Songbird (3 page)

“It’s coming on. I kind of wish we could get on the road already. You know?”

She nodded. Mikayla had sold more albums than I had – probably double my number. She had been around the block quite a few times and she was only twenty-two. Two years my junior but ten times more mature than I was. She played the game well, she knew what she had to do.

“Are you still looking for a guitarist?” The question came from Sophia, an eighteen year old actress trying to work her way up the ladder. She was insanely talented but nobody was really taking her seriously – yet. She only needed one good role to prove them all wrong.

“I found one,” I sighed. I suddenly wished I hadn’t moaned to everyone at our last meeting about not having a guitarist. I didn’t think they would remember to ask about it again. “His name is Forest Knight, anyone worked with him before?”

I got a few shrugs and head shakes before Chrissy joined in the conversation. “I know Forest. He did the tracking for a few songs on my last album. He’s really good.”

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I would have welcomed some trash talk about him, something I could use to fire his butt. “He’s not that good.”

“I have no complaints.” She raised her eyebrow and I wasn’t sure what she was implying. Was she still talking about the music? “So you’re going to be touring with him?”

“Yeah, if he works out.”

“Lucky girl.”

I was starting to dislike the entire conversation. “How so?”

Chrissy grinned at me like she was remembering something amazing. I didn’t need to witness that. “Forest is hot. The hottest of the hot.”

“How have I not heard of him before?” Mikayla chimed in, suddenly more interested in the discussion.

“He’s new to L
.A.,” Chrissy explained. “He’s been getting his credentials in Vancouver.”

“He’s Canadian?” I asked, completely forgetting that I didn’t care for a moment. Forest just didn’t strike me as the Canadian type. I would have placed him firmly in Santa Monica, chilling out on the beach and busking when he got hungry.

“Nah, just as sweet as maple syrup.”

I rolled my eyes. So Forest wasn’t exactly what I expected, it still didn’t change the fact he was an idiot that needed to be fired. Nothing Chrissy could say would change my mind about him.

“I need to meet him,” Mikayla said eagerly. “Brierly, promise me a meet and greet. I can drop by rehearsals sometime. You know how much I love a guitar man.”

“He’s not that great,” I said. The last thing I needed was Forest dating – or using – one of my friends. Mikayla was sweet, she didn’t need a loser like him lusting after her. “I promise that you can do better.”

“You’re no fun,” she replied teasingly. I may not have been fun, but I was saving her from weeks of heartbreak. I was certain of it.

The conversation moved onto other topics, letting me off the hook. I was doing all I could to forget about Forest, I didn’t want him to dominate the dinner conversation too. He already took up enough of the space in my head.

The big gossip of the night was one of the other starlets and her fast downward spiral. It was a pity. I knew the girl in question and she was a really great actress with a blazingly bright future ahead of her. Until she burnt out and turned to drugs. She was only twenty years old and nobody could get through to her. She was now the favorite car wreck case on all the tabloid television shows. I made a mental note to give her a call. I probably couldn’t do much, but I had to try.

“You’re eating really well,” Sierra commented, louder than was necessary. She was like that, if she wasn’t the
center of attention then she would make sure she was. Even if that meant embarrassing someone.

Every head at the table turned to face me. My cheeks started to burn. I thought people had stopped
analyzing my eating habits. At least I had hoped they did. My eating disorder was old news.

“Yeah, the food’s good here,” I replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. “How’s your dinner?”

“Oh, it’s fine. It’s so great to see you doing so well.” She said it like I was a child, patting me on the back just to make sure she was as condescending as hell. Slapping her would have made a terrible front cover for the magazines, I kept reminding myself. Smiles and laughter, that was all that was allowed to be photographed. Especially when you were just about to embark on a comeback tour.

I plastered on a smile. “Thanks, Sierra. I appreciate your support.”

She made a show of putting her hand over mine, exaggerating her words. “We are all here to support you. Remember that. We’re a team.”

There was nothing real in her words. Sierra might have talked a good talk, but she never walked the walk. If we were in a more private setting, I might have called her out on it but there were too many eyes on us. Not only were the photographers outside but
everyone in the restaurant was also acutely aware of who we were – and our past problems. I didn’t need that kind of attention. Right now, I just wished she would let it drop.

I gave her a quick smile and pointedly took my hand back, hoping she got the hint. When I looked at my half eaten meal, I suddenly lost my appetite. I couldn’t stand putting another bite into my mouth. I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Except I had no intention of using the facilities.

Just beside the bathrooms was the door to the kitchen. I slipped through, ignoring the stares I received for my efforts. I kept going, refusing to stop.

“Can I help you, Miss?” One of the chefs asked. I strode on by without answering. That was one trick I had learnt since becoming famous. If you looked like you were supposed to be somewhere, people just let you be there. I don’t know how many times I had been in places I shouldn’t have been and got away with it. Too many times to count.

I kept going until I reached the exit, it wasn’t the first time I had slipped out the back of that restaurant. The regular staff would have known me by now. Obviously the chef was new.

Outside, I hailed a cab and went home. My adventures and publicity were done for the day. Demi would probably be mad at me in the morning and Mikayla might have a few choice words to say but that would all have to wait. Right now, if I didn’t have some peace and quiet
, I would go crazy – literally.

I had a shower and went to bed, trying to block out Sierra and the faces of everyone else watching me. It was stupid to get so upset about it but I couldn’t help it. The memories of the past year were too much to
just shut out, as much as I wanted to.

Sierra didn’t
realize how hard every day still was for me. It wasn’t like you just got over an eating disorder like you did the flu. It was with you forever, a battle that never ended. And some days it was easier than others to win.

Before I knew it, I was crying. The damn tears that I had kept away all evening were now freely running down my cheeks. I hated crying. I was completely over the useless act but yet they still continued anyway. I buried my head in the pillow and tried to fall asleep.

I tossed and turned for hours before sitting up frustrated. Sleeping was obviously not on the agenda tonight, despite how tired I was. I couldn’t switch my mind off and lying there in the dark wasn’t going to achieve anything.

Thinking some work might be able to numb my mind, I found myself in my office. It was the room where Demi and I usually went over things and the walls were surrounded by all the awards I had won over the years. My
favorite was the Grammy award I had won for best newcomer. Even after winning dozens of other ones, it was still the most special to me. I could never forget the feeling of pure joy I felt when I heard my name called. I always had something to prove and it was that moment that reminded me I had made my point.

I turned on the computer and rifled through my emails. Most were just newsletters and advertisements that I had signed up for at some stage. There were a few fan emails, somehow getting
my personal address from God knows where. Demi told me not to reply to them because then they would tell everyone and I’d be bombarded with emails, but I normally did it anyway. They were sweet to contact me, the least I could do was reply.

The rest of the emails were boring so I opened up the internet
browser. As if I wasn’t depressed enough, I went through the entertainment websites. I had to know what they were saying about me.

I knew it was a mistake doing it and it would only upset me even more but I couldn’t help it. Article after article, they were all speculating about how terrible my tour was going to be. According to an ‘insider’, my rehearsals were a disaster and I was being demanding of everyone in the show. That definitely wasn’t true, both the disaster part and the demanding part. I thought things had been going well. Whoever their insider was, they had been at different rehearsals to me – obviously.

According to one of the bigger blogs, ticket sales for the tour were down and no-one wanted to see my show because they knew it would be a train wreck. Apparently even my most devoted fans weren’t supporting me. I made a mental note to ask Demi about ticket sales. I thought they were going strong, even selling out in some venues, but she did tend to keep things from me if she thought I couldn’t handle the truth.

I seriously didn’t know why I was even bothering with this tour. Clearly everyone was waiting for me to fail, go off the rail
s and explode. Instead of being the great comeback that I needed, it was turning into a circus for the media. I didn’t want to be their main act.

Demi said the tour was a way to thank my fans for their support over the past year. When I was first
admitted into the hospital, they had sent cards, flowers, and gifts. I had so many that I started asking the nurses to take them to the other patients so they could have some cheer too. They were all so kind to me that I wanted to show them I was back and better, thanks to their support.

But if they weren’t even buying tickets, why was I bothering to do it? All the rehearsals, the money, the careers of everyone involved, it could all be wasted by my failure. It was a depressing thought. Was it too late to cancel everything? I had enough money and assets to never have to work again. Perhaps it would be better if I just retired to my house in Spain and lived the rest of my life there in solitude. The great Brierly Wilcox could turn into an urban legend, spotted every few years as a shadow of her former self. That option was actually looking pretty attractive at three o’clock in the morning.

C
hapter Three

“
B
rierly! Brierly, wake up!” Demi’s voice was way too loud for so early in the morning. When she couldn’t wake me just by repeating my name, she started shaking me. I knew I couldn’t ignore her then.

I sat up, feeling every bone in my body protest. I wiped at the line of dribble from my mouth and looked around. I was still at the computer, the horrible articles were still on the screen. Beside the keyboard was a bottle of vodka.

Memories of the night before started flooding back to me. The comments about my eating from Sierra, doing the backdoor shuffle out of the restaurant, coming home to an empty house, not sleeping, looking up the articles, realizing I was a failure, and then reaching for the vodka in the bottom draw of my desk. It wasn’t a pretty montage in my mind.

“What are you doing?” Demi demanded, taking a
look at the computer screen. She quickly snapped it shut. “You know you can’t read that trash. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“They said I’m going to fail.”

“And what do they know?”

“A trusted insider told them,” I replied, my voice as foggy as my brain. Even after blinking a few times, the world was still too bright and blurry for my liking. “Trusted insiders know everything. I’m going to fail, Demi, you should run away now, save yourself.”

She threw the bottle of vodka in the trashcan, there were only dregs left in the bottom anyway. “You are not going to fail. Not unless you sit around here drinking all day anyway. You need a shower and I’ll make you some coffee. We have rehearsals to get to.”

“I’m not rehearsing, I’m calling the whole thing off. I’m going to Spain.” I vaguely remembered deciding on that sometime during the night.

“You’re going to have a shower,” she said adamantly, pulling me up to stand. My head spun, she had to steady me. Good luck to the choreographer today. “One step in front of the other, come on.”

Her grip around my waist was
viselike. The woman had strength, that was for sure. I let her guide me to the bathroom where she threw me into the shower – pajamas and all. Before I knew it, cold water was raining down on me. It woke me up very quickly.

“Can I leave you here without you drowning yourself?” Demi had her hands on her hips, giving me that disapproving look she had mastered. I nodded like a sullen child before she left.

I stood, taking the sodden clothes off so I could shower like a regular person. I wondered how much vodka had been in the bottle before I started drowning my sorrows. I hoped it wasn’t a full bottle but I couldn’t remember for the life of me. By the way my head pounded, I’m pretty sure it had been quite full.

I wasn’t going to replace the bottle, I couldn’t have it around for my three o’clock insomnia sessions. I should take it as a warning and not do it again. Drinking was bad for me. Not just for the obvious, but I was already recovering from an obsessive illness, I didn’t need to replace it with another one.

Demi had a travel mug full of freshly brewed coffee waiting for me when I was dressed. She stood by the front door, ready for another argument if I refused. I wasn’t going without some answers though.

“How are my ticket sales? And don’t lie to me, I need to know the truth.” I took a sip of the coffee, it was divine. “I’m going to know if you’re lying.”

“Tickets are still selling strong.”

“What does that mean? Have we sold out? Have we put on extra shows to accommodate demand?”

She chewed on her bottom lip, her tell. She didn’t want me to know the truth.

“Seriously, Demi, I need to know. I don’t want to be the has-been performing in a half empty stadium for a few diehard fans. The truth. Now.”

She sighed, resigned to the fact I wouldn’t let it go. “We haven’t sold as many as expected. However, they are still selling. By the time you start the tour, they will all be gone. I’m sure of it.”

“Are we halfway?”

“About that.”

“Halfway, Demi, are we half
way?”

“About a third of the way,” she finally confessed.
One third of the tickets with only six weeks to go? That was ridiculous. I really was going to fail. Once, I would have sold that many in the first hour of the ticket release. I seriously had screwed up so badly that my fans didn’t like me anymore.

“I can’t do this, Demi,” I said, shaking my head and taking a step away from the door. “The entire world is going to know about my failure. I can’t step out that door and let them see it. I just can’t do it.”

“So you want to be a failure without even trying?” She said harshly. I knew Demi could get angry with me, it was her job to sometimes. But now it seemed like she was just kicking me when I was down. “You want to prove them all right?”

“They
are
right. I don’t need to prove them that.”

“No, they are wrong until you let them be right.”

“So you just expect me to put on a brave face so they can watch the train wreck? I’m going to take everyone down with me.” The coffee suddenly seemed too heavy in my hand. I put it on the side table so I wouldn’t spill it. “I can’t do that to you or Ryan or the band. You’re all going to be tainted, you’re not going to work again in this city.”

“
If
you fail. You haven’t done it yet. Only if you stay here will you fail, Brierly. I know you and I know you can do this.”

I stumbled backwards to sit on the bottom of the stairs in the foyer. Demi did have a point and I desperately wanted to prove them all wrong but I wasn’t sure that I could. I had thought I was invincible once before and ended up in a fast spiral that only went downwards. It was that kind of thinking that gets
you put into hospital and force fed through a tube for months on end.

I thought about Ryan and everyone else in the tour team that had already put in so much work. The band, Demi, my dancers, the sound guys, the costume designers, everyone. They all must have believed in me to some extent, right? They wouldn
’t just be doing it to get paid? Most of them wouldn’t even see any money unless there was a tour.

And then there were my parents. They thought a
nnouncing the tour was a step toward my recovery. They thought my career was back on track. If I pulled out now, they would think I was sick again. They would probably blame themselves like they did the first time.

I couldn’t disappoint everyone like I did before. I needed to prove everyone wrong. I stood from the stairs, as difficult as it was. Even going through the eating disorder, this still required more courage than I had ever had before. To stand in the spotlight when everyone expected you to fall wasn’t going to be easy, that was for sure.

“Let’s get to rehearsal,” I muttered, heading for the door. Demi trailed after me, speechless.

She remained that way for the entire journey. I sipped on my coffee, trying to stare ahead and clear my mind. If this tour was to be a success, then I needed to focus. I had to make some decisions and throw myself into the lion’s cage. I couldn’t sit back and cross my fingers, hoping for someone to wave a magic wand and do it for me. In other words, I had to be the singer I used to be.

We stormed into the auditorium with determination. I was taking charge again and I wanted everyone to know it. The last thing I needed were for people to question my abilities. No negativity, that was the new rule.

My band were all waiting on stage, tuning their instruments to fill in time. My eyes found Forest, standing with his guitar. My God he looked good that morning. His mostly-faded t-shirt had the symbol of
The Who
on it. A black check shirt matched his black jeans. I wished I hadn’t noticed.

“Brierly, so glad you could make it,” Ryan said sarcastically before giving me a quick hug. Hopefully he didn’t notice the faint traces of alcohol still on my breath. “Jay is ready and raring to go.”

“Good. So am I,” I replied, determined to show them all. Jay appeared on the stage as if on cue, a towel already around his neck. He was in charge of choreographing the show. He had already spent weeks with my dancers and now it was my turn. I didn’t have much dancing, my movement was mainly just getting around the stage. For a few of the songs I would bust a few dance moves but it wouldn’t be anything complicated. I needed to save my energy for the singing.

We started on the sl
ow songs – they were the least complicated. For a few of the ballads, I was going to be seated on a stool with nothing but my guitarist at my side. They were the easiest and I think my favorite too. For those moments, it was about the song and the emotions they could invoke. I loved the fact music had the power to capture people like that.

Every routine
after the seated songs was a challenge, especially with the traces of a hangover. I was clumsier than I ever used to be and I tired far quicker than I used to as well. But I got through it all and that was the main thing. Nobody expected me to be perfect in the first run through. They’d give me a chance to learn everything before they started worrying.

“Now sashay down the runway like you’re really strutting your stuff,” Jay instructed me. I did as I was told and walked from the little platform in the middle of the audience to the main stage where my band was positioned. It was a walk I would have to do many, many times during the concert. I wanted to ensure I didn’t just stand at the front of the auditorium and sing, I wanted to get right in there in the middle of my fans. It was as much for them as it was for me.

“Okay, now play off Forest. Go up to him, ruffle his hair even. Really play up on the back and forth.” Jay watched, waiting for me to obey.

I stood in front of Forest, he was still playing the song. Suddenly I lost all of my enthusiasm. I turned to Jay. “Can I play with Ace instead? Nobody ever plays with the drummer, it will be different.”

“You can’t reach Ace, he’s surrounded by stuff,” Jay pointed out. He was right, of course, but I wasn’t prepared to give in yet.

The band stopped while we had our discussion. “Then I’ll just do a little dance by myself then. I’m sure you can teach me something that will look cute.”

“You need to interact with the band, the audience love that.”

“Well I don’t want to.”

“Brierly, I’ve choreographed twenty-three different concerts. Do you really want to argue with me?” He stood there, silently challenging me. I didn’t want to have a fight with Jay but I didn’t want to play with Forest either. I tried to quickly think of an alternative.

“What about if I get someone from the audience to play off? They’d go nuts for that.”

Ryan interrupted. “We can’t do that for security reasons.”

I turned my attention to him for a moment. “They’re not going to hurt me, they’re my fans.”

“I don’t want to explain to our insurance company why you got stabbed in the eye with one of your own programs by an overexcited fan and bled to death. It’s not happening. Just dance with Forest already.”

There was only one thing I could say. “I need a break.” I didn’t wait around for any confirmation, I just left the stage. Surely I was entitled to a break now and then. Just because it happened after our little disagreement was purely a coincidence.

Demi followed after me, teetering on her high heels as she ran. I slowed down, letting her catch up with me. “Brierly, honey, is everything alright?”

“I don’t want to work with Forest. He needs to go.” There, I said it straight out. If he was the one who was causing problems in the tour team, then he was the one who needed to go. We would be able to find another guitarist, there had to be hundreds out there who would be fine.

Demi sighed. “We’ve been over this, he’s the only one available and he’s really good. He knows all the songs, he’s always on time, and he doesn’t give you any attitude. What’s your problem with him?”

Why was I the only one who could see it? I was so angry I could hardly speak in complete sentences. “He’s just like… he’s annoying… he’s too much
like…”

If she didn’t get it, then I wasn’t going to explain it to her. I took a gulp of water, trying to calm down. I hated that this entire tour was mine and yet I didn’t have a say in who my guitarist was. My word should have been the last word on the subject.

Demi watched me carefully, finally nodding. Good, perhaps she understood why he had to go now. “Forest reminds you of Braydon, doesn’t he? That’s why you don’t like him.”

“Braydon’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Oh no? It’s not like he was a guitarist or good looking or hugely talented either?” She stared me down, silently challenging me to disagree. “If you can look me in the eyes and tell me this has nothing to do with Braydon, then I’ll fire Forest. I’ll go right out there and do it now.”

Damn it I hated the way Demi could see through me. It was like she had a direct line into my brain and could see everything that went on in there.

The truth was that Forest did remind me of Braydon but that wasn’t entirely the reason why I didn’t like him. I was more concerned I would make the same mistakes again. If you repeat history then you haven’t learnt anything and I did learn something. I learnt that guys like Braydon needed to be avoided at all costs.