Less Than Nothing (35 page)

“I wish there was betting. I’d clean up,” he says as he studies his reflection in the mirror.

“There’s probably a line in Vegas. You should have checked.”

“Such earthly concerns are beneath me. I merely feign interest so you’ll feel comfortable in my presence.”

“That’s good of you.”

Jeremy’s wearing a white suit he splurged on. When I first saw him in it, I gave him unrelenting shit.

“You look like those reruns of
Fantasy Island
.”

“Ha, ha. I’ll have you know that not everyone’s into your jeans and chemise look.”

“Chemise?”

“Those little peasant blouses you’ve taken to wearing. I feel like I’m in an off-off-Broadway run of
Fiddler on the Roof
.”

“Liar. You love my fun little tops.”

“I do not. I’ve been deceiving you, trying to butter you up so you’ll throw the show.”

The makeup guy goes a little heavier on the rouge than I like, but I defer to his expertise. He says he thought I looked a little pale the last couple of shows, so I tell him to work his magic. The hairstylist has given up in defeat and leaves me to my own devices after touching up my roots again. I get an idea and look at the clock on the wall.

“How long would it take to dye my tips blue?”

“Just the tips? Do you care how fried they are?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“I can probably whip something up in forty minutes or so. But that’s cutting it close.”

“Never mind, then.”

“Tell you what, Sage. You win this, and I’ll have you over to my salon and we’ll do a full treatment on you. Free. Okay?”

“That’s awesome. Another reason to win.”

We’re walking back to the dressing room when Derek comes around the corner and stops in the passageway. Jeremy’s eyes narrow, but Derek’s only looking at me. I approach him and nod. “Kill ’em dead tonight, Derek.”

“You too.” He stops. “We good?”

“What’s that the drunks say? One day at a time.”

He eyes Jeremy’s suit. “Fair enough. Have a great show, Jeremy. Nice duds.”

Jeremy shakes his head. I think he’s going to stick out his tongue, but he resists. “Thanks. Break a leg.”

I draw number four. Jeremy’s one, Derek’s three. We each get two songs, one in the first half of the show, the other in the last. The winner will be decided by the viewing audience with telephone voting, although the judges will chime in, their opinions having no weight tonight.

Paul’s been avoiding me, but I don’t care. I’m staying focused, ignoring anything that could distract me, concentrating on what I have to do tonight. My stomach is jumpy, but with anticipation, not anxiety. I’ve sung both these songs thousands of times, the second one only to myself, so tonight will be a world premier of sorts. The other, well, let’s just say it’s so familiar I could sing it in my sleep.

The music starts, and a rush of activity begins – the show’s starting. The announcer introduces the judges and gives a recap of the stakes, and then it’s showtime.

I’m not watching anyone’s performances tonight. I don’t want mine colored by anyone else’s. One of the things I’ve seen too often with the other contestants is the desire to one-up the others rather than just perform the song, and that’s fatal, as far as I can tell.

Jeremy opens the show, and I lock myself in the bathroom, singing scales so I can’t hear him. I’m mostly successful, and then I hear the applause, and it’s time for Derek. I will not listen. I. Will. Not.

Halfway through, my resolve breaks, and I exit the stall and head into the dressing room. Derek’s almost through “Hallelujah,” and the sound of it sends shivers up my spine. I’ve almost forgotten how beautiful his voice is, and by the time he’s done, I’m confident he’s locked it. The audience agrees, and the applause is deafening.

I finish tuning one final time while the next performer does her bit, and then my name’s called by Paul’s assistant. I follow him on the now-familiar route to the stage, and the announcer invites the crowd to give a warm welcome to the “one and only, Saaaaaage.”

Of all the things I could think about when I walk onstage, the one I choose to is my dad, sitting somewhere out in the crowd with Melody. I wave and smile, and there’s a bounce to my step. I’m wearing one of my frilly little peasant tops Jeremy claims to despise.

I sit on the single stool, just as I have every time before, and adjust the microphone. I pause before I begin playing, smile for the cameras, and speak softly into the mic.

“This one’s for my dad.” I shade my eyes from the spotlight with my hand. “Somewhere in the audience with my BFF. I love you.”

I start in on the rhythm, and when I croon the first line of “Me & Bobby McGee,” the crowd loses it. It’s like a mini riot, and I’m smiling as I sing, a vision of old footage of Janis performing it live rushing into my head as I sing the line that’s tattooed on my torso.

It’s over in a little more than three minutes, but when it is, it’s like the air pressure in the auditorium increased. The crowd’s chanting my name, the judges are on their feet, and I’m standing, Yam in hand, blushing slightly. I think of all the times I’ve sung it, all the times people stopped to listen and then went on with their business without so much as a nod, and I smile. No matter what happens, I’ll always have tonight, this moment, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I leave the stage with another wave. I don’t stop until I get to the dressing room, and down a bottle of water like I’ve been in the desert for a month. Jeremy’s nowhere in evidence, nor are the others – everyone’s watching the show. Not me. I retreat into the bathroom again and wait out the first half, but decide that rules were made to be broken on the second half, and go to watch Jeremy sing “I Will Always Love You,” which he does magnificently. It’s a flawless rendition, and when he’s done, I shake my head. Everyone here’s so damned good, yet only one will walk away with the crown. It doesn’t seem fair that you can be ten times better than the rest of the planet at something, yet still come in last – but someone will.

Derek’s up next, and when the band strikes up the melody, I slump. It’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” and as he gives it his all, I’m holding my breath and standing on my tiptoes. When he finishes, my eyes are moist. Whatever differences we have, that was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard, and I’m so choked up I’m afraid I won’t be able to sing. The crowd adores him. It’s the kind of performance that makes me dread following it, and I’m glad there’s a contestant between Derek and me so I can regain my composure.

Her gospel number’s great, but not up to the job tonight, and I’ve tuned it out by the time she’s halfway through. When she comes offstage, she’s panting and sweating, and then I’m being called again. I trot out playfully this time, completely at ease, and after waving at the theater and offering a peace sign, I sit and clear my head.

I start softly, but by the time I’m through with the first chorus of Darryl Hall’s “Every Time You Go Away,” the crowd’s almost drowning out the music. The song runs long, and as I end it, my stomach’s in knots and I’m crying. The emotion’s too much, and every note, every ounce of my being, is singing it for the men who left me in my life, for my father and for Derek, whether anyone knows it or not.

It suddenly feels wrong to be onstage, baring my soul, all in the name of some prize. I accept the applause and do my best to hold it together, but that song took everything I had out of me, and I feel empty. I glance off to the side of the stage to where Derek’s standing, his face wet with tears. I feel surrounded and wish I could just run away. But that’s not what I signed up for.

The record mogul is the first to offer his reaction, and he’s at a loss for words – this from a man who’s heard the very best.

“Sage, baby, I’m just blown away. I really am. Anything I offer is going to sound inadequate. All I can say is I’m honored to be here. You’re the real thing.”

The rocker’s wife is equally generous with her praise, but that’s a given – she loves me. It’s Martin I’m waiting for. Martin who was so angry the other day he was going to can me. When he speaks he’s completely calm, even hushed.

“Sage, there are a few moments in life you’ll always remember. Most fade, but those are the standouts, the ones that stay with you. This is one of them. You’re a force of nature. I’m humbled by your talent.”

The crowd roars, and it’s controlled chaos, but all I can think of is Derek, so affected by the song he cried. Paul’s beckoning to me, and I obediently leave the stage. The applause trails me all the way to the dressing room, where I put Yam in the case and then go to the bathroom and throw up, dry heaving and crying for what could have been, for what I’ve let slip through my fingers.

It takes me ten minutes to get my act together, and when I come out of the bathroom, Jeremy’s waiting for me. “I was worried about you. Paul’s going nuts. We’re all supposed to be on stage in two minutes for the results of the voting.” He eyes me. “You fall in headfirst?”

It’s exactly the right thing to say. I laugh, and the tension floods out of me. “Kind of. Why, do I look it?”

“Just a little.” He holds out his hand. “You going to make me late, too?”

“Never.” I take his hand, and we move to the door.

He stops and leans close, and when he speaks, it’s almost a whisper. “You should win. Whatever happens, remember I said that. You’re the winner here, regardless of what some stupid votes say.”

And then we’re hurrying to where Paul’s having a conniption fit.

Everyone files onstage and stands in their preassigned spots, and the announcer makes a huge deal out of building the suspense. As if the moment needs any of his help.

An accountant from an unpronounceable firm brings an envelope to Martin, who opens it and looks at it without comment, and hands it to the other judges. They read it and nod, but their expressions are professionally inscrutable. Martin stands and turns to face the audience and holds the envelope over his head.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. According to the totals, it was close. So close…but tonight, let’s bear in mind that everyone on this stage is a winner. That said, there’s only one champion of the first season of
America’s Top Talent
, and that person is…”

The pause seems to last a minute.

“Sage!”

The crowd roars like a prehistoric animal, and I have to clutch Jeremy for support when my knees give out. I’m holding my hand over my mouth, my eyes wide, making a moaning sound. I can’t believe it. I won.

The next minutes are a blur. I’ll watch them later on YouTube to see how I did, because I honestly don’t remember anything but being congratulated by the judges and the other contestants. When it’s Derek’s turn, he leans his head down and brushes my face with his, and whispers to me, “Cinderella.”

Then he’s gone, as are the others, and someone’s putting a garland around my neck and the crowd’s going nuts and the band’s playing and the lights are blinking and it’s every sound, every noise, every feeling all at once, until I’m overloaded and sleepwalking through the ending ceremony.

Eventually it’s over and I’m backstage. It seems the entire world wants to congratulate me, to touch me, to tell me they knew all along I’d win. It goes on forever, and probably would keep going until morning if Sabrina didn’t arrive with my dad and Melody. Seeing him in his best Sears dress shirt and his jeans snaps me out of my fugue state, and I run to his open arms.

“I’m so proud of you, Sage. So proud,” he says, and now he’s crying too, and I can’t stop, and even Melody’s crying – and Melody doesn’t cry.

An hour later we leave for the wrap party, invited by Martin. It’s at one of the top hotels, where he’s closed the penthouse nightclub for the crew and VIPS. I drink champagne and feel instantly dizzy, shake so many hands and am cheek-kissed so many times and assured by so many serious people that the best is yet to come that I lose track of time, and when I look at my phone, it’s one in the morning.

But the one person I was hoping to see didn’t come.

Melody teeters up on hooker heels with her arm around Jeremy. “Don’t you love his hair? Rowrr.” She flew in earlier that afternoon and is staying at a hotel near our apartment. We’re going to hang out all day tomorrow before we both fly back to San Francisco on Saturday evening with my dad.

Jeremy toasts her and winks at me. “I love your friend, girl. She’s a hoot. And she’s never seen
Cabaret
!”

I grin. “Jeremy, it’s like almost fifty years old. I’m pretty sure you and I are the only ones who’ve watched it this year.”

“Hush up your mouth. Just because you’re a big star now doesn’t mean you can bag on Liza. Some things are sacred.”

I bow out after another half hour, and my dad and I get a cab. He has it drop me in front of my building, and he waits until I’m safely through the door before he drives away.

I remove my makeup, put on my shorts and T-shirt, and stand in front of the mirror holding my top up, reading the lines tattooed across my ribs. Nothing to lose, indeed.

As I lay my head down, the room spinning slightly from the champagne, I know I should feel great, but the truth is I still feel empty…I miss Derek.

If anyone had told me I’d cry myself to sleep on the biggest night of my life, I’d have laughed at them.