He grinned and tugged a piece of my loose hair as his eyes traveled down the length of my body. “Believe me when I say that I’d love to see you in a seashell bra, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone else see that much of you.”
“And why’s that?” I demanded, pushing myself as close to the window as possible.
“Because I don’t want to compete with all the men that would come flocking to your door. I’m barely in the game now. Why would I want that level of competition?”
“There’s no competition, Skyler.” I relaxed and resumed my position next to his.
“You sure about that?”
It wasn’t something I could truthfully answer, so I kept silent.
We finally reached the Millennium Biltmore Hotel, the limousine pulling into the main entrance. A few reporters were out front and immediately started thrusting their cameras against the tinted windows. I knew they all wanted a shot of Skyler, so I snuck out first, confusing them with my hoodie tightened over my face, mask firmly in place. I didn’t exactly radiate the superstar look.
I was grateful for the cool air filling my lungs as I ran through the double doors without so much as a microphone shoved in my face.
The label was footing the bill for the hotel. Most of these guys had homes around LA, but the hotel would serve as a location for press interviews, promoting the song as well as photographing the band for the cover of the hard copy release.
I always loved staying at the Biltmore. It had a signature scent of lilacs and honey that always brought me comfort. If I could, I’d bottle it up and spray it on my personal bedding. I breathed in deeply as I took in the familiarity. I loved it when things didn’t change.
Reminiscent of the 1920s, the walls were a soft gold illuminated by strategically placed mood lighting. Ornately engraved columns lined the walls and the marble floor sparkled; women’s heels clicked as they walked by.
Despite my love for the old building, my stomach roiled as I approached the front desk to check-in. I usually had Amelia or my father with me to manage interactions with strangers, but I’m putting myself out there today.
Be brave, be bold, be badass. I repeated the mantra I’d concocted to bolster my confidence. It was better than ‘fuck the establishment,’ which was option number two.
The woman at the front desk looked straight out of high school. Tall with long straight blond hair in a high ponytail. She was wearing the hotel blazer over a bright pink cami and lipstick to match.
“Hello, may I help you?” She was all smiles until she looked at my face and did a double-take. To her credit, she recovered quickly.
“Elsie Clarke to check-in.” I handed her my ID and credit card for incidentals.
The young girl, named Cherise according to her name tag, took my ID and squinted. It must have been a second too long because Skyler stepped up next to me. Placing a hand on my lower back, he looked at me as if to ask, ‘is everything okay?’
I just shrugged my shoulders. I’d been through worse.
“Is there something wrong with my friend’s ID? I can vouch for her; it’s Elsie Clarke,” he said with impatience. His censure made it clear he knew the woman was gawking at my ID.
“No, no, of course not.” She startled again at Skyler standing next to me. The poor girl was going to get a complex with all the surprises she was getting.
“Oh, Mr. Dalton, hello!” Her smile jacked up to 1000 watts in a second, her head cocked suggestively.
I rolled my eyes. At least Skyler was good for something. She got me set up in record time, her eyes darting back to Skyler intermittently. I took my room key and turned toward the man I trying to avoid all day.
“Thank you,” I said in a low voice.
“Get some sleep, El. We’re going balls to the wall tomorrow.” He squeezed my shoulder, sending hot electricity down my spine.
I headed toward the elevators, looking forward to some quality time with BOB.
Girl Power
Elsie
Amelia and I were in a cab on our way to the first location. The director planned on shooting in two different churches—one would be decrepit, representing Skyler’s dark times. They said the other was a grand building covered in stained glass, representing hope and joy.
I’d never been part of a music video. I decided upon waking I was just going to go for it and do what I was told. That’s what I expected of my clients, after all.
Today we were filming in the newer church—St Vincent de Paul. I was surprised we were able to gain access to an active church, but LA being LA, money talks. My family was never religious, more spiritual. The Church of Apollo, God of Music, my mother used to say. It never caught my interest, but I sure appreciated southern gospel.
“Remember, I didn’t agree to show my entire face,” I reminded Amelia. I was relying on her to look out for my best interests. I had on my mask, but we never explicitly discussed their plan.
“I know and trust me, they have a plan in place. Even if they catch something you don’t like, we can always edit it out.” Amelia gave me a condescending pat on the leg.
I sighed.
Do what you’re told.
Be brave…be bold…be badass.
The taxi pulled up to the church, where a young woman wearing a headset greeted us at the curb.
“Ms. Clarke? I’m Jen. I’ll be your PA for the day. Follow me.” I looked at Amelia, who gave me a shooing motion, suggesting I should follow her. She was walking with a purpose and I skipped to keep up.
“A PA? Fancy…” I whispered to Amelia. We both giggled.
“Enjoy it while you can, my dear. We’ve arranged for you to have VIP treatment.” Amelia bumped me with her elbow.
Jen took us to a tent on the lawn at the side of the church filled with clothes and props. Three women stood there smiling brightly at us.
“This is wardrobe, hair, and makeup,” Jen said, guiding me inside. “Is there anything I can get for you while you’re here?”
I was about to shake my head when Amelia piped in. “Two chai tea lattes, please, and one of those killer blueberry muffins toasted with butter.” I tried to stop Jen, tell her Amelia was joking, but she nodded and scattered like a bee on meth.
“Enjoying yourself?” I sniggered and my sister only grinned.
We turned back to our audience in the tent. The woman in the middle had bright red hair propped up in a beehive; her makeup was dramatic but fun with lipstick that matched her hair. She was wearing six-inch stiletto boots on the grass with tight, ripped jeans tucked into them. Her shirt was black with the name of the production company pasted across her generous chest.
The other two women were less showy. Wearing jeans they had on the same black shirt from the production company; one was blond, her hair in a braid down her back, the other had a screaming blue pixie cut.
I expected to be overwhelmed by the wardrobe crew, but they smiled at me with such excitement I couldn’t help but smile back.
“Ms. Clarke, my name is Gina Monroe and we’ll be dressing you and doing your makeup today.” Beehive introduced herself, then pointed to Blonde Braid, “This is Jess,” next there was Blue, “and this is Harley.” Both waved; they looked no older than twenty.
Gina was a ball of energy, directing Jess and Harley like Miss Potts from Beauty and the Beast. They responded instantly, their quick movements making me dizzy.
“Girl, you have the figure of a goddess! Put these on. They match what we have set aside for the guys.” Gina held up skinny leather pants, a long sleeve silk blouse, and a gorgeous black and silver corset.
My eyes bugged out. I’d worn nothing like this before. I turned to Amelia in a panic.
Amelia grabbed my shoulders and looked me directly in the eyes. “Do you trust me, El?”
I nodded; I felt like a kid lost in the mall without her parents, but I had to trust someone.
“Then trust them. They’re the most highly sought-after in the business. We pulled a lot of strings to get
them here for you today. We wouldn’t steer you wrong.” She squeezed my shoulders, reassuring me.
Taking the clothes from Gina, I smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re going to look amazing!” Gina crowed.
Going behind the curtain serving as a dressing room, I underwent my transformation. The pants crept up in places I didn’t know existed, but the shirt was a gorgeous, shiny white with a ruffle collar. I let Jess help me lace up the corset, which wasn’t as bad as I expected, seeing as I could breathe like a normal person. They handed me some ankle-high boots with heels that looked higher than Gina’s. Well, we’d just see how far I could walk in these…
“No looking in the mirror, Ms. Clarke,” Gina said on the other side of the curtain. “We’re going to put the whole look together for a big reveal.” I rolled my eyes, certain that was Amelia’s idea. Cooked up so I wouldn’t back out.
Harley smiled and guided me toward a swivel chair next to a big bucket of accessories and makeup. These women were so nice and friendly, smiling and gushing over the clothes I was wearing, making conversation about the video and Skyler’s new album.
Jen was back with the chai lattes. “If there’s nothing else I can do for you, I’ll be back when they’re ready for you in the church.”
Jess was brushing my hair back, telling me about what other jobs they were going to be working on in the coming months.
“What’s the biggest job you’ve ever done?” I asked. Their career seemed fascinating to me. It was like playing dress-up every day; not that it was my cup of tea, but I could see how this would be some girls’ dream come true.
“We worked on Beyonce’s last video. They must have had twenty dancers. We started at midnight to get them up and ready and damn, did they look good!” Gina boasted.
Jess combed my hair over to the right, away from the scarring on the left side of my head and the bald spot that resulted from it.
“Wait, no!” Pushing her hands away, I pulled my hair back in place. All four women looked at me with concern, but as always, it was Amelia’s voice that soothed me.
“El, your scars aren’t going away, we know that. We can’t pretend they don’t exist, but we can transform them into something that makes you feel beautiful.” She sounded so confident, so sure.
Taking a deep breath, I looked each woman in the face. I didn’t know what they planned– they wouldn’t tell me–but I’d already buckled in for this ride. I couldn’t get off the roller coaster at the top of the drop-off.
Be brave…be bold…be badass. I kept chanting the mantra in my head.
“Okay,” I whispered, releasing Jess’ hand. She bounced back to piling my hair on the right side of my head, pinning it back.
Harley stared at my face; she must be in charge of makeup. My nerves hadn’t eased any, but I put on a brave face and gently removed the mask. To her credit, she didn’t even flinch.
“There’s no amount of makeup to cover this up, Harley.” I sighed. “Trust me, the mask is really the best choice.”
Where I expected a look of at least Ridiculous Level Pity, Harley smiled at me with glee, a look of conspiratorial joy on her face.
“Oh, ye of little faith. Just you wait.” She wiggled her eyebrows, and I laughed, enjoying her confidence. “Just close your eyes and let the master work.”
So, for the next two hours, I sat in the chair, eyes closed, and allowed these women to run around and pamper me. I felt like the Queen of Sheba being waited on hand and foot. The only thing missing was the foot massage, and I was certain if I mentioned it to Jen, one would likely appear.
I’d almost fallen asleep when the black cape was removed from around my neck. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” Jess crooned. “We’re all done. Go look in the full-length mirror.”
They guided me to the full-length mirror in the tent’s corner. “It’s time for the big reveal!” Gina slipped a sheet off the large, standing mirror.
When my eyes focused on the image in front of me, I didn’t recognize myself. I turned to the side, verifying that it was me in the mirror. The clothes, the hair, the makeup—confidence rushed through me. Everything I saw in the reflection was the definition of artistic and beautiful.
I clapped my hands over my mouth to stifle my cry.
“It’s…amazing,” I choked out. For the first time in a long time, I felt free to walk through the world, knowing my outward appearance reflected my inward feelings. Looking at the three women huddled next to the mirror, I choked out, “Thank you. Thank you so much for making me beautiful!”
Gina touched my arm and squeezed reassuringly. “Honey, you were already beautiful. We just made it easier for the world to see.”
The Image of a Rockstar
Skyler
“Okay, people, ready in five,” the director, Simon Barker, hollered at everyone on set, sending them scrambling like cockroaches. I didn’t know what all these people did to make a music video possible, but the studio and the director felt they were necessary, so I kept my mouth shut.
Interviews and music videos were my least favorite parts of this business. Journalists were nosy and never wanted to talk about music or art, just my sex life or what I was doing with my money. Music videos involved primping and preening to stand around lip-syncing the music I’d rather be singing on a stage.
Fluff. All of it.
Looking down at myself, the clothes they put me in weren’t the worst. My black button-up was tight along the torso. They left a few buttons on top open, exposing my meager chest hair. Silver necklaces lie around my neck, some with pendants. The leather pants left something to be desired as I fought the urge to reach down and rearrange my junk.
On stage, I tried to portray the rocker image with jeans, ripped band T-shirts, several chunky rings, and beat-up chucks. The look I sported today was that of a broody rock star, complete with messy man bun and eyeliner.
Wardrobe was another reason I disliked doing these things. They put makeup on my face and I had to remember not to wipe it off if I got sweaty. I was lucky if they didn’t have grabby hands and take advantage of their proximity to me.
The people working today were much more professional than I was used to. They knew what they were doing and did it quickly. Competence like that didn’t come cheap; the label must have pulled out all stops on this one.
I was surprised Clarke Records spent money on me, considering the performance of my last album. But with Amelia directly involved, and Ellis Clarke’s youngest daughter being in the video, I knew it wasn’t me they were backing. It was Elsie.
“This is quite a doozy here, boss.” Billy stepped up beside me, his eyes scrutinizing the scene in front of him.
Billy McGrue was a lifesaver—I don’t know what I’d have done without him in the last few weeks. He had a more experienced and calm demeanor than West or Rhys. He’s been there and done that, just like me. I could see us having a future working together; it was good to have a close ally in the group.
“Yeah, El’s dad owns the label, and they’re pushing her to make an album of her own. I think they’re trying to impress her.” It made sense. It’d be what I’d do in the situation. With her? Any situation.
“She should make an album. That woman is…damn, there are no words. Ain’t ever seen talent like that, and I’ve been around damn near every block over the last twenty years.” Billy was preaching to the choir.
“Spots, people!” The grip clapped his hands, giving us a pointed look. Billy lifted his hands in surrender and picked up his guitar, moving back to his mark.
“Okay, we’re shooting a full performance with Skyler and the band, one with Skyler by himself and the last one with Skyler and Ms. Clarke. We on the same page?” I was Skyler, and she was Ms. Clarke? Yeah, they notched up that level of deference for a reason. Speaking of which…where was El?
“Where’s El…I mean, Ms. Clarke?” I hadn’t seen her since the hotel check-in yesterday. I’d been so pissed that the little girl at the desk kept staring at
her photo, ogling her scars. She wasn’t a damn sideshow freak, and I refused to let people treat her with anything less than utter respect.
“Hair and makeup. Don’t worry, Skyler, she’s here.” The director slapped my shoulder and moved behind the camera. When he called ‘action,’ the song intro played, the notes reverberating through the church, sending shivers down my spine.
The location department scored. I was very pleased. Stained glass made up the four walls, almost floor to ceiling. Images of Christ’s walk to the cross are depicted in jewel-toned glass. They hung dramatic chandeliers dripping in crystals from the ceiling. The light was soft, mimicking candlelight. Shadows played on the walls behind the band, casting shadows.
I felt a connection with my creator at that moment, though I’d only stepped into a church a few dozen times in life. Mostly for funerals. It wasn’t the setting connecting me to God, but the music.
Singing along with the lyrics funneling from the speaker system, I moved my arms dramatically, the feeling of satisfaction ethereal. Elsie’s voice on the recording made me tingle everywhere. I contorted my face in movement with the song, giving the director something to work with.
We played through the song several times, me alone, then me with the guys. The dramatic setting and feeling like I was performing, if just for the crew, had adrenaline surging through my body.
That’s what it’s all about. I felt so alive, blood pumping through my veins as I gave it my all. My arms reached toward the heavens, and I fell to my knees as the last words of the song filtered through the church. I bowed my head, folded my hands as if in prayer until it the room was silent.
After the third run-through, we took a break. I grabbed a bottle of water with the guys and let the makeup artists touch me up—thank God I didn’t have to wear that shit on stage.
Dozens of people were standing by, chatting so much that when the room went silent, it startled me. I turned and saw why.
Scarred Melody: A Rockstar Romance: Bold Melodies Book One Page 16