing are dates. I clear my throat and squint at the room.
“Wow. This is a surprise and an honor. I want to thank everyone for coming…and especially Saul for throwing the party of the year!” I say, and it goes over well. More clapping and laughing, and then Saul has the mic again.
“All that talent and she’s sweet, too! All right, everyone. Drinks are on me. Enjoy yourselves, and let’s live up to Sage’s expectations for the party…of the century!”
The band kicks into high gear, and after a smattering of applause I take the seat next to my dad, who looks completely out of place in an obviously new shirt and jacket, his hair combed straight back off his lined, tanned face.
Sebastian leans toward me and tilts his mouth to my ear. “Welcome to the show, Sage. It all gets crazier from here.”
“I guess. This is…oh, my God. Is that Lo Key?” I’m staring at the table next to my band’s, where several thugged-out rappers are flashing bling and pouring champagne from a magnum in a chromed ice bucket.
“Sure. There are enough celebs here to give the Grammys a run for their money. You’re kind of a hot ticket, you know. Saul’s seen to that. I told you he was going to go all out. This will get coverage on the music and entertainment channels for a week.” He looks over at Saul. “The man knows this game better than just about anyone.”
“I’ll say.” I turn to my father. “Wow. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I was sworn to secrecy. Sorry. They wanted it to be a surprise.” He nods toward Ruby. “But your friend here set me up with tickets and a room, so don’t feel obligated to talk to me all night. I’m just thrilled to see you hitting the big time. I can’t tell you how proud I am. Your mother would have been, too…”
I’m not going to go down that road. “That’s great. Ruby’s the best. When did you get in?”
“Three hours ago. I’m flying out tomorrow after your show. Maybe we can have breakfast…?”
“Sure, Dad. Plan on it.”
Two more songs go by, and then following a snare drumroll, Saul moves to the stage and takes the spotlight. He points to a huge monitor on the far wall and the lights dim again.
“All right, everyone. I have a very special announcement. Tonight will be the debut of Sage’s first music video, and it’s being broadcast simultaneously on all the music channels. So put your hands together for the first single off her record, what’s sure to be the number one smash hit, ‘Another Lonely Night’!”
The screen flickers, and a famous music television logo appears in the lower right-hand corner. I look over to my left and see a camera crew filming the audience reaction, which heightens the sense of unreality I’ve felt s
ince arriving – it’s like the entire thing is staged, and I half expect everyone to get up and walk off the set when the cameras stop rolling. The first notes of the song float from the loudspeakers as a sweeping initial shot of the harsh desert wind blowing a tumbleweed across the dawn basin fills the screen.
I’ve seen the video enough times that it would be fine with me if I never had to see it again, but watching the expressions on the crowd’s faces sends a thrill up my spine. I glance over at Sebastian and we share a private smile. This is a tough crowd, yet they’re watching the video like kids on Christmas morning unwrapping presents under the tree. As the song plays out and draws to a close, the applause starts – genuine and uncontrolled and emotional.
Saul waves me to the stage, and I take a deep breath and walk to him, my shoulders squared, my chin up, as the clapping intensifies all around me. When I reach the stage, he helps me up and puts a bearlike arm around my shoulders, the microphone clutched in his hand.
“Well, how about it, people? Am I right or am I right? Whooo!” Saul hoots. His excitement is infectious. More applause, and then I lean into the microphone.
“So you really liked it?” I say with a small smile, and one of the rappers next to the band table yells out, “Hell, yeah, baby girl!” Everyone laughs, and then it’s time for giving credit where it’s due. Saul starts listing the people responsible for the video, and when he’s done, I thank Sebastian, without whom none of this would have been even a tenth as well done. Sebastian half stands as the crowd gives it up for him.
I introduce the members of the group and each takes a bow in turn. I finish with a plug for our show tomorrow night, and then the house band starts in with a bouncing calypso beat. Saul escorts me to the side of the stage as a young blonde woman with legs to her chin and a famous head of curly hair struts into the spotlight accompanied by two youths in gangster apparel, and the gathering goes wild. It’s Angie X, one of Saul’s biggest acts, and the beat shifts to the familiar strains of her number one hit. The rappers bounce around and start their bit while she does her interpretation of belly dancing. I’m blown away that she’s actually performing at my party, and that sense of the surreal again colors everything in a slightly out-of-focus light.
Ruby leads me to a quiet area off the ballroom, where the hostess from MTV wants to do an interview. Five minutes of softball questions gives her all the filler she needs, and after another sweep around the room, the camera crew packs it in, their job done.
I return to the table and order a soda, my head already starting to throb from the tension of the event. When it arrives I take two long gulps and set the glass down before going in search of a bathroom. I exit the ballroom and ask one of the two guards framing the doorway for directions, and he points to the end of the hall.
The relative quiet of the restroom feels good after the bombardment of music and applause, and I splash my face with cool water. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror looks like a wet dog, and I hastily dry myself and try to force my hair into some kind of compliance. I give up after a few halfhearted swipes with damp fingers and exhale before going back to the event.
A patch of green catches my eye through the glass on the right, where there’s a Japanese garden complete with impeccably trimmed trees and a little wooden bridge. After glancing around to ensure I’m unnoticed, I shoulder the glass door open and step out into the night air, which is cool and tinged with the vaguely smoggy taint that is Los Angeles’ trademark fragrance.
The music is booming from the ballroom, but it could be a hundred miles away as I sit on a stone bench and lean back, stretching my legs in front of me. I know that the party is a big deal and an honor and all that, but most of it’s lost on me. If anyone had asked, I would have said the number one thing they could have done is flown Derek in to make it complete, but as usual it never occurred to anyone to consult me. I love my dad, but right now the only thing on my mind is Derek, and how much it would have meant to him to be here with me tonight. After all, winning the contest had been his dream, not mine, and there’s still a part of me that feels like I stole it out from under him. I know it’s illogical, but I can’t shake the guilt that colors every one of these milestones, when my heart should be bursting with joy.
I close my eyes and take deep breaths, banishing the negative thoughts. They have no place here tonight, I insist silently, and I’ve almost convinced myself when the sound of the music increases for a moment.
Someone’s come through the door and is walking toward me. My eyes flicker open and I find myself gazing at Ashton, a half smile on his face, his hands in his pants pockets, and his bow tie askew.
“There room on that bench for two?” he asks, and I nod and slide over. He loosens his tie as he sits beside me and turns, fixing me with his intense blue eyes. “You never called me back.”
I shake my head and blink. “Yeah, well, it’s been an insane few days. Sorry. I meant to, but then other stuff buried me…”
“That’s okay. But you set a record.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the only girl who’s ever not returned my call.”
“Then it shouldn’t bother you. Either you don’t call many girls, or you’re so popular it’s only one in a thousand.”
He laughs, and in spite of myself I like the sound. “Well, it does, just a little. But what I wanted to say was congratulations. That song is going to make you famous. It’s incredible, and the video’s even better. You’re going to be bigger than…whoever’s really big these days.”
“Don’t really follow the whole music thing, huh?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Kinda.”
“I’m usually so busy working that I don’t have a lot of downtime for stuff like that.” He shrugs. “But I’m definitely a fan of yours.”
“That’s very sweet,” I say.
“I’ll totally pimp you out to everyone I know.”
“Even the thousands of female callers?”
“Especially them. I’ve got something like six million Facebook followers. I’m going to tell them they have to buy your record.”
“You really like it that much?”
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out an iPhone. The screen blinks, and then he’s on Facebook. He holds the phone up and slides next to me. “Smile for the selfie,” he says, and before I can stop him he leans his head against mine and takes a picture.
It’s a cute shot, I can see. He taps in some text and then smiles. “There. The photo’s on my page. Instant celebrity, as if you’re going to need it.”
“Right, and half the young women in the U.S. are now going to hate me.”
“Well, if nobody hates you, you’re probably doing something wrong.”
“I’ll have to remember that.” I stretch my arms overhead and stifle a yawn. “I’m sorry.”
“What? On your big record release day, you’re pooped? Are you really that cool about it all?”
“No, it’s not that. I haven’t been sleeping well, and I have my first concert tomorrow at Staples. I think it’s all catching up, is all.”
The door opens again and we both glance up. It’s Sebastian, who looks like ten million dollars in his tuxedo. He approaches and eyes us. “I thought I might find you two hiding out.”
I slide closer to Ashton. “Might as well make it three.”
He shakes his head. “No, we need to get back in there. Saul’s got your band taking the stage. He’s looking for you. Wants you to do a couple of songs.”
I groan. “I should have figured that was coming.”
“Hey, it’s good practice. And given how hard he’s pushing you, you probably want to play nice,” Sebastian warns, his tone playful but his eyes hard.
“Yes, sir, boss man. Right away, sir,” I say, standing. I glance at Ashton, who’s pretending he didn’t sneak a look at my ass. “You coming, Facebook Man?”
“Do I have to?” he jokes, and then rises
. We traipse back to the glass door, and I hesitate before going back in.
“Ashton put a snap of us on his Facebook page. Good or bad?” I ask Sebastian.
“Are you kidding me? People would pay a fortune for that kind of exposure. All good.”
The thought of Derek seeing the photo crosses my mind. I’ll send him a text when I’m done with the performance so he doesn’t get caught by surprise. He’ll understand the publicity value, I’m sure. And it’s not like my dad isn’t at the same table as we are, so there won’t be any hint of funny business going on. Not that Derek has any reason to worry.
When I enter the room, Saul approaches with open arms. He’s getting friendlier as he drinks more, and his face is beaming as he escorts me to the stage. “Can I twist your arm into playing a few for us?” he asks, like there’s any chance of me saying no.
I debate about ten snarky comebacks but decide on meek and sweet. “I’d love to, Saul.”
I take the stage as Jay’s fiddling with an acoustic guitar. We do a quick huddle and then I turn to the audience and call out, not using the mic, “Who’s got a couple of chairs for us?”
There’s a scramble to our right, and three waiters come scurrying up carrying chairs.
“Just put them here,” I say, pointing to the front of the stage. I push one to Jay, Bruce takes the one on his side, and I turn mine backward and fold the microphone stand down and set it to the side. I give Jay a wink and he picks the opening notes of “Summertime.” I open my mouth and sing the first word, holding the tremolo for a good twenty seconds on the final syllable before the snare whack that brings complete silence. The room is spellbound. The next words are just my voice, and then the band slides beneath it, sultry and brooding, and I’m transported somewhere else, where it’s only me and the music.
When I finish it’s pandemonium. I can see my dad at our table wiping away tears. It’s an unbelievable moment for me, staring out at a room of my peers and the people who’ve worked like mad to make it happen for me. Even Saul looks like he’s seeing me for the first time, realizing that as good as the record is, what we just did is so much more powerful, so much more immediate, that it stands in a league of its own.
