Chapter 11
11
Valerie
I can’t tell what’s louder—Keeley’s drumming or my heartbeat.
As we’re singing perfectly alternate lines of the bridge on “Ghosts,” every nerve in my body is alight with tension. This is what I was afraid of back at karaoke—that we’d sing together and it would feel like this.
Like fucking foreplay.
It would be so easy to fall for Caleb again. We’re not alone, but I only have eyes for him, and his are sparkling back at me across the microphone.
Sharing a microphone makes me want you.
I remember him whispering that in my ear in the middle of the night all those years ago. But no, that’s not what this means. He’s playing a part.
We both are.
We’ll let everyone think we’re something so the buzz around this reunion gets even hotter, and then The Network won’t be able to do anything except renew Epic Theme Song on my coattails . That’s the goal here, and I need to focus on it. Not the sweet nothings of the past.
I’m sure Caleb forgot he ever said those words to me.
He agreed to help me, so he’s playing it up for the people footing the bill. But when we’re in the cramped studio singing like this, so tightly in sync we’re practically reading each other’s minds, it’s hard not to wonder if there’s still a spark there.
But it’s probably just old feelings. Residual static. A sense memory in my body that will pass.
I gasp as I lose focus, trying to keep enough air flowing through my vocal cords for the high notes. Caleb made it very clear that he’s done after the concert. He has an entire life he’s built away from the industry. In what world could we make it work, even if this thing between us still lingers? It wouldn’t be fair to him to act on it.
Not that it’s there. Obviously. I’m just horny and reacting to old feelings.
Once we finish the bridge, I tear my gaze away from his, rushing back to my own microphone. This last chorus is subdued, like I’m telling the audience a secret, and I do everything I can to really sell it. Caleb layers in a harmony, so sweet and soft and full of longing that it almost makes me look back at him, but I don’t. I focus on the music, remind myself why I’m here.
Wade flashes a covert thumbs-up as we finish the last line, and the notes ring out despite the terrible acoustics. The executives give us a polite round of applause, but there’s something on Gina Choi’s face that I really don’t like.
She’s calculating.
“That was really nice work, kids,” she says. It’s fine when Wade calls us kids, but from Gina it feels condescending—especially since she’s not much older than we are. From Wade, it’s affectionate. But from Gina, it’s like we’re children to be managed instead of adults who have something of value to offer.
How Label Records has always treated us.
If I could go back and do anything over, I’d only sign on for Wanderlust , our first album. But when Label Records flew us down to LA, they offered us what was essentially a ten-year 360 deal—which means they pay for all Glitter Bats touring, merchandising, and promo, and in return, they get an offensively large cut of every stream of revenue. We didn’t know we were signing our lives away; we just couldn’t believe someone wanted us to make albums.
After scrimping and saving in those early years just to make it to gigs within driving distance, the idea of them paying for everything was too good to resist. By the time we thought to hire an entertainment lawyer, it was too late. It doesn’t help that my mom knew absolutely nothing about contracts. She’s a boutique hotel manager, not a contract expert.
Or, at least, she was a boutique hotel manager.
I don’t know how she managed to swing it, but she got paid quite a bit during the early Glitter Bats days. Now, she’s always on a plane to a different vacation, and I never know what time zone she’ll be in. Not that I mind. My mom and I don’t exactly talk unless she needs something—usually once or twice a year.
Which is why everything in me goes cold as Tonya Quinn walks into the studio. She’s wearing a Dolce she’s just unreliable and bad at making decisions. With Tonya, it’s all so calculated. She doesn’t care that she’s hurting me over and over again; she just cares that she can get something from me. We were the famous ones, but the Glitter Bats’ success was always about her. She took credit for every single win.
And now she’s here.
“My assistant invited her,” Gina says, as if reading my expression. “She’s still a party to this contract, and it was only right to involve her.”
“Frankly, I’m appalled you didn’t call me yourself, Valerie. I had to hear about this from an assistant !” Mom says—then she laughs, fake and brittle, like she’s just made the funniest joke. As if an assistant is beneath her level.
My stomach drops.
“Hilarious,” Keeley says dryly. She’s never hidden her disdain for my mom, especially not after everything we went through with her as our manager. Because of the nature of our contract, Mom sided with the label on every request, no matter how demeaning or offensive it was. Once, we were even forced to do an ad for “rockin’ deals” at a furniture store.
She’s never on my side. If she’s here, it’s for her.
I grit my teeth, turn off my mic, and shuffle over to my mother like I’m walking the plank. She envelops me in a stiff hug that smells like cigarettes and Chanel No. 9, and I try not to cough.
“We really do need to get back,” I say.
“You are such a little workaholic, just like you were in high school! You can take a break,” she says, giving my shoulder a sharp squeeze with her manicure. “Breaks are good for you.”
Says the woman who has been taking a break ever since she got that first Glitter Bats check. Sure, she technically manages a few bands now, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her do any real work. (Then again, I try to keep as much distance between us as possible.) Still, she’s raking it in enough to fund her lifestyle of designer clothing, luxury hotels, and fabulous vacations.
“We literally just got started,” I say, backing away from her clutch.
Caleb hurries to my side. “Hi, Ms. Quinn. What if you take a seat next to Wade—he can fill you in on all of the details we’ve worked out so far. We wanted to show everyone a few more songs, and then we’d be more than happy to catch up over dinner? You choose the place.”
“Oh, Caleb, sweetie, you’re always such a good boy, but I can’t stay,” she croons. Of course she can’t. “I’m just dropping in for a bit. Think of me like a fly on the wall.”
Yeah, one I want to swat.
But I don’t say that. I just head back to the stage and try to relax the tension in my shoulders. Of course my mother would show up just when things are feeling solid. Just my rotten luck. I get why Label invited her, but I don’t understand why she’s here.
What the hell does she want ?
“I think this is a good time for ‘Vampires,’ don’t you?” Keeley asks, quiet enough so no one else can hear. We wrote the song about what our fame did to some of the people in our lives, always expecting some perk because of us.
“Perfect,” I say, pushing my shoulders back.
With a scowl disguised as deep focus, Caleb begins the thrumming bass line, the tick in his jaw the only clue to his true feelings. I sing the first verse solo, staring right at my mom as I lean into the pre-chorus.
but they take, take, take
’til there’s nothing left
My mother’s facial expression doesn’t change, even as I launch into the chorus with a growl.
everybody wants something
I just wanna be free
when I think they have enough
they drain more from me
no matter how I beg
they won’t stop making me bleed
’cause all my friends are vampires
It’s funny how I wrote this song eight years ago, and it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. Nearly everyone in this room wants to sink their claws back into my flesh. The song is a little cheesy, a little angry, and a lot of loud, but I sing every word like I mean it more than ever before. Caleb duplicates my melody on the bridge so it sounds like we’re well and truly shouting:
I’m not a commodity
so fuck you for consuming me
with ink and blood like puppet strings
you exploit my life to live like kings
you crossed my lines, I cross my heart
and hope you cry when I depart
I’m tearing free from all your fangs
staking claim on my own damn name
“Vampires” is always a crowd favorite, and the adrenaline rush I get from the lyrics helps me channel my energy until the final notes ring out. When it’s time to transition into “Making Memories,” I swap out my electric for an acoustic while Caleb takes a sip of water.
Our ballads are too personal and they still don’t feel right yet, but we’ve been working on this one a lot, and it felt like a good chance to show some range. I swallow thickly as I pop on a capo and begin the opening chords.
My heart twists as Caleb starts singing the verse. “Making Memories” is a song we wrote about falling in love with your best friend. It’s vague. We never confirmed our relationship. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel intimate. I have to dissociate myself from the lyrics and just sing like it’s my job, because we have to finish this afternoon in one piece.
When the ballad ends, we turn to address any questions from the room. At least Wade is here, but I can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s concerned about my mom’s surprise visit. He took over our management for a reason, and we all know it. There’s a round of compliments and some questions from the suits, and then my mother opens her damn mouth.
“I heard you all are refusing to make another album. It just doesn’t make sense!” she blurts.
“We’re not refusing to make the album—there’s no album to make. The band broke up,” I say, clenching my shaking fists.
She places a hand on her chest. “Well, you don’t look very broken up to me. In fact, you all looked pretty cozy on that stage. Very…strategic.”
She’s glancing between me and Caleb like she knows a secret, and it makes me want to scream. I don’t want her making this thing between Caleb and me dirty, like I’m using him for my image. Even if I am, a little.
“We’re just here to thank the fans for supporting us after all these years,” Caleb says diplomatically, but his brow’s a little furrowed. He’s not happy.
“Yes, and I unfortunately couldn’t commit to another album given my current schedule,” Jane says. “We’ve all moved on to other projects.”
Keeley grins like a lion circling her prey. “Yeah, everyone wants a piece of me, I’m sorry to say.”
Riker laughs. “My next year is packed too.”
“We can work with your schedule, if that’s the problem,” Gina says, eyes lighting up like she’s caught us.
“No problem here.” Wade clears his throat. “We’ve already said there will be no album.”
“But if there were, you’d record it at Label, right?” Mom asks.
The color is draining from Caleb’s face, and my stomach starts to twist. This isn’t what he wants. It’s not what any of us wants. We need to do this concert and move on with our lives.
“Alright, you’ve made your request. Everyone out. I need to talk to my band,” Wade says.
There are a few protests—the loudest of which comes from my mom—but finally Wade manages to clear the room.
“Fuck them,” Keeley says, as soon as we’re all alone.
“They’re very pushy. Do you think they called in your mom to influence us?” Jane asks.
“Absolutely. She gets a cut from that first contract, so I’m sure she’s hoping that we make another album so she can book a trip to Fiji,” I say. “Sometimes it feels like she signed those contracts in my blood.”
Wade winces sympathetically. “Our legal department checked out the contracts Tonya delivered when you signed with me. The royalty rate is criminal—any real manager would have steered you far away from a 360—but it’s all aboveboard.” Something about that doesn’t settle. I never realized it was my mom who sent the contracts to Ortega Management. I always assumed they would have gotten anything they needed from Label directly.
I’m probably just paranoid. I shake my head and tune back in to Wade’s pep talk.
“Regardless, I want to make it clear to all of you that I won’t allow Label or anyone else to pressure you into a third album. You showed really incredible work today, Glitter Bats. I’m so proud to return for your final bows.”
And with that, my eyes sting. At least Wade has our backs. If he didn’t, I’d have fallen apart by now. Even after all this time, I’m surer than ever that the only people I can trust are standing in this room.