Songbird (2 page)

Chapter
Two

T
he piercing screech from the microphone feedback almost deafened me. I quickly pulled out my earpiece, letting it fall onto my shoulder.

“What was I doing wrong?” I asked Ryan. He was standing in the empty stadium where we were rehearsing. Demi was lost to her phone beside him.

“There is no point practicing when we don’t have a complete band,” Ryan said tersely. His salt and pepper hair looked like it was getting more salty by the minute. The tour director once told me I had caused each and every one of those white hairs. Apparently I was the only stressor in his life. His fourth wife would be pleased to hear that.

“I tried to tell her,” Demi commented, her eyes never leaving the phone screen.

“We need a guitarist, Brierly, and we need him now.”

“I can play the guitar part for now,” I offered. I was just as good as any professional. All those months in hospital had seen to that. Who better to play my own songs but me anyway?

“You need to rehearse
your
part,” Ryan insisted. “Make a decision about the guitarist, you’ve been auditioning forever. The perfect one isn’t out there, choose someone that will show up on time and play. That’s all we need. Everyone take five, I need a coffee.”

I clipped the microphone into the stand and looked at the other band members. They were all over it too, I was sure they were thinking the same thing as Ryan.

Demi hurried over with a lollipop, thrusting it my way before I could start ranting about how they didn’t understand music. It was raspberry flavored – my favorite. She might have just avoided a lecture.

“So here’s the deal,” she started seriously. “Ryan is going to have a heart attack if we don’t get a guitarist in here pronto. So I’m thinking of giving Forest a go. He was the most talented of all those that we’ve seen. How does that sound?”

“Not him.”

“But why?”

“Because he’s just like-” I stopped myself before I said his name. “Because he’s just like every other guitarist. I think we need someone else. The perfect one has to be out there somewhere.”

If Demi noticed my slip up, she didn’t let on. She was a part-time actress so
she was good at hiding things – unlike me. “Let’s give him a go, huh? I promise I’ll keep him in line. You won’t even know he’s there.”

Across the room, Ryan was throwing a don
ut at one of the sound grips. The poor guy had to duck to avoid the missile. The longer I dragged out the decision, the more stressful everything was going to get.

“How about the guy that played before Forest? The one with the eyebrow ring? He was quite good.” I tried racking my brain to remember one of the other guitarists. They had all merged into one mediocre performance
after a while.

“He’s already booked, I checked. I called them all to see who was still available, Forest is it. It’s a hot market out there at the moment, it’s tour season.”

Did I even have a choice anymore? “Fine, do whatever you want.”

“Great! Go get some real food,” she instructed me. “You can’t live on lollipops.” Demi nodded before bustling off, already
dialing her phone.

I headed for the food table, trying to see something that was appealing. They always insisted on putting out unhealthy food options, thinking we would need the sugar kick to continue. I took an apple, one of the few lonely pieces of fruit tucked into the corner. They probably considered it a garnish instead of real food. Considering Los Angeles was so obsessed with body image, it was kind of ironic.

I took the apple to the audience seats and sat down, carefully peeling it with a knife. I cut off small bits at a time, chewing each mouthful carefully. I didn’t care that it took too long to eat it, that was how it had to be done.

Demi returned a few moments later, flopping down in the seat next to me. “It’s confirmed, he’s on his way
in. Ryan has called a lunch break and we can start to rehearse in earnest after that.”

I inwardly groaned. So the arrogant show pony was going to be my lead guitarist. Was it wrong to wish he would completely stuff it up so I had a reason to fire him? I would rather tour without any guitarist than with someone I couldn’t stand to be around.

“How about I make you a sandwich for lunch?” Demi offered. She had obviously checked out the catering table too. “I can whip up something really good.”

“I just had an apple.”

“Which was a good appetizer. You’re going to need more than that to get through the afternoon. You have a show to put on.”

The consequences of saying no to Demi were vast. If she thought for a moment I was relapsing, she would have me back at the hospital in the click of a finger. Which was exactly why my parents trusted her to get me through this tour.

“A sandwich sounds great,” I finally replied, trying to plaster on a smile. I hid everything with a smile, it was so easy to do. Until the day you woke up and realized you couldn’t even smile anymore. That was not a good day.

We had lunch together, making sure we both ate everything on our plate. When Forest Knight finally turned up, we were chomping at the bit to get going.

Demi brought him over to me, excitedly introducing us formally. “Brierly, this is Forest Knight. Forest, I’d like you to meet Brierly Wilcox.”

He nodded my way. “Hey.”

Clearly this guy wasn’t adept at manners. Whatever happened to a handshake? Was he too cool for that? It instantly made me forget my manners. “I need someone to do their job and show up on time. Can I count on you for that?”

He grinned, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. Why did he have to have such a n
ice smile? “You can count on me. Yes, sir.”

I rolled my eyes. “Just play the damn guitar.”

I walked off and stood in front of the microphone, where I felt most at home. With the band behind me, at least I didn’t need to look at Forest. If I tried hard enough, I could pretend he wasn’t even there.

We kicked off with the first song on the set list. I wasn’t sure if it was the final list yet,
but the songs were starting to jell together nicely. I wouldn’t have to tweak them much more to get the effect I was hoping for.

I totally expected Forest to be lost. He didn’t seem like the type who would be into my kind of pop music. He seemed like the punk rock or emo kind. Yet every song I threw at him, he could play. And he didn’t just reel them off, he played them
well
. Either he was a master at reading music or he had practiced. He was seriously affecting my plan to get him fired.

There was only one thing I could do. “Let’s play
Stupid Mess
. I’m thinking of adding it to the set list.”

Ryan’s brow wrinkled in protest even before he said anything. “That’s an old song. You never even liked it.”

“I think we could make it work. The fans liked it,” I pointed out. Whenever I wanted something a certain way, I would always bring up the fans. Truthfully, I had trawled some of my fan forums and they hated the song too. But it wasn’t well known, which was exactly the point. There was no way Forest would know how to play it. “Come on, Ryan, indulge me. It’s just one song.”

“Fine.” He sighed before counting us in. I had to think hard to remember the lyrics.

My left ear strained to hear the guitar. I desperately wanted Forest to be struggling. I expected to hear wrong notes and some quick riffs while he caught up to the rest of the band. The other guys had been with me from the start so I knew they would be able to play perfectly. It seemed we only had trouble keeping lead guitarists.

We were all a tiny bit rusty, but they all had the general gist of the song. The fans were righ
t, it really was a terrible track. If my record label hadn’t paid so much money for the rights to it, the song would never have made it onto the album. After that, I had my lawyer put a clause into my contracts that all song choices had to be approved by me before they were obtained. It had saved me from any further embarrassment.

Much to my horror, Forest kept up with us. I tried singing the chorus just a bit different
ly, using my artistic license to switch it up. Still, he continued to follow my beats. This guy was ridiculous. He just may have been a robot, sent from the future to annoy me.

When the song was over, Ryan was the first one to speak. “That’s
still a terrible song, Brierly. We’re not putting it in the show.”

“Fine. I thought it might work but clearly it doesn’t.” I turned around to my band. “Thanks guys, I know that was one out of the archives. You all did
great.” I purposely ignored looking at Forest. He probably only had a smug look on his face.

“I think we’ve got the vocals down,” Ryan called out to us. Either he really believed it, or he wanted to go home. He was the best liar I’ve ever known, I couldn’t be sure which one it was. “Let’s wrap for today and we’ll get the choreographer in tomorrow to go through movement. Good with you, Brierly?”

“Sure.” He wouldn’t change his mind anyway.

Demi clapped her hands wildly from the seats, giving us a solo round of applause. It made me smile, even if nobody else paid attention.

The group disbursed, I think we were all happy to be getting out of there. It had been a long day. I weaved through the corridors to my dressing room where my handbag and jacket were waiting for me. I sighed, with another day gone, it was another day closer to starting the tour. The thought almost crippled me, I was a long way off being ready. Even if the vocals were down like Ryan said.

A knock on the door made me spin around. Forest was standing there, his guitar nowhere in sight. “I think we may have got off on the wrong foot.”

Did he even have a right foot? “Look, I just need someone to do the job. I’m not interested in playing any games or catering to any egos. I have enough on my plate.” I actually did try to say it politely, yet it still came out like I was a bitch.

“When I’m nervous,” he started, taking a step into the dressin
g room. It was one step too many. “I act like an ass. I’m sorry about earlier.”

The sweetness of his apology caught me off guard. And I really didn’t want to be caught off guard. “I
appreciate that. But seriously, I don’t need to know anything about you except that you can play the guitar. Let’s just get on with the job. Okay?”

Something crossed his face, but I couldn’t read him. “Okay, sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll work on
movement
.” He emphasized the last word, making it sound much dirtier than it actually was. Or perhaps I was just hearing things.

“Choreography, yes,” I replied. “We need to move around the stage or we look like puppets. We also need to learn not to run into each other. That’s how people fall off the stage.”

He nodded, grinning with just one side of his face. So he had an adorable lopsided grin, he probably sneered the same way. I would not let it affect me.

“See you tomorrow, Brierly,” he said before leaving. He wasn’t quick enough to hide the look of amusement playing through his eyes.

I had seen that look before, I had been drawn into that look before. There was no way I was going to let myself go down that path again. The last time had almost been the death of me, I had to stay away from Forest. And, more importantly, I had to find a reason to fire him. There was no way I could spend a year on the road with him.

I was still thinking the same thing that night when I met up with some of my friends. I called all the five girls my friends but there were only a few that I actually liked. Others were acquaintances, introduced by our management teams. It was good for all of us to be seen together and that was the entire point of the dinner. The photographers could take some pictures, the tabloids could make up some stories, and we
would get our faces in front of people. Somehow, that was supposed to make us sell more albums and concert tickets.

There was supposed to be no such thing as bad publicity, but I could definitively say there could be. I had been burned before and it always made me paranoid from then on. When I attended the publicity events that were made to look like a friendly get-together, I kept my guard up the entire time. I couldn’t go through another mistake again.

We all scowled at the paparazzi as we entered the restaurant, the doorway lit up with flashing bulbs. The shutterbugs all called out our names, trying to get us to turn our attention to them. We played the game well, making sure they got their money shot. We couldn’t outright give them good photos, we had to pretend we weren’t there to be taken advantage of. I’m pretty sure they knew we were using them as much as they were using us. It was the fame game, after all.

We were ushered to the best table in the restaurant – front and
center. The best of the paparazzi outside would still be able to take photos through the window. That
was
the entire point of our meeting.

“How’s the tour coming along?” Mikayla asked. She was one of the ones I liked.
I considered her one of my best friends.