Star Minds Chasing Stardom

by Barbara G. Tarn

  My loneliness tricked me more and more often into bouts of depression. Fatigue made me stay in bed for hours after the wake-up call. When that happened, I was all focused inside, wishing I could go back to Ypsilanti, to Bounghold Chase and Rashaun's apartment – knowing that none of that would ever happen.

  Crowds started creeping me out. I often thought of harming myself. I had a bleak view of the universe and wished a black-hole would swallow the whole galaxy. Dahumada had to give me meds to help me sleep and to keep going. I also had nausea, sweats and a tingling in the chest more often than not. Even dancing wasn't fun anymore now that it had become a job.

  When I thought about going home, I knew I was too ashamed to actually do it. Despite my loneliness, I avoided friends and loved ones, berating myself even more. I think Jaya gave up trying to keep in touch at some point during those years – I'd stopped taking her calls and answering her messages. I said to myself, "She knows I'm alive, why does she bother?" I was everywhere on the meganet, so why was she calling me?

  Of course I didn't want to hear her ask me how I was doing. I didn't want to lie to her. I kept saying everything was fine, but smiling became harder and harder.

  I had sex with prostitutes. My favorite was Feliks Slickfingers who worked in town but didn't mind coming over to the castle. He reminded me of Rashaun, hence I called him more often than I intended to. And one day he told me he'd met this girl – who had just turned twenty-two – who wanted to meet me and give me her virginity.

  I felt I owed Feliks, so I called the girl. She was happily surprised, and then we met at a club downtown. Just another fan meeting, I thought, and just one person. I could do it. Still, I had taken something to raise my spirits before going out, just in case.

  I probably behaved like an asshole, though, because she stiffened when we sat together. And then she told me she was a telepath, that she could see all the shadows and filth in my wrecked mind and couldn't understand how I kept doing what I was doing.

  This scared me silent, since she wasn't a Sire and I didn't know there were natural ESP in the galaxy. She read me in five seconds and was rightfully upset by what she saw behind the mask. She walked out on me before I recovered from my surprise and asked her to help me to get rid of Dahumada.

  I lost an adoring fan with my behavior. Maybe I wasn't the megastar I'd intended to be, maybe I was just someone on the verge of a nervous breakdown who couldn't control his mouth long enough...

  And then I went on Sassy&Sexy and I broke down. I can't really blame them for the breakdown, since they have a show to run and they're renowned for their tricky questions, but I probably wasn't strong enough to answer without letting my mask slip away.

  So when Sassy asked, "What does it feel like to be the dream man for millions, no, billions! Of Humanoids?" I felt a lump in my throat. It was my dream, and I should have been happy it had come true, but... I felt so lonely I just couldn't enjoy my new state. Words didn't come and I burst into sobs.

  Dahumada promptly walked on the set and took me away, whispering threats in my ears. He went back and apologized on my behalf, saying I was very tired – I had just come back from a galactic tour after all – and that I'd be available again sometime in the future.

  Which never happened, because he saw I couldn't handle public appearances anymore. I was too upset to remember well, but I think he raped me again that night. I only wanted to die at that point, so he called the doctor and had me sedated, lest I did something stupid like attempt suicide.

  *

  The ten-year anniversary of Zaphadin's career was celebrated with a lavish party at Zaphadin's castle. Some of the people who attended said the host looked high – probably on his prescription drugs. His cheerfulness was artificial and even when he tried to socialize, his eyes darted everywhere and his smile was frozen, almost manic.

  Dahumada assured everyone Zaphadin was in therapy, but for a few months he'd avoid social situations to help him overcome his growing paranoia. Isolation would help the star to find his balance and be ready for the next album, the next tour, the next performance... but more and more critics thought they were seeing the start of the decline of the king of music.

  *

  Ten years of working for Dahumada, and instead of helping me, he hired an assistant for himself! He was the paranoid one, he didn't trust anyone, afraid that I would tell someone what he was doing to me. And even when I begged him, he was adamant against sending me to a shrink to help me overcome my obvious problems.

  So I wasn't in therapy, but I was taking more and more sedatives to calm my hysteric outbursts – that's what he called them. I was tired and sick of it all, but didn't see a way out. I didn't have the strength to ask for help.

  The new guy was named Kiran Hatcherd and he looked like another one of Dahumada's minions, always ready to obey and report to his boss. He was only a few years older than me, though, so I observed him with curiosity. What if I had met Dahumada in my thirties, like him? Would have I succumbed to the mighty manager the way I had in my twenties?

  My thirtieth birthday was lonesome. There was a party downstairs, but I didn't leave my room. I didn't care about any of those people, and I didn't want to see them. I told Dahumada to stay out of my room for one day. Actually, I told everyone to stay out of my room for one day.

  Jaya remembered me, and she sent a virtual card. I almost replied to her this time. Even my parents remembered I was turning thirty and sent me a message, since I had switched off my phone.

  I wondered how Rashaun was, and if he was still thinking of me. I hadn't seen him in five years and I still missed him. I was sure he had moved on. Maybe he was happy and in love and had completely forgotten me.

  Then someone dared to knock on my door, and it was Hatcherd who entered the room in spite of my glare. What did Dahumada's lapdog want?

  "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, I know you didn't want this party, but I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. I don't have a gift to offer you, but I hope you will enjoy a long and happy life."

  "If it goes on like this, I'd rather have a short one," I muttered, shooing him out.

  He didn't leave. "I seem to understand not everything is gold in your life," he said.

  I snorted. "Money and fame do not happiness make."

  "So I've heard." He smiled briefly. "I know I'm not supposed to talk to you, but I wanted you to know I understand and I totally support you."

  I scoffed. "Really? What do you understand?"

  "That you lost control of your life and you don't know what to do."

  I couldn't believe my ears. The last person to join the entourage understood me better than those who'd been there since the beginning.

  "Please, go." My voice shook as I shooed him out again. This time he obeyed.

  I wondered if I could trust him, or if he was just trying to trick me into trusting him so he could report to Dahumada. Once bitten, twice shy, I wouldn't allow a stranger I'd just met into my private nightmare.

  9. Over the edge

  Another five years went by. Zaphadin's star was still shining brightly throughout the Milky Way, but the man behind the mask struggled a little more every day to keep up the act. Still, the king of music drove millions crazy. His last tour was the most crowded and successful, even if nobody expected it to be the last. It touched even the most remote or low-tech members of the Star Nations, like Earth and Honiris, Sirius and Altair.

  It was another mega-show with costume changes and real background dancers, holograms and special effects, and a huge stage that could be set up only in the biggest venues of the galaxy. Elevators and staircases allowed him to dance up and down the scenography even if it wasn't a low-gravity stage. For the planets who didn't have such venues, the show was set up in open spaces – such as deserts or grasslands – with shuttles bringing in the audience from the closest spaceport.

  Zaphadin was unreachable on stage. His loving fans waited for him at the stage doors or at the hotels in which he was staying, t
rying to catch a glimpse of him or steal a brief touch of his arm or hand. Unlike at the beginning, Zaphadin avoided contact with anyone now, and walked as fast as he could, stiffly, looking straight ahead, until he reached the means of transportation that would take him to the next place.

  And then one day the unthinkable happened. After his show on Wega, the fans broke the security cordon and managed to reach him. When the security robots disentangled him from the screaming fans and took him to the closest hospital, he had passed out from the shock.

  *

  I was becoming an actor. Maybe I should have suggested Dahumada that I switched careers. After all, I was great at pretending everything was fine. Hatcherd left the entourage before I started that hellish last tour. I was sorry to see him go, because even though I never confided in him, I had felt his silent support in my predicament. Even if he didn't know exactly what was going on, he never treated me like everybody else did, and I was grudgingly grateful. To my entourage I was a spoiled star, but he saw the real me behind the mask, I think.

  And then the mask fell when my fans assaulted me after another big show. They were waiting outside of the arena – all around it, so there was no way to avoid them, unless I'd had a flying-car land on the stage and take me away.

  We'd never thought of that, since the security cordons had always contained the fans' passion. I don't know if that night security was faulty, or if the audience was particularly rabid, but suddenly they were all around me, pulling, pushing, touching everywhere. They dragged me away from Dahumada and threw me to the ground. It was like being raped by dozens of people. I couldn't stop them, and they wouldn't let me breathe. I passed out, due more to lack of oxygen than anything else. I was used to sexual abuse after all.

  I woke up in the hospital still hearing those voices screaming or moaning, and feeling the hands and mouths on my body. I think someone even managed to fuck me, although I had probably already been unconscious, because my ass still hurt. Someone had started sucking me as well, but again, I don't remember much. It was all blurred in my mind, but of one thing I was sure. Enough was enough.

  Dahumada came in and asked how I felt. I told him I was quitting. He said, "You can't. You must finish the tour. Ten more shows, and then we can reassess our plans."

  "No more plans," I insisted. "I don't want to keep doing this. It's been the most grueling fifteen years of my life, Dahu, give me a break!"

  He muttered something like "We'll talk about it later, I understand you're still upset" and left. But this time I didn't give in. I was determined to stop, throw away the mask and go home.

  When they released me from the hospital, we left the planet (I think it was Gweltaz? Or maybe Wega? I don't know) with our private starship and headed for the next stop. Dahumada came into my cabin for that talk, and I repeated to him what I had said at the hospital.

  Again he threatened me and said I must finish the booked tour – it was sold out – and then we could talk. I insisted I'd finish the tour, but then he'd have to let me go. He became violent, since I wasn't so compliant anymore, and once more forced himself on me. As if I hadn't just been raped by some faceless fan.

  I was really considering suicide when he had to let me go. After the following show he noticed my itchy, reddened skin. I had rashes on my lower back, buttocks, elbows, knees, neck, shoulders and some were showing up even near my hairline. Soon no amount of makeup would be able to cover all of it and my good looks would be ruined.

  Dahumada cursed in all the known languages when he saw the damage to my body. Some rashes could be covered with clothing, but others... That meant no cameras and no close-ups during the last shows. Dahumada called a doctor and had me examined.

  I was diagnosed nervous dermatitis – and Dahumada knew what had caused it. Stress and my wish to quit and his refusal to let me. Except he couldn't keep me if I was disfigured by rashes that became redder every day. I had lesions and blisters as if all my unhappiness had oozed out. I couldn't keep everything inside anymore and it was exploding through my skin.

  I had to put on emollients twice a day and corticosteroids once daily until the end of the tour to try to contain the damage. But Dahumada knew it wouldn't pass unless I managed to go home and calm down. He couldn't squeeze any more energy out of me, I was drained.

  So he set up the Last Show, the King of Music Farewell Performance. For that night I wore a costume with a turtleneck, and had to hide the hairline rashes under thick makeup. I also tried to let my hair fall in front of my forehead to cover the redness. I was looking forward to the end of my performance.

  I wanted to go back to Ypsilanti and I wondered if Rashaun had waited for me. I doubted it, but at least I'd be home. Maybe I could go to Jaya's until my rashes faded away and then I could look for Rashaun. Or maybe I should just forget him and try to live on my own. As long as I got off the roller coaster of fame, I'd be fine.

  I don't know why Dahumada allowed one of the opening acts in my dressing-room that night. But here was this tall young man with long hair, his eyes full of the determination that must have been in mine so long ago. Kay-low Meraini said he admired me very much, though I could tell he was disappointed with the meeting. My gloomy mood ruined his enthusiasm, but I'd had enough of the lies. Besides, he was a Sire telepath, so I'm sure he read my mind as fast as that girl had done a few years earlier.

  I watched him perform from backstage. He was good. He had a great voice. He couldn't really dance yet, but he had charisma. I could see him having success, playing the Mega Arena, Vilas Lok and all the places I had seen in my fifteen-year career.

  He was twenty, but he was smarter than me. And had the advantage of being a telepath, so he knew who he could and couldn't trust. He didn't have to guess like I did. I was sure he could make it, so I sort of passed the baton to him at the end of the show, hoping that Dahumada would pick him and leave me alone.

  Selfish, I know, but a part of me was terrified that Dahumada might look me up in a month or a year if he didn't find another asshole to blind with the dream of galactic stardom. Besides, I didn't think Kay-low would be fooled by my mighty manager like I had been.

  I waited in my dressing-room for Dahumada to set me free. He brought the contracts and ripped them in front of my eyes. I was free. I could finally go home.

  10. Zaphadin is dead

  Zaphadin vanished from the galactic stages after that final performance. His songs and videos are still played everywhere, but the megastar is dead. Since Dahumada never really told anyone where Zaphadin had come from, Zafar was free to go back to anonymity – although his face was well known, without his costumes he could probably blend in with the locals on his home planet without too much trouble. This is Ypsilanti, after all. It's female-dominated.

  Why has Zaphadin decided to reveal to the galaxy his real name? Because he still loves to sing and dance. And he still wants to share his passion. But he can't be Zaphadin anymore. He doesn't want to. He wants to be himself, try for a second career with all the experience of the first. He won't let his dream turn into a nightmare ever again.

  Dahumada owns the rights to Zaphadin's songs, yes, even the ones I wrote some fifteen years ago. So Zaphadin is dead, but not the man behind the myth. A stage name is gone, another artist will come back soon. Please read on, there isn't much more left to tell.

  *

  Breathing the Ypsilanti air seemed to help my dermatitis. Spending one month at Jaya's, recovering my mental health and getting to know my nephew and niece also improved my skin redness. I kept using emollients every day and eventually the itching went away.

  My skin was almost back to its normal state when I decided to go home – to my parents' house. After fifteen years in the music business, I didn't have the money to buy a house on my own – again because of my stupidity in signing contracts that had deprived me of most of my earnings. Besides, I still wondered what happened to Rashaun.

  My mother had retired and gone back to the family house in Lycoris a couple of
years earlier. So I returned to my teenage room and one day went wandering around Bounghold Chase. And here was Rashaun coming out of the building.

  My heart jumped in my throat, but then I noticed he wasn't alone. Aryan Repett was with him. The elder student who had already tried to get into Rashaun's life fifteen years earlier had managed to seduce Rashaun when he'd come back alone and disappointed with me.

  My smile vanished, but my eyes met Rashaun's, so I immediately grinned again. I heard him gasp, and he didn't look away. He crossed the street and greeted me. Gods and goddesses, how I had missed the sound of his voice!

  I ignored Aryan's glare and asked Rashaun how he was doing. He said he was fine, he was now a published writer and his bestseller was the assassins story he'd written fifteen years ago. "I've added some stuff in and made it a real, full-length novel, but well..." He shrugged.

  I was very happy for his success – I'd always known he could be a professional writer – and I congratulated him. But he was obviously busy, so I said good-bye and went on my way, feeling a little down. He had rightfully moved on, shame on me for letting him slip away.

  I went home and downloaded the story. It was great reading it again, plunging into his fantasy world and imagining myself as a young assassin completely smitten with his mentor. I loved the additions, how their relationship evolved after their revenge, how he introduced a rival that would mean trouble for the couple – although I wondered where he'd gotten that idea from, maybe Aryan?

  I read the last part feeling more and more uneasy. My character, unable to change, fell into a well of desperation and kept making more and more mistakes until he lost the respect of his lover. I could easily understand why Rashaun had written that story – I'd made so many mistakes during my career that I lost count of them. And then he killed me off. I mean, he killed off the character. The green-eyed assassin who was still in love with a mentor who couldn't love him anymore.