Let the last note quaver through the dome, and the kind of silence after a song like that is the perfect kind of silence.
“Got another special treat for you,” I said, after a moment. “So just…hang on for me for a quick second.”
I held the guitar by the neck and strode off stage. Lex was there, clutching her ukulele for dear life, shaking. I stand in front of her. “Ready?”
She shook her head slowly. “No.”
I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her toward the stage. “I got you, Lex. You can do this.”
She stumbled, resisting, and then as we hit the stage beyond the curtains, she found her feet and I heard her breath catch. “Holy shit,” she murmured, her eyes wide. “That’s a lot of people.”
The sound tech rushed out two more mics, setting them up for her vocals and uke, and Alyn brought her a stool, and she was there at the mic, on stage. I turned sideways to face her and the crowd.
“This is Lexie,” I said. “A very special woman in my life, and one of the most talented humans I’ve ever known. She’s a little nervous, since this is her first time on stage, so can you guys give her a big ol’ Tokyo welcome?”
She stumbled backward a step at the sudden assault of noise from the crowd that washed over us in waves the moment I said her name, and the cheering became a chant—Leeex-EEE Leeex-EEE Leex-EEE!
“They know your name, darlin’,” I said, sure to get the words picked up by my mic. “Say hello.”
She sucked in a breath, exhaled too loudly and too directly into the mic, and she reared back at the white noise it produced. Frowned. Tried again. “Hey, everyone.” Deafening applause. “Myles, uh…he said you may not mind if we play a song or two together.”
The crowd became louder, wilder.
“Sounds like a yes to me,” I said. “So. You pick the song, and I’ll play along. Whaddya got, Lexie?”
She swallowed hard. Stared down at her ukulele. Breathed in and out slowly for a few beats. “Um.” Another beat. “I wrote this one back in college. Most of my songs are kinda sad, so, you know, sorry if it’s a downer. This is, um, this is called ‘What You Don’t See.’”
She started a gentle, slow melody, and I waited till I’d gotten the gist of its movement and then set a line lower on the register of my guitar, slow and sad and moving around her part.
She smiled at me, acknowledging what I was doing. Then faced the mic, closed her eyes, and I watched sadness slide over her features as she started to sing:
“Dance for you
Move for you
Shake my hips and purse my lips
Fake a smile and all the while
I’ve got a secret
Not a dirty one,
Nothing you can see
Won’t notice it if I let you strip me down
Won’t know about it when the lights come on
You wouldn’t like it if I told you what it was
I’ve got a secret and I plan to keep it
Hide it behind the club lights
As I dance for you, move for you,
Shake my hips and purse my lips
Fake a smile and flash my style
Let you see the skin and the curves
So you won’t see what’s underneath
I could bare it all for you
And you still wouldn’t see a thing
Except the naked me
You won’t even know what you’re missing
Won’t ever care about what you don’t see
The thing you miss
What you overlook
Under the lips you kiss and the clothes you rip
Under the lace and the latex
Past the silk and after the sex
What you don’t
What you can’t
What you’ll never see
Is the real me.”
* * *
Her voice was low, rough, pained. She wasn’t just singing this song; she’s baring herself through it. Lost in it. Just as hurt singing it as she was when she wrote it. Hers was not technically perfect voice, but it was a powerful one, mesmerizing for its quiet mystique. She wasn’t loud, in this song. The crowd was utterly silent, on the edge of their seats trying to hear.
The song ended, the notes faded into ether, and she went quiet, opened her eyes. Another stunned moment, and then the crowd was wild, emitting a wall of sound that went on and on.
I grinned at her. “I think they like you, Lexie.”
She smiled shyly. “Thanks, everyone.”
“How about another one?” I said.
She sighed. Hesitated. Held my gaze, as if debating something internally. “I, uh, I do have something. It’s recent, and, um, actually it’s about you.”
“Me?” I said, grinning. “Why Lex, I’m flattered.”
She laughed. “Don’t be too flattered until you hear it.”
I faked a shiver. “Uh-oh. Should I be scared? Is it a takedown piece?”
She shook her head, laughing at me. “Nah, nothing like that.” She wiggled on her seat, adjusted her tuning. “It’s called ‘The Ugliest Me’.”
The melody to this one was faster, higher, brighter, and showed off her finger work skills, and I stayed quiet, letting her show off. Which, honestly, she wasn’t trying to do, she was just playing the song. I kept my palm over the strings and watched her, let her have the spotlight, the moment, all to herself.
“I’m a faker, boy
A baker of lies
A maker of secrets
Master of disguise
I’m a mason, boy,
Builder of walls
Stacker of bricks
Thicker than skin
And harder than steel
Miles high and fathoms deep
Hiding what’s real
And all while you sleep
Restless and listless
Tired and wired
I lay in the bed beside you
And build all over again
The walls you got past a few minutes ago
You know my weakness
If only you knew how often I’m sleepless
Putting back up what you took down
Hardening everything you softened
Burying what you dug up
Because I’m a faker, boy
A baker of lies
A maker of secrets
Master of disguise
I’m a mason, boy,
Builder of walls
Stacker of bricks
Thicker than skin
And harder than steel
Miles high and fathoms deep
Hiding what’s real
And all while you sleep
I want to let you in
Wish you could see
Wish I could say
Wish I could show you
More than just the pretty me
Wish I had the courage to be
Wish I was bold enough to be
The ugliest me
To tear down the walls and the secrecy
It’s not that I don’t trust you
It’s not that I don’t want what you’re offering
It’s just that I’m afraid to show you
Afraid to reveal
Afraid you won’t like
Afraid you won’t love
The ugliest me.”
* * *
Silence.
Never in my life has a silence been so penetrating.
“Wow.” I felt myself choking. “First time in my life I’ve ever been speechless.”
Sneaky thing, that move. Blindsiding me with emotions like that, on stage, when I can’t answer the way I’d like.
No applause. They were too moved, too stunned.
And then it hit all at once.
The standing ovation.
Not just a trickle-down, a few here and there—all at once, everyone, in unison got to their feet.
What a way to end the first show.
I stood up, took her han
d, and walked her to the front of the stage. Stepped back and left her there. Let her soak up the fact that all this was for her.
It went on for what felt like minutes, and then I led her toward the curtains, pausing at the mic. “Thank you, love you guys, goodnight.”
She stumbled as I led her off-stage, and I had a feeling she was shell-shocked. Got her off-stage and away from the lights and the bustle, to a quiet sliver of darkness between two semi-trailers for our set and sound equipment. She slumped backward against the trailer wall and buried her face in her hands, and began shaking.
I wasn’t sure at first if she was crying or laughing, but it soon became clear she was definitely not laughing. Sobbing.
“Lex?”
She shook her head.
I crouched in front of her. “Lex. Why are you crying? That was fuckin’ amazing. They loved you.”
“I wasn’t…ready,” she said, hiccupping. “I fucked up like six times. Skipped an entire verse of the first song.”
“Not even I could tell,” I said. “They fuckin’ loved you out there, Lex. That was a show-stealer.”
Her head went up, eyes fierce. “I didn’t want to steal the show from you, Myles! I wasn’t ready!”
“You’re never ready!” I shot back. “You would never have been ready. You think I was ready? I went from dive bars to stadiums in record time. I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew it was what I was meant to be doing.”
“That’s you,” she snapped. “Not me.”
“It is you,” I said. “That’s what you’re meant to do, Lex.” I cupped her face. “You can’t tell me that didn’t feel amazing while you were out there.”
“It felt like I was about to barf and piss myself at the same time. You did the grind, Myles. Day after day, week after week, year after year, playing, learning how to perform, being in front of people, doing what you love to do, what you chose to do. You were an overnight success that took—what?—a fucking decade of slogging along in dive bars to achieve?” She tapped her chest. “I didn’t have that. You think you went from dive bars to stadiums in record time? I went from not ever having played on a stage before, with no one even knowing I’m a musician—” she gestured at the Tokyo Dome, “to that. Never playing for anyone, never being recorded, nothing. Playing alone in a bathroom because I can’t help but need to play and sing...alone in a bathroom because…because I fucking suck, Myles. I’m nothing. No one.” She was sobbing, words scraping out past harsh breath and ragged sobs. “My dad said it, and he was right. I’m no good. They didn’t love me—they loved you. If they liked anything about me, it’s just because of this—” and she cupped and shook her tits, “and this,” and slapped her bare thigh near her hip, “and this,” and she tugged on her hair.
That made me angry.
“You really believe that?”
“Of course I do, Myles,” she said, far too calmly. “It’s the truth.”
“You think fifty thousand people, seeing you from stadium seats, at least half if not more of them straight females, were cheering the way they were because of what you look like?”
“Giant screens, remember?”
I hunted for words. “Lex, that’s…” I turned away, at a loss. “I have never seen anyone play the way you do, sing the way you do. You’re made for this, honey.” I spun back, grabbing her shoulders. “Lex, listen to me. You are talented. Beyond talented. You’re a natural. Sure, you were nervous. You think I’m not? You think you’re ever, no matter how many times you do it, ever totally ready to go out and perform in front of fifty thousand people? Pro tip, darlin’, you’re not. I get nervous every single night. I get the jitters. The butterflies. The shakes. I get off stage and I’m shaking, every single night, because it’s scary as hell and it’s a fuckin’ rush.” I stared her down. “Yeah, so you messed up. I fucked up at the Grammys, Lex. The Grammys. I was so fuckin’ nervous I forgot the words to a verse and improvised an entire solo, and it was awful. The guys had no idea what I was doing, and neither did I. Everyone knew I’d fucked up. I got torn apart for a shitty performance—the same night we won four fuckin’ Grammy’s. I fuck up all the time. Forget words. Mess up a solo. I tripped on a cord once, and nearly took a header off the stage—Brand somehow kept playing with one hand and yanked me back on stage with the other.”
She shook her head. “Not the same.”
“No, maybe not. Point is, we all get nervous and we all fuck up.” I let her go. “Lex, you have to learn how to believe in yourself.”
She laughed bitterly. “Yeah, okay. Let me just put that on my little ol’ to-do list—” her voice went sarcastic and she mimed writing something on an invisible notebook. “Note to self—be less of a colossal fuckup. Also, believe in yourself. All you need is faith, trust, and a little pixie dust.” She glared at me. “You got pixie dust, Myles? Because I don’t.” She slapped my chest with both hands. “This isn’t A Star Is Born, Myles. You’re not going to shove me on stage and make a star out of me. Not everything has a happy fucking ending.”
“It can, though,” I said, stung by her words. “If you let it.”
She turned away, shaking her head.
“Lex—”
She turned back to me, suddenly sultry. “You want a happy ending, Myles?” She pressed herself up against me, eyes burning with sexual promise, leaning forward to give me a glimpse of the tits she was pushing against me. “I’ll give you a happy ending, and you don’t even need a massage first.”
“Lex.”
She cupped my crotch over my zipper—despite my mixed emotions, my body responded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You want to have a happy ending?” She ripped open my zipper. Reached in and hauled me out, fisting my cock. “This is the happy ending you want.”
“No, it’s not.” I growled. “Quit.”
She bit her lip, her smirk a succubus smile. “Ah, wait, I know.” She dropped to her knees. Brought me to her mouth, spoke in a whisper, her lips sliding against me. “This is what you want.”
I grabbed her wrists, pulled away, and lifted her to her feet. “No,” I snarled. “That ain’t what I fuckin’ want, Lex.”
She wiggled against my hold. “Let go, Myles.”
I let her go, but zipped myself up—with intense difficulty and very real pain as I fought to bend my hard cock into my jeans. I faced her. Seething. Angry. Confused. “You can’t distract me with sex this time, Lex. I ain’t askin’ about secrets, I’m just askin’ for you to fuckin’ be real with me. You loved being on stage. You know it, and I know it. I know what that looks like, and I saw it out there in you. I saw a woman with massive fuckin’ talent doing the thing she was fuckin’ born to do, and doing it like she’d been doin’ it her whole life. I saw fifty thousand motherfucking people watch you sing your heart out and fuckin’ slay them all dead with how incredible you sounded. I saw that, Lex, and nothin’ you say can make it less true.”
“If that’s what you think you saw, then you’re blind.”
“No, I’m seeing more clearly than ever.” I gave her the full force of everything I was feeling. “The ugliest you, Lex? It’s this, right here. You not believing in your own worth and refusing to hear otherwise.” I was quiet, calm, but I knew my words cut like a knife. “I see it, Lex. I see you.”
“You don’t. You can’t.”
“I do, and I can.” I cradled her face, brushed tears away with my thumbs. “I see the ugliest you, and I still care.” I swallowed hard. Said it. “Still fuckin’ love you, Lex.”
A ragged, raw, agonized sob tore out of her. “You can’t!” she screamed. “You don’t know!”
“What?” I shouted back. “What don’t I know?”
“Everything,” she choked out. “Fucking everything.”
And then she fled, turning a corner and vanishing into the crowd of techs and stagehands and the whole small army of people it takes to put on a show of this scale. I wove and pushed my way through the crowd, a few steps behind her. And then, in a moment stra
ight out of Hollywood, a taxi appeared from nowhere, stopped, she got in, and was gone in a moment.
Without her purse.
Without her phone.
Without money, cards, or ID…
With no clue which hotel we were staying in.
In a city she’d never been to, in a country whose language she spoke not a single word.
Whatever demon was she was fighting, the thing had her on her heels.
I managed to get a taxi not long after, but by then she was long gone and I had no idea where or how to go about finding her.
Lexie
This was stupid…it was beyond stupid.
Maybe one of the most stupid things I’d ever done in my life.
Coming to Tokyo, sure; getting on that stage, absolutely. Not to mention calling Charlie to rescue me in the first place, and ending up at that festival, in the back of a semi-trailer with my biggest celebrity crush, doing wildly inappropriate things with a total stranger. That was definitely a dumb move, not to mention falling hard and fast for my celebrity crush.
And then, running away like this?
Fucking idiotic.
My entire life was a mistake.
I was a mistake.
Here I was, alone, in the middle of Tokyo without a single thing—no purse, no phone, no money, not even the name of the hotel we’d been staying at.
I was fighting a panic attack.
And losing…big time.
After managing to get out of the taxi without paying, I ended up just walking aimlessly, looking in store windows, stopping here and there to rest my feet, sitting on a bench watching the rush of humanity that filled the streets even at this late hour.
Wishing Myles was here to save me, and simultaneously dreading seeing him again. Having to face down another epic blowup.
He’d seen right through the fake.
He’d said the L word.
Fuck.
I got choked up and angry and panicked all over again just thinking about it.
I couldn’t even read the street signs or the names of businesses. Couldn’t understand anything anyone was saying.
How would I find him?
How would he find me?
I could strip naked and stop traffic, get myself arrested and hope they could somehow get him to come bail me out. It was a tempting thought.
Goode To Be Bad Page 19
