My Own Personal Rockstar

by Kirsty McManus

  My Own Personal Rockstar

  KIRSTY MCMANUS

  Copyright © 2021 Kirsty McManus

  All rights reserved.

  THANKS TO…

  A huge thank you to Brooke and Lindsay for your helpful editing advice once again.

  And of course, thank you to Diane. I’m very lucky to have you as an author buddy.

  A special mention to Vikkie, also for being so supportive. And now everyone at A Quintillion Reads, too!

  Lastly, an extra big thank you to Kesh, who is my own personal rockstar. :)

  ONE

  Tash

  Okay. I’ll admit it. I am lame.

  You’re not supposed to have a crush on a reality TV singing contestant. That’s reserved for thirteen-year-old girls and people who have no lives—not busy thirty-five-year-old single mothers.

  “Tash! It’s back on!”

  I hurry to the loungeroom, balancing four bowls of Ben and Jerry’s on a tray. I unceremoniously dump three of them into outstretched hands and sit down next to my bestie, Millicent, and start shovelling that heavenly ice cream into my mouth. Mmm…eye candy and literal candy. (I got the flavour with those little chocolate-covered caramel chunks.)

  “You almost missed your favourite contestant,” Millicent teases.

  “Come on. I can’t be the only one who loves Lincoln Page.”

  Millicent looks down at the floor, where my six-year-old daughter Daisy is sitting cross-legged, eyes glued to the screen. She’s so entranced by what she’s watching, she attempts to spoon some ice cream into her mouth and misses. It lands with a plop beside her.

  “Well, I’m guessing your daughter is also a fan,” Millicent laughs.

  Normally, I would pick up any spilled food immediately, but right now, I’m leaving it. Lincoln Page is about to perform on Sing to Me.

  “I wouldn’t say your son is any better,” I point out as her little boy rubs his food-covered hands in his hair.

  “Yeah, but that’s just Ryder. He’s not hypnotised by the curly-haired rock god on the screen.”

  “Shh, he’s starting,” I hiss.

  Millicent rolls her eyes but stops talking so we can fully appreciate the spectacle that is Sing to Me’s semi-final. There are only six contestants left, and Lincoln is one of them.

  The audience cheers as the lights go down. The studio band plays the opening chords of INXS’s Never Tear Us Apart, and a single spotlight illuminates Lincoln in all his beautiful glory.

  Tonight, he’s wearing black leather pants and a loose black T-shirt. His ebony curls are perfectly defined, falling to just above his shoulders.

  But it’s not even the fact that he’s insanely hot I find the most attractive. It’s that he seems like a genuinely nice guy. Throughout the whole series, he has been super supportive of all the other contestants, and he looks as if he’s really enjoying the journey, constantly smiling and bantering with all the mentors and backstage crew.

  When he opens his mouth, the audience almost overwhelms his voice with their appreciative cheers. That slightly raspy tone channelling Michael Hutchence causes my skin to break out in goosebumps.

  “He’s good, isn’t he, Mummy?” Daisy asks.

  “He’s very good.”

  Lincoln grips the microphone with both hands and soulfully sings about two people meeting by chance and not wanting the connection to end. He closes his eyes, making me feel as if he means every single word. On the final note, he reopens them, and the intensity with which he looks down the camera and directly into my soul makes me shiver.

  Everyone in the audience jumps to their feet, clapping and whooping.

  “I suppose that was okay,” Millicent concedes.

  “Okay? We were watching the same thing just then, weren’t we?” I ask incredulously.

  “All right. He was impressive.”

  “Will you vote for him?”

  “Will I be welcome back in this house if I don’t?”

  “Not for at least a month.”

  She mock sighs. “Okay. I suppose I can spare my incredibly valuable consumer power for you.”

  I log onto the show’s website with my phone and cast my vote. “Who else would you pick?”

  “Honestly, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t choose anyone. I’m not a hormone-driven teenager.”

  “But it’s fun, lusting after a rockstar on TV. Where else can you obsessively watch a hot guy and not get into trouble?”

  She smirks. “You, my dear, are a lost cause.”

  I hand her my phone, so she can process her vote. “You see the appeal, though, right?”

  “Sure. I mean, I don’t love long hair on a guy, but Lincoln Page definitely has the ‘it’ factor.”

  “Can I vote, Mummy?” Daisy asks.

  “Sorry, baby, you have to be over sixteen. But you can share mine.”

  “I hope he wins!”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.” Lincoln is the last singer of the night, and the voting lines close after a recap of the evening’s performances and an ad break. I really hope he wins this season. My slight infatuation with the guy spans longer than just this season of Sing to Me. Fourteen years ago, when he was twenty-one, Lincoln won a different talent show called Have You Got What It Takes? Back then, he was cast as a Robbie Williams clone, his curly hair cut short and straightened. Every week, he sang a bunch of bland pop songs that he performed perfectly in a technical sense (hence the reason he won), but I got the impression it wasn’t the style he preferred. He released an album that did amazingly in the charts, but his follow-up didn’t have the same success, and he soon faded into obscurity. I moved on, and actually kind of forgot about him until he showed up as a contestant on this season of Sing to Me. Now my crush is back in full force, and I’m glad he’s expanded into music a little more to my taste.

  The host appears on the screen, along with all six of the finalists. Lincoln is standing at the end, beaming his trademark smile.

  “Sadly, we have to say goodbye to three of these amazing voices tonight,” the host informs us. As if we don’t already understand how a reality singing show works.

  She opens an envelope.

  “The first person not going through to the final is…Jessie Young.”

  A petite country singer with long, red hair looks suitably crushed, but she manages not to cry as she accepts her fate. She’s standing next to Lincoln, and he gives her a consolation hug. I sigh.

  Millicent looks at me. “Are you jealous of Jessie?”

  “No. Maybe,” I admit.

  “You do know Lincoln has a partner and twin girls, don’t you?” she checks.

  “Yes. Yes, I do. But I can still dream.”

  “As long as you don’t start writing him fan mail asking him to leave his family for you.”

  “I wouldn’t do that! But just so we’re clear, I’m allowed to like his Instagram posts, aren’t I?”

  She shakes her head. “Would me saying no actually stop you?”

  I don’t bother dignifying her comment with a response. But mostly because the host is talking again.

  “The second person leaving us tonight is…Tyler Finlay.”

  A twenty-something rapper grimaces and nods. Lincoln gives him a complicated high-five that doesn’t look even remotely rehearsed. He’s so cool.

  “And the third person to not make it through…”

  I hold my breath.

  “…is Lincoln Page. I’m so sorry, Lincoln. You have definitely been a fan favourite this season, and I hope we haven’t seen the last of you.”

  The crowd roars a combination of support and shock. I stare at the screen. Poor Lincoln.

  But his smile doesn’t waver as he takes the microphone to acknow
ledge those involved with the show. “Thanks, guys. I’ve had the best time this season, and I’m so appreciative of everyone who helped me get this far. Also, I want to say a massive thank you to Rachel and my beautiful little girls, Isabella and Madison, for being so supportive while I pursued my dream. This was all for you.”

  The camera pans between Lincoln and his family in the front row as he blows them a kiss.

  “Aw, your boy is gone,” Millicent says. I can’t tell if she’s secretly happy or not. She didn’t watch him during his first stint on reality TV, so she clearly doesn’t have the attachment I do.

  “I want Henry to win,” Ryder declares.

  Henry is a Michael Bublé wannabe. I feel like he would have done well ten years ago, but his sound would be hard to brand in today’s market.

  “Sure, we can root for Henry,” I say, trying not to show how much Lincoln’s elimination has bummed me out.

  “Can they still give Lincoln a record deal?” Daisy asks.

  I wrap my arm around her shoulder. “I hope so. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  Millicent stands up. “We should probably put you two munchkins to bed. Daisy, your mum has a big day tomorrow.”

  The kids complain, but I echo Millicent’s statement. “That’s right. I have to leave early, so I need a good night’s rest.”

  Tomorrow, I’m flying to Sydney to pitch to the acquisitions department of a chain of independent supermarkets to try and convince them they should stock my bento boxes. My business is a meal delivery service that creates cute and healthy lunches for school kids. My mum is Japanese, so I’ve been to Japan a lot, and a few years ago I became obsessed with the art of designing edible masterpieces with a few simple ingredients. My favourite thing to do is create animals and cartoon characters out of rice, egg, and seaweed. I started uploading photos to Instagram, and almost immediately, people asked me where they could learn how to make them, so I ran a few online tutorials. But it turned out everyone really just wanted the finished product, so I began working with a chef to have them made in bulk to sell at markets. From that point, it just snowballed. I now have a website where customers can order my stuff directly, and after tomorrow, I’m hoping I can start stocking them in the refrigerated section of supermarkets throughout the east coast.

  I get the kids organised with their toothbrushes and give Millicent a quick hug. “Thank you so much for looking after Daisy while I’m away.”

  “It’s cool. Your place is nicer than mine anyway, so I’m happy to stay here. Plus, I expect a very expensive present once you land this deal.”

  “No problem. What are we talking? A fancy dinner at Urbane? Or a sports car?”

  “Yeah, I’m thinking along the lines of a new Audi convertible,” she says, eyes twinkling.

  I laugh. “We’ll discuss this again if I get the contract.”

  “You are totally scoring that contract. Now go on, get your beauty sleep. I’ll see you when you’re back.”

  I kiss Ryder on the top of his head and pull Daisy in for a big noisy kiss on the cheek. She shrieks. “Mum! You put spit all over me!”

  I playfully wipe her face with my hand. “Love you, honey. I’ll be gone before you wake up in the morning, but you know you can get Missy to call me if you want anything.” Millicent doesn’t like it when we use her proper name, saying it sounds like an old grandma, so it’s always Miss or Missy.

  “I know. Love you, too.”

  I tuck her into bed and make sure Ryder is comfortable on the floor on the trundle before checking that Millicent is set for linen in the spare room.

  I head to bed and lie there, staring at the ceiling. My brain is a jumble of thoughts.

  As I drift off to sleep, flashes of bento boxes and Lincoln Page blend together in a nonsensical montage of weirdness.

  I hope one day I can find my own rockstar.

  TWO

  Lincoln

  I walk backstage and let out a deep breath. So. It’s over. I’m not quite sure how I feel yet. On the one hand, I’m disappointed. Of course I wanted to win. But on the other, it’s kind of a relief. After what happened the last time I won a reality singing show, I was scared of history repeating itself.

  The rest of the cast and crew are waiting for me in the wings, and they all line up to give me the obligatory post-elimination hug. I knew it was coming because I’d done the same thing to all the other contestants who left before me.

  “Well done, mate,” my mentor, JC, says as he pats me on the back. “You did me proud.”

  “Thanks. Sorry our team didn’t win.”

  He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s just a show. It doesn’t mean anything in the scheme of things. What’s important is what you do next. You’ve built up a decent fan base, so you need to capitalise on that now. What’s the current situation with your band?”

  I’ve been in a cover band for the last ten years. We mostly play local gigs, but the pay is barely enough to support my family. When it’s particularly slow, I work as a barista at a friend’s coffee shop in the city.

  “They’re eager to get back to a regular playing schedule. Obviously, I haven’t been around much, so they’ve suffered a bit financially.”

  “Well, I might be able to do something about that. I was talking to…”

  “Lincoln.”

  I turn to see Rachel and the girls standing behind me. The twins run up and each grab one of my legs.

  “We’ll finish this conversation later,” JC says. “Come find me when you’re done.”

  “Will do.” I bend down and wrap the girls in a hug. “You two are up way past your bedtime.”

  “But we’re not tired, Dad!” Isabella protests.

  “Yeah, we’re big girls,” Madison adds.

  “I never said you weren’t. But it’s getting late. I have to stay for a bit longer, otherwise I’d come home with you right now. Mummy will take care of you tonight, and then I’m all yours from tomorrow onwards.”

  “So that’s it?” Rachel says. “You’re done?”

  “I guess. I mean, I’ll be in the finale for a couple of group performances, but that won’t require much time to rehearse.” I look up at my beautiful partner and see she doesn’t seem particularly happy. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m just disappointed.”

  I stand up so we’re at the same level. “Because I didn’t win?”

  “Of course! You worked so hard for this. I thought for sure you’d make it to the end.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It was a great experience, and I managed to get my name out there again. I’m sure that can only mean good things for the band.”

  She doesn’t say anything. I didn’t realise she was so invested in the outcome.

  I kiss her on the forehead. “Don’t be sad. This is all good. Hey, do you want me to see if we can get a babysitter for the girls and then you can hang out here with me tonight? We’ll have a few drinks…”

  “No, no. I think it would be best if I took the girls home myself. They’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

  “As long as you’re sure. I won’t stay out all night—probably just an hour or so to thank JC and the crew. Is that all right?”

  She nods. “Come on, girls, we need to go.”

  “No! We want to stay with Daddy!” Madison wails.

  Rachel looks at me for support. “A little help, please?”

  I crouch back down and give Madison a kiss on the cheek. “Princess, this is grown-ups time now. You’ll be bored if you stay, but I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. Maybe we can go to South Bank and get ice cream from Messina?”

  She pauses as if contemplating the offer. After an unspoken conversation with her sister, she nods. “Okay.”

  I kiss Isabella on the cheek, too. “I’ll see you both in the morning.” I give Rachel an appreciative smile. “Thanks, babe. I owe you.”

  “You do.” She grabs each girl by the hand and leads them away.

  I try not to take
Rachel’s reaction personally. I just need to give her time to come to terms with me not winning. It’s strange, but I don’t feel as bad about the outcome as she clearly does. I really do believe that the band will get a boost from this experience—and that’s all I can really ask for. If I’d won, there’s no telling what the label might have demanded. They could have insisted I go solo…or change the style of music I perform…

  “Link!”

  I snap out of my reverie. Lucas, one of my fellow contestants, is trying to get my attention.

  “We’re all heading to Cloudland for something to eat and drink. You coming?”

  “Is JC going?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay. Cool.” I figure I can briefly celebrate my time on the show and still get home for a decent night’s sleep.

  Because even though this whole adventure has been exciting and intoxicating, there’s still nothing better than curling up next to Rachel and having the girls climb into bed with us first thing in the morning.

  Family is everything.

  ***

  The show has reserved a decadent VIP booth at Cloudland filled with velvet cushions and red chiffon curtains. There are about fifteen of us: a mixture of the final contestants, some of the mentors, and a few behind-the-scenes crew.

  I sit beside JC and sip a glass of red wine that someone hands me. JC drinks bourbon straight. I’ve never seen him order anything else, although I’ve really only hung out with him for rehearsals and a couple of these events. I don’t go to every elimination party because I’d rather be at home with the girls.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  “Good. I’m going to miss all of this, though.”

  “Yeah, it’s hard to go back to normality after such a high. But it’s important to put it all in perspective. I think you’ve got your head screwed on straight, and you’re keeping it real with your family. I was too stupid at your age to realise how important being grounded is.”

  JC is an old-school rocker from the eighties. He toured the world with his band for the better part of three decades until they finally called it quits.