Music Notes (19 page)

“Wait. What? I didn’t skip rehearsal, you cancelled.”

“I did not. Why would you even think that?” he asks as those gray eyes blaze a trail straight to my soul. Even through the darkness, I can see those hungry eyes.

“I got a note,” I whisper. “There was a note left for me at the front counter. It said you were cancelling team practice tonight.”

“Darlin’, I didn’t send any note. Everyone else was there. Everyone but you.”

“But…that doesn’t make any sense,” I whisper, dumbfounded. Why did I get that note?

“Shawna stopped by the rehearsal on her way out and mentioned that she saw you goin’ into that dance studio.”

Of course. Shawna.

Well played, Conniving Bitch Barbie. Well played.

“Shawna,” I mumble, dropping my head and giving it a little shake. I can’t control the bubble of laughter that erupts from my mouth. Lord knows this situation isn’t funny. Not once tiny bit. “I can’t believe she did this. No wait. I can believe it.”

“You’re sayin’ Shawna did this?” Beau asks, his anger subsiding dramatically as he takes two steps forward and right back into my personal space.

“Who else? You said it yourself that I was the only one who wasn’t at practice. Then she ‘conveniently’ stopped by and ratted me out on where I was? She totally set me up,” I defend, making air quotes when I say conveniently to better accentuate my point.

“You didn’t intentionally skip practice to prepare yourself for your new career as a pole dancer?” he asks, wrapping those large, defined arms around me once more.

“Is that what she said?” I laugh.

“She said you couldn’t handle the pressure of performin’. She said she heard you were quittin’.”

“I’m not quitting, not even a little. I will fight until I’m voted off, Beau. I want to be here,” I tell him a little breathlessly since his arms are wrapped around me again.

“What about here?” he asks as he pulls me taut against his body. “Do ya want to be right here?”

“Yes,” I whisper, knowing that it’s probably the wrong answer. I try to latch onto the tiny voice in my head screaming that this is a mistake. I grab onto that little sliver speaking on behalf of my conscious with so much force, that I practically stumble backwards. Fortunately, if I’m thinking with my heart, Beau is still holding onto me and keeps me from faltering. Or unfortunately if I let my head do the talking. “We can’t do this,” I finally get out between my desert-dry lips.

“I know,” Beau answers as his lips hover momentarily above mine. “But I don’t know how much longer I can fight this.”

His confession is like a punch to the esophagus. Swallowing becomes harder and breathing non-existent. The air between us sizzles and crackles as he moves a fraction of an inch forward and places his warm, wet lips against mine. I respond instantly…again. But this time, the kiss doesn’t deepen. It doesn’t last longer than a few seconds, yet it’s long enough to scramble any remaining brain cells.

Beau is panting and his eyes remain closed as he leans forward, placing his forehead against mine. “I’m goin’ to do everything in my power to not do that again, but I need ya to understand somethin’. I need ya to know that, while I’m not physically kissin’ ya, I’m imaginin’ that I am. While I’m not touching your soft skin, my fingers are twitching to caress you. And while my arms aren’t wrapped around ya, my body aches to have you against me. Being in your presence isn’t near enough. I need to touch you, and now that I’ve had a little taste, this is goin’ to be the greatest struggle of my life.”

God, those words. Like words to a song, they’re deep and meaningful and have me so completely spellbound with him that I don’t know which way is up. And I’m starting to think that’s okay.

“Practice tomorrow mornin’ at nine. We’ll run through your parts of the group song first and then do your individual practice afterwards. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Beau finally opens those dark, soulful eyes, stealing my breath once more.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Good. I’ll be lookin’ forward to it,” he says as he places one more kiss on my swollen lips. “And I’ll be thinkin’ of you tonight.” His confession is like a lightning strike straight to my tingling lady parts.

I can’t even respond. The words I try to say come out a mumbled grunt. I feel cool air against my body as Beau steps away, putting great distance between us. We both take several minutes to get our breathing under control before Beau grabs the doorknob.

“Ready?” he asks and I can feel his eyes on me even through the darkness.

“Yes.”

Suddenly we’re bathed in florescent lighting from the hallway. I blink rapidly as my eyes adjust to the sudden onslaught of brightness, and as soon as my eyes adjust, I’m staring straight into the lens of a large black camera.

Beau stands between me and the device recording my every move as Corie approaches from my left. “Oh my God, girl!” she whispers harshly into my ear. “I thought you were supposed to wait until after that final show before you maul the man in the closet.” Her eyes twinkle and her smile is mischievous.

“It’s not like that,” I defend even though my face colors the same shade as a fuchsia crayon. It’s a good thing a liar’s pants don’t
actually
catch on fire.

“It’s never like that,” she replies with a wink before throwing my workout bag into my chest and dragging me down the hallway, leaving Beau and the nosey camera in our wake. I don’t turn around, fearful of what the camera would see on my face. Fearful of what I’ll see on Beau’s face.

We head straight towards a waiting van, ready to take the last few contestants back to the hotel. The hotel. Where I’m expected to not let the images of Beau and the memories of that kiss consume my thoughts. Where I’m not supposed to lie in bed and imagine that I’m not alone. Where I’m supposed to find sleep and rest for tomorrow’s practice.

I have a feeling sleep won’t be my friend at all tonight.

Note to self: Grab some sleeping pills. Maybe some Jack Daniels. Yeah, go with the Jack.

*****

“Layne and Chelsea are going to be right here,” Mallory says at the base of the riser. Mallory is the resident choreographer who dictates our placement during the routines. Usually when we work with her on our individual performances, it’s not nearly as time consuming and detailed. But, this is a group performance and there’s a lot to take in.

“Ben, you’re going to be over here,” she says as she leads Ben to the opposite side of the stage. “And finally, Maxwell, over here,” she says situating him to center stage.

Beau is sitting at the top of back risers, a hard metal staircase leading up from the stage. Halfway through the song, Chelsea and I will split up and work the crowd as we try to get them into the song–as if someone needs help getting into “Love Shack.” However, while Chelsea goes out and into the audience, I will go up the stairs and towards our team leader.

He’s perched up at the top of the center stage riser, casually sitting behind a drum set wearing his trademark tight jeans and a black t-shirt. His legs are extended and his arms are crossed over his chest. Each hand holds a drumstick and he looks as carefree as humanly possible. Until you get to his eyes. His eyes are always intense. Constantly.

In addition to our team performance, tonight is our first performance where the fan votes determine our future. For my individual number, Beau picked a song I haven’t heard in years. Years. When he said Nancy Sinatra, I just prayed that I could do his song choice justice because it’s a classic. The video is iconic. And tonight, I’ll be wearing a tasteful black leather bustier with red satin ribbons laced up the front, matching black leather shorty-shorts and boots. Thigh high black leather boots with red satin laced up the fronts. My hair will be teased high in a true Nancy do, and my makeup dark and dramatic.

“Let’s run through it again,” Mallory says as we get back in our starting places as instructed.

Our outfits for tonight are something straight out of the seventies, which works well for me with my big, teased Nancy hair. My dress is white with big pink and blue flowers. How they found matching heels, I’ll never know. And I probably don’t want to know. Chelsea’s dress is a pink number with silver and gold sequins in a psychedelic pattern. The guys sport some crazy, brightly colored shirts with tall collars and black dress pants.

We all spend the rest of the day doing run-throughs with Mallory, vocal run-throughs with network vocal assistants, and hair and makeup. On live show days, you don’t have time to pee, let alone think. These are the days that give me a sense of purpose. They remind me of why I’m here. They leave no room for wallowing in self-pity.

At 6:45, Gabby gathers us all up from the back green room, which couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ve caught stares and glares from some of the other contestants tonight, especially Shawna. An uneasy feeling settles in, as I get ready to go on stage.

“Hey, is it just me or is everyone staring at me?” I whisper to Corie before she goes to stand with her teammates.

“Um, well…” she starts but stops.

“What, Corie?”

“So rumor has it that you’re sleeping with Beau, and that’s why you were chosen over Shawna and Troy,” she says quietly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble, taking several calming breaths in and out. “Why would they think that?”

“Well, everyone seems to be listening to whatever garbage Shawna is spewing. Throw in that video that went live last night with you and Beau coming out of that janitor’s closet, and she has just enough leverage to make it look like her lies are true.”

“I don’t believe this,” I mumble.

“Listen, honey. I know that you’re not sleeping with him and that you have what it takes to win this whole thing. Use that and show these skinny, catty bitches who’s the boss!”

I can’t help but laugh as I throw my arms around my friend. She hugs me back fiercely which is just what I need since I can’t hug my loved ones right now.

“Five minutes,” Gabby yells from the front of the backstage area.

“Tonight, you’re going to sing for votes so it doesn’t matter what everyone says. It’s not Beau’s choice whether you stay or go tonight. Got it?” I nod at my friend and get into position for the start of the live show.

“Welcome to
Rising Star
,” Becker says as he flashes that bright white smile to the camera. “Tonight, each of these sixteen contestants will perform for your votes. If you want a contestant to stay, then you need to vote because every vote counts.” I smile as the camera pans across the stage giving each contestant camera time.

“Let’s bring out the coaches, shall we?” When Beau, Felix, Sophia, and JoJo step onto the stage, Becker throws us the biggest shock of the evening. “Tonight, each contestant will perform. Tomorrow night, someone will go home. And not just one person. Tomorrow night, live, the contestant with the lowest votes from
each
team will go home! That’s right. Tomorrow night, we will go from sixteen contestants to twelve. Are you ready?”

And just like that, the competition is officially on.

When it’s finally time for me to perform, I give myself one last look in the tall mirror behind the stage. My hair is big and poofy and my lips are blood red. The bustier classily pushes a little cleavage heavenward, and I’m thankful for the extra time I’ve put in at the gym recently with Corie because these shorts leave nothing to the imagination. But my favorite part is these boots. I’ve been trying to figure out how to smuggle them out of here when I’m done.

Note to self: Bring large tote bag tomorrow to the reveal.

Because if I’m going home, I’d prefer to be going home with fabulous boots.

I walk out onto the stage, positioning myself in the spot Mallory indicated for me, and I wait for the audience cheers to die down before I hear the familiar start of the song.

“You keep saying, you’ve got something for me. Something you call love but confess.”

I look out at the audience as I make my way to the front of the stage where the coaches are sitting and watching. They all wear big smiles as I sing the classic tune, but it’s Beau’s eyes that all but steal my breath. I have to look away quickly to keep myself from fumbling the song. Knowing that he’s watching is equally intoxicating and nerve-wracking. It makes me put a little more swing in my hips, a little more sass in my walk. I channel my inner pole dancer as I use some of the hip moves to my advantage. I put everything I have into this routine, giving it every ounce of energy and feistiness I possess. I’m a woman scorn, but hell bent on proving that I don’t need a man. Just like the song.

When I finish, the audience is on their feet and cheering for me. The smile on my red lips is genuine as I take in the accolades before making my way over to where Becker is standing. I have yet to look over at Beau or the rest of the coaches for fear that I’ll lose my bearings and do something incredibly stupid like trip.

“Layne Carter,” Becker says to the crowd. “Layne, how are you feeling tonight?”

“Great, Becker. How can you not after a song like that?” I ask with a sassy smile.

“Your coach, Beau Tanner, seems to have a way of bringing your natural attitude and charisma out with each performance.”

“He picks great songs for me that fit my personality,” I say.

“That he does, Layne. Let’s hear from some of the coaches about your performance tonight. JoJo?”

JoJo flips her coal black hair over her shoulder before speaking. “I agree. Beau seems to have this knack for picking awesome songs that fit your style. Tonight’s performance was entertaining and energetic. I loved it.”

“Sophia?” Becker cues.

“First off, great performance tonight. But what I really want to know is if I can borrow those boots when we’re done here,” she says with a huge smile while the audience erupts into cheers. “Seriously! I love them and would figure out how to work them into my wardrobe on the road.”

“Felix?”

“Layne, Layne, Layne. That was amazing. You worked that stage like you’ve been doing this for years. Each time you come out here, I kick myself for not pleading harder to get you on my team,” Felix says.