Music Notes (14 page)

I’m safe.

For now.

*****

Did you ever watch wrestling when you were a kid? You know where the big, burly wrestler–on camera, no less–grabs the folding chair that is always conveniently sitting along the wall and starts to smash everything in the room? That’s what I walk into in my hotel room. Except the big, burly wrestler is none other than a very pissed off Irrational Barbie.

Shawna remained quiet and poised on camera, but I could feel the hatred rolling off her in huge tsunami-sized waves. She remained unaffected as she conducted a quick interview with Becker before walking off stage to the awaiting production staff.

I knew it was too good to be true.

Clothes are everywhere. Her stuff, my stuff, everything from the closet and all the drawers, all thrown haphazardly throughout the room. The bathroom floor is littered with broken glass and plastic bottles–my stuff, of course. Not hers. The flat television is sitting at a dangerous angle on the top of the dresser and the bedding is thrown on top of the upturned table and chairs. It looks like a hurricane went through this room. Hurricane Shawna.

“You!” she screamed at me in an octane that only dogs could hear. “You’ve ruined everything!” she yells moments before a shoe flies within inches of my face.

Survival mode kicks in, snapping me out of my daze, and I retreat as quickly as possible from the room. Just as I get the door closed, something large and breakable slams into the other side of the door spraying shards of glass all over the room. That woman is fucking crazy.

I stand there for several seconds trying to collect my thoughts and get my erratic heartbeat under control.

“Hey. You okay? I was just talking to you and it’s like you completely have no idea I’m here,” Troy says as he turns me to face him. Just as I get ready to speak, something else breaks loudly from within the room behind me.

“Is she?”

“Yes, she is,” I state.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says as he pulls me towards the elevator. I follow Troy in astonishment as he steers me to the front lobby.

“She needs a new room,” he says forcefully to the slim young college kid working the counter.

“Is there a problem with the room?” he asks.

“Yep. There’s a crazy she-devil tearing it apart at the seams right now.”

“Are you from the show?” he asks nervously.

“Yes,” I finally say.

“Let me make a call,” he says before excusing himself to use the phone on the opposite side of the counter. After several minutes of animated, hushed conversation, he finally returns to Troy and me.

“A producer is on his way. Please take a seat over on the couch,” he says.

Fifteen minutes later, the same man from the first night we were here comes hustling into the lobby and directly towards us. “What’s going on?” he asks.

“Shawna is tearing apart our room piece by piece. She threw a shoe at me and something glass. The entire room is in shambles and I’m pretty sure she’s broken just about everything in there, including all of my stuff.”

“I’ll go up and talk to her. Can you get her another room for the night?” he asks the skinny guy not so subtly eavesdropping on the other side of the counter.

“Only a night? That girl is unstable,” Troy adds.

The executive rubs the wrinkle between his eyebrows for several seconds. “She’s been asking for a solo room since day one. Maybe I can get her moved to another room,” he final concedes.

“Why her? She tore apart their current room. Layne should get the new room that isn’t covered in glass and broken furniture,” Troy says with a little force.

“Whatever. I’ll go up and try to calm her down enough so you can go in and get your stuff. Or what’s left of it,” he says, walking towards the elevator. “New room. Now,” he barks at the kid behind the counter.

“Well, I guess we should go up too and gather your stuff.” We wait until we have the “all clear” sign from the producer before we head back upstairs.

By the time Troy and I gather up what’s left of my stuff and move it to another room, it’s almost two in the morning. As we sort and pitch all of the stuff we salvaged from the room, I’m actually kind of surprised I’m only down to half of my makeup. Some of my clothes didn’t fare so well. Apparently, when I left the room, Shawna found scissors. Now my favorite jeans and three of my most expensive tops all have air conditioning.

Of course, now, all is forgotten. Shawna pulled out the fake tears and the bogus apologies and is resting comfortably in the room we used to share–after housekeeping came up to clean and straighten it back up, that is. After a few promises to the producer that she’ll never behave like a two-year-old again, Shawna was left to sleep for the night.

“I’m going to bed,” Troy says as I hang the last of my clothes in the closet.

“Thank you for your help,” I mumble, my body exhausted from todays–or yesterdays–excitement.

“You’re welcome. Call me if you need anything,” he says before slipping out of my room and leaving me in silence.

I didn’t even get to enjoy my victory. As soon as I was done performing and did a quick interview, they ushered the rest of the winners back on stage. That was the first glance I got at Beau’s team of six. I was happy to see Troy and Ben amongst them. As soon as the live show was done, we received our next day’s schedule. Fortunately, my part in tonight’s show is very minimal: hair, make-up, and wardrobe. Then I’m onstage for the beginning of the show and the very end when the six contestants from each team are presented.

Then, we start all over again with a new song.

That’s the last thing I think about as I succumb to the exhaustion taking over my body.

Note to self: When a hot, country superstar calls, you answer the damn phone!

“I have a surprise for you,” Beau says early Friday morning. He has a concert tonight and will be flying out this afternoon to places unknown, but he scheduled a short session with each of us to prepare us for the next round.

“What kind of surprise?” I yawn before taking a sip of my French vanilla latte with a double shot of espresso and extra whip.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asks with that eyebrow and corner of his lip raised.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I mumble as I recall all of the destruction and damage to my hotel room two nights ago. Last night, finding sleep wasn’t much easier either. Every time I started to doze, I pictured blond hair extensions and red demonic eyes.

“You’re going to tell me about it later, but first I need to tell you which song you’re singing next week.”

“Oh, let’s hear it,” I say, sitting up straight on my stool.

“What do you think of Heart?” he asks with that sexy little grin.

“Are you kidding me? They’re my favorite!” I tell him, wide eyed.

“I figured. You look like you’d enjoy the Wilson sisters,” he chuckles.

“I will take that as a compliment,” I say. “So which song?” I encourage.

“‘Crazy On You’,” he says with a big grin.

“Shut up! I fucking love that song,” I exclaim as I practically bounce in my seat like a toddler, unable to control my face-splitting smile. Finally, something that feels like home.

“So I made a good call?” he asks as he hands me the music sheet. “We have ten minutes before I have to head out, so let’s run it once so I can hear it.” Beau pushes a button the machine next to him and the start of the song fills the room. “We’ll have to cut the intro down for the band, but that’s not a problem.”

I don’t even have to look down at the music in front of me. I know these words like I know the back of my hand. “
We may still have time, we might still get by…”

As soon as I get through the song, I burst out laughing. Images of Shawna going crazy on my stuff the other night, fill my head. Beau looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and honestly, with the lack of sleep, I kind of feel like I have.

“What?”

“It’s part of the story I’ll tell you later,” I say through my big smile. A smile that I try to contain, unsuccessfully. Something about being near Beau makes me break into a high school crush, giddy smile.

“You should do that more,” Beau says as he gathers up his stuff.

“What?” Confusion mares my features as I struggle to figure out what he’s talking about.

Before I know what’s happening, Beau is standing directly in front of me. His captivating steel eyes are boring into me like heat-seeking missiles. “Smile.”
Shudder
.

I gulp so big that I can hear it in the quiet of the room. I have to physically restrain myself from swooning which kind of ticks me off since I’m not the kind of girl to swoon over a guy.
Any guy
. “Come on, give me one little smile before I go,” he whispers with encouraging eyes, trying to control his own handsome smirk.

Our eyes remain locked as we stare at each other. Crazy sexual tension crackles and sparks around us like sparklers on the Fourth of July. The smile I give him starts small until I’m awarded with one of his great smiles back. Then, my smile seems to take over my face. Can you say cheesy? 

“Thank you,” he whispers with a wink. “That memory should get me through my weekend.”

“Beau, are you ready?” an older man asks from the doorway. I didn’t even hear him come in.

“Yep, ‘bout ready. Give me your phone,” Beau orders as he extends his calloused hand.

“Why?” I ask, digging my phone out of the messenger bag that I use to carry my music and supplies.

“‘Cause I said so,” he replies with an ornery, lopsided grin.

His fingers fly over my screen before he hands it back to me. “What did you do?” I ask curiously.

“Put my phone number in there and sent myself a text so I have your number,” he says with a shrug like it’s no big deal. Sure, no big deal that an award winning Nashville recording superstar just put his cell phone number in my phone. “I want to know that story.”

*****

“Do you want me to get on a plane and come kick her ass?” My mom’s angry face fills the computer screen through Skype.

“Absolutely not. You’d probably twist your ankle fighting for a cab at the airport,” I tell her and manage to contain my grin.

“Oh, don’t think a little sprain is going to keep me from defending my little girl,” she adds fiercely.

“I’m not in third grade anymore, Mom. I can fight my own battles.”

“Yes, but it sounds like someone needs to teach that girl some manners.”

“It wouldn’t do any good, Mom. Shawna isn’t the type of person to understand and appreciate life lessons. She’s the type to use whatever means necessary to get ahead. If that means throwing me under the bus or throwing a temper tantrum that rivals Eli at the toy store, that’s what she is going to do. That’s what spoiled, entitled brats do.”

“Don’t I know it, honey. I’ve met dozens of her kind in my life. Oh, did you see the picture Eli is helping me paint?”

“Yeah. It made me miss him so much I couldn’t sleep last night,” I tell her honestly. Being away from Eli has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done and definitely the hardest part of this competition. Even though I talk to him every night and kiss the computer or phone screen before we sign off, it’s not the same as holding my baby.

I’ve had to resort to sleeping with the television on every night. When I’m enclosed in the quiet of my hotel room, sleep doesn’t come as easy as it did when Eli was sleeping in the toddler bed across the room. It’s the little things that you take for granted. I never realized how silence could be so deafening. Maddening.

“He misses you just as much. We talk about you every night at bedtime. I think watching you on the show this past week helped, too. He was so excited to see you on the TV. I still don’t think he quite understands how he’s seeing you in that little box where the Bubble Guppies are,” Mom says, earning a chuckle from me. The Guppies are definitely his favorite show. He could sit there and watch them for hours on end. And as a mom, I rationalize his television consumption since it’s actually a really cute and very educational show. I’ve caught myself singing along to the “outside” bit on numerous occasions.

“Can I speak to him?” I ask as I steel my emotions for our conversation. The last thing I want is to tear up and cry before we hang up.

“Hi, Mommy!” Eli exclaims into the computer.

“Hi, baby. Are you being good for grandma?”

“Yep!” he says just before taking a bite of his cheese stick.

“Good. I miss you so much. You know that, right?” I all but choke on the last few words.

“Yep. We played with blocks today and built a fort and den blew it up with more blocks!”

“That sounds like fun. I wish I were there with you. I love you so much.”

“Wove you too, Mommy,” he says before kissing the computer screen. I watch helplessly as his lips smash down on the monitor leaving behind a trail of soggy cheese.

“We’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Mom says with a smile.

“Okay. Love you, Mom,” I tell her, fighting to keep the tears at bay once more.

“Love you, too. And if you need me to come out and whoop some country diva ass, you just call your mom. I’ve got ways of protecting you, you know,” she says with a serious expression and a firm head nod.