by Marie Powell
No one said a word.
“Well?” Jason said. “I’m waiting.”
Lucy looked at Robyn. She was shrinking, Lucy thought. Visibly. She looked like she might melt into a teary blob beneath the seat at any moment.
Perhaps Lucy should tell Jason exactly how Tomas had ended up at their party. Robyn probably did need help. But what if Jason kicked her out of the band? What if she had a total meltdown and got Crush disqualified altogether? What if Robyn’s mistake made everything Lucy had given up pointless? It wasn’t as though it was their fault that Tomas had become a part of their lives. That had been due to Debra Z — and Project Next come to think of it.
“Now is the part where you start talking, girls,” Jason prompted. “Who invited Tomas Angerman to that party?”
“No one!” Lucy blurted out, remembering what Robyn had told her. “No one invited him to the party. We met him through Debra Z. He goes to school with her daughter. He sort of followed us around for a while, and he seemed a nice enough guy so we let him. He knows who to call to get on our list now. We’d no idea he was a drug dealer.”
Lucy tried hard to look Jason straight in the eye as she spoke. He had to believe her. “We had nothing to do with the drugs, Jason.”
Jason studied her for a long time. Finally he nodded.
“Thank you for the explanation, Lucy. You have proven yourself to be both responsible and devoted to your music over the last few months, so I’m going to take you at your word.”
Lucy nodded back, relief and guilt turning her stomach to acid as she did so.
“And I will speak to Debra Z about the company she chooses to associate you with,” he continued, reaching into the chair beside him and picking up an iPad. “But, in the meantime, I want you all to give thanks to the person who turned this disaster into a triumph — Patrick Nelson.”
He flipped his tablet around to display a YouTube clip of Patrick Nelson, pretty much the hottest teen film star in the universe, stumbling down the middle of a street Lucy recognized as their block of Wonderland Avenue.
“I’llllll crrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrushhhh the woooooooorrllld to be with YOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUU,” he sang drunkenly. “I’ll ggggggiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiivvvvvvvvvvvvvvve it ALL up to seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee this tthrooouuuugh.”
He stumbled into the bushes, fell over a rock and, incredibly, landed in one piece halfway down the almost sheer drop into the canyon beside the road, the camera zooming in from above.
Lucy watched, jaw dropped, as he half fell, half climbed, down the rest of the hill. She’d have worried that he could have hurt himself, but he kept singing the whole way. He actually made it all the way through “I’ll Cross the World” before he was out of range of the camera.
“Dear, wasted Patrick has not only distracted the press from your friendly neighborhood drug dealer, he has also brought Crush’s first single into the homes, offices and cell phones of half of America.” Jason shook his head. “Saturday Night Live called this morning, asking for permission to use the song in a skit spoofing this video.”
“Saturday Night Live?” Harper blurted. “That’s amazing!”
“It is,” Jason agreed. “You couldn’t be going into the finale from a stronger position. Demand for ‘I’ll Cross the World’ is so high that we’re seriously considering releasing the song as a download before the finale even airs. You’ve gone from dead last to the top of the heap, as far as the fans are concerned. And you’ve literally done it overnight. So, just this once, I’m going to hold off on tossing each and every one of you out of this plane at thirty thousand feet. If you ever, and I do mean ever, let someone like Tomas Angerman ride on your coattails again, I won’t show as much restraint. And, even worse, I will fire you and see to it that you get dumped from the label and none of you ever get paid a single cent to produce so much as a note again. Is that understood?”
They all nodded.
“Good. Now relax. Be proud of yourselves for getting this far. I know I am.”
With that, he turned and strode up to the cockpit.
“Like he has any right to lecture us,” Robyn said, not nearly as quietly as Lucy wished she’d be. “After what he did to Toni.”
“It’s over now,” Toni said quietly. “Bygones, right?” She shot Robyn a meaningful look. “For all of us. Let’s just focus on ruling Caesars Palace tonight, shall we?”
As the other girls settled in around her, Lucy turned to look up the aisle, her eyes finding Alexander’s. He pointedly turned away, raising his copy of Billboard magazine between them. She’d tried to call him several times since the Crush benefit, but he’d never responded. Jason might believe that Lucy had nothing to do with the drugs, but Alexander had seen her holding Tomas’s stash in Robyn’s bedroom. He obviously wasn’t buying their excuses. He couldn’t have made it clearer that he’d joined the ever-expanding club for Adults Who Are Disappointed In Lucy Gosling.
Suddenly, Lucy was just too tired of it all to care. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. The moment she got the girls speaking to each other again, she lost Alexander. And her parents. It was just exhausting, all of it.
The moment the plane reached cruising altitude, Lucy dove past the others into the tiny bathroom at the back of the plane. She slammed the lock shut and sagged down onto the closed chemical toilet, tears running down her cheeks. All she wanted to do was play her drums. Why did the world seem determined to make that as difficult as possible?
Forty-five minutes later, a blast of bone-dry heat smacked Lucy in the face as they stepped off the plane and onto the Las Vegas runway, adding a coating of desert dust to her misery.
Harper linked her arm through Lucy’s as they crossed the tarmac to the welcome relief of the air-conditioned buildings.
“Why the long face, gloomy? Jason barked a bit, but you were brilliant talking him down and blaming Debra Z! Everything’s golden. The party was fantastic and we’re a huge hit, and we haven’t even played the finale yet!”
Lucy swallowed back the tears that were threatening again. She had to stop being such a sap about this. “My parents aren’t coming,” she said quietly.
“Nobody’s are,” Harper said. “I thought they weren’t allowed. Were we supposed to invite our families?”
“No,” Lucy said, “but Alexander said I could invite mine. He thought maybe it would help mend things. He told me to write them a letter, to explain why I felt like I needed to be here and asking them to come and see … so they could understand. But they haven’t replied and they’re not here. They’re never going to forgive me.”
Harper stopped and pulled Lucy into a hug. She didn’t say anything, just squeezed Lucy tight. Then she grabbed Lucy’s hand and pulled her along toward the front doors of the airport.
“This, my darlings, is what we call a swag suite,” Debra Z cooed a few short hours later as they stepped into the hospitality room Project Next was hosting.
It looked like a pirate’s treasure trove, Lucy thought. If pirates really, really liked Prada.
“We can just take stuff? Any stuff?” Toni breathed, her eyes sparkling at the prospect of free designer baubles.
“That’s the idea, my lovely,” Debra said, grinning as the girls wandered into the room.
Toni hefted a bright red, patent-leather clutch and tossed it to Lucy. “That’s all you, Luce. It’ll be perfect with that little white dress you’ve got, the one-shouldered thing?” She grabbed an oversized pair of sunglasses and popped them on her nose, twirling to one of the full-length mirrors that had been scattered about the room.
“These, on the other hand, are all me.”
“I want you ladies to pick out your victory outfits first,” Debra called. “Then you can play with the toys.”
Robyn was already pulling a short yellow tube dress over her head, and Iza was in front of a mirror trying on a bright pink skirt that looked lik
e someone had chopped off the bottom half of a ballerina tutu. Harper seemed to be torn between a cherry red mini and a black sequined dress that was so laden with sparkles it looked like it might weigh almost as much as she did.
Lucy tried to be excited about the black-and-white striped top she was halfheartedly considering, but she just wasn’t in the mood for fashion.
She mentally shook herself. She had to snap out of this gloom and get excited about tonight. She simply had to. That would be ironic, she thought, if she managed to be exiled from her family forever because she’d insisted on Project Next and then Crush lost the competition because Lucy was so distraught that she couldn’t keep it together on stage.
The door to the suite swung open to reveal a thoroughly grim-faced Alexander.
“Lucille,” he growled, not bothering to look at the other girls. “Come with me. Now.”
Perfect, Lucy thought. This will be fun … Her mood was already disastrous enough, but she followed Alexander anyway.
Alexander didn’t say a word on the twenty-story ride down to the lobby, or the hike through the blaring casino, which seemed like miles. He didn’t even look at her.
Lucy thought he would stop at the concert hall, but he didn’t. He kept moving past the main stage, then down a back corridor.
He finally stopped at a smaller door and pushed it open, gesturing her impatiently inside.
It was a tiny theater. With no more than forty seats and a low stage with no curtain. The chairs looked old. The floor looked worn. It hardly seemed to belong in the flashy, over-polished building outside the door that Alexander had just closed firmly behind them.
He stood there for a moment, looking around the room with a strange expression on his face. Then he turned and looked at Lucy.
“This was the first house I ever played,” he said. “I was younger than you are now. Never finished high school. Did I tell you that?”
She nodded.
“I’d hitchhiked to Nashville for the summer to try and get a job. Got a gig playing bass. The band was awful, but when we stood up there and started to play … I was hooked. The music just had me. At that moment, I knew I’d do whatever it took to stay on the stage. Stay in the music.”
He sagged into one of the creaky velvet chairs and waved her into another.
Lucy sat.
“I was playing here at Caesars the night I almost destroyed it all, too,” he continued. “Life is funny that way. It was ten years after that first gig. I was playing with Winding Road on the main stage by then. I had everything I’d ever dreamed of. But having a room in the penthouse didn’t stop me from overdosing that night. And if it wasn’t for my bandmate Pete Hanswell, it wouldn’t have stopped me from doing it again.”
He shook his head, wrapped up in the memory. “The music was my life, but the drugs … the drugs can take up so much space that there’s no room for anything else. If Pete hadn’t forced me into rehab, I wouldn’t be here, Lucille. I would never have been able to stop on my own.”
Lucy stared at her mentor. He had always seemed so solid. So confident. Like he didn’t ask the world any questions and the world didn’t dare ask any of him. But right now he looked almost fragile.
“Drugs are a part of the music business, Lucille. Always have been. But they aren’t worth the price. I thought I could keep you from having to learn that the hard way, but then … after I saw you at that party … I thought you’d fallen into the same black hole I did when I was your age.”
“Oh no,” Lucy blurted. “I would never. I promise, I had nothing to do with Tomas. I’d only just discovered that he was there with those drugs when you walked into Robyn’s room and saw me.”
“You scared the stuffing out of me, frankly,” Alexander said, “when I saw you holding that bag. Because I knew then that I couldn’t protect you from that world. No matter what I did. You’re going to have to make your own choices … and your own mistakes.”
“I promise I’ll try my best to choose right,” Lucy said. “I really will.”
“I know, dear Lucille.” He smiled at her. “I didn’t bring you down here to tell you what you should have done. I brought you here to tell you what I should have done. I should have had faith in you. And I do. I have faith in you and I have faith in your choices. And in your music. You are going to get up on that stage tonight and you’re going to show the world that you’re more than a rock star. You’re a musician.”
Lucy felt a bit tongue-tied. Alexander Holister had faith in her. In Lucy Gosling.
“You’d better have as much faith in yourself, too,” he snapped when she didn’t reply, a little bit of his usual grumpiness sneaking into his voice. “After all the work I’ve put into you this summer, I will take it personally if you get on that stage tonight feeling anything less than bulletproof. You hear me, girl?”
Lucy felt a smile bubbling up from the pit of her stomach. Maybe, just maybe, if Alexander could believe it, she could, too.
“I don’t hear you!”
“Bulletproof,” she agreed. “I’ll be bulletproof. I promise.”
“I expect nothing less,” Alexander growled, pushing himself back up to his feet. “Now get out of here or you’re going to miss the soundcheck.”
Lucy couldn’t help herself. She went up on her tiptoes and threw her arms around his neck. She was even more surprised to feel him wrap his arms around her and squeeze her tight enough to lift her feet off the ground.
When she turned and ran out the door and down the hall, she was smiling again.
Harper stood on the slice of luminescent tape that marked her place on the Palace stage. She tried to focus on what the assistant director was saying, but she wasn’t really hearing a word, and she knew it. She was too distracted watching Rafe, who was standing in the wings next to Skye.
Harper told herself she shouldn’t be surprised that Rafe still hadn’t broken up with Skye, despite the amazing kiss she and Rafe had shared in the pool at the benefit. It’d only been a few days, and everyone, Harper included, had been focused on the finale show. He’d leave Skye after Crush won Project Next. Harper was sure of it.
But still, there he was. Standing with Skye, looking tragically bored while she talked earnestly to a tall, rangy woman with a backstage pass strung around her neck. Rafe made eye contact with Harper and rolled his eyes, pretending to gag as Skye pulled a business card from the pocket of her jeans and handed it over to the woman she was trying to impress. Harper tried not to giggle.
Harper walked through the next formation change on autopilot, swapping places with Robyn and Toni stage left as the pair came forward to do the guitar and bass guitar duet at the end of “Teenage Tragedy.” She had felt like she was tipsy on good champagne for the last three days, ever since Rafe had kissed her in the pool. Rafe Jackson loved her. She’d hoped it was true but she hadn’t had any proof until that night. Now she had. He really did love her.
“Okay, girls,” the assistant director, a tall, bald man with thick black-rimmed hipster glasses, called. “I think you’ve got it. Do you think you’ve got it?”
“Yes!” Toni called before Harper could ask him to run over the last three marks again. “We’ve got it nailed! We’re going to win this thing, just you wait!”
“Best of luck with that, kids,” the assistant director said. “Now get the hell off my stage. Plastic Virgins? Where are the Plastic Virgins? Come on now, people, we’re already running behind!”
Harper followed Toni off stage, making room for one of the American bands who were jostling each other to find their marks.
Robyn blew past Harper, deliberately avoiding eye contact as she flounced over to Iza and dragged the piano player away. She was still pissed off about the whole Tomas business.
At least Iza would keep Robyn from doing anything too dumb before the show, Harper thought, irritated. Robyn wouldn’t want Iza to see
her popping more pills, or throwing up her dinner, or any of the other disgusting habits she’d picked up. Harper just needed Robyn to hold it together tonight. They could deal with the fact that she’d become such an epic disaster after they’d won.
“Gotcha!” Rafe cried, throwing his arms around Harper from behind and lifting her off her feet.
“Hey!” she giggled as he walked them farther into the maze of curtains and wiring. She twisted free and darted ahead, ducking past a thick tangle of cabling to lie in wait for him.
“Har-pperrrr,” he crooned. “Where aaarre —”
“Gotcha!” she crowed, jumping on his back.
He swung her round, somehow positioning her so she was trapped between him and a wall of blackout curtains.
They stood for a moment, almost nose to nose. Eyes locked.
He was going to kiss her again, Harper thought, her brain floating on a cloud of pure happiness.
“Harper.” A deep voice snapped through her fog of joy. “I believe wardrobe is looking for you.”
Rafe stepped back so fast that Harper had to struggle to keep her balance.
“Dad,” he said, turning to face Sir Peter. “I was just —”
Sir Peter smiled at Harper, ignoring his son. “You should run along, dear; you’ll love what they’ve got planned for you down there.”
“Great,” Harper said. Rafe was looking at her with pleading eyes. “Rafe, can you walk me —”
“My son and I need to talk, Harper,” Sir Peter said firmly. “And you need to focus on the show. Hurry now.”
Skye felt a little smile twitch its way to the surface as her iPhone buzzed in the pocket of her jeans. That would be a reply from Cesar.
Don’t wish I was there. Wish you were here so we could sit on the roof and watch the stars tonight.
The smile grew. She tapped in a quick reply.