Chapter 43
BIX
When our song is done, Sade and I step off the stage but don’t make it much farther.
The crowd surges forward to congratulate us, and Paul is sending the band into their next number when Carlos joins us.
His blond hair, loose and floating above his shoulders, seems so at odds with his tailored tuxedo, just like his effusive warmth contradicts his British accent.
“Darlings, you were both exquisite,” he says. Sade looks away from his intense focus as he speaks to her.
“Your voice has such range. Such emotion. I see what I must have missed before. Next week I’d like you to audition again.”
“Of course,” Sade says.
“You too, Bix,” he says, turning to me and pressing his card into my palm. “Let’s finish what we started.”
I blush at the connotation of his words, the hint of something in his voice. But nonetheless, I have to look out for myself. I don’t owe Sterling anything.
“An audition would be great,” I tell him. “But it will have to be tomorrow. We’re leaving for New York Monday morning.”
Suddenly I sense someone behind me. Slayer. He grabs my hand and yanks me away so fast I almost trip in my high heels.
He doesn’t speak until we’re away from the others, the music now a distant pulse behind us.
“What was the meaning of that performance?” His voice is controlled but charged with an icy edge of danger.
My mouth drops open. “Sade’s trying to get signed with a record company. I convinced her to get on the stage and sing. I had no idea that once she was up there, she’d call to me to share it with her.”
“You never stop, do you?” he says, his eyes black as they bore into mine. “You keep making up lies. Improvising. Just like you pull those nonsense words into your music.”
“Slayer, I’m speaking the truth.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Carlos came up to us after the performance. He was just congratulating us—and offering Sade another chance to audition.”
“Did he now…”
“Yes,” I say. After a brief hesitation, I force myself to speak. “And he offered me an audition as well.”
“I saw that he foisted his card on you again. Did you accept?”
“I plan to.”
“Without asking my permission?”
I cross my arms. “It didn’t occur to me that I needed permission.”
“After I warned you not to talk to him?”
“That makes no sense,” I say, confusion and frustration rising in my voice and my body.
“Why can’t I audition for him? If Mr. Sterling doesn’t want to sign me, why should I refuse other record companies who are interested?”
A multitude of expressions fly across Slayer’s handsome face. “If you audition for him, you and I are over. Do you understand?”
Each word lands like a slap. I look at him, astonished. I can’t believe the man who was so tender with me just hours ago is saying this.
“You can’t be serious.” Now I feel stupid for thinking anything that happened before was real. “What does it matter to you?”
“Just don’t see him. Don’t talk to him. Just don’t,” he says. Slayer turns and walks toward a blur of red I recognize as Valentina.
Stunned, I turn and push through the crowd without really seeing anything. All of it feels distant, as if I’m watching through glass.
How dare Slayer forbid me to do anything?
And to think I thought I was in love with him.
And that he was in love with me.
I take a deep breath, willing away my tears. I’m still in love with him. But no way on Earth will I allow him to dictate the path of my life.
Singing on the stage is everything I ever wanted. It’s what Lola, Hilary, and I wanted. It was our reason for living. For being.
If I let Slayer cut off what could well be my one chance, I’ll never forgive myself. Neither would Hilary and Lola. I’m the only one left. It’s up to me to achieve our dream, to carry their voices forward along with mine.
The weight of this responsibility presses on my shoulders as I weave between glamorous partygoers, feeling more out of place than ever.
“Bix, is that you?” calls Rafe, coming up to me with a friendly wave. “Headed back to the hotel so soon? I’ll walk you.”
“No. Stay at the party. I’m perfectly fine. It’s just across the street, anyway.” I attempt a smile.
“No way. I’ll escort you,” he says, taking my arm. “My mama raised me to be a gentleman.”
I glance back at the party, spotting Slayer in conversation with Valentina, his head bent close to hers, smiling. Something in my chest constricts. But I force my attention to Rafe. “Slayer spoke of your mother. Seems she’s left quite a mark on him.”
“Yeah,” he says with a slight chuckle. “She’s pretty special.”
I think of my own mother. Cold. Distant. Distracted.
“What makes her so?”
“Hard to say,” Rafe says as we stroll under the streetlights. “I guess when it comes down to it, she was a cool mom. Laid back. Accepting. I guess that’s the word.”
Rafe turns quiet for a moment, his eyes distant with memory
“She loved complementing our achievements, no matter how small. Making me, my sister, Sue, and especially Slayer feel on top of the world. His own mom… Well, she couldn’t be bothered.”
I picture a younger Slayer, hungry for approval that never came. “What was Slayer like when he was a kid?”
“Like he is now, I suppose.” Rafe’s lips quirk into a half-smile.
“He was a brooding kid well before he was a teenager. Rebellious. Challenged authority. Always in trouble at school. I suspect he was never kicked out because he was such a genius.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s gifted. Especially in math. Mom convinced him to compete in national and international competitions. When he won the International Mathematical Olympiad, our principal was so proud he put out a press release.”
“Impressive. Slayer’s full of surprises.” I try to reconcile this image with the furious man who just threatened to cut me out of his life. “Have you met his ex-wives? His girlfriends?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
Rafe nods, his expression carefully neutral.
“What were they like?”
“Now that’s something for Slayer to tell you. Why do you ask?”
“Because I love him too. I don’t know how much you know about me, what I’m doing here this weekend...”
“Yes. He told me. You’re supposed to be his fake girlfriend. Something about a publicity campaign playing sunshine to his rain. And from what he told me, you have been.”
I sigh. “Meaning I’m doing a good job lightening his bad-boy image for the press through my interviews?”
He shakes his head. “No. I mean you’ve banished the shadow that’s been chasing him. He’s lightened up. Mom would say his aura has changed.”
I manage a smile and a nod.
“Tell me what’s troubling you,” Rafe says after a moment, taking my hand. “It’s probably a misunderstanding. Slayer can be like that. He speaks quickly, without thought.”
I nod, wanting to believe it. “You’re right. It’s probably a misunderstanding. It’s been a long day. And he’s under pressure about his concert tomorrow.”
“That’s the spirit,” Rafe says, as we enter the marble lobby of the hotel. “Shall I walk you to your room?”
“Thank you. But I’m fine.” The words are automatic, a shield I’ve learned to deploy. I look at Rafe a long moment before I lean into him and give him a kiss on each cheek. “Goodnight.”
He turns to go, then pauses, looking back at me, silhouetted against the lobby’s golden light. “By the way, I think you’re good for Slayer. Really good.”