23—Pittsburgh （Larinda’s Bus）
None of it makes sense and nobody will tell me anything.
I had to perform last night having no idea where Val was or why I hadn’t heard from him. Nash told me on the phone not to worry and they’d explain it all soon, but even he wasn’t going to be able to visit me for a while. He also reminded me not to break up with Jarvis for any reason, and if anything, make a public spectacle of how much I fake-love him.
That seemed impossible, so mostly I’ve done my best to avoid “my fiancé.” Paige is the only one allowed near me, apparently, but even she’s a vault of silence except for the little she’s authorized to say.
“So they’re here?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“In Pittsburgh, yes. But not on site.”
“So Val isn’t on the crew bus?”
She shakes her head.
“But he’s in the city… somewhere?”
She nods.
This is so frustrating.
“Why can’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“Because they’re still trying to figureout what’s going on.”
“And why won’t Val call me?”
“He can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated, but he loves you. No matter what happens, don’t question that for a second. All of this is for you.”
“It’s hard to believe that when he won’t even talk to me.”
Pain shadows her face as she studies me from the neighboring couch. I want to believe her. Maybe I do, I’m just so tired of people keeping me in the dark, even if it’s “for my own protection.”
My interrogation of Bruce and Steve didn’t go much better. Worse actually. If they knew the truth, they kept it hidden as well. Bruce said Val had been recruited by Lakebend for a “special project”—no way that’s true—and Steve said he never even saw Val after everyone checked out of the hotel. His bunk had already been cleared out when they returned to the bus. That part might be true but is equally unhelpful.
“Paige, please. I’m really scared.”
“He’s okay. I promise.”
“Not just for him. What am I supposed to do without him? Inviting him on this tour wasn’t just because I love him and want him with me. I can’t do our music without him.”
Her sympathetic expression doesn’t help and neither does the defiant look she offers next.
“Well, first of all, you don’t need him. It’s your music too. What you create together requires bothof you, and once it’s out there, it also belongs to both of you.”
“Maybe but…”
“Not maybe. I saw it last night in Indianapolis. You own the stage when you’re out there, Larinda. You own the entire audience of thousands and thousands of people. Not a person in that room believed that wasn’t your music.”
Wow. Does she truly think that?
Paige and I have interacted plenty of times since I started working with her brother, but we’ve never been close. We’ve certainly never had a heart-to-heart. She doesn’t come across as the encouraging type, but maybe I was wrong. Someone would’ve had to drag Val out of his mental and spiritual swamps before I came along to do it.
“Things are different on stage,” I say, leaning against the backrest and staring at the ceiling like Val and I always do. “I know who I am and what I’m about up there. I live and breathe the music. The lights, the haze, the energy… the high of the moment. Things make sense when I’m performing.”
“And it’s incredible. So be that person off the stage as well.”
“Right,” I huff out.
She doesn’t respond, and I roll my head to the side to meet her earnest expression.
“Why not?”
“You say it like it’s so simple.”
“Maybe it is.”
I focus back on the ceiling.
Just be that person?
Just be the confident, accomplished, talented woman I pretend to be when I’m performing?
“It’s easy when you can play a role,” I say.
“Are you playing a role?”
Her question slams into me.
Yes, of course. On stage I’m the confident country star who knows who she is and what she wants. It’s my job, part of the show, it’s…
What? What’s really happening when I’m the professional version of myself?
Paige shifts in the seat beside me, and I look over to find her leaning forward.
“So it’s all fake? Not one part of the Larinda Scott we see on stage is real?”
“It’s all real,” I say defensively. “It’s just a different side of me.”
Whoa.
By her slight smile, I’ve just proved her point—and shattered my own.
Professional Larinda Scott isn’t an act. I’m not pretending to be fearless and confident—I feel it in the moment. I strut around believing I can do anything and don’t have to take crap from anyone. I’ve always loved who I am when I’m performing and interacting with fans. It’s one of the things that’s driven me to the height of my success. But it slips away when I step out of the spotlight and fall under the control of others and their expectations. That’s when I shrink into this meek girl who follows orders and doesn’t know who she is.
But what if I have it all backward? What if I can’t figure out who I am because I already know? What if my “act” isn’t the act, but it’s the rest of me that’s off? I don’t need to discover who I am, just accept what’s been right in front of me all along.
“Do you know what Val told me after he met you in person for the first time?” Paige asks softly.
“The day he and Nash came to my studio to review what he’d done with my songs?”
She nods.
My fingers tighten around an imaginary tattooed hand that should be in mine.
“What?” I ask quietly.
“He said, the world has it wrong about you. He didn’t know why you perpetuated the narrative that you’re some ditzy starlet, but he saw beneath the fa?ade right from day one. And I can tell you with certainty that the woman he met in the studio is the woman we see on stage. I’m also pretty sure he fell in love with you the second he learned the truth.”
I swallow hard and stare at my fist squeezed around a phantom hand.
If she’s trying to make it better that Val’s not here right now, she’s doing a terrible job.
It’s also time to step up and be the woman I want to be, AKA the woman I already am.