by Marie Powell
All Lucy wanted to do was call her mum. Not that she thought she’d really tell Mum all of the crazy things she suspected her bandmates were up to. Mum would go completely mental if she knew.
Mum and Dad would chat to her about the flower beds and how Emily was learning to do double pirouettes and was destroying the kitchen in the process. And somehow, if they stayed on the line long enough, Mum would guess that something was wrong. They’d harass her about it for a while, and then they’d reel off every cliché piece of advice ever known to man and Lucy would be thoroughly annoyed by the time she got off the phone.
And she’d feel better.
“Lucille!” Alexander’s voice barked over the intercom from the booth. “Where are you today, and when do you plan to join the rest of us here on planet Earth?”
“Um, sorry, Alexander,” she said, suddenly terrified that she was about to start bawling. She scrubbed at her eyes to clear them. “I just … I can’t seem to get this beat.”
“You had it yesterday,” he pointed out.
Robyn caught Lucy’s eye from where she stood between three low-slung mics set to catch her guitar solo and mouthed, You okay?
Lucy nodded — unconvincingly, apparently, because Robyn mouthed back, What’s wrong?
Lucy shook her head vigorously and looked straight ahead. Robyn’s sympathy would do her in if she let it.
“Let’s try it again,” Alexander boomed. “With a little less day-tripping, shall we?”
Lucy nodded, still avoiding Robyn’s concerned gaze. She just wanted to get through this song. That was all. Then they’d be done for the day.
“One, two, three, four,” she counted off.
They made it thirty seconds into “Sucker Punch” before Alexander cut them. Lucy knew it was her fault. The others had been dead on, Toni’s deeper bass guitar flowing smoothly under Robyn’s picked-out melody as Iza pounded out a percussive piano line to punctuate the first few verses of the song. Lucy had blown the beat. Again.
“You girls can go,” Alexander said, stepping out of the booth. “Lucille can stay.”
Lucy sagged. Now she was in for it.
She didn’t look up as the others gathered their things and cleared off.
Someone squeezed her shoulder as they passed. Robyn, she thought, catching a glint of the yellow nail polish Robyn had discovered last week on Melrose and fallen head over heels in love with. Trust Robyn to be the one who saw she was sad. She always did.
Robyn’s sensitivity to every little thing could be quite annoying. You constantly had to reassure her that you weren’t upset or she hadn’t offended the waiter or that a passerby didn’t think she was odd. But Robyn always knew when someone was sad or upset or had PMS and needed an extra coffee and muffin. Lucy tried to smile up at her as she left, but she knew she was doing a lousy job at it.
Just like she was at everything else.
“Okay, Lucille,” Alexander said, settling on a stool beside the drum kit once the others had fled. “What’s going on?”
She wanted to blurt it all out, right then. Harper and Rafe. Robyn lying about having food poisoning. Toni and Jason. But what would Alexander do? What could he do? A lot of things that might bloody well ruin all their chances, that’s what he could do.
“Don’t hold out on me, miss,” Alexander snapped. “I am neither blind nor deaf. You could hit that beat backward and forward and upside down in a hurricane, but you can’t get it to come out of your sticks to save your own life today. Something’s eating you and it’s getting in the way of my record, so it’s time to spill.”
She had to tell him something. She should tell him everything. Or maybe she shouldn’t. What if she was wrong. What if—
“It’s my family,” she blurted. She was a bit surprised, actually, when the words popped free of her mouth. She’d honestly thought she was covering for her real concerns, but once she’d said it out loud, she realized it was her family that was bothering her, as much as it was anything else.
She’d been fine, at first, being at odds with them, but now as the days went by and LA and Crush and all the rest became more demanding and the girls all had their own concerns … She was just lonely, Lucy realized abruptly. So bloody lonely.
She didn’t know she was crying until Alexander reached out to pat her shoulder, his expression much the same as if he’d stumbled across a stick of dynamite primed to explode. Lucy tried to stop crying, but now that the tears were flowing, they didn’t want to stop.
Alexander fumbled for a box of tissues stashed on one of the side tables beside the sofa at the back of the room, then stamped back to her and thrust a wad of them into her hand.
“What’s wrong with your family?” he asked. Then he awkwardly added, “Dear?”
She almost smiled, despite herself. Poor Alexander. Comforting crying teenage girls was not in his skill set. She blew her nose on the tissues rather violently.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall apart,” Lucy said, trying to gather herself. “I’m fine, really.”
“Young lady,” Alexander said. “You will learn, someday, that most problems are bigger inside your head than they are when you take them out and look at them in the light of day. I think it’s time this one saw daylight, don’t you?”
She gulped back more tears and nodded.
“So …” he prodded.
“They don’t approve, you see,” she blurted. “My parents, I mean. I didn’t tell them about Project Next when we tried out because they wanted me to focus on my studies and were never going to let me join a new band, much less try out for the show. I meant to tell them eventually. I did. But before I knew it we were about to fly to Los Angeles and they’d seen me on TV and they didn’t know I was on the show and it was just a disaster. Now they’re not speaking to me, and John — that’s my brother — says they’re still livid and I think they’ll never forgive me and I just want to talk to them. I just want them to irritate me with too many questions and tell me all about rebuilding the gutters and the like until I die of boredom, you know? I’ve no idea why but … I want that. And I’ll never have it again.”
Alexander sat quietly for a long time.
“I know the feeling well, unfortunately,” he said finally.
“They just don’t understand,” Lucy said. “They don’t understand why it matters. Why music is so important. They never have.”
“Have you explained it to them?” Alexander asked.
“I tried,” Lucy said. “Well, I meant to. But I’m not sure it’s ever been as much a case of explaining as making a lot of stuttering sounds and waving my hands, then running off to LA and sulking for days.”
Without a word, Alexander stood and crossed to the booth. When he came back, he was carrying a notepad and a pen.
“You can’t expect them to understand if you don’t at least try to explain it to them. They might never get it. And if you tell them and they still don’t feel you, that’s their problem, not yours. But you do have to try.”
“How do I do that?” Lucy asked. “They won’t call me back or return my texts.”
“Then write it down, Lucille,” Alexander said, handing her the pad and pen. “Write them a letter and make it as long or short as it needs to be to tell them how you really feel about your music. Then tell them that they will have two seats at the Las Vegas finale, if they want them. All they have to do is call me.”
“But Jason said family wouldn’t be invited,” Lucy said.
“They will be if I say they are,” Alexander said. “Now write, Lucille. We’ve got beats to run through and I want this out of your system!”
Then he strode away, as though he didn’t want anyone to catch him taking care of a teenage girl instead of glowering at a band from his booth.
When he was gone, Lucy stared down at the pad.
How was she meant to ex
plain why she loved music? There was no explaining it. The feeling that the heartbeat of the universe was pulsing in her fingers, just waiting to drive outward, into the air, through her drums. The throbbing snap that you could feel all the way up your arms while you played. And the feeling you got, if you were really doing it properly, that it wasn’t you playing at all, that you could look down on yourself and see this awesome, impossible dance of sticks and arms and cymbals and think, Christ, nobody can do that, and then realize that you, in fact, were actually doing that.
But how was she meant to describe it to her parents?
Alexander’s voice rang in her ears once more.
Write it down, Lucille. Write it down.
Lucy picked up the pen and started to write.
7. Delicate
The sign on the door read CRUSH in bold, capital letters.
Jason hadn’t been kidding when he said that his bands played only the best venues. Who’d have thought it? Lucy smiled as Paulina fussed over the last bits of Lucy’s makeup. Crush was about to play the Hollywood Bowl. She’d only seen pictures of it in magazines and in films, and now she was about to play on the stage.
The previous two weeks had been a mad dash of rehearsals, practice and, of course, parties. Lucy would happily have focused on nothing but her drum kit 24/7, but getting dolled up and running about Los Angeles was part of the deal, she supposed. She could scarcely believe they’d been in America nearly a month, but it was true. She could only hope they’d learned enough from Alexander to do him proud on stage tonight. Crush was just the opening act, obviously, but that didn’t matter.
Lucy couldn’t even allow herself to think of the band Crush was opening for. Just being here was enough to leave her alternating between clammy nausea and fizzing excitement. If she considered the fact that they were playing at the Hollywood Bowl as the opening act for Electric she was afraid she might actually faint.
Electric. They were going to play on the same stage as Electric. She was, at this very moment, breathing the same air as Trent Eisner. It just wasn’t possible.
“Huddle up, ladies!” Jason strode into their dressing room.
“You are about to do something that a band only gets to do once in a lifetime, and I want you to enjoy every last second of it,” he declared. “You will never have another first gig, and I guarantee you, no matter how many sold-out stadium shows we play, or how many platinum records are on your wall, you will never match the feeling you’re going to have tonight when you walk out onto that stage. There is no greater high, so savor this moment, girls. This is the first breath of the beast that Crush is going to grow up to be. Don’t miss it worrying about your hair, or whether or not you blew a chord or dropped a line. Tell those nerves they can kiss your collective asses and have fun out there. You’ve earned this, and you’re about to show the world exactly how much!”
Jason was right, Lucy thought, this wasn’t the time to worry about Robyn’s issues. Or the fact that Rafe had insisted that Harper go with him in the equipment van on the way to the show, while Skye rode with the hair and makeup team. Or to wonder why Iza had been sobbing in the bathroom yesterday. None of that was Lucy’s problem — not tonight. Tonight was just Lucy and her drums. That’s all that mattered.
Toni squeezed into the first wing of the Bowl’s enormous stage beside Jason and peered out at the rows of people that stretched up and up into the dying light of the summer evening. It was almost time to go on.
“It’s quite full, isn’t it?” Toni asked. She couldn’t believe it was possible to be this nervous. “I was expecting people to still be coming in during the set. Opening act and all that.”
“They want to see you girls as much as they want to see Electric,” Jason said, shooting her a quick grin. “There’s a lot of curiosity out there about Project Next — especially after the first special aired last week. Perfect timing for your first big show, if I do say so myself.”
“Well, bragging about yourself is one of your best skills,” Toni smart-alecked.
“No, bragging about you is my best skill. The fact that I make myself look like a genius in the process just proves that I’m good at what I do.” He matched her smile. “You ready for this?”
“Yes.” Toni didn’t hesitate. She’d been ready for this her whole life. Nerves be damned. She was going to rock the Hollywood Bowl’s world. “I’m ready.”
But she wasn’t ready for the spark of pure electricity that shot up her arm and straight into her heart when Jason reached down and squeezed her hand. The look on his face as he stared down at their intertwined fingers, then back up at her face, told her he’d felt it, too. He looked a bit like he’d been hit by a bus.
A muttered curse from behind them snapped the moment like a twig. Jason dropped her hand as though it had suddenly caught fire and took a big step to the left.
“Good. You’ll be fantastic, Toni,” he said, sounding distant and managerial all of a sudden. Toni shot a covert look over her shoulder. Bloody hell. One of the cameramen was there, aiming his lens their way.
Jason strode past the camera into the backstage prep area and called to the others, “You’re on, ladies. Let’s go kill this thing, shall we?”
“YEAH!” Lucy crowed. “Come on, rock star.” She grabbed Toni’s hand and pulled her onto the stage.
Toni glanced back at Jason, a confusion of thoughts and emotions and hormones stumbling through her brain, but then she plunged into the blinding bubble of light and sound that was center stage and, just like that, everything else fell away. She pulled the shoulder strap of her bass over her head and found the glowing slice of tape that marked her place stage left, down a bit from Lucy’s drum kit. Robyn bounced in behind Toni and Lucy, gripping her guitar, and zipped to her own mark, splitting left of the stage with Toni as Iza slipped quietly to her seat at the white baby grand that dominated stage right.
This was it! Crush’s very first gig was about to start.
Toni shot the crowd a saucy grin as Harper strode casually to the front of the stage.
“Hello, Hollywood Bowl!” she said, easing into the mic. “It’s lovely to meet you. Our name is Crush!”
She let the applause die down for a moment, then leaned in again and said, “Believe me, the pleasure is all ours … but if you’re good, I promise we’ll share.”
“One. Two. One, two, three, four!” Lucy called from the back, punctuating each number with a crack of her drumsticks.
That was Toni’s cue. She slammed into the first chord of “Revenge Is Fun” and let the music run free.
The roar of the crowd made Lucy feel like every cell in her body was carbonated, caffeinated and completely on fire. She was practically floating behind the other girls down the back corridors of the Bowl on the way to their dressing room.
Lucy had thought it would be no big deal — after all, they’d already played the Project Next UK semifinal, which had housed a live audience almost as big as this one, as well as countless eyes watching on TV. But it hadn’t been like this.
She could have sworn that all 17 396 people in the packed amphitheater had been on their feet, singing along with “I’ll Cross the World.” As the final chorus had blasted through the Bowl, she’d felt as though she was about to break apart into a million happy little pieces.
They had just played the freaking Hollywood Bowl. No … not just played — they had just ruled the Hollywood Bowl.
“Whatever’s putting that smile on your face, I could use a hit,” said a midnight-blue sort of voice.
She looked up to find a willowy guy with a tangle of dark curls and rich brown eyes grinning at her. He looked quite familiar. Who was he? One of the technicians from Alexander’s studio, perhaps? Or a Project Next crewman?
Whoever he was, he was downright dreamy, and at that moment she felt like she could flirt with bloody Ryan Gosling if he happened to be wandering abo
ut backstage at the Hollywood Bowl.
“Can you play the drums?” she asked, tossing her curls in her best Harper imitation.
The guy shook his head. “Nope.”
“Then I can’t help you,” she fired back with a cheeky smile, enjoying herself too much to listen to the tiny voice in the back of her brain that kept insisting that this wasn’t just some random roadie.
“Would the guitar do?” he asked, still grinning like an idiot.
She opened her mouth to say something clever about teaching him a few things on her drum kit when a middle-aged man in a Friday the 13th T-shirt and cargo shorts hurried past. “Trent! Need you on stage in two.”
Wait. This adorable, cocky guy’s name was Trent? And he was needed on stage … where Electric was about to take over for Crush as the main act of the show?
Realization crept over her face in a hot, red blush. How could she have missed it? She’d seen his face a hundred times. Possibly a thousand. Stared at it. Studied it. Dreamed about it. But it looked different now. Still attractive, but plainer, somehow. Ordinary. Younger as well. She’d never thought of him as nearly her own age, but he was.
Yet there was no denying it. She hadn’t recognized the guy with the beautiful brown eyes because he was a studio tech or Project Next crew; she’d recognized him from the poster on her bloody bedroom wall. And the wallpaper on her laptop. And …
“Trent? You’re Trent Eisner?” she blurted. “As in, Electric Trent Eisner?”
He nodded, clearly amused by the fact that her jaw was pretty obviously lying on the floor.
“As in, number one in the UK for ten weeks running, Trent Eisner? Best New Artists Grammy and MTV Music Award winner for Best Album and Best Video, too, Trent Eisner?”
She wanted to stop babbling, but her mouth just kept spilling words like an open tap. “NME’s Artist to Watch, Trent Eisner? Headlining this show, Trent Eisner?”
Stop. Freaking. Talking. Lucy.
“Trent! Ninety seconds!” hollered the stage manager.