Chapter 2 #2
So, when it came to Blythe’s struggles being away from Colton – her high school sweetheart, someone she hadn’t been apart from since they were fifteen – and Emerson’s anxiety, Darcy had to play it one day at a time.
“Besides,” she reminded her sister, “Colton took that whole Joshua issue like a champ.”
“I don’t want him to take seeing me get hit on, on national television, like a champ,” Blythe bit back. “If I went online and saw people posting that Brenna was putting the moves on Colton while I’m not around, I wouldn’t be taking it like a champ.”
Yeah, if Blythe was referencing Brenna, she was getting heated.
Their hometown of Pineford was not large enough for the two of them.
Since day one of kindergarten, Brenna Sheridan had been Blythe’s foil.
They’d competed to be head cheerleader, competed to be class president – hell, they’d competed just last year to be on City Council.
And, back in the day, Brenna had wanted to compete for Colton, too.
“Hey, if Brenna ever puts the moves on Colton, or if any of these guys ever put the moves on you on television again, we will handle them exactly how we handle handsy men at Stardust,” Darcy assured her.
Blythe sniffed, arching her nose in the air. “I don’t need to handle handsy men at Stardust.”
No, because if someone in Pineford got too familiar with Blythe, they’d be on the receiving end of a walloping from Colton, and everyone knew it.
“Fine, I’ll rephrase: I will personally handle them the way I handle handsy men at the bar. Okay?”
Even at the thought, she flexed her hand.
It had been a while since she’d needed to manhandle a fully grown guy out on his ass.
But by virtue of being teased nonstop on the playground and all of their mother’s many skeezy boyfriends, Darcy had learned self-defense at a young age.
And she had needed to call on those skills far too many times while working at the only bar open after midnight.
She’d needed those defense skills far more than Blythe did, even if her sister didn’t have Colton backing her.
The thing was that anyone looking at Darcy and Blythe could tell they were sisters. But Blythe… Blythe just looked like the woman men wanted to bring home to their parents. She exuded some sort of quiet, delicate class that Darcy simply didn’t.
Darcy was the louder one. She was the brasher one. She was the one who didn’t finish school and had gotten her GED instead. She was the curvier one, the one people had labeled as sexy, compared to Blythe’s classic beauty.
Darcy had heard it many times over the course of her life, since they’d been teenagers. They were only eighteen months apart in age, so comparisons were only natural. And people viewing Blythe as classy had continued thus far into adulthood as well.
And as far as male attention went? That was absolutely fine with Darcy.
“That’s how you handle all men at the bar,” Blythe scoffed, and – hey, there was a genuine smile on her mouth.
Darcy would count that as a win. “Yeah, well, all men at the bar are idiots.”
She wished that was how she could handle Juliet Jacobs, too. She held that back, though, because she knew her sister didn’t want to hear it.
“Well, your dating pool has suddenly gotten a hell of a lot bigger,” Blythe commented, arching her a look. “Think of all of the men here in L.A.”
Darcy scrunched up her nose in disgust. Maybe these men would be more cleaned up, maybe they’d have more money, but she was willing to bet the Gibson Acoustic Hummingbird guitar it had taken her years to save up for that they were all the same as the men in Pineford.
And Darcy was entirely uninterested in men, as a whole. “I’d rather not.”
Thankfully, before they had to go down that avenue for the millionth time, the adjoined bathroom door opened, and Emerson walked out.
Her best friend could most accurately be described as a slip of a woman. She was short and petite, as well as incredibly soft-spoken.
And right now, she was looking green. Literally.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, crossing her arms over her stomach.
“You always say that,” Blythe pointed out, and her tone wasn’t as encouraging as it could be.
“And you always nail it once we get out there,” Darcy jumped in, shooting her sister a look.
But she wasn’t lying.
Emerson had always been painfully shy; they’d only become friends in their teen years because of Darcy’s constant hanging around at Merriweather’s Music – her family’s music store back home.
Darcy’s mom hadn’t been able to afford the music lessons Darcy had yearned for, but Darcy had been relentless in her pursuit.
When she hyperfocused, she hyperfocused.
She’d walked there every day after school, had begged Mrs. Merriweather to let her do anything in exchange for lessons.
Ultimately, Emerson had stepped in to agree to teach her.
A year older than Darcy was, infinitely quieter, and a lover of piano and guitar, Emerson had come around relatively quickly to Darcy.
Emerson had never grown out of her inherent shyness, but she was able to leave it behind when they were performing. When she lost herself in the thing she loved to do. When it came to interviews and being featured on TV… that was when the intense stress hit.
Emerson had been in that bathroom, likely heaving from anticipatory anxiety, for the last ten minutes.
Darcy had to hand it to the makeup team on The Stanton Show; Emerson wasn’t smudged at all.
Darcy reached out and wrapped her arm around Emerson, rubbing up and down her side. “Everything’s going to be fine. As always, if you feel like you’re tongue-tied, give me the look, and I will jump in. I promise.”
They’d worked out their signal – namely, Emerson looking like a deer in the headlights – during their first big interview. And they normally didn’t need it; once Emerson managed to get out on a stage, she was good to go. Darcy just had to get her there, first.
Emerson nodded, closing her eyes and reaching up to press her hand over her mouth.
“Please, don’t vomit in the ficus this time,” Blythe winced as she spoke, tossing the plant a sympathetic look.
Emerson hadn’t vomited in that ficus, though, in fairness.
Darcy cut her another look, as she rubbed Emerson’s back. Blythe mirrored the look right back to her, though she did come to stand at Emerson’s other side, reaching up to brush her reddish-brown hair softly back behind her ear, soothingly.
“I’m just saying, the enzymes and stomach acid are bad for plants,” Blythe muttered, shaking her head.
Blythe and Emerson required such focused management from Darcy, because they weren’t going to get it from one another.
Namely, Blythe wasn’t someone that enjoyed experiencing something over and over again – while she understood that Emerson’s anxiety was out of her control, she wasn’t always the most patient person.
As if reading her mind, Blythe mouthed to her is this going to happen EVERY TIME?
Darcy could only shrug back, impatiently. Who cared? Who cared about the plants in the green room?
What they needed to all care about was staying focused on putting their best foot forward.
“I think Miles can afford a new ficus if need be,” Darcy asserted. “Not that they’re going to need it. Because you are going to be fine.”
Everything was going to be perfectly fine.
And, for the most part, it was perfectly fine.
Miles hadn’t played the dating game with them this time, so things had gone smoothly for Blythe.
Emerson, as she typically did, settled in once the cameras were rolling. She was never going to be more talkative than Darcy or Blythe, but she didn’t usually panic when they were in the thick of the interviews.
Miles drummed his hands on his desk. Darcy was sandwiched on the couch adjacent to the desk between Blythe and Emerson, and was most frequently targeted with questions.
That had been decided by the group during their very first interview, because Darcy simply had the most to say… much to the chagrin of Eliana, their public relations manager who’d been working very hard to give them media training in the last six months.
Because Darcy was also – by far – the most likely to speak her mind. Emerson barely wanted to talk at all, and Blythe had always been the queen of equivocation.
So, when Miles’ eyes settled on her, she wasn’t surprised.
“I’ve let us get far too deep into this gab session without bringing up your incredible win at the North American Music Awards last week.” He started a round of applause, and the audience joined in.
Darcy grinned back at him, that livewire feeling sparking through her that she was still getting used to.
She was used to being watched, being scrutinized, while she was singing and performing. It was a very different thing when people weren’t watching her perform but were just watching her.
“I mean, that must feel… well, you’re the winners, you tell me how it feels,” he encouraged.
Technically, he was asking the group, but he was still looking at her.
Blythe softly, imperceptibly, nudged her with her arm, signaling that she was also ready for Darcy to take over the answer.
“It’s surreal. That’s the best way to describe it for all of us. It really doesn’t seem like this is actually happening.” It might sound like a line, but Darcy meant it. She couldn’t believe it was all so real.
“I mean, an independently produced album taking the cake – it doesn’t happen often.” He rubbed his hands together in an excited way that immediately made her stomach clench. “And, you know, I must bring up Juliet Jacobs.”
Darcy felt the smile freeze on her face.
She could also feel the tension immediately slide through both Blythe and Emerson on either side of her.
“Must you?” Blythe jumped in, glibly. Offering a musical little chuckle with it.
“I’m dying to know what the history is, there,” Miles said, leaning in. “I mean, Juliet is usually such a sweetheart.”
Her smile was still glued in place, and she felt that heated anger start in the pit of her stomach all over again. Re-ignited. Not the fucking sweetheart angle again. Being said right to her face, about the woman that had talked backhanded shit about her. Seriously?
But she did her best to keep her temper at bay. Did her best to think about Eliana’s advice.
“We have no history, actually,” she informed him, tightly. “I’ve never spoken to her in my life.”
The surprise was evident on his face – as well as the excitement. “No kidding?”
She felt the back of Blythe’s hand tap her thigh. A silent reminder.
Darcy tried.
She really did.
But she’d never taken well to being insulted, even if the person doing it tried to be subtle, wearing a cute little smile, as if she was too much of a sweetheart to be held accountable for being shady.
Actually, especially then.
“You know, Miles, I’m not sure how much I’d want to brag about not being able to work well with others, but – hey, that’s her prerogative, right?”
She felt Emerson completely stiffen at her side.
Darcy angled her chin up in the direction of the closest camera, the one diagonally across from her.
She’d watched The Stanton Show more than enough to know the angle at which the guest was usually shown. She hoped Juliet would get a great view of her, now, the way Darcy had been forced to see and hear Juliet’s comment ad nauseum.
Miles took in a comically sharp intake of breath. “Ouch.” But he clearly loved it, and zoomed in. “Is there anything else you’d like to air out, while we’re on the topic?”
“Not really.” She bit out, looking at Miles.
“It really is all preference, I guess. See, I love having my best friend and my sister around all of the time.” Truth.
“I genuinely think that I work best when we’re together.
Being able to give one another feedback, being able to bounce ideas off of each other helps us make the best possible music. ”
She felt alight inside, turning to aim a look back at the camera.
“I’d argue that the three of us working together certainly safeguards against putting out anything that might be called… formulaic or – god, imagine – boring. I’d be really mortified if that happened to me.”
Both comments had been notoriously made about Backyard Stars and Echoes, Juliet’s second and third albums.
And Darcy hoped Juliet would hear it loud and clear.