by Ellie Hall
Cece had promised to always remember where she came from and how hard she’d worked to get where she was—chart-topper, media darling, and doing what she loved every day.
At that moment she stepped out of the black SUV, wearing a hat and sunglasses—her attempt at being incognito.
The moment she stepped onto the sidewalk the cameras started flashing. Just as she expected, the shutters suddenly stopped. There was a pause, an intake of breath as though everyone from the paparazzi to the fans who’d gotten wind of her visit to the recording studio that day gasped.
Then the frenzy erupted as she scurried into the studio amidst shouts, questions, and a few lamenting wails.
When the door was securely shut behind her, she waited for it to repeat, minus the flashing of cameras. It was the first time she’d been in public since that fateful day.
Cece’s team and entourage held their collective breath as she took off her sunglasses and hat.
Her manager’s mouth fell open.
The eyes of the girls who styled her for camera-ready perfection bulged.
A woman who’d only recently joined the team studied her planner as if an answer to the question everyone was too shocked to ask was printed there.
Her vocal coach pressed his lips together. The music studio, a place created for sound, was absolutely silent.
“You ready, Cece?” the studio engineer asked.
Her eyes drifted over everyone in the room but no one else said a word. No condolences. No inquiries if she was alright. No question about why and where her second most valuable asset was gone.
She wasn’t ready, but she stepped into the vocal booth anyway.
Cece once told herself that whether she had one person in a signing line or one-thousand, each one of them was important and worthy of her time. She’d vowed that no matter how famous or popular or in demand she got, it was always about the fans—the faithful people who bought her albums, attended her concerts, and sang along with every song.
In fact, the attention, the cheering, and the voices rising up in the arena were what fueled her. She’d get off stage, buzzing with energy that lasted until the last fan left the venue. She didn’t have a family so they became like one for her.
Growing up, she didn’t have much but was told she had the voice of an angel and that her smile was golden. When she’d left Cecelia Stevens behind and became Cece Sparrow, she was born anew and pledged to honor her gifts. She used them to entertain and bring joy to people’s lives. They weren’t hers to squander. For all that, she said a prayer of gratitude every day. That was what pushed her to keep going.
But that day she was tired and it wasn’t because of the many facets of her job. It wasn’t even that she had to fulfill her studio obligations and get at least three songs down for the new album as part of her contract. It wasn’t that she’d hardly slept in the last nine days or fielded questions from intrusive paparazzi any time she transitioned from events to vehicles to the studio. The disguises weren’t the exhausting part. Nor was working with her trainer to keep her stamina up for her next tour.
Cece Sparrow felt herself disintegrating, the threads of herself unraveling, and the grip she had on her life slipping away as she slid into a kind of darkness and desperation she’d never before known.
It had been seven days since her sister had died.
And Cece was a mess.
But there was no rest for the rich, famous, and in-demand popstar. There was no pause button. No moment to grieve. She felt like she was coming undone. As she sang into the mic, she was beginning to sound that way too.
“How about trying it one octave higher,” the sound engineer called from behind the mixing board.
Standing in the vocal booth, she gave it a go.
The noise that came out of her was akin to a roomful of cats mewling.
The sound engineer fiddled with the board. “Okay, let’s see what it’s like now.”
She opened her mouth and sang the lyrics to a song she’d written ages before about a boy she’d had a crush on. The words were stale in her mouth. “Garbage,” she muttered under her breath. She knew it and everyone else in the room probably did too. She prided herself on her natural voice. Recordings were done without autotune or special effects. That was another thing her fans loved about her. She was real.
But when her life got too real, when she did something she couldn’t undo, she wasn’t entirely sure the extent of their support. There were rumors that she was going crazy, that she’d lost her edge, and that she had a substance abuse problem. She did not, but other pop stars had publicly unraveled in a similar way and the paparazzi were quick to fan the rumor flames.
“How about we try again tomorrow,” the guy in the booth said.
She didn’t want to let anyone down. Despite wanting to hang her head, she lifted her chin and exited the vocal booth wearing a smile.
The usual entourage waited in the lounge, some averting their gaze while others openly stared as if by straining their eyes hard enough things would go back to normal. Cece had tried that too, but it was too late. Her life would never be the same.
But her hair would. “My hair will grow back,” she blurted to the room at large. However, she wasn’t entirely sure her voice would return.
With a thin smile, Lauren, her manager, said, “Of course it will.” She tapped her tablet and as though skipping over or denying Cece’s bald head. “You have a six-p.m. appearance at a skincare launch followed by dinner with Jaxon at Copa.” Her gaze flitted above Cece’s eyes to the fuzz atop her head.
Cece fought the urge to self-consciously brush her hand across it. When she’d gone to Serena’s bedside during those last hours, she’d shaved her hair in solidarity with her sister, whose locks had been even more thick and shiny than her own. Serena’s hair thinned and then she lost it. Removing her hair was a way for Cece to feel connected, to try to absorb some of the pain her sister was experiencing. However, she knew it was no use.
She imagined right then and there that shockwaves rippled across the country, spreading to the international news as photos emerged on social media and on websites. But Cece wouldn’t offer more of an explanation, which would only open the doors to speculation. She gave her fans a lot, but her sister’s fight with cancer was a private matter. There wasn’t much that was personal in her life except one thing, or rather, person. While Cece thrived in the spotlight, her sister preferred to live an anonymous life.
Serena was always present but never photographed.
She had her opinions but was never quoted.
She lived behind the scenes while Cece took center stage.
In the studio lounge, the team whispered and exchanged loaded looks as Cece stood there without the comfort of her hair.
“As always, making headlines,” Lauren said, flashing a website post on the screen of her tablet. “I’m getting lots of notifications. Care to comment?”
Cece shook her head. Her manager knew her status when it came to anything having to do with Serena.
She tsked in disapproval. Lauren was of the mind that any publicity was a good thing but was often eager to feed the news cycle even if it meant pushing past privacy boundaries.
The voices in the room increased in volume as they read news banners and comments. Just as Cece suspected because the pop star didn’t give the details the paparazzi demanded, rumors circulated. She overheard lines like Cece Sparrow has gone nuts, shaved her hair off in a drunken rage, or lost a dare at a drug-fueled party and the sudden disappearance of her hair were the consequences.
The only thing Cece ever drank was water or tea. The only drug she’d ever taken was Aspirin and a prescription for bronchitis once. The sisters had seen the effects of substance abuse first hand and had sworn off that way of life.
Lauren passed Cece a pile of papers. More fan letters. “I fielded the hate mail and the most recent threats. You know, it would help if you wore a wig.”
But that wouldn’t erase what she�
�d done or what had happened. She couldn’t get her sister back. She’d shaved her head when Serena neared the end because more than anything, she didn’t want her sister to feel alone. Not the way she did as she stood helplessly by and every moment since her sister had drawn her last breath.
“I should go,” Cece said, feeling like she was losing her grasp on her composure. Despite all the speculation, she’d never publicly unraveled, shed a tear, or did anything to indicate she wasn’t okay.
She shoved on her sunglasses and a hat—typical disguise even before Hair-Gate as everyone in the room was calling it. With a wave to her manager, she whisked outside to the waiting SUV.
The familiar clicking of camera shutters and flashes followed her to the vehicle along with calls of, “When are you going to let your hair grow back?”
Another asked, “What’s it like being bald?”
There was also, “Did your record company really cancel your deal because you shaved your head?”
She ignored every single comment. She’d give her fans her attention. But not them. The paps had become vultures, were ruthless and dishonest. She’d learned that the hard way.
As usual, the traffic in Los Angeles was thick. Seated in the backseat, she checked in on her social media accounts.
She gave her fans access to most aspects of her life. Everything, in fact, except for her sister, per Serena’s request.
She posted a quick story, letting them know that her time in the studio was fabulous and she couldn’t wait to share the new material with everyone.
Only, there wasn’t any new material. She was in a drought. She felt empty. Dried up even though she knew she had tears stored inside. It wasn’t unusual for her not to cry. The Stevens girls were strong because they’d overcome so much. When they’d finally stepped away from their old lives, in their own ways, they’d left the sadness behind. As it was, they’d already shed enough tears for a lifetime.
Back home, Cece got ready for the skincare line event. She’d rather have canceled but was committed. She smoothed her fingers along the dark rings under her eyes.
Lizzie, her makeup artist, bustled in to conceal the signs of her inner distress and exhaustion. She tied up her long blond hair in a bun—her usual look while working. She assessed the singer-starlet with a careful eye.
Cece stared at the blond bun, wishing her own long, brown locks were still atop her head and wishing Serena was still by her side to style it.
Lizzie clicked her tongue, likely because Cece’s gray eyes, normally one of her best features, didn’t do her any favors in terms of highlighting the signs of sleeplessness. “Girl, what am I going to do with you?”
“Make me look acceptable.”
“You’re supposed to say make me beautiful, but you are already.”
“We both know that’s not true,” Cece croaked.
As Lizzie primed and concealed, she knew what her client referred to and didn’t miss a beat. “It’ll grow back and that hole in your heart will fill in. For now, it’s a time to be sad.” She tilted Cece’s chin and met her eyes. “I’ve been making up your face since you got your first advance and I haven’t stopped, which means you haven’t either. You hustle and grind. But you need time. You need a break.”
Cece sighed. She was right but that wasn’t possible. She had commitments and knew if she did stop, if she did allow herself to be sad, she’d actually fall apart and there was no one left to help her pick up the pieces.
As Lizzie swiped eyeliner across Cece’s eyelids, she said, “I know you’re going to say that you don’t have time to get away or even take a staycation and just—” She shrugged. “I don’t know... But you need it.”
However, Cece did know what Lizzie meant. She’d done it before. The word started with the letter G and rhymed with the word leave. The thought of grieving terrified her because it pointed to what she’d lost and how very final it was.
“My calendar is full,” Cece said weakly.
“Well, I’ve been around long enough to see that as much as you have—money, fame, whatever—it comes with its own kind of stress and overwhelm. You’ve never taken a vacation in all six years you’ve been at this. Sure, you’ve gone to Mexico and toured the world, but you were always…How can I put this? On, ready for your fans, putting yourself out there. I should know. I was along for the ride. Now, I know this isn’t a time to merrily go off galivanting through Paris or wherever, but—” She paused her blush brush and met Cece’s eyes again. “You need a break or you might—”
Cece knew what the word to end the sentence was as well. Break. But her phone beeped with the song she’d programmed for her boyfriend, Jaxon, interrupting them.
“Were you still planning on coming to Copa tonight?” he asked without saying hello or inquiring about how she was.
Something inside her shrank a little as she replied. Deep down, she wanted to hear him use a term of endearment. She yearned to tell him she wasn’t okay and then hear some reassuring words. However, Jaxon wasn’t that kind of guy.
She and Serena had loved the movie Princess Diaries and promised each other they’d marry the man who made their foot pop during a kiss, like in the famous scene that referenced the romantic element from classic love stories. Once upon a time, she’d met that man, her foot had popped, but he’d dropped off the face of the earth, which meant he obviously hadn’t felt the same way, leaving her back at square one. But not for long. Cece was resilient and became what Serena called a serial dater, always looking for a replacement for the guy they’d dubbed the foot-popper. She dreaded being alone. Conveniently, because of her fame, she easily avoided it.
Cece and Jaxon were supposed to have dinner then go to a club that had recently opened, featuring him as the special guest DJ. Instead, she longed to curl up in sweats, fuzzy socks, and watch Princess Diaries.
Meanwhile, Jaxon droned on about the producer he’d met.
Jaxon had been there for her through Serena’s decline, sort of. After she’d gotten the call nine days previous, she’d rushed from the concert in Indiana to the hospital in Los Angeles. He was in New York, recording his debut album and hustling every night at as many clubs as he could to get in front of fans. She knew the drill. There was no rest for the aspiring musician. Of course, dating her had given his career a boost and she was happy to help. She knew what it was like to taste success and tried to pay it forward because she was grateful for the many people who’d helped her along the way.
She didn’t tell him that Serena didn’t care for his personality and probably preferred he wasn’t there, but she could’ve used the support herself—someone to hold her after she’d left the hospital with a shaved head and filled with fear yet feeling an emptiness that she hadn’t known was possible.
The hot-Hollywood couple got along well enough. She’d even coined his DJ name DJ aXon. He’d started shortening it to just DJ X. However, during the long hours in the hospital, she’d started to realize he was a place holder boyfriend while she waited for the one to make her foot pop.
After she and Jaxon hung up, Lizzie lifted her downturned lips. She wasn’t on team Jaxon either. Then she stood back, surveyed her work, and said, “All done. You look perfect as always.”
Cece’s hand floated to her head.
“If you change your mind and want to get away, let me know. My cousin has a place in the islands. I think you’d like it there.”
Cece nodded and thanked her for everything then hurried to the awaiting car. The next several hours she spent at the skincare line event were grueling. Sure, her skin was glowing, but the spotlight seemed to be on her head itself, notably the top of it where there was no hair.
“What’s it like being known as The Hair and not having any?” a model with jet black locks asked while she mingled.
Cece was nicknamed The Hair and there were even rumors she’d had it insured, which wasn’t true.
An actress smiled at her and talked to her about everything except her missing hair even th
ough her green eyes didn’t leave the fuzz above her forehead—only drawing more attention to its absence.
The guys steered clear of her and not only because she was attached to Jaxon.
She was relieved when it was finally time to leave and meet him for dinner. As the sun set on the early summer evening, the flashing bulbs and shouting paparazzi followed her to the waiting SUV. She was tall and strode passed them, keeping her chin lifted. Early on in her career, she’d felt like a model on a runway as she’d cruised past. Lately, she rushed against a gauntlet to safety. The paparazzi were relentless, some shoving the cameras in her face to get up close photos, intimidate her, or capture for themselves the fact that she really did shave her head.
“Are you going to meet DJ aXon?” one called.
Another said, “What does he think of your new look?”
Her manager reached for the handle to the door to open it for her when a paparazzo shouted, “Why’d you make yourself look like a cancer patient?”
Cece went still. Her muscles tensed. Her eyes brimmed. She gritted her teeth, turned, glared, and said, “Get. Over. It.” Emotion punctuated her every word. Get over losing Serena.
She’d never responded to their comments, calls, or questions. In the silence of the vehicle as it sped away, she realized that she wouldn’t get over it for a long time, possibly forever.
She took deep breaths, pulling herself together before entering the restaurant. On the way in, more members of the gossip-media-machine called to her, but she ignored them.
Cece waited five minutes, which turned into ten. Then twenty. Jaxon was often late, but like her, he was busy. She took the time to catch up on her social feeds and saw that her comment quickly made digital headlines. The Hair says to ‘get over it.’ There were already hundreds of comments and speculation from users, followers, and fans.
Her phone beeped with notifications then Jaxon’s text alert song came on. She silenced it quickly while reading his message. Can’t make it tonight. Can’t get over it.