Chapter Twelve. Luna
Chapter Twelve
Luna
As soon as we get to the house, I head upstairs and knock on Ashley’s door.
She’s clearly been waiting up for me and is still fully dressed and has all the lights in the room on.
There’s a half-drunk glass of now flat champagne sitting out next to her computer, and a pen and paper with notes scribbled on it.
“Congratulations, Luna,” Ashley says first. I raise an eyebrow at her. “I know it’s bittersweet. But this is amazing, it really is.”
“I assume you have a plan?” I say as I walk in and sit on the couch. I wonder if she notices how puffy my eyes are. But if she does, she doesn’t say anything.
Ashley sits in the chair opposite me, already nodding.
“It’s simple. Just keep dating Hudson. I chatted with his manager; he won’t care whether it’s real or not.
You’re not using him, he wants the publicity too, he wants a Grammy.
She hasn’t brought it up to him, but was certain that if you did, he would be receptive. ”
I look down at my hands, my short nails and the scars and calluses from my guitar scattered across them.
“It’s so fake,” I whisper. “I’ve never lied like that to my fans.
” And that means I’ll be so alone. Until a respectable amount of time after the Grammys, I won’t be able to meet anyone, pursue anything real.
It’ll be month after month of empty hotel rooms after all of my big moments.
Of having nothing to write about because instead of letting myself pursue love, I’d be playing it safe and treading water.
Meanwhile, every time I look at Riley, I’m a beat away from asking if I can kiss her, even though it terrifies me.
Because it scares me, when with Hudson and other guys I just never cared like that.
“Think of it more like stretching the truth,” Ashley suggests.
“What do you think my mom would say?” I blurt out.
I miss having her here to guide me. I always knew that my mom had only my best interests at heart, and she would to anything for me.
Upset anyone, burn or build any bridge. And while I know Ashley does care about me—and she’s helping me accomplish what I told her I wanted to do—she also has a vested financial interest in my career.
My mom cared about me. Me being happy. My career was only important if that was still what would make me the happiest. She’d told me over the years that the day I didn’t love it, we’d shut the whole thing down.
And I love it. I do. And I know I said I wanted to do whatever it takes to get here, but now that I’m doing it, I feel so alone.
And I think Riley’s right. My mom would be happy that I’m here on this tour, that my album and all of those songs I’m so proud of are finally getting the response I dreamed of.
I’m the one putting the pressure on myself to get the Grammy.
Ashley hesitates, and I wonder if she’s deciding whether to be honest. I like to think she’s always honest with me, but part of her job is managing me and I’m sure that’s involved more than a few white lies.
“I don’t know,” she says eventually. “Your mom and I were best friends. And we both wanted the best for you. But we didn’t always have the same priorities. ”
I know that’s for sure. I can remember heated arguments between them when I was fifteen, my mom insisting a skirt was too short or that I was better off spending a day resting than rehearsing.
Ashley arguing that she was who was guiding my career and that she knew what would be best for my success.
My mom always won. And neither of them ever breathed a word of it to me, but I could hear their whispered fights from the next room or from the back seat of the car when they thought I was asleep after playing at yet another festival where no one was there to see me.
After my mom died, the only thing that helped me was working, and so I became a machine.
I had told Ashley all I wanted was the Grammy.
And so I worked absolutely tirelessly, tied my name to Hudson’s, and it’s all gotten me exactly where I wanted to be.
But I think I know what my mom would say if she were still here.
But, honey, are you happy?
“I’ll think about it” is all I say. I don’t know if I’m still the same little girl who would have listened to her mom telling her to follow her heart.
In the back of my mind, a nagging voice is telling me that I’ve turned into exactly what my mom was protecting me from becoming.
Someone who only cares about my career, not about my life, the friends I don’t have, the kind of person I am.
Not about the music. The music I’m working on now …
it’s not art. It’s a building block. And I don’t know if it’s getting me to where I thought it would.
By the time I’m onstage doing my first show in Spain, I feel well rested and invigorated by the not-yet-announced Grammy news.
I’m finally getting to the place I’m meant to be at.
It’s worth a few months of sacrifice. It’s worth pushing down these feelings for Riley.
My mom wanted me to have the Grammy. It’s my dream.
No, this was your dream.
The thought jumps into my mind despite my best efforts to convince myself the Grammy is what matters.
Being a singer was my dream. When I was seven years old singing for my mom, my dream was to have thousands of girls singing my songs back to me while I performed.
To go on tour and have my songs on the radio.
But now I’m grown up. It’s okay for my dreams to grow up too.
This wasn’t the sacrifice I intended to make for my career—I was thinking more along the lines of blisters and not getting enough sleep—but I can sacrifice my love life to give myself the best shot at a Grammy.
I don’t want to actually say the relationship is just PR; that seems like a dangerous secret that’s begging to come out.
But all I have to do is avoid Hudson for a few months, which shouldn’t be hard given how little time he wants to spend with me, then do some press with him leading up to awards season.
I shouldn’t be wasting so much time thinking about dating anyway. I should be trying to write a song that actually hits. I don’t know why suddenly I can barely write anything. But I need to focus. I want to enjoy these moments I’ve waited my whole life for.
I strut across the stage at the Estadio Santiago Bernabéu and sing my heart out.
The longer I tour for, the more confident I get, and now when I dance, I feel like I can have fun with the routine and imbue a bit of personality into it.
“You’re Mine,” one of my now-suddenly-a-hit singles from my last album, is especially fun, because I change the words of the outro every time I sing it, usually to something relevant to that venue.
It’s a bit cheesy, but the crowd loves it every time.
For tonight I planned an outro that referenced La casa de papel, my favorite Spanish TV show, but as I’m singing the song, I spot Riley in the VIP tent and suddenly get another, better idea.
I can’t actually follow my heart, but I can sing from it.
As the song winds down, I sing …
We’re in Spain, so I give you tres besos
And it’s feeling a bit lonely in my bed so, baby
Bring those tapas to my room tonight
I promise I don’t bite
You be my knight
I’m worth the fight
Just don’t leave me alone another night
I wink at Riley when I finish it, and I can tell by her face that she knows I was singing to her.
The crowd goes wild, screaming and looking for Hudson, and I shrug innocently.
“Sorry, everyone, he’s not here tonight.
I’m getting a little lonely on tour, though.
Thank you all for coming out tonight to keep me company. ”
I finish the rest of the set with a bang, but at the end of the night when I walk into my dressing room ready to collapse onto the couch and eat whatever snack Riley’s prepared for me postshow, I’m greeted by Ashley waiting for me and looking very worried. My good mood deflates instantly.
“What was that?” Ashley asks as I take my heels off and chug water.
“I was just having fun,” I say defensively. “Everyone will just think I’m talking to Hudson.”
“Has something happened between you and the chef?”
“Riley,” I snap. “Her name is Riley. And no, nothing’s happened.
We’re friends, that’s all. It was just an inside joke.
” I feel a tight knot forming in my stomach, because I know it’s not just a joke for me.
I think it’s the start of something real, if I let it be.
It’s a feeling that in the past I’ve been able to ignore for the sake of my career.
That I definitely need to ignore right now, even though it hurts to pretend it’s nothing.
Ashley’s shoulders relax about a millimeter.
“Well, make sure nothing happens, please. It’s a super-unprofessional look to hook up with one of your employees; you shouldn’t risk it.
And, bigger issue, Hudson’s manager called.
Hudson wanted to know, and I quote, ‘who the fuck is she sleeping with, because it isn’t me.
’ Oh, and he sent over an NDA, for your supposed fling. ”
I roll my eyes, even as my stomach drops.
“Just tell him no one, that it was a joke between me and a friend. Maybe if he actually called me, I’d tell him that myself.
” Despite my harsh tone, I feel anxious.
But it isn’t over Hudson; it’s at being given another reason I should stay away from Riley.
How serious is it to be intimate with an employee? Am I already crossing the line?
“I’ll tell them you wanted a bit of publicity to go with the big news, since if we know, other people in the inner circles know. That work?” Ashley’s already typing on her phone, and when I nod, she doesn’t notice.
“Yes,” I agree.
“We should have him come out here for another date ASAP. Optics are important right now.” Ashley is so focused on her planning that it’s like I’m barely there.
I hate that she’s right. While she deals with that, I walk over to my makeup table and look at the tray Riley’s left for me.
It has three of the tapas that she learned how to prepare during our wine tasting on it, along with an electrolyte drink.
She must have made this before the song, and I love knowing that she was thinking about our day together.
I really feel like there’s something here, despite everything.
Suddenly I turn to Ashley. “I want to break up with Hudson.”
“No,” Ashley says immediately.
“I—What?” I expected to argue my case, not get outright told no.
Ashley is suddenly very focused on me. “If you do it now, everyone will think you’re cheating on him. You’re supposed to be who girls aspire to be like; you can’t be a cheater. Just ride this out a little longer.”
“I can’t wait to do it until the Grammys,” I say quietly, still looking at the tray Riley left for me.
“I thought I could do this. But I can’t.
” I just was out onstage convincing myself it was okay to date him even though I’m starting to feel something for Riley.
Something I ignored back in high school, but that now, selfishly, as a singer, I need to see where it goes.
If I want to make music that feels real and people connect with, I need to follow my heart too, even if it makes things harder for me.
“How about another month? We’ll get publicity out of the breakup too.
But we need a solid reason that doesn’t make you look bad, and we want it to come at the right time.
And then after that, you should stay single until after the Grammys so that there’s speculation.
I’ll see if we can get you two a spot to perform the single there; it’ll be huge.
” She must see the hesitation on my face.
“Luna, you can’t date your employee. It’s beyond unprofessional; it’s a power imbalance. ”
“People meet at work all the time! This is work for us.” I sound desperate, like I’m grasping at straws. “And she’s older than me. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Ashley shuts her eyes in frustration. “It would be a sticky situation even if Hudson weren’t involved.
” I don’t say anything. “Just promise me you’ll stay single until after the Grammys.
This tour will end, the Grammys will happen.
Then you can do whatever you want. If you want to sleep with her, date her, whatever, then don’t book her for the next leg. ”
“I don’t want to fire Riley,” I say quickly. “Isn’t that even worse?”
“What’s worse is a lawsuit for sexual harassment.”
“Ashley, come on. Riley wouldn’t do that.”
Ashley just shakes her head, exasperated. “Luna, it’s my job to protect you. So please, listen to me. Leave it.”
“I—Okay.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Amazing,” Ashley breathes with relief. “Now I’m going to run damage control with Hudson. Maybe post something? A story at least?”
I nod, and she gets up to leave, then stops.
“I—I’m not as good as your mom at this part.
The supportive, feeling, ooey-gooey stuff.
I just want to make sure that what makes you happy is also advantageous to your career and won’t get you hit with bad press or a lawsuit.
Because even if Riley is totally on board, it could have broader implications with the rest of your crew.
But as your mom’s best friend, not as your manager, you should know, your mom wouldn’t care who you want to kiss.
” Ashley winces. “I mean, she’d care! But she’d love whoever you love. She’d want you to be happy.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly. I wish this was a conversation I could have had when my mom was still here.
But back then I was more concerned with making it than making out with anyone.
And I wonder if Ashley’s right about the risks of pursuing something with someone who works for me.
Will it make the rest of the crew uncomfortable to know that I’m willing to blur that boundary?
Ashley squeezes my shoulder then leaves in a rush, her emotional heart-to-heart expenditure having been reached for the day.
I pull out my phone, and as I eat the tapas Riley prepared, I post a photo of Hudson and me in Mallorca on vacation last year.
The photo was taken soon after we recorded “You and Me,” probably at the strongest time in our relationship.
Missing this, I caption it. And I do miss writing that song, writing songs at all, since I’ve been struggling to write while on tour.
But looking at the picture, I remember that I wasn’t happy that day.
I was just pretending to be as happy as I thought I should be.
After I post it, I swipe through my recent photos, of Riley and me at the tastings. And in these, I can actually see the joy in my eyes, and not one bit of it is fake.