CHAPTER 7 ALEXIS
“Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm.” I hum the major scale as I say the words in my head: do re mi fa so la ti do. And then I do it backwards. Do ti la so fa mi re do.
And again.
Every time I do it, I’m reminded of my mother, who always used to sing me the “Do, a Deer” song from The Sound of Music.
I miss my mom. Every damn day.
I wonder what she’d think of where I am now. I often wonder what she would’ve thought about my deal with my father.
He did right by me, really—even if it was a large decision to lay on a teenager. I appreciate where I am even if I sometimes regret what I agreed to.
He knew what the lifestyle entailed. He’d been in the industry for over twenty years by the time I was sixteen.
He’d seen it all—from the cutthroat competition to being on the road constantly to losing friends.
He’d warned me that I wouldn’t have time to finish high school the traditional way and that college would be harder for me with the sort of schedule I’d be taking on.
But he’d also said the words that I still hold tightly to my chest to this day.
“You have what it takes, baby. The talent. The voice. The looks. I fully support whatever decision you want to make. If you want to be a star, I can make you one.”
And he did.
I also haven’t forgotten the words that followed those.
“But I need you to understand that this will be your life. Music. Acting. You will not be able to have a normal life, and so I need you to understand that if you change your mind down the road, there’s no backing out.
This will not fail, and you will be a household name.
So I need you to sleep on it. I need you to decide whether you want the kind of life where there are paparazzi outside your front door, where you’ll need a security guard with you, where people will love you and hate you for the same reasons without knowing a thing about the real you. ”
And I remember my words, too.
“I don’t need to sleep on it. This is what I want.”
He pushed our contract across the table, and I picked up the pen and signed with a steady hand without even reading the words.
Sometimes I wonder if I would’ve reacted differently if I had slept on it that night.
I know I wouldn’t have. There was never any doubt that this was what I wanted.
But twelve years later, it’s getting old.
People want to see the pop princess get her happily ever after, but my father and I know that isn’t in the cards for me. At least not now—not when my goals are in line to become a reality over the next two years.
And so he’s set on orchestrating that happily ever after in the media so people will believe their favorite singer-actress-dancer is living her dream life.
It’s all an act. A facade that I didn’t know I agreed to when I signed that contract I never read at the tender age of sixteen.
And there’s nothing I can do to get my life back short of giving up everything I have, and I certainly can’t do that when I’m two short years away from my goal.
I think of Chastity DeMarco, the character I’ll be playing when filming starts on Break Free after I get back from tour.
Spoiler alert…she gets out.
She gives it all up for love.
But she wasn’t two years away from getting everything she ever wanted in her career the way I am.
And she still had her mother to go to for advice on this sort of thing.
I don’t really have any close girlfriends.
Reese is the kind of friend I can talk to when we see each other in person, but we both lead busy lives that prevent us from having a deeper sort of connection.
I don’t randomly pick up my phone to text her, but when we’re together, it’s like no time has passed.
Maybe I should pick up my phone to text her.
My high school friends were jealous of my lot in life when I left school to record my first album.
I didn’t get the chance to make friends during college apart from acquaintances with classmates here and there.
And in the last six years since I graduated from college, I’ve been kept on a tight leash.
I’ve made friends on sets, but it’s always hard to tell if people want to be my friend because they want something from me or because they genuinely like me.
Inevitably, jealousy rears its ugly head.
It sounds arrogant when I say it that way, but it’s also my truth. Nobody sees the hard work I put in every single day. They just see the curated reel they’re allowed to see.
I run through my scales again, and I glance over at Brooks. “Can you get me some more tea?”
He nods once and leaves the room, and Gregory sits in the corner reading a newspaper. Yes, an actual newspaper. It’s his thing—he hates reading on his phone and hates fumbling with it even more, and so he gets an actual print newspaper everywhere he goes.
I tease him that it makes him old, but he’s only fifty-one—a mere two years younger than my father.
I sip the rest of my tea and wait for more as I glance in the mirror. I’m ready for tonight—I’m already wearing the sequin dress I chose for my opening songs, and my hair and make-up are done. I have a half hour, and I run through my scales again.
A knock sounds at the door, and Gregory stands.
“I’ve got it,” I tell him, and I move over toward the door to open it.
And when I peek around it, a tingle races through me from the tips of my toes out the top of my head.
There stands Danny Brewer.
He has one hand leaning on the doorframe as he waits for me to open it, every inch the bad boy with his scruffy jawline, black shirt, and black pants. His head is ducked down a little and his piercing blue eyes meet mine, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more delicious man than this.
I let out a small gasp. “What are you doing here?”
His lips curl up into a smile. “I heard you’re opening for Vail, so I demanded tickets.”
I huff out a small laugh as I open the door a little wider to allow him in, and when he steps through the door, the room seems to get smaller with his presence, like he’s the only thing in it. I glance over at Gregory, who’s watching us carefully.
“Demanded tickets, huh?” I echo, and he chuckles.
“The truth is Cooper and James are tight, and he got me back here. You watched me play at my house. Now it’s time for me to watch you play at yours.” He lifts a shoulder.
“Oh, this isn’t my house,” I say a little awkwardly. “It’s Vail’s. I’m just a guest.”
He leans in a little closer as if Gregory won’t hear him when Gregory misses nothing. He raises a brow, and I can smell him from where I stand.
It’s a spicy, citrusy scent with warm vanilla mixed in, and it throws me off my game.
Completely.
It makes my knees weak.
His voice is a low rasp when it comes out. “Then maybe you should invite me to your house.”
“Your tea is here, my love,” Brooks announces with a heavy dose of mock formality, interrupting the moment between us.
My love? Where the hell did that come from?
He stops short when he sees we have a guest, and a little tea spills over the top of the cup onto the saucer beneath it.
Spilling tea. I nearly giggle at the thought. Imagine the field day the paparazzi would have spilling the tea that Danny Brewer showed up in my dressing room moments before my surprise appearance at a Vail show.
“Oh,” Brooks says stiffly. “Mr. Brewer. How nice of you to join us this evening. Congratulations on your wins so far this season.”
He’s making it awkward.
“Thank you, Mr.…” Danny trails off as he waits for Brooks to fill in the blank.
“Donovan,” Brooks says. “Brooks Donovan.”
“Nice to meet you. I heard Ms. Bodega was opening for Vail, and I’m a huge fan so I scored some tickets.” Danny shrugs.
“And backstage passes, it appears,” Brooks says rather pointedly.
“Brooks, don’t be rude,” I scold.
I think about asking for a moment alone with Danny, but I’m not sure what I’d do with that moment.
Take off all my clothes?
In my dreams.
Kiss him?
I wish.
Slip him my number?
Now there’s a thought.
There’s a reason he came here tonight, and it seems as if he doesn’t want to share what that reason is.
But maybe he’d tell me if we could snag some privacy.
“Ms. Bodega has to take the stage in twenty minutes, and she usually doesn’t allow visitors. How’d you get in?” Brooks asks. He glances at Gregory, who usually keeps people out.
Didn’t I literally just say that he shouldn’t be rude?
“I opened the door. I let him in,” I hiss at Brooks, and I take the tea from him. “Thanks for this.”
He turns away from me to scold Gregory for letting in the intruder who I’d really rather talk to than Brooks, and I turn to Danny.
“I’m so sorry, but I do need to warm up my voice before I take the stage.” I walk over to the small table to add some honey to my tea, and he glances back at Brooks and Gregory, who are now deep in conversation. “Maybe we can catch up after the show?”
“I’d love that.” He sets what looks like a business card on the table beside me, but it’s got something written on it. A phone number.
Did he just slip me his number?
I grab it off the table before Brooks sees it, and I clutch it in my hand.
“I’ll be taking some pictures with fans after the show, but then I’ll come back here to change out of this thing,” I say, moving my hand up and down to indicate my dress.
“Is that part of the show? Because that is something I’d like to see,” he murmurs, his voice low even though the man who by all accounts is my significant other is standing a mere fifteen feet away from us.
My cheeks turn red.
I think I like when Danny Brewer flirts with me.
Scratch that.
I think I love it, and I definitely want more of it.
I want more of him.
I just have to figure out how to get rid of Brooks and Gregory to make that happen.
“I bet you would,” I say softly, and he gives me the sweetest, most tender gaze before he nods.
“Good luck out there. I’ll see you after.”
“See you after,” I echo, and he turns to walk out of my dressing room, closing the door behind him.
I draw in a shaky breath, and then I glance at the card again. I commit those numbers to memory, slip the card into my purse, grab my phone, and program it in before Brooks can do anything to stop me.
I drink my tea, finish my voice exercises, and head out to the stage, where I search the crowd, find Danny in the front row, and watch him during my set as he sings every word to every song.
I think I might be in a whole world of trouble here.