by R. E. Blake
He studies me. “You ready to do this?”
“No time like the present.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!”
The band returns to stomping and cheers. Bruno stands center stage, basking in the attention, and then holds both hands out, motioning for the audience to quiet down. Amazingly, it gets quiet, and then he’s saying that tonight’s a special treat because the most talented new artist of the year has agreed to perform a song with him.
My heart’s hammering in my chest as he calls my name. Two roadies hasten from the side of the stage with stools as I make my way to where Bruno’s waiting, and I offer the cavernous stadium a wave and smile as I approach him. He turns to Jerome, who brings him a guitar, and then we’re sitting side-by-side in front of the monitors while another roadie brings a second mic stand for me.
Bruno starts strumming, slower, not as bouncy as the original version of the song, and then we’re in it, my voice intertwining with his over the verse and harmonizing on the chorus. When we get to the a cappella part, with just our voices, the crowd begins clapping in time. Bruno catches my eye and nods, and we extend the section twice as long as we had planned. By the time we finish the song, we’re both smiling and laughing.
The audience response is deafening. I do a small, clumsy curtsy and offer another wave, and then Bruno hugs me and I’m headed to where Martin is standing by one of the light towers. I see Terry standing behind him, for once not on the phone, her face as placid as a mountain lake.
“So? What did you think?” I ask her.
Her demeanor cracks and she offers me a big grin. “I think you stole the whole show. That’s what I think.”
“Let’s hope it sells more shirts.”
She gives me a knowing look. “Quick learner.”
My dad is standing by the mixing board, Ruby next to him, a backstage pass hanging from his neck. He looks uncomfortable, and when I go to him, he puts his arms around me.
“I have the most talented daughter in the world,” he says in a soft voice.
“I don’t know about that, but you certainly have the luckiest,” I say.
“I’m so excited for you. I’ve never seen anything like your performance. This is the start of something huge.”
I look off at Bruno, shucking and jiving, then back to my father.
“I hope so, Dad. I hope so.”
Chapter 30
They say you can get used to anything, and that proves to be the case with being on tour. The night following our big debut we’re in San Diego, and then work our way up the state, doing shows in places like Bakersfield and Fresno before reaching the Bay Area. The van’s not as bad as Terry made it out to be, but it gets pretty claustrophobic after a few hours. The motels we stay at are crap, but I expected that. The worst part is Amber rooming with me, which I hate – I’m a loner, and don’t want or like company.
Terry calls every day with the numbers. My first single charted at number five on Billboard’s pop list, which is unprecedented for a new artist. Merchandise sales are strong, and she’s assured me that we’ll have our own tour bus in a few more days, which will improve everyone’s mood.
Derek and I talk every day, and he’s as excited by it all as I am – probably more. Breaking big was Derek’s dream, not mine, and while I’m not complaining about becoming successful, it would be a whole lot better if Derek was with me.
When we hit San Francisco, we do our street performance in the Haight, and I show the band my usual spot. I’ve got my stealth hat and secret agent shades on, but within ten minutes someone’s recognized me and I have to bail, leaving Jay and the rest of the band to do their thing.
A part of me is sad about having to leave, and I wonder how long it will be before I can’t go to a restaurant without being swarmed. Fortunately, if I’m not performing, I can modify my look enough so I’m just another teenage skater chick, invisible to anyone over twenty years old, in black jeans and Chucks.
Melody has been after me to get her onto the tour, and I finagled a place for her for four days as we do San Francisco, Concord, and Sacramento. I head over to her mom’s apartment, and when she opens the door she’s in full, frisky form, wearing a halter top and her usual painted-on low-rise jeans. A suitcase the size of a refrigerator lurks in the hall, and I eye it doubtfully as I hug her.
“So whassup, sister?” she asks.
I tell her about playing by Peaches & Cream and being recognized. She looks at me like I’m nuts.
“Duh. You’re only the biggest music celeb in the world. Whoudda thunk you couldn’t go unnoticed playing in your hometown?”
“In the galaxy,” I correct.
“The universe,” she declares, and we giggle.
“Isn’t this kind of a trip? I mean, can you believe it?”
“Dude, you won the frigging lottery. Enjoy it, and let Mama ease your troubles away.”
We spend the afternoon chilling, watching TV, talking about nothing. Eventually I check my watch and stand. “Call a cab. We’ve got to get going. Sound check. Unless you just want to come to the show later – sound check’s kind of boring.”
Melody shakes her head. “Are you kidding? I’m going to suck up every second of this. Nothing’s going to keep me from living la vida loca with my rockstar BFF.”
The taxi takes us to the venue in Daly City, bordering San Francisco. I get us past security and Melody follows me to the stage, where the band’s set up and waiting. I look guiltily at Jay and apologize for running late, and we blow through two songs, the sound man adjusting the mix for us so we can hear our vocals better. When we finish, I return to where Melody’s standing, every male eye on her.
“How did it sound?” I ask.
“Great. I really like the feel you guys have together.” She pauses. “Now where are all the shirtless groupie boys?”
I shrug. “We keep them caged until closer to showtime.”
“Probably smart. I’d be exhausted by nightfall.” She glances over my shoulder at the band. “Is it just me or have they gotten cuter?”
Some things about Melody are a constant, and I know better than to take the bait. “Come on. Let’s get back to the motel. What have you got in that thing, a body?” I say, indicating her oversized bag.
“I wanted to make sure I had enough outfits for the raging parties and the media appearances.”
“You barely wear anything as it is.”
She nods. “The secret is having a lot of barely anything to wear.”
When we arrive at the motel her face falls. “Are you kidding me?”
“What do you expect? I’m a struggling artist.”
“Dude, you’re like the biggest thing going, and you’re at a roach motel? I should have just stayed home.”
“It’s not that bad. Although we’re sharing the room with Amber, my tour manager.”
“No way.”
“Actually, that’s what I’ve been doing, but I convinced Terry to spring for my own digs just while you’re here. Trust me, you dodged a bullet on that one. She’s got the sense of humor of a pit viper.”
We move into the room and Melody wrinkles her nose. “It smells like a dumpster.”
“No extra charge for that.”
“I’m afraid to put my bag down anywhere. Did they give you a hazmat suit with the key?”
I look around the squalid room. “It does have a lived-in quality, I’ll give you that.”
She inspects the bathroom and comes out with an expression of disbelief. “The mold has mold.”
“This actually isn’t the worst place I’ve stayed. The one in Fresno – now that was grim.”
“Just Fresno scares me.”
“This is all about the journey, not the destination.”
“If you have to shower wearing waders, you’re having a crappy journey, Sage.”
We return to the stadium at 7:00 and eat backstage – it’s one of the perks of being on tour I’m used to. Tonight’s feature is pasta in a red sauce that’s t
hick as mortar, but it tastes pretty good. I note that Melody’s appetite hasn’t shrunk since I last saw her.
“So what’s the word on Sebastian?” I ask as we munch on spaghetti in a corner of the dressing room.
“He’s always working. It’s kind of a big drag.”
“You kind of knew that going in.”
“Yeah, of course. I mean, that’s all fine. I just wish we could see each other more.”
“Tell me about it,” I say ruefully, thinking about Derek.
“I’m hoping that he can get away for a little while and visit me. And I’m seriously thinking about moving to L.A. once school’s over.”
I try to keep my voice even. “What does he think about that?”
“I brought it up, and he seems up for it. But he does that distant thing sometimes too, you know?”
“Having second thoughts,” I say, remembering Melody’s last trip.
“I need to be around him more so he doesn’t confuse himself.”
I stare at Melody in wonder. Here she is, seventeen, completely assured that she knows what’s going on in the mind of a producer who’s ten years older. Not a moment of doubt about her judgment or the wisdom of trying to have anything more than a fling with a guy who lives hundreds of miles away and who circulates in a completely different world.
“It’s possible that he’s thinking more about your age than you are,” I point out.
“I’ll be eighteen soon.”
“Save it, Melody. I know you, remember? It’s not soon.”
“Soon enough.” She sets her plastic plate aside, wiped clean. “Besides, time flies, right?”
I think about how long it’s been since my time with Derek and shake my head. “It can seem pretty draggy to me. It feels like forever since I was in New York.”
The show goes over well. Our timing is now as tight as I could wish for, our demeanors relaxed as we play. The hometown crowd goes crazy, of course, and we score two encores, one of which is with Bruno – he’s taken to doing an acoustic number with me on our encores if he’s in the mood, and I return the favor during his set, as I did in L.A. It’s a fun way to keep fresh, and we don’t spend a lot of time agonizing over the songs, preferring to choose an oldie, run through it a couple of times backstage, and then wing it. Crazy as it seems, on a long tour, boredom is one of the big problems, and anything that mixes it up is a good thing.
I come off stage trailed by Bruno, who gives Melody the up and down checkout that’s obligatory from anyone with a Y chromosome. He gives me a quick hug and mutters a hello to Melody, who’s practically vibrating in his presence, and then darts back into the dressing room area, focused on the coming show.
Melody grabs my arm and whispers to me. “Oh, my God. He’s so totally into you.”
I frown. “Not really. I don’t get that at all.”
“What, are you blind? He’s practically following you around like a puppy. What are you going to name your first kid?”
I can’t help but laugh. Good old Melody.
“I don’t think he’s that interested, and besides, I’m a one-man woman, remember?”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. I don’t mean more than one guy at a time…” She pauses, thinking about it. “Although that could be fun. More like you can be a one-man woman, but change the dude occasionally.”
“I’m with Derek, Melody.”
She’s obviously frustrated with the idea of Bruno Sears being within pawing distance of me, and me not going for it. I can see a range of emotions play across her face, settling into one of shocked surprise as she looks over my shoulder.
“What?” I say, and turn to see what she’s staring at. My jaw about hits the ground when I see Ashton approach, his crooked grin in place and a backstage pass clipped to his shirt.
“Hey. Great show. You should stick with this singing thing. Might go somewhere,” he says as he nears.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Had some promo appearances and decided to spend the night, check out my favorite crooner.” He smiles. “I had Sebastian pull some strings and get me a pass.”
“That’s convenient,” I say.
“You bet. I’m way too cheap to buy a ticket. You see what they’re charging?” He turns to Melody and smirks. “Hi, Melody. Sebastian says hello.”
“Cool. How is he?”
“You know. All work and no play. He sent me to chaperone you two, make sure you stay out of trouble.”
“Like throwing gas on a fire,” Melody mutters, but Ashton chooses not to hear.
We watch the second band set up and play their set, and after the first few tunes decide that the quieter dressing room might be a welcome break from all the amplified thumping and grinding.
We file backstage, where the guys are enjoying celebratory beers as they chat with the road crew. Amber’s nowhere in evidence, no doubt dealing with inventorying our gear before it’s loaded onto the truck for the next show, and I wave at the tubs of beer and soda.
“Help yourself. You can leave money in the hat on the way out.”
Ashton fishes a couple of beers out for himself and Melody while I content myself with a bottle of water. He makes idle conversation with the band, and they ask him questions about his show – while pro in music, we’ve got no exposure to making a TV drama, which turns out to be a completely different world.
Amber appears at the dressing room door with my dad, who of course wouldn’t miss a show in our hometown, and I welcome him in with a hug. I introduce him to Ashton, and catch his disapproving look at the beer in Melody’s hand. What Melody does is her business, but I can see it bugs him, and I steer him to the far corner so we can have some alone time.
Before I know it, Bruno’s set is starting, and we all go up to the stage area to watch him knock it out. I never tire of watching him: he makes subtle changes every night, always trying to improve the performance. He confessed to me once that he’s always worried about slipping off the charts, losing his position in the spotlight, and I wonder at that insecurity in a household name performer. Maybe that’s what it takes to stay on top. I know with my own music, it doesn’t matter to me how many people tell me it’s great, I’m always trying to get it just a little better.
Halfway through the show I look over at my dad and see his foot tapping, and suddenly the broad gulf between us is reduced and we’re just two people enjoying some music. I’ve spent so much time reading my mother’s diary and interpreting her spin on things that it’s too easy to forget that there were two people in that relationship, one of whom has stepped up for me, even if it’s late in the game. I know I’m not supposed to judge, but right now my dad seems like a knight in shining armor compared to my mom.
When I’ve done the encore with Bruno and the show’s finished, I hug my father – he has to work in the morning and begs off staying any longer. I see in his face that he feels uncomfortable – this isn’t his world. I don’t know if it’s mine yet either.
I dart back into the dressing room to get my backpack and phone, which has messages on it from Jeremy and Derek. I call Derek, and when he answers he sounds out of breath.
“Hey. How did it go?” he asks.
“Good. San Francisco seems to like us.”
“Everyone likes you. Did you see Rolling Stone?”
“No…”
“You’re on the cover. I just got it from my manager. And tomorrow…”
That’s right. It’s his first concert tomorrow. I totally blanked on it and feel as guilty as a bad dog. And that means his record releases tomorrow as well.
“You’ll do great. Where is it again? Meadowlands?”
“Right. Beautiful New Jersey. It’s not the same as being on the cover of Rolling Stone, but it’s a start.”
“How was the record release party?” I ask.
“It’s still going on. I’m actually in the bathroom. It’s at a nice hotel, and everyone from the label’s here, getting drunk.�
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“You must be excited about the first video going live.”
“Yeah, the label says it’ll go into rotation on the music channels tomorrow. They gave it to MTV exclusively for twenty-four hours, but so far it hasn’t aired.”
The difference between his launch and mine couldn’t be starker, and I don’t say anything. There’s an uncomfortable silence, and then he clears his throat.
“I should get back. Oh, and congratulations on breaking the top ten in your first week. Next stop, number one!”
“You’ll be right there beside me,” I say, but we both know it’ll be tough to crack that nut without a massive push like the one Saul provided.
“It’s cool either way. This is way further than I ever thought I’d get, so I can’t complain.”
He sounds accepting, but I know him well enough to question how much is an act for my benefit. The bottom line is that I got the plum gig and he got the consolation prize. I don’t think any less of him for it, and over time I believe he’ll be as big, or even bigger, than I will; but it’s got to suck to watch your girlfriend knock one out of the park while you’re still struggling to get noticed.
I nod to myself. “Yeah. Long way from playing the Haight. Which I did this morning.”
“I know. You’re all over Twitter.”
“I thought you were a technophobe. Now you’re on Twitter?”
“It’s addictive. First the phone, then Twitter, and pretty soon I’m posting selfies on Facebook.”
“Just make sure they’re only you in the selfies.”
“And that I’m wearing pants.”
Someone yells Derek’s name in the background, making some sort of request. “I gotta go.”
“Sleep well. You can call me later if you want. Melody’s spending a few nights with me.”
“That sounds fun. Whatever she suggests, don’t do it.”
I laugh. “I know.”
Chapter 31
When I catch up to Melody, she’s talking with Ashton and Bruno near his dressing room. I notice that even next to Bruno, who’s a good-looking guy, Ashton radiates celebrity – he’s just got that natural star quality that’s so obvious when you see it. Derek has it too, as does Sebastian – like a halo of specialness.
