Best Of Everything (13 page)

Buddy and I are inseparable during the breaks. As I’m staring out at the Pacific, scratching behind his ear with his big head resting against my leg, I feel a pang of loneliness. I have twenty people behind me all working as hard as they can to make me look alluring, or at least interesting, yet I could be on a desert island for all the kinship I feel. Even with all the activity, every day there’s nothing to do but hope in vain that a miracle will happen and Derek will make it to California before he has to go on tour.

Whoever said long-distance relationships were the hardest wasn’t kidding. Phone time’s fine, but there’s no substitute for Derek in the flesh – something I’m keenly aware of every night as I stare at the ceiling.

Joan’s assistant approaches and gives me a tired, fake-cheery grin – I know everyone here has been up since 3:00 in the morning, because when I arrived at 5:40 they were all set up and doing their final checks. We had to start at that hour because of our permit – we only have the beach until 9:00. Two bleary-eyed cops stand by the strand, watching us curiously, and the assistant clears her throat.

“You want some more coffee?” she asks. “We should be ready for the next scene in about five.”

“That would be great. And some more treats for Buddy.”

She gazes down at the dog and grins. He’s won everyone’s hearts. “Nothing’s too good for Bud.”

We finish the final two beach shots, and I reluctantly return Buddy to his trainer, a heavyset man named Stu who’s quick to laugh. His ruddy complexion and reddish sprigs of wayward hair make him look like an adult version of the kid everyone made fun of in school. I decide that Buddy’s got a pretty sweet gig, running on the beach and wolfing down endless treats, as does his owner. Maybe if the music thing doesn’t pan out I can get a job working with pups – there are certainly worse ways to make a living.

The shooting ends at 11:00 p.m. at Knott’s Berry Farm, where I’ve been filmed on a bunch of different rides I normally wouldn’t have ridden at gunpoint. A white Suburban car service returns me to Los Angeles, the one-day marathon shoot over with enough material to cobble into a three-minute video. The plan is to film the next one while I’m on tour, live concert shots mixed with candid road footage. That’s assuming there even is a next one – if an act doesn’t break big, two videos is maximum before the label cuts its losses and moves on.

I’m looking forward to Friday, when Melody will be in town for a couple of days. Even though I’ve been keeping crazy busy, I don’t really have anyone to talk to. The band guys are cool, but they’re the band, not my friends, and besides, they’re all male. Some things you can only talk to a girl about, and Melody, for all her sex-obsessed ways, is a good listener.

I feel like every hour without Derek is a wasted hour of my life. With the first shows coming up in just a few short days, I’ve given up hope of getting to New York again before the tour starts. Derek calls every night like clockwork, but he hasn’t been able to get away either, so we’re resigned to a long break before we see each other again.

The following day I’ll be on a talk show with Jay accompanying me on acoustic guitar. I’m looking forward to singing in front of an audience again. My wrist is getting better, but it’ll be months before it’s really mended. I’m so used to playing and singing all day from my days on the street that in spite of all the activity, I feel a little bit like I’m slacking. Even though the logical part of my mind knows that soon I’ll be singing almost every night, the fear that I’m losing my edge is constant.

Ruby picks me up at 1:00, and we drive to the Paramount lot, where the show is filmed. The host is a popular comedian whose daytime TV career took off three years ago and blossomed into a franchise.

I’m the last guest, and I wait in the green room, watching the monitor while a thirty-something actress with a new miniseries talks about her four cats. A celebrity psychic rounds out the lineup, and I’m glad I missed his fifteen minutes – he looks kind of like a creepy television preacher sitting beside the actress, with lacquered hair the color of straw and a shifty look in his eyes.

Jay’s strumming his guitar by the wet bar, and Ruby glances at him every now and then with interest. Even though he’s probably five or six years younger, in his mid-to-late twenties, she’s checking him out, which I find funny. It’s the first time I’ve seen her act anything but professional, and it somehow makes her more human.

“You ever been on TV before?” I ask Jay, making conversation.

“Not one-on-one like this. I did the talk show thing with my last band, but that was just a performance and then cut to commercial.”

“It’s pretty cush. The audiences are always supportive. We’ll kill it.”

He nods. “You’ll kill it. I’m just along for the ride.”

The stage manager escorts us to an area behind a scrim, where we’ll do the song, and then I’ll talk to the hostess for a few minutes before the credits roll. Jay adjusts his microphone and I get comfortable on my wooden stool, my ratty jeans and Chucks pretty much what I wear every day regardless of what I’m doing. My concession to celebrity is a new white top with a few sequins and a stylized rendering of a French impressionist cancan dancer on the front. I saw it in a shop on Melrose and had to have it, even if it was a week’s fast-food budget.

The manager counts down, and then the hostess is introducing us and the audience is applauding. The scrim slides off to the side and I smile at the crowd.

The first chords ring out like a challenge, and then I’m in the song, one of the originals from the album that’s going to go out as our second single. Sebastian argued against performing the lead single until the album was released, and Saul agreed. The audience doesn’t know, of course, and by the time we’re done with the folksy Southern-influenced tune, everyone is whistling and clapping so loudly it hurts my ears.

The hostess approaches and invites me to sit by her side as the applause dies down. I get comfortable and take a sip of water from a waiting glass. It’s just me and her now, the actress and the psychic on a sofa to the side of me.

“Wow. Sage, Sage, Sage. That was incredible,” the hostess says, shaking her head.

“Thanks.”

“You know, I saw you on the show when you made the semifinals, and I knew you were going to win. It was that obvious.”

I’m blushing, but manage to force a shy smile. “Not to me. There were some amazing talents on that show.”

“Do you still talk to any of them?”

I hesitate. Is this some kind of trap? Her expression is open and honest, so I decide it isn’t. “Yeah. Jeremy, the one with the colored hair? He’s now on Broadway doing the lead in
Phantom of the Opera
. I got to see it on my last trip. He’s so good it’s sick.”

“Oh, yeah! I remember him. He was really sweet.”

“He’s a good friend. And an amazing singer.”

“Yes, he is. And what about Derek? He’s no slouch himself.”

“Yeah, I always thought he should have won…” I say, and the audience murmurs a shuffled protest of no.

“Do you guys still talk? When you’re not in New York?”

This is getting a little too close for comfort, so I deflect. “Jeremy or Derek?”

“Well, either.”

“Sure. We’re all going through the same things right now, dealing with all the good stuff that’s happened since the show. It totally changed my life, and I know it’s done the same thing for both Jeremy and Derek.” I decide that if she goes after Derek, I’m going to tell her it’s none of her business. I’m not going to be someone’s punching bag, TV or no.

“Well, that’s great. You’re welcome back anytime you want,” she says, and then glances at the stage manager. “We’re out of time, so tell everyone about your new album and when it’ll be available, Sage.”

“It’s called
Best of Everything
, and it releases in three weeks! The song we performed is the second off the album. I’ll be on tour to support it, so when I’m in town, come on out and say hey!”

More applause and then I’m fake-talking to the hostess as the house band plays the closing song, barely making out anything she’s saying, which as far as I can tell is thanking me again and wishing me all the luck in the world. When I get backstage Ruby and Jay are waiting, and we file out to her car before the audience makes it through the main doors.

“That was great, Sage. You two were brilliant,” Ruby says. “I loved the way you worked together.”

I wonder whether she and Jay aren’t maybe going to hook up tonight so he can show her more of his tremolo. I envy them if they are. For a second, a wave of self-pity washes over me, and I feel isolated – there’s Jay and Ruby, and me, the third wheel. Maybe it’s just my imagination, which is a distinct possibility; I’ve been reading way too much of the diary and wallowing in self-pity over my romantic situation. I resolve to have some fun with Melody over the weekend, because once she leaves I’m going to be all about performing in the weeks leading up to the tour.

Chapter 18

Melody hits town with the force of a hurricane making landfall. She arrives at the apartment in hooker heels and a cloud of cheap floral perfume. Her youthful exuberance gives the straining fabric of her white jeans a run for their money. We hug, and she drops her carry-on next to the sofa and plops down with an expectant look.

“Where are the chocolates?” she asks.

“Oh. Crap. I’ve been so busy…”

“I come to town and you don’t have chocolates? Girl, what is going on in that head of yours?”

“Come on. We’ll go to the store right now. It’s only a block away.” I eye her shoes. “Assuming you can make it in those.”

“Aren’t they bitchin’? I got them yesterday. I won’t even tell you what they cost.”

“They charge by the inch?”

“Don’t be hating on me when I just land, baby. But you have a good point. Let me change into some shorts and flip-flops.”

She goes to the bedroom and emerges a minute later in a pair of cutoffs guaranteed to stop traffic. Her warm brown skin and endless legs are stunning even in a town filled with spectacular females.

“Why is it that no matter what you wear, you look awesome? Do you practice?” I ask in a kind of awed hush.

“Genetics. But don’t worry. Some boys go for that skinny white chick thing. Like what’s-his-name.”

“Suddenly you can’t remember Derek’s name?”

“Right. He’s off the market, so he’s dead to me.”

“I thought you were off the market, too.”

“I guess we’ll see about that. It’s one of the reasons I’m in town. I want to spend some time with Sebastian and see where his head’s at.”

“I have a feeling I know where it’ll be at about ten seconds after he sees you in that outfit.”

“Such a dirty mind for such an impressionable young girl. You absolutely need a balancing influence once you go on tour. Have you considered how much you’ll pay me to keep you out of trouble?”

“I’m still running the numbers,” I say. The last couple of calls she’s been not-so-subtly hinting that she’d like to go on the road with me. While it would undoubtedly be a blast, I’m not sure the West Coast is ready for the Melody Effect on the road, much less the label’s insurance rider.

“Well, I’m a hot property, so don’t wait too long or I’ll have other obligations.”

“Save that line for Sebastian.”

She sits across from me. “Have you seen him lately?”

“No. He’s cutting a record. And I’ve been super busy.”

“We should stop by.”

“That’s probably not a hot idea. He doesn’t like distractions when he’s working. Besides, aren’t you going to see him tonight?”

Her eyes dart to the side. “Probably.”

“Have you talked to him? Does he even know you’re here?”

She brightens. “Oh, yeah, of course. It’s just…it’s like you said. He’s not sure about his schedule.”

My heart sinks for her. I don’t know what’s happened, but Melody’s mood is completely different than the love-struck girl who was here just a few weeks ago. I want to dig more, but she doesn’t seem like she wants to talk about it, so instead I stand. “Let’s go get candy.”

“Always a good idea.”

It’s late afternoon and a balmy late fall day in Southern California. An uninterrupted parade of luxury cars glides by as we walk down the street in the fading sun, the air dry from the Santa Ana winds.

Our trek turns into a slow amble through the neighborhood, window-shopping as we eye expensive junk. We come to a boutique that specializes in retro garb. Melody squeals when she sees the display and insists we go in.

Half an hour later she’s tried on half the store, but reality intrudes every time she considers the price tags, and we wind up leaving a frustrated saleswoman with a pile of clothes. On the way out Melody stops at a rack with a dozen hats on it. She selects a formless black felt one and insists I give it a go. I reluctantly pull it onto my head – if a fedora had sex with a ski cap, this is what its offspring would look like – but Melody insists it’s exactly what I need. At sixty bucks it’s about six of what I need, but she won’t listen and practically drags me to the register as I fish for the folded wad of twenties in my jeans.

We eventually return to the apartment with a half-eaten bag of Reese’s, me sporting my new hat and my gangsta shades, and I consider my reflection in the entry mirror as we wait for the elevator to arrive. The hat looks funky, like I belong in an old Zig-Zag cigarette paper ad from the sixties, and I decide Melody might not be completely blind when it comes to fashion. I like it a lot more than the garbage the label fashion designer came up with, although that’s not saying a lot.

“So you’re coming to rehearsal tonight, right?”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she says, but sounds distracted as she checks her phone.

“You’ll probably want to wear some actual clothes, though. It’s all dudes except for me. If you show up like that, they won’t remember what song we’re playing.”

She issues an exaggerated sigh. “Sometimes it’s a curse being me.”

“Yes. A shy example of budding womanhood, wasn’t that what you said?”

“If I didn’t, I meant to.”