Layce rolls her eyes like Kimono Top is the stupid one and shoves her other wrist out. Kimono sprays, and Layce sniffs. This time her brows furrow thoughtfully, “It’s okay, I guess. But nothing I haven’t smelled a hundred times. Wasn’t anybody listening when I said I wanted something new, something that says ‘Layce’, not something that says Kmart?”
Kimono Top shrugs her shoulders and readies the third bottle. She holds it out to spray.
“I need another wrist,” Layce says. “You,” she commands the woman standing next to her with a clipboard in hand and a headset mic on her head, “Gimme your wrist.”
When Clipboard Lady doesn’t respond, Layce grabs the woman’s arm. She appears old enough to be Layce’s mom, but I don’t think she is, and she’s totally surprised by how Layce is manhandling her, but she doesn’t resist. Layce holds the woman’s wrist out in front of Kimono Top.
“Spray,” Layce orders.
Kimono Top looks reluctant, eyes darting back and forth between Clipboard Lady and Layce.
“What are you waiting for?” Layce barks.
Clipboard Lady offers a creaky smile to Kimono top and says, “It’s okay.”
Kimono Top spritzes Clipboard Lady’s wrist and Layce sniffs.
“Not bad,” Layce says thoughtfully.
“Do I tell them you picked this one?” Kimono Top asks reluctantly.
Layce frowns, still holding Clipboard Lady’s arm, and sniffs again. She shakes her head, “No. It still needs work. Tell them I want three more versions of this one. It needs to smell youthful. Sweeter. This smells too much like old ladies.”
Clipboard Lady purses her lips. She can’t be more than forty something.
Kimono Top lifts her eyebrows apologetically toward her.
Clipboard Lady rolls her eyes for Kimono Top’s benefit.
Layce notices their exchange and frowns at Clipboard Lady, “I didn’t mean you. I meant the scent.” Layce releases the woman’s arm distastefully and stares up at the sky while shaking her head, as if speaking to the gods, “Doesn’t anyone realize my fans are young? They’re not going to buy their mom’s perfume. When my fragrance doesn’t sell, everyone is going to blame me.” She looks to Clipboard Lady for sympathy, “You know what I mean?”
Clipboard Lady shrugs.
“What about the outfits?” Layce asks Kimono Top.
Kimono Top hands her the iPad and says, “Here are the new designs for your Fall Collection.”
Layce starts skimming through the iPad with her index finger, presumably looking at design sketches. “These are okay.” She hands the iPad back to Kimono Top. “Who is going to carry the line?”
“We’re still talking to buyers at H&M, Forever 21, and Wet Seal. So far, nobody likes the price point. It’s too high.”
“How cheap do they want it? If we go any lower, all the dresses will be made out of grocery bags.”
“Copy that,” Clipboard Lady says into her mic. To Layce, she says, “The director wants you inside for the next shot, Miss Layce.”
Layce looks suddenly frazzled. She glances at her upheld wrists, which had been dusted in pale white makeup like her face and neck, but are now dripping from the spritzes of perfume, revealing her tan skin beneath. “Damn it! I’m running!”
“Your nose is smudged, too,” Kimono Top says, reaching a careful hand toward Layce.
Layce twists her face away like a baby after breakfast when Mommy pulls out the baby wipes. She growls, “Stop! You’ll make it worse!”
Kimono Top shrinks back.
I can’t decide if Layce is a total entitled bitch, or if she’s stressing out having to deal with everything getting thrown at her. I can’t imagine being in her shoes. It would be hella stressful. Maybe pop stardom is more than it’s cracked up to be?
And suddenly I realize Layce is staring right at me.
She growls, “What are you looking at?”
I remember the stage hands warning me I wasn’t supposed to look her in the eyes, which is exactly what I’m doing right now. My first instinct is to shout, “Fuck you, you entitled bitch!” My last instinct is to look away. So I go with my middle instinct and say, “Uh…”
“Are you on the crew?” Layce barks.
“No?” I wince.
“Who let you in here?” she growls.
Okay, that’s enough. I don’t care if I’m not supposed to talk to the star. As far as I’m concerned, she’s just a bitch. I scowl, “What is wrong with you?!”
“Me?” She strides toward me and shouts in my face, “ME!! This is my soundstage! I paid for it! I’m paying everyone here! Which doesn’t include you! So get out of here!” She looks around agitatedly, “Someone call security and get rid of this—” she glares at me, “This whatever she is.”
That’s it. I growl, “I guess since you’re rich and famous, nobody tells you how much of a bitch you are anymore…”
Layce’s brows crunch into a hard frown and the corner of her upper lip starts to twitch.
Kimono Top and Clipboard Lady openly goggle at my bravado.
Undeterred, I growl at Layce, “…So, in case you forgot, let me remind you. You’re a total—”
“Julian!” Layce’s face suddenly lights up with a huge smile.
Chapter 98
VICTORY
Surprised, I spin around.
Julian stands behind me, as dashing and distinctly debonair as ever. He wears yet another fancy double breasted suit and fine silk tie. This suit is light grey and the shirt and tie are shades of lavender. It goes nicely with his bronze skin.
He grins at me for a second before addressing Layce directly, “Hello, Layce. I see you’ve met my friend Victory Payne.”
Layce grimaces, “You let her in?”
Julian puts a friendly and protective hand on my shoulders and smiles pleasantly at Layce while saying soothingly, “Yes I did. I thought she might enjoy seeing how a world famous pop star such as yourself behaves when the paparazzi aren’t around to document your every move.”
I stifle a giggle because Julian is obviously giving her shit in the politest way possible.
I expect Layce to explode and shout at Julian. Instead, she gets ahold of herself and forces out a smile. But her face still glows angry red under her makeup. In a sex kittenish voice she says, “You always live up to your name, don’t you? Lord Julian.” She chuckles throatily and flirtatiously.
Julian merely arches an eyebrow at Layce in response.
Lord Julian? What is Layce talking about?
A moment of heated tension passes between Julian and Layce. It’s palpable. They had to have been an item at some point. Layce spontaneously lifts her arms and steps forward to embrace Julian.
With her bulky lace wedding dress, it’s a careful ordeal, but she manages to elbow me out of the way while tiptoeing up to kiss Julian hello.
Bitch.
She doesn’t give Julian an air kiss or a cheek kiss. No, she stakes her territory and kisses him right on the mouth. It’s a relatively short kiss, but she lingers in it before pulling away. When she takes a step back, she flashes me a self-satisfied look.
Like I said, Bitch.
Now looking only at Julian, Layce purrs, “I’ve missed you. We had so much fun in Stockholm.” She’s practically pouting as she pretends to fix the lapel of his suit. “Remember that night at The White Room in Ostermalm?”
Yeah, she and Julian have a history.
“Östermalm?” Julian corrects, pronouncing the word in a fluidly accented voice. He really does have a musical way of speaking.
“Oh, Julian,” Layce sighs but smiles, “always the perfectionist.”
Julian cocks a smile at her, “When has that ever been a problem for you, my dear? Who called me at the last minute and begged me to fly to Sweden to remix ‘I Rise’ for the fourth time?”
Layce giggles and says seductively, “Didn’t you realize it was just an excuse to spend time with you, Lord Julian? Locked away on the other side of the w
orld in a remote and intimate studio with no distractions?”
Layce is pretending to ignore me, but it’s obvious every word out of her mouth is aimed at me like bows and arrows.
Standing this close to her, I can truly appreciate the handiwork on her intricate lace wedding gown. It’s highly detailed and layered and probably cost ten thousand bucks. Her makeup is stylized, ghostly, and dotted with dusky rhinestone jewels around her smokey eyes. It’s as beautiful as Layce. She’s as flawless up close in person as she appears in all those glossy magazine photos I’ve seen. Between her looks and her voice, no wonder she’s so famous and successful.
Too bad she isn’t as grateful as she is successful.
Layce plays with Julian’s lapel again, “Well, maybe one distraction…” She’s obviously saying that she had sex with Julian as recently as a week ago.
I really don’t care.
She’s a self-centered manipulative bitch, and whatever did or didn’t happen between her and Julian doesn’t matter to me. She can stake out her territory however she wants. I don’t care.
Well, maybe a little. But it’s hard to take her seriously.
Clipboard Lady steps toward Layce and in a gentle voice says, “Ms. Layce, it’s the director again. He’s asking for you.”
“Not now,” Layce hisses at her.
Clipboard Lady steps back abruptly, chastened.
Julian says to Layce, “How is the shoot going?”
“Fabulous,” Layce smiles. “The designers have really brought your concept to life better than I imagined possible. This video and this single are going to be huge, Julian. We make a perfect team, you and I,” she purrs.
His concept? I’ll have to ask him about that later. And, wow, she’s trying really hard to make me feel like I mean nothing to her. Which means that I’m making her nervous. I’m a tiny bit proud of myself. I never imagined I’d have this kind of effect on one of the world’s biggest pop stars.
Who knew?
“I’m glad to hear it,” Julian says to Layce.
“Have you seen the set?” she asks excitedly.
“I toured it yesterday. It looks spectacular.”
“But have you seen the dancers?”
“I have not,” Julian smiles.
“Oh, you have to see the dancers. Today they’re in costume and they look unbelievable. You have to see them in action. The choreographer did such an amazing job. Can you stay and watch?” She pleads.
“I would like to,” Julian smiles politely, “But I have a meeting at Sony in thirty minutes.”
“Tell them they can wait,” Layce pouts.
Julian chuckles, “Do you tell Sony they can wait?”
Layce rolls her eyes. “Stay, Julian.”
I’m somewhat blown away by the fact that Layce has gone from being a commanding bitch to a gushing girl in the span of five minutes while talking to Julian. She must really like him. I can only wonder what sort of hold he has on her. And what sort of relationship they’ve had.
Clipboard Lady says, “I’m very sorry, Ms. Layce, but the director really needs you on set so the stunt coordinator can attach your wire harness.”
Layce ignores her but looks at Julian, “Duty calls.”
“Don’t want to keep everyone waiting,” Julian smiles.
Layce gives Julian a girlish wave and walks toward the stage doors.
Kimono Top says, “Your wrists?”
“What?” Layce barks, back to being a bitch.
“Your makeup ran? The perfume samples?”
Layce examines the smudged makeup, rolls her eyes, and growls, “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
Kimono Top winces, “I did?”
Layce growls at her then shouts, “Back to makeup!”
Clipboard Lady says, “What should I tell the director?”
“Tell him he can wait!” Layce spins on her heel and marches back to the makeup trailer.
Chapter 99
VICTORY
When Layce is gone, I joke, “She’s nice.”
Julian snickers, “That’s one word. But I can think of several that are more appropriate.”
“I bet you love working with her,” I quip, “half way around the world in intimate recording studios.”
Julian chuckles, “You’re not jealous, are you?”
I grin, “Who, me? Why would I be jealous of you, Lord Julian?”
“I meant her. You’re jealous of Layce.”
I scoff, “Are you kidding? Why would I ever be jealous of someone as entitled as her? Who wants to be rich and famous if it turns you into an ass?”
“Money and power doesn’t ruin everyone,” he arches an eyebrow.
I pause. “You mean you?”
He winks.
I wink back, “I barely know you. We’ll see what you’re like six months from now.”
“Is that an offer? Because if it is, I will gladly accept.”
Julian and I haven’t talked about what’s going on between us since the fingering in the Ferrari. Maybe we should? I think he’s getting ideas. I don’t know how I feel about that.
Now is probably not a good time to go into it. I change the subject, “You look great today. As always. I love this suit. Are you all dressed up for your meeting?”
“Yes,” he nods. “And you look singularly marvelous yourself.”
I’m dressed in my regular rocker chick clothes. I thought it would fit in with the stage hands, which it does. I’m glad Julian likes it.
“Who’s your meeting with?” I ask.
“The A&R people at Sony and some up and comer female vocalist. I’m supposed to sit down with her and see if we can work together in the studio like I did with Layce.”
“Would that include nights at The White Room and Oster-whatever?” I quip. Yes, I’m fishing for information.
“Östermalm, ” Julian chuckles. “I am now thoroughly convinced that you are in no way jealous of Layce.”
“Here, let me fix your perfect lapel,” I joke, mocking Layce’s earlier attentions.
Julian grins at me, “Are you finished?”
“Wait, missed a piece of lint!” I pretend to pluck one from his collar.
Julian rolls his eyes, but he’s enjoying it.
“So, what’s with Lord Julian?”
“Oh, that’s my producing nick name.”
“Lord Julian?” I frown.
“Don’t you like it? I thought it rather appropriate.”
“I bet,” I snicker. “So, what was it like being all locked away in Sweden with Layce?”
“It wasn’t just her and I. My brother Max was there too.”
I ask in disbelief, “Wait, you mean studio Max? He’s your brother?”
“He is.” Julian cocks his head, “Didn’t I tell you that already?”
“No!”
He shrugs, “Now you know.”
I remember noticing a physical resemblance between Julian and Max, but they seem so different personality-wise. Julian has the uptight preppy thing going while Max is totally punk and laid back.
I say, “Wow, that’s so cool that you and your brother work together.”
He nods, “On just about everything. We make a great team.”
That’s when it clicks. “You guys are Lord Julian and Mad Max! The producing team!”
“We are indeed,” he smiles.
I’ve never followed pop music nearly as closely as I follow hard rock and metal, but I have heard of Lord Julian and Mad Max before. They write songs for all the big pop stars, and produce a lot of them as well. This is kind of a big deal. No, this is a really big deal. Because I know them. And I didn’t even know it!
I do my best to restrain my excitement as I ask, “Okay, I have to know. How much of her own music does Layce write?”
In the world of rock and metal, the whole point is to write your own songs, not pay someone to do it for you. Many rock bands don’t even use producers. They do all the recording themselves and maybe have an engi
neer in the booth handling the recording equipment. The smaller bands often don’t even do that.
Julian looks around for a moment. We are on a movie studio lot, between big numbered sound stage buildings. No one is outside but us and the food truck. “Can we talk about this later? I’m not comfortable going into it here.”
Julian is so mysterious, which piques my curiosity. And he’s obviously humble about it, which excites me even more. I lean into him and grab his arm. I giggle, “Just whisper it.” I feel like a teenager secretly texting my girlfriends the answers during a history test.
Julian grins and leans toward me, “Make no mistake, Layce’s voice is the magic ingredient that pulls everything together. Without her, I’m just a songwriter and a recording engineer.”
“Don’t be modest,” I grin. “Tell me the truth.” This is so exciting, it’s like I’m asking the Vice President of the United States if Barack Obama actually does anything beyond reading the speeches written for him by speech writers and posing for photos.
Julian puts an arm around my shoulder and whispers into my ear, “If you must know, Max and I do a tremendous amount of work. We build the chord structure of the songs, the beat, and the harmony. Max is very smart when it comes to creating samples and he is a master with Pro Tools. But I do contribute to the arrangement of the overall composition.”
“Who writes the lyrics?”
“Layce, primarily.”
I’m very aware that I’m snuggled up against Julian on a Hollywood studio lot, and he’s dishing dirt about a mega star that no one else is ever going to know. It’s delicious!
I ask, “Does she write all of them? Like, every last word and phrase?”
“That would be a bit of an overstatement,” Julian says carefully.
“Do you write them?”
“Well, not exactly. Layce creates her own vocal melodies over the music Max and I deliver, but I do help her shape her ideas into actual words. And Max always has input. He has a talent for an artful turn of phrase.”
I scoff, “It sounds to me like you hand Layce a script when she walks into the studio and she just sings your words over your music.”
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