New Olympus Trilogy: Teenage Goddess Teenage Star Hell on Earth (6 page)

17

After a restful night in the hotel and a hasty breakfast, we were whisked off to the studio in a sparkling white limousine. Only Miss Allerton looked impressed. From what information she’d let fall, Melinda’s family owned a good part of Colombia. Hell and I had ridden along in Phoebus' chariot.

A
crowd of fans stood waiting near the studio entrance. They went almost hysterical at seeing Jason descend from the long car, and started to chant, rhythmically,
Ja-son! Ja-son!”
Several photographers were busily flashing their cameras.

Jason was
immediately shielded by flunkies and also separated from his fans by a rope barrier, but he good-naturedly exchanged a few words across the rope, signed a couple of pictures, and waved to the rest of the fans. This seemed to make them even more enthusiastic.

I looked on in astonishment. Sure, he was talented and good-looking, but did these girls and boys have nothing better to do? Did they have no pride?

Jason soon returned to my side and firmly grasped my hand in his.

His agent bustled towards us. “Jason, you come this way. The press conference will start as soon as you’ve arrived.”

Jason pulled me along, while the other three were led off in a different direction by a young man. I looked to Mr Murdock for assistance, but he just shrugged.

We emerged from a corridor into the front section of a larger room that I couldn’t even see properly because dozens of flashes went off right in my face. Jason was unfazed and confidently strode to a pulpit in the middle of the front section. I had managed to detach my hand at last and tried to fade into the background of the stage, but beside the entrance we’d used, blocked by the bodyguard and several others, there was just a wall with some cloth hanging over it. I stood there, grinding my teeth.

“Is she your girlfriend, Jason?” the journalists asked.

Jason beamed.
“Yes, this is Myra, the girl I love more than life.”

This
corny phrase was greeted with a mixture of incredulity and sniggering. I felt myself flushing, embarrassed for both of us.

Jason turned back, grasped my hand again, and pulled me forward. I thought about resisting, but that would have made me look even more foolish.

“Howdy, Myra,” one of the journalists shouted. “Tell us your side of the story!”

I saw Murdock glare at me from the side of the room. Well, he could have prevented this. I took a deep breath.

“I go to the same school in Colorado as Jason,” I told the assembled reporters. “When I transferred to Rockview a while ago, we hit it off right away. I really admire Jason’s talent.”

They took notes, but didn’t seem to find this terribly fascinating.

“Do you love him?”

“My feelings are my own affair. It was nice meeting you, now I’ll leave you to Jason, who is the star here.” I left the room at a walk,
though quickly, with my head held high. After all, a daughter of Zeus is not afraid of anyone or anything.

But still. Whew. I’d hate having to deal with
such intrusive questioning on a regular basis.

One of the recording studio flunkies escorted me to the rest of my group – Miss Allerton, Melinda and Hell – who were being shown a gallery of posters of all the stars who had been recording there at some time or another. Their guide was a young, skinny guy who looked to be barely twenty.

It was boring, as I’d never heard of most of these singers, but I feigned interest, relieved to have escaped from the media attention. All those flashes, though – I’d be outed as Jason’s girlfriend, no doubt about it. Maybe even put on TV, and certainly on his fan pages on the internet. I hadn’t even put on any cosmetics or makeup, as I understood was the normal practice for human media appearances.

On the other hand, who cared? From what Pallas had told me, most gods and goddesses had looked foolish at some point in their long lives. She always advised me to look on any mishaps as comedy. To remember that, later on, I would laugh about it all. I wished it were later on already.

If only I had my glamour back. Then I wouldn’t ever need to bother with messy make-up and other human enhancements.

After the gallery, the guide showed us their media library, and we finally came to the highlight of the tour, the recording studios. We were led to one that wasn’t currently in use and shown all kind of expensive-looking technical equipment. Hell was more interested in that part than I was. A couple of technicians sat in a booth behind thick glass, looking out at us. The younger one winked at me.

“Go on, you can try it out,” our guide said with a patronizing smile, gesturing at the equipment. “Here, take the mike – sing your favourite song!”

Miss Allerton immediately shook her head, claiming she was completely unmusical.

Melinda held the microphone in front of her bosom, struck a sexy pose, and sang something that began
Reloj, no marques las horas.
She had a pleasant contralto voice.

Then it was my turn. Without thinking much about it, I sang the first thing that came into my head, a ditty that Phoebus had composed the year before. Hell chimed in with the counterpoint, and – no, I was not mistaken – he even added an almost inaudible echo of the lyre with which Phoebus usually played the piece. As it was a short song, we both remembered all the words.

When we finished after a couple of minutes, the guide, Miss Allerton and Melinda were all staring at us. So were the technicians, who were talking to each other, but the thick glass partition made it impossible even for me to hear what they said.

One of the technicians spoke to us through a mike. “That was real unusual. Could you do it over?”

I shrugged, and we sang the song again. It did have a lovely, haunting melody.

“What language is that?” the guide asked when we were through.

“Uh – I don’t know. We learned the song from a friend who came from Macedonia,” Hell said, off-hand.

“That was a really strange sound you two produced, almost otherworldly,” Melinda commented. Hell shook his head at her.

“I liked your song too, even if it was a bit old-fashioned.”

“My granny loves
Boleros, I hear them all the time when I visit her.
El Reloj
is one of her favourites.”

“You’re all three amazingly talented,” Ms Allerton said. “I couldn’t sing in tune if my life depended on it.”

The tour being over, our guide led us into the executive cafeteria, where we were supposed to wait for Jason. I ordered a lemon soda. Hell and Melinda broke into Spanish and engaged in a detailed comparison of favourite songs. I drank my soda and Ms Allerton stirred her latte, looking around curiously. The guide was also silent and looked bored, and – I suspected – resentful at having to do babysitting duty.

After some fifteen minutes, we were joined by a middle-aged guy in a
n expensive-looking suit. The guide eagerly jumped to his feet at first sight of this newcomer.

“Hello, Mr
Callmer, Sir! I didn’t know you were going to join us.”

C
allmer shrugged, and said, “That will be all, Geoff.” The guide, deflated, quickly bid us good-bye and slunk off.

“So, which of you pretty girls is Jason Mackenzie’s girlfriend?”
Callmer asked, with a false joviality that instantly put my back up. He sat down at our table without being invited.

“Myra, here, is Jason’s girlfriend,” Ms Allerton said, tilting her head at me.

“Ah, and the young man?”

“Myra’s brother,
Helmuth,” she explained.

“It only makes sense that Jason’s friends would also be gifted,” Ballmer looked the two of us over appraisingly. He didn’t seem interested in learning who Melinda was.

“That song you performed in the recording room just a while ago,” he came to the point, “is it an old folk song, by any chance?”

“On the contrary, it’s a recent composition by a well-known artist,” Hell immediately set him straight. “It’s certainly not in the public domain.”

“So you know the composer? Who is it?”

I didn’t want to get this smarmy guy involved with Phoebus, so I said, “A family friend, he lives in Europe most of the time.”

“Do you have his name and address, by any chance?” Ballmer persisted.

Hell said, in the voice of power, “
What exactly are your intentions? Tell us the truth
.” Melinda and Miss Allerton threw him alarmed glances.

“That song is worth a fortune. If it belongs to some unimportant foreigner, we can easily rip it off with a couple of minor changes.”

“What!” Ms Allerton looked shocked. So did Callmer, when he realised what he’d just said.

“
You will forget all about the song, and you won’t use it
.” Hell looked straight into the executive’s eyes.

“All right,”
Callmer agreed dully.

“Goodbye, then,” I said to him. “Nice of you to drop by and greet us.”

We all watched the guy leave.

“That was weird,” Melinda said, shooting Hell as suspicious look. “Did you hypnotize him?”

“Yes, sometimes that ability is really useful.”

She mulled it over.

“It was just like Christabel, when she suddenly confessed to buying her essay on the internet. Did you hypnotise her, as well?

No doubt about it, Melinda was pretty smart.

“I just appealed to her to be more truthful.”

Ms Allerton frowned. "You can make people act against their own interest? Force them to speak the truth? That's a very dangerous ability. And what else?" Her eyes were big, and she looked at him almost fearfully as the implications sank in. "You wouldn't use this against your teachers, I should hope?"

“I might if I had to. Like right now.
You’re going to forget all about this conversation immediately
.”

Ms Allerton blinked, and said, “I wonder how long we’ll have to wait for Jason?” Her expression was placid once again.

I briefly thought about the ethics of Hell’s actions, but decided to let it go. Callmer had it coming, and Ms Allerton would be happier without such disturbing knowledge.

Melinda was looking at Hell with raised eyebrows, her eyes round.

“There’s still me,” she said in Spanish. It sounded like a challenge. “Want to make me forget, too?”

“
Nunca en la vida.”
Never.
He smiled at her.

Uh-oh. My suspicions were confirmed. So that’s why he’d grown half a head overnight.

Hell was in love.

18

The MacDudes were a little surprised to see a group of teenagers among the lunch crowd. They signed a group photo for Melinda’s mom without fuss. Their mood was mellow, no doubt assisted by the excellent food and satisfaction with a very productive session.

“Jason was inspired today,” a studio executive
told me, enthusiastic. “He put much more feeling into the songs than ever before. The public will love it.” I could see for myself that Jason was happy and almost high from their joint artistic effort.

“Would you like a signed photo, too?” Molson, the
MacDude’s drummer, asked me after he’d signed Melinda’s.

“No, thanks.” This custom of getting autographs from stars seemed very intrusive to me, particularly after last night’s interrupted dinner. I was not going to start doing it myself. Besides, I’d only recently learned of the band’s existence from Jason and had no idea if I even liked their style.

Melinda looked at me in surprise. “You could sell it on Ebay! The MacDudes are hot just now,” she whispered.

Molson also seemed astonished that anyone would turn his offer down. “You’re not into our music, then?” he asked me, clearly puzzled why I was there at all.

“We’re classmates of Jason’s,” I explained, “he brought us along for company.”

“She’s Jason’s girlfriend,” Melinda added. I guessed I would have to get used to
that role, at least until the damage done by Eros’s arrow could be reversed.

As lunch was winding down, Murdock came over to our group, Jason in tow. Jason looked shocked. The agent held his cell phone clenched in his hand.

“Myra, there’s something I need to tell you.” From his expression, I could already guess it was not going to be good news. “A publicist buddy in L.A. just informed me that since the press conference this morning, three separate hate sites have sprung up on the internet.”

“Hate sites? Against whom?”

“Against you. It seems that some of Jason’s fans cannot deal with the way he introduced you, and they feel jealous. There’s a good deal of negative commentary about your character, nationality, and appearance.
Euro trash
is one of the least negative descriptions, I hear. It’s a P.R disaster.”

Jason was almost in tears. “Myra, I’m so sorry! I had no idea this would happen!”