by R. E. Blake
We do two more songs and then I call it quits, apologizing for not wanting to continue all night, but using the valid excuse that we’ve got a show tomorrow.
It takes another hour and a half to disengage from the party, everyone wanting their two minutes with me, and when I finally climb into the limo for the ride back to the apartment I’m completely drained. My dad tags along in the car to keep me company, and I realize from his reaction it’s his first limo ride. I’m deeply aware how different our lives are now and how much stranger mine’s going to get, and I hug him for an extra long time when we reach my building.
“So breakfast or brunch tomorrow? I can come here, or my treat at the hotel,” he offers.
“Let’s do it at the hotel. I’ll be there at” – I check the time, and see it’s almost 11:00, although it feels to me like 4:00 in the morning – “let’s call it 10:00?”
“Ten it is, sweetheart.” He hesitates as he holds me at arm’s length, studying me as if seeing me for the first time. “I’m amazed by what you’ve accomplished.”
The lump in my throat is the size of a baseball as I wait for the elevator. I’ll remember tonight for the rest of my life, because for the first time since winning the contest, it feels like the new path I’m on might actually be real, might last longer than a mist that burns off with the first rays of morning sun.
The thought both terrifies and electrifies me, and my mind’s whirling when I throw myself onto the bed, the effort of stripping off my clothes demanding all my remaining energy.
Chapter 27
I wake up to the intercom buzzing like an air raid siren in the living room. I roll off the bed and glance at the clock – 9:00 a.m. I’m wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt.
“Who is it?” I ask, depressing the intercom button.
“Avon Florists.”
“Who?”
“Avon Florists. We have a delivery for apartment 3C. A…Sage?”
The voice sounds young and hesitant. “Okay. That’s me.” I buzz the deliveryman in and shake my head to clear it. I’ve just pushed the button on the coffee maker when a knock sounds at the front door.
A skinny guy in a tan uniform is holding out a bouquet of red long-stem roses. I sign where requested on his tablet, the roses held close, and then it dawns on me the delivery guy’s probably not doing this for his health. “Hang on for a second, okay?” I ask, and he nods.
“Sure.”
I close the door and run to the bedroom, fish a five-dollar bill out of my purse, and return. “Thanks,” I say, handing it to him, the roses still clutched in my other hand. There’s a card in among the blossoms, and I pull it free as I shut the door behind me and walk into the kitchen.
I almost drop the flowers when I see the roses are from Derek.
I read the note out loud as I sleepwalk to the sink.
“Kick some serious ass, Sage. Saw the video last night. Epic. I miss you like crazy. Derek.”
The bouquet feels heavier as I stare at the flowers. This is a first. He’s never done anything like it before, and I feel like I could float into the sky. I look around for a vase and the best I can come up with is a coffee can. I pour the grounds into a bag, fill the can with water, and arrange the roses. I’m thinking I’ll keep them forever, and then I remember that I’m moving out the day after tomorrow.
I take a picture and send it to Melody before running for the shower. If I’m going to make it to the hotel for brunch anywhere close to ten, I have to hurry. I do a quick rinse and am pulling on my jeans when I remember the picture with Ashton on his Facebook page, and a stab of guilt stops me in my tracks. I hope Derek hasn’t seen it yet, but I’ll deal with it in the taxi on the way to the hotel.
The cab company promises fifteen minutes and I curse myself for sleeping in on the biggest day of my life. I check my messages and there are dozens: from Ruby, from Terry, from Melody and Jeremy. And one from Derek. I open that one first.
“Hey. Saw you on Facebook. You look happy.”
I want to scream in frustration.
No. No, I’m not happy. I want to be with you, all the time, in your arms, and I don’t care about any of this garbage.
I knew I should have called him last night, or at least sent a text. Now I’m explaining, not giving him a heads-up. I’m innocent, but I feel guilty as hell, and I have to talk myself down as I page through the rest of the messages.
Both Terry and Ruby have been inundated with requests for interviews. Ruby’s got me scheduled on the radio at 2:00 today and a TV show at 4:00. Terry wants to know how many phone interviews I can do between now and the show. Sound check’s at 6:00, so it’ll be tight, but every one I do will sell records, I hope, so it’s not about what’s easy for me.
I respond to all the messages and go downstairs to wait for the car. Melody’s amped out of her mind to see my video in heavy rotation on the music channels, and she says she’s recorded the clips from the party that have aired so far. Jeremy’s message is much the same, but with a sly reference to Ashton at the end, which doesn’t surprise me. Of course he’d be plugged into the whole Hollywood gossip scene. That picture could start a firestorm in the right hands.
When the cab arrives, I give the driver the hotel name and then dial Derek’s cell. He answers, and I hear conversation in the background.
“Derek! Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”
“They finally got there? Awesome.”
“Really. It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“Well, I figure if I’m going to keep on your radar, I gotta up my game some.”
I try to decide if that’s a dig over the photo and decide I don’t care. “They’re the best, Derek. I…I don’t know what to say, besides I miss you so much I think I’m going to explode.”
“Well, don’t do that before your big show tonight. A lot of people will be let down. I saw your vid and it’s my new favorite. But then again I’m biased.”
“You should be.” I pause. “Did you see the photo with that actor?”
“You mean Ashton?” he says, his tone neutral. “Yeah. Couple of people mentioned it.”
“It was at the party last night. He’s buds with Sebastian, and he offered to pump my album as a favor to him. Pretty cool, huh?”
“Yeah. You guys look like old friends.”
“Nah. I hardly know him. Oh, did I tell you my dad’s in town? They flew him in for the party. I hung out with him most of the night.”
“Nice. I’m pretty sure my label’s going to order pizza and beer for my party.”
“They are not. You’re going to be huge, and they know it.”
“I hope so, but I have to say, based on the early buzz of your video and the responses to the album, you’re on your way. It’s all positive.”
“Really? Where did you hear that?”
“It’s all over the web. My engineer’s kind of stalking you. He sent me like a dozen sites that reviewed the record, and words like ‘stunning’ and ‘awesome’ keep coming up.”
“They do not.”
“You really haven’t seen them?” he asks, his tone disbelieving.
“I slept late and I’m running for breakfast with my dad. I haven’t done anything but shower and get into the cab.”
“Then you’re in for a surprise. Big day, Sage. The day you go huge.”
“I don’t think it works like that.”
His voice gets quiet. “Maybe not for most of us. But it will for you. It’s already starting.”
I can hear the envy in his words, and my stomach twists. Things aren’t supposed to be this way. It’s not a competition. “You’re right behind me, Derek. We’ll both do well. You’ll see.”
“I hope so. But I’m not going to hold my breath on being all over MTV when I release. I’ve never seen anything like this. You’re going to be like Beyoncé times Taylor Swift squared.”
I take a deep breath. “I’d settle for happy, with you.”
“Count me
in.”
“Then fly out and prove it.”
We arrive at the hotel, and though I don’t want to hang up, I have to go. “Derek, I’m here. My dad’s waiting. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Sure. But don’t kill yourself trying. Sounds like you’re going to be pretty busy today.”
I think about all the things I’ve committed to, topped off with the concert, and sigh. “It’s crazy.”
“Welcome to the life.” He pauses and all I hear is static on the line. “I really do miss you so much it hurts,” he says.
“Whatever you feel, double it, and you still won’t be close to how much I miss you.”
He sighs. “Be good, Sage. You earned this. Enjoy it.”
“Thanks, Derek. I love the flowers.”
“I wish I was there to deliver them in person.”
I shake my head in frustration and close my eyes. “Oh, Derek,” I manage weakly.
His voice is a whisper. “I know.”
Chapter 28
My dad’s standing outside the hotel entrance, and I trot up the stairs to meet him. I’ve got my disguise on – hat, shades, T-shirt and ratty jeans – so I’m not concerned anyone will recognize me. The thought stops me. I’ve been assuming that won’t change, but if I get really big, I’m kidding myself. Even without anything announcing rock star in the house, it’s inevitable that my anonymity will be sacrificed. I’ll enjoy this while it lasts, then, and chock it up to the kinds of problems only the lucky have.
We hug and he leads me to the restaurant. After ordering, he shakes his head as though seeing me for the first time.
“I can’t tell you how stunned I was by your performance last night, sweetheart.”
“I’m glad, Dad. It means a lot to me that you enjoyed it.”
“I just wish your mother had seen it. Maybe it would have been enough to give her a reason to…to keep on trying.”
I look away. “I’ve been reading her diary a lot, Dad. I don’t think anything you or I did would have changed things. She had something broken inside her, and nobody could have fixed it.”
“Maybe. But I find that hard to accept. She wasn’t like that when we got married…”
“People change. She obviously did. And you guys were awfully young when you hooked up, so there’s no way of telling how she really was. Maybe she was trying to fight it at first. Or maybe it’s like a slippery slope, where you start slow and pretty soon you’re out of control. I think it’s more like that, based on the entries. One day she woke up and she was someone she didn’t like, and she couldn’t get away from that person no matter what she did.”
He studies me in silence. “You’ve learned a lot in a short time, Sage. I hope that wisdom stays with you. The life you’re going to lead on the road…there’s going to be a lot of temptation.”
I laugh. “Dad. Chill. I’ll deal with it. I won’t wind up like Mom. I’ve got my issues, but they aren’t hers. Thank God.”
“I’m not sure I want to know…”
I smile. “Don’t worry, Dad. Just the usual stuff. Nothing fatal.”
“Sage, I’m always here for you when you need someone to talk to.”
“I know. But some things you just have to figure out on your own.” I don’t say that when I really needed him to be there he wasn’t, so I got good at carrying my own weight at a young age. We’ve been getting along well and I don’t want to introduce any poison into our relationship. Some day I’ll have to come to grips with my abandonment issues, and I’ll do so as I’ve dealt with everything – by myself.
The food is near miraculous, and I overeat, my guilt taking a backseat to my ravenous appetite. The prices are even more heavenly, and I do a double-take when the bill comes. My dad signs it to the room, against my protests, but I stop fighting when I realize that all of this is likely to be charged against my royalties anyway, so I’m paying for it just the same as if I pulled out my wallet.
It’s 11:15 when we finish up, and I’m keenly aware of the passage of time. In just a few short hours I’ll be standing on the largest stage I’ve ever been on, doing my first stadium sound check. In between that I have a blazillion phone interviews, the radio, and the TV, and I’m feeling that creeping sensation of suffocating I always get when there are too many obligations to fit into one day.
We hug just inside the entry doors as the valet summons a taxi from the waiting line. I take a final look at my father as I slide into the backseat, and then I’m headed back to the apartment for a few minutes of quiet time before the onslaught begins for real.
My phone blows up. It’s Terry, and she sounds more animated than usual.
“Response to the video has been overwhelming. It’s on YouTube and it’s already breaking records. And early reports from a friend of mine at you-know-where says that downloads of your songs are overwhelming the servers. It’s not a question of whether you’ll hit the Billboard charts, it’s how high you’ll open on them.”
“That’s great, right?”
“Absolutely. For a debut record, this is unprecedented. More like what we’d expect to see from a major act. I’d say you’re already on your way.”
“Good. Maybe I’ll be able to afford decent motels on tour?”
“Well, let’s hope. I always advise my acts to keep their hopes low and their irritation threshold high. Once we see how the merchandise is moving, we’ll have a better feel for the budget. Right now we’re going to still treat it as a shoestring, which means a van and three rooms each night – one for the band, one for the crew, and one for you and Amber.”
“Oh,” I say. I thought I’d at least get my own room, but it makes sense that the only other female and I would share digs.
“Don’t worry. We’re just being conservative. If this maintains velocity, you’ll be in your own bus staying at top places before you know it.”
“When will you know?”
“Figure a week to ten days to be safe.”
“That’ll be a long week.”
“It’ll fly by.”
“Well, it’s not like I’m a princess or anything. After sleeping in the park, this will be nothing.”
“I think you’re the first artist I’ve worked with where running water is a luxury. It’s refreshing.” Her voice changes. “Don’t worry. As soon as it’s practical, we’ll upgrade things. I promise.”
“Fair enough.”
“Ruby picking you up?”
“Yeah.”
“Have a good day. We’ll be in touch as I put interviews through to you.”
“Okay.”
I hang up and check my messages again, limiting my responses to one and two words when possible, and confirm I’ll meet up with Ruby at noon for lunch with a reporter before the radio interview.
I’m not sure I’ll have time to make it home again between sound check and the show, so I fold my stage outfit and slide it into my backpack, which triggers luggage remorse for the umpteenth time – I’ve been swearing I’ll get something decent for months, and I still have the same ratty bag I used when I was homeless.
Ruby’s right on time and is all smiles when she picks me up. “Hey there. You recovered from the party?” she asks cheerfully.
“I only had one glass of champagne all night, so yeah, not much to sleep off.”
“Smart. I should take a page from your playbook.”
“Who is it we’re meeting?”
“A different journalist from Rolling Stone. They called this morning and said given the reaction to your album, they want to do a feature. A cover feature.”
“No way.”
She nods and edges into traffic. “Yes way. She was really interested in your story leading up to the talent show, so be prepared for some tough questions.”
I shrug. “I’ve got nothing to hide. I’m just not sure anyone will care. It’s not all that fascinating.”
“Let her be the judge of that.”
We arrive at the seafood restaurant ten minutes late, and an
older woman with a mane of untamed salt-and-pepper hair is sitting by the front door. She rises as we near and adjusts her steel-rimmed spectacles.
“Sage! What a pleasure to meet you. And you must be…Ruby? Nancy Clemmons,” she says, holding out her hand.
I shake it and Ruby does the same, and then, after a quick discussion with the host, Ruby returns to where we’re standing.
“I pulled some strings. We’ll get the private room in the wine cellar. It’s chilly, but nobody’s going to bug us.”
“Perfect. Lead the way,” Nancy says, and we file into the restaurant and through the doors leading to the kitchen before making a hard left and going down a flight of stairs. The wine cellar is maybe ten by twelve with a dining table set for four. Ruby wasn’t kidding about the temperature, and I pull my jacket tight around me as I take a seat.
We make short work of the menu, and after a waiter takes our order and brings our drinks, Nancy sets a small recorder on the table and turns it on.
“I hope you don’t mind if I tape this,” she says. I shake my head and she leans into the device. “December ninth, interview with Sage.” She lets a few seconds go by and then fixes me with a serious stare. “First of all, let me say that I listened to the whole album this morning. Twice, actually. To call it an impressive debut is a serious understatement.”
“Thanks. I’m very proud of it.”
“You should be. Let’s cover the making of the record for a few minutes, and then we can get to more interesting questions. How long did it take to record?”
“About six really intense weeks. Sebastian, my producer, pulls eighteen-hour days, minimum. With someone normal, it would have taken double that.”
“That’s not long.”
“Well, it depends. We didn’t want a really overproduced record. I prefer a more stripped-down approach, so it sounds like you’re sitting in the room with us while we’re jamming, you know?”
“‘Intimate’ is one of the words that came to mind over and over as I listened to it.”
“Yeah, well, that’s kind of the sound I hear in my head, because of how I’m used to performing, so instead of some big orchestrated thing, I wanted that raw essence to come through. I think it makes for a more interesting sound, don’t you?”
