10. Jackson
CHAPTER 10
JACKSON
H ailey’s day started at five a.m. sharp, so I was up at three, ready to go. Mina briefed me, then I briefed my men, then I grabbed a quick breakfast and sat down to wait.
With two days to go till her first tour date, Hailey had a run-through on the local stage. Then she had a meeting with her costume crew, last-minute adjustments before the big night. She had a convention she had to stop by, to sign merchandise as their guest of honor. After that came a photoshoot with a style magazine, then an appearance on late-night TV.
She emerged from her room at ten to five, fresh-showered and sparkling, ready to go. Mina rushed up to greet her with a retinue — her choreographer, a writer, two stylists. Some guy from a lifestyle show with a pitch for Hailey.
“So, what we do is, we follow you for a week, not just on the job, but your social life too. We see who your friends are. What you do for fun. It gives your fans a real sense of your?—”
I tuned him out as we headed outside, alert for any threats to Hailey’s peace. But apart from a pigeon, the street was quiet. Hailey got in her limo without incident. The lifestyle show guy tried to get in behind her, but she stretched her leg out to bar his way.
“Sorry,” she said. “Talk to Mina, okay?”
The guy tried to argue, but I nudged him aside. He shoved a card at me, which I didn’t take, then ran after Mina as she circled the car. I headed him off again, and he threw up his hands.
“She said talk to Mina!”
“Yeah, on the phone.”
“But—”
I got in the limo and slammed the door in his face. Mina was already huddled with Hailey, trying to sell her on doing the show.
“These kinds of shows don’t just boost your profile. They’re how you get sponsorships. How you build your brand.”
Hailey flinched visibly at the word brand . She twisted the cap off her new water bottle.
“Come on,” said Mina. “What do you say?”
Hailey shook her head. “It wouldn’t work.”
“Of course it would! They’ve done a million of these. All they do is they film you, and?—”
“My social life.” Hailey took a deep breath. “He said they’d film my social life. What social life? I’d look like an idiot, a total loser. What brand would sponsor a total loser?”
Mina laughed. “That’s all? We set that all up. You’d partner with another star, an actor maybe. Or a singer whose audience complements yours. They’d film you jogging or out at the beach, or whatever you do that looks sexy and fun.”
Hailey’s lips twitched, but she kept her mouth shut.
“Think it over,” said Mina. “We’ll catch up tonight.”
The stalkerazzi had beat us to the concert venue, so I had Hailey’s entourage pull up first. They parked at an angle so when we pulled up, the press had to skirt them to get to us. I got out first and stood in the way, a seven-foot photobomb spoiling their shots. They tried anyway as we hurried inside, cameras flashing, shouts in our ears. Hailey kept her head down, her hair in her face.
“What are they here for at five a.m.? Some kind of gotcha shot, me without makeup?”
“You’re gorgeous,” said Mina. “Come on. We’re late.” She hustled Hailey up to the stage. I headed back to clear the press out. They snapped me a few more times and asked for my name, and if Hailey had hired me after the club. I ignored them, and pretty soon, they got bored and left.
The rest of the morning, I didn’t have much to do, so I patrolled the place and checked in with my crew. Every so often, I’d look in on the stage, all the way from the back so I wouldn’t bug Hailey. The first time I peeked, she was on some kind of swing, dangling from the rafters with one leg stretched out. Constance yelled up at her, No, arch your back , and she arched in a way that made my blood race. I’d watched her arch that way once from a whole other angle, eyes closed, lips parted, hair fanned on the pillow. She’d moaned my name softly, flung her head back?—
“No, it’s moving too much.” She straightened up. “I think the ropes are uneven. I’m twisting left.”
The next time I checked in, Hailey was dancing alone. Constance was trailing her, calling the steps. I stood for a moment framed in the door, watching her muscles bunch as she moved. She had those strong thighs, those rounded calves. That sudden softness when she relaxed.
“No, no, you’re lagging. It’s one-two-three turn. You’re doing one-two-three, little pause, turn.”
Hailey nodded at Constance and went again. I let myself out and when I came back, she was singing her heart out, the one I’d misheard. The one I still thought of as “Scratching Your Nails.” Halfway through, her voice cracked, and she gulped water. “Sorry,” she called. “Frog in my throat.”
“It’s okay,” said Constance. “It’s dusty in here.”
I hung in the doorway, hoping she’d start from the top. I’d always liked that song, with its hint of sadness. But she picked up where she’d left off, at the last verse. I stayed anyway and half-closed my eyes. I’d never heard her sing before, raw and close up, and her voice was beautiful in its unretouched state. She sounded richer in life than she did on my earbuds. More emotional, too, like she couldn’t hold back.
“ I never could please you. ” Her voice rose and shook. My insides shook with it. My heart skipped a beat. I clenched my fists hard and blinked to clear my head. Keep it professional , wasn’t that me?
I backed out of the hall. The door slammed behind me. I could still hear her singing, that sweet, wounded voice. That mournful chorus — was that for her folks? They didn’t deserve it, a song that perfect. They didn’t deserve her, if they couldn’t see who she was. If they couldn’t love her for all she’d become.
“Good, isn’t she?” Mina came up beside me. “I kind of discovered her, back at band camp.”
I started, surprised. “That’s where you met?”
She laughed. “Hell, no. We met in first grade. But it was at band camp I heard her sing.”
I knew I shouldn’t pry, but I was curious. “What did she play? I mean, in the band?”
Mina rolled her eyes. “Flute, of course. Because of her mom. But you should hear her on drums. She’s got some rhythm.”
That didn’t surprise me, Hailey having rhythm. Or her mom making her go for the flute. But before I could say anything, Mina’s phone chirped.
“I should go,” she said. “If I’m not back when you leave, give her one of these. She gets too busy, and she forgets to eat.” She thrust a box of granola bars into my hands. I stowed them in my belt and struck out on patrol.
We went straight from the venue to Hailey’s next stop, a costume fitting at her hotel. That ran till two, then her style crew rushed in, ready to primp her for her convention spot.
“Hold on.” I pushed through to get to her door. “Hailey? You decent?”
“Yeah. Come on in.”
“She doesn’t have time,” said Ed, her head stylist. He clapped his hands. “Go, out, out, out!”
I ignored him and held out a protein bar, more nutritious than the granola bars Mina had brought. “You need to eat.”
Hailey grabbed it. “God, yeah.” She tore into the wrapper and took a huge bite, and tilted her head back with a deep sigh. “I normally hate these things,” she moaned, mouth half-full. “But I’m so starved right now, I could eat ten.”
“I have two more.” I held out the box. Ed snatched it.
“I told you, she’s busy. And is that chocolate? What are you trying to do, make her break out?”
Hailey wolfed down her protein bar before Ed could grab it. I stole back the box and stuck it in Hailey’s bag.
“For later.”
“Get out! ” Ed flapped his hands. I held up my water bottle as he shooed me out.
“Drink lots of water!”
Hailey grabbed her bottle and downed half at a gulp. Ed spun her chair around and slammed the door in my face. When I saw Hailey next, she was her billboard self: lips plumped, hair curled, skin smooth as velvet. Even her eyes were a whole different shade, a pale cat’s-eye amber flecked through with green. She stuck her tongue out at me, and I realized I was staring.
“Sorry,” I said. “You look different.”
“It’s the lashes.” She leaned in and batted her eyes. “I always sneeze when they put these on. Are they crooked?”
“Nah, that’s just your eyes.”
She stared for a second, then she burst out laughing. Ed yelled at her “Stop! You’ll crack your foundation!” That made her laugh harder, so hard she swayed.
“It’s not even that funny.” Ed glared at me. But I felt good about making her laugh, and I decided I’d do it again. Laughter was healthy, and she deserved a good laugh. Even if her face cracked — though, she looked fine to me.
The convention was full of nerds, anime-themed. Hailey had done a song for some sci-fi show, and its fans seemed to love her, lined up three wide. The line stretched across the aisle and straight out the door, down the hall to the lobby and all the way outside. I stood to one side of it, two men on the other, and we picked off the weirdos before they got to Hailey. We slipped them out quietly through the side doors, before they could shout out and cause a scene.
“Excuse me, sir. Could you step to the side?” I nodded to a man in a YES ALL WOMEN shirt.
He tapped his chest. “Me?”
“Just to this side.” I ushered him ahead of me out of the line, keeping him distracted with quiet chit-chat. Once I’d put some distance between me and the crowd, I steered him toward the nearby side door. I’d seen those shirts before, with their red lightning bolt. They came from an influencer whose brand was men’s rights, who dunked on women to draw the incels.
“Where are we going?” The guy stopped at the door.
“Through here.” I helped him through, gentle but firm. “You can change your shirt and join the end of the line, but she’s only here another two hours. I’d advise you go on, and next time maybe?—”
He made a halfhearted lunge for the door. I didn’t move, and he fell back, butthurt.
“It’s not even my shirt. I spilled beer on mine.”
I didn’t respond, and he slouched off in a funk. When I got back inside, Hailey was smiling, signing a teenaged fan’s “Night Dancing” shirt. She was good with the fans, shy but sincere. Warm and open when they wanted to chat. She’d seen the show she’d sung for and she asked about that, which ships they stanned. Who they thought was the killer. I showed a pocket-wanker the door, and a thousand-yard starer. A woman who smelled of liquor and puke. I called the medics for that one, just to be safe.
From the convention, it was straight across town, and Hailey got scrubbed clean and made up again, and shoehorned into a skintight sheath dress. She posed at a fake bar with a fake drink, and she stood between takes because she couldn’t sit.
It was dark when we wrapped, almost midnight, and Hailey still had her TV spot to go. I ran down the street while she got out of makeup, and picked up some more protein bars and an electrolyte drink. She hadn’t stopped once to eat, or stopped at all, and back in the limo, she was too tired to eat. But she took her drink and gulped it down fast. She sat with her eyes closed, clenching her fists, then stretching her fingers, then clenching again.
“Do your hands hurt?”
She glanced at them. “No.”
“My dad stretches his like that. He has arthritis.”
“No, I’m just clenching them to keep my blood flowing. Keeps me awake, more blood to my heart.”
At the studio, they kept us waiting till two a.m., then brought her on for her interview. I stood in the wings, too far to hear Hailey, but from the roar of the audience, I knew she’d done great. She stayed to sign autographs after the show, on the backs of the gift bags handed out to the crowd. We finally walked out at the first light of dawn, Hailey’s eyes glassy as she waved goodbye. It hit me she’d been going for twenty-four hours. And in six more, she had her dress rehearsal. She worked so damn hard, how were her folks not proud?
How could anyone not be proud of how far she’d come?