What color’s your dress?
And the bass player’s name is Brooks.
I laughed as I read boob stabbage.
Yeah, this guy in my Algebra class asked, so I decided to go. My dress is pink. I’ll email you a picture IF you send me a picture of you dressed up.
Within minutes, a new message was delivered.
Should’ve known your dress would be pink. LOL. You trying to get a blackmail photo of me all dressed up? Either way, it’s a deal.
Time passed quickly, and the day of the dance arrived for both of us. Mom carried me to get my hair and makeup done. Then I came back home and put on my hot pink dress. I loved my dress. It had sparkly straps instead of sleeves. The gemstones trailed down the straps and across the top of the sweetheart neckline. The bodice of the dress was fitted, but it flared out at the waist into a flowing skirt with layers that stopped midway to my knees. Mom found me silver high heels to wear. I’d been practicing walking and dancing in them for a couple of weeks now. I twirled in front of my mirror.
I loved how the dress flowed as I walked. It was flirty and fun. All that was missing was him. I tried not to think of him getting dressed at that very moment to take another girl to his dance. It was a losing battle.
My inner thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. I glanced at the clock and frowned. It was too early to be Tim. Mom yelled for me to come down.
When I got down the stairs, my mom and dad clicked away with their cameras. Behind my parents was Dawson’s dad.
“Hi, Mr. Anderson. What are you doing here?”
“Wow. You look beautiful. Dawson wanted me to bring you these. And I told you to call me Michael. We’re family.” He brought a handful of pink roses from behind his back. The bouquet was tied with a pink and red ribbon. Mine and his favorite colors.
I took them in trembling hands and brought them to my face, inhaling deeply. They smelled so good. The cameras were still clicking away.
“He said to tell you not to forget to send him a picture,” Mr. Anderson reminded me.
“I’ll go do that right now. Thanks for bringing these.”
I grabbed the camera from my mom and dashed upstairs. With my thumb on the clickwheel, I scrolled through the photos Mom took and found a pretty one of me smiling down at the flowers. I loaded it to my computer and attached it to an email.
Thank you so much for the roses. I was so surprised. They’re beautiful. My first ever roses. I can’t believe you thought of them. You’re the best. Now send me your picture.
I waited for a few minutes but got no response. So, I headed back down. While I was talking with Mr. Anderson, the doorbell rang again. It was my date, wearing a suit, and his parents.
Tim seemed surprised by the roses I still clutched in my hands. “Those are pretty. Did your parents get them for you?”
“No. Dawson had his dad bring them to me,” I explained, still staring at the flowers.
“Oh.” Of course, he knew who Dawson was. They’d been in the same second grade class.
“Let me go put those in water for you and set them in your room,” Mom offered.
Tim held up the box with my wrist corsage of hot pink carnations. I held out my arm, and he slipped it on while the parents snapped away. We posed for lots of shots for both sets of parents and Mr. Anderson. Finally, Tim’s parents loaded us in the car to drive us to school. Mom would pick us up at the end to take us home.
Even now, I could picture myself dancing in that hot pink dress. My first official school dance was pretty fun. But the entire time I was there, I could only see in my mind Dawson in his nice black jeans and dress shirt with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. Slow dancing with someone who wasn’t me.
As the song ended and Dawson began talking to me again, my phone rang, startling me out of the bubble of nostalgia I’d been floating in.
“Hello,” I said as I swiped the screen to answer.
“Hey, babe. You on the road?” Beckett asked.
“Yeah,” I answered absentmindedly as Dawson’s words droned in the background.
“Is someone riding with you?” Beckett asked.
“What? No. I’m alone. Why would you think someone was with me?” I knew the rambling sentences made me sound guilty. But I couldn’t help myself.
“I just thought I heard a voice in the background.”
“Oh, it’s just the radio,” I explained, turning the volume down.
“OK. The voice seemed familiar, so I didn’t know if you got one of your friends to make the trip with you.”
“Nope. Just me. All by my lonesome,” my tone was a tad too high-pitched, but hopefully he didn’t notice.
“Well, I just wanted to check in and tell you to drive safely. Text me when you get there.” He didn’t sound suspicious.
And what reason did he have to be suspicious? I wasn’t lying. No one was in the car with me. And technically, the voice he’d overheard had come through my radio.
“I will.” My ears were straining to make out Dawson’s quiet words. It was no use. I couldn’t hear him. I turned my attention back to Beckett. My boyfriend. “Have a good day at work,” I offered.
“Thanks. Talk soon.”
When the line went dead, I pressed the button to back the CD up to the end of the song, so I could hear what Dawson had to say about “Heaven in a Pink Dress”. God, I’d missed him talking to me.
“I never told you, Izzy, but that night at the dance, all I could envision was you in that pretty pink dress, looking like heaven come to Earth exclusively to torture me. Over the years, you certainly gave me a love-hate relationship with the color pink. That pink dress, your pink bikini, your fuzzy pink pajamas, the pink lingerie, that pink thong with matching bra. Fu… they all made me love pink but made me desperate to remove the pink layers that hid you from me in various capacities over the years. Today, I’m wearing pink just for you. The guys are giving me crap. But I don’t care. It makes me feel close to you. And I want to feel close to you. Need to feel close to you. I’m secure enough in my manhood to admit that I love the color pink. And you.”
♪ Heart on Fire by Scott Thomas
Before I could examine all he’d revealed with his words and the song, music filled the car. The next song was upbeat. I found myself tapping my fingers on the steering wheel and bobbing my head along with the catchy tune. “Lovecoaster” was about riding the roller coaster of love—emotionally, mentally and physically. The highs and lows, fast and slows, dips and turns, the parts that made us scream and the parts that stole our breaths—they all made love worth the ride.
Chapter 16
Dawson
Ring. Ring.
Why did people insist on calling me first thing in the morning? In my blind fumble for it, I knocked my phone off my nightstand. I’d been up far too late brainstorming and rejecting grand gestures to get the girl.
♪ Faith When I Fall by Kip Moore
With my eyes still closed, I threw my arm off the bed and rummaged around on the floor. My fingers finally closed on the annoying piece of metal and plastic where it rested on my dirty T-shirt from yesterday.
“’Lo.” My voice was thick with sleep.
“Daw, wake up,” a female voice demanded in my ear.
It was way too early for demanding. “I’m a rock star. Don’t you know I don’t wake up until noon?” I growled.
“You need to wake up now. I have news,” she gushed.
“Who is this?” I sat up and scratched my head.
“I know technically I don’t work for you anymore, but really has it been that long that you don’t recognize my voice?” she sounded miffed.
Now that she mentioned it, the annoying tone was vaguely familiar.
“Lila,” I breathed out in annoyance. One of the best things about leaving our old label was severing ties with Lila.
“Bingo. You get a gold star.”
“I’m not your problem anymore, so why are you calling me?” I kept my eyes c
losed against the bright sunlight streaming through the window. I’d forgotten to close the blinds last night before I crashed.
“Well, you guys haven’t hired a PR person since you left the label, so no one has known who to contact. Which means, I’ve been getting the calls,” she said as if that should explain her early morning phone call.
“Calls about what? The new album?” No one should be calling about that yet. We hadn’t even announced a release date yet. Hell, we hadn’t picked a release date yet.
“No, you dope. About your Facebook posts that have gone viral. Everyone wants an interview. They want to know who the girl is,” Lila’s voice grated against my ear.
“I’m not doing any interviews about that. Bye.” I started to pull the phone from my ear, so I could drift back off to dreamland.
“Wait,” she shouted, stopping me from hanging up.
“What?” I growled.
“Don’t be too hasty. You don’t have to tell them who she is. But you should capitalize on the attention. It’ll be great for when you guys drop your first independent album. You’ll need the traction without a big name pushing you,” she reasoned.
“I don’t know.” I did know. Her words made sense. But I didn’t want to admit that.
“Dawson, I have nothing to gain by suggesting you do this. I don’t work for you. Your image, your private life, your sex life… no longer my concern. But after all these years working with you guys, I do care about you. And I’d like to see you succeed,” her voice was soft, pleading.
With a deep sigh, I asked, “Who wants the interview?”
“The better question is, who doesn’t? Tons of radio stations, magazines, music blogs. You can ignore all of them if you want. But when Elle Ducaine herself reaches out to try to score an interview, you don’t turn her down,” her tone was a tad smug.
My eyes popped open, and I stifled a groan. “Elle Ducaine from The Spiel?” There was no way the host of the number one talk show in America wanted to talk to me.
“The very one.” I could hear the grin in her voice.
“No way. Why?” I raked my fingers through my hair and gave a sharp tug to make sure I wasn’t having some weird dream. Oww. That hurt. Nope, not dreaming.
“You have no idea what you’ve done, do you? With your handful of social media posts, you’re trending more than at any other time in your career. You have more buzz being generated right now than when we launched that huge marketing campaign with your last album. You have to capitalize,” the tenor of her voice was all business now.
“OK. What do I need to do?” I conceded.
She sighed with relief. “I’ll email you Elle’s information. Her producers will probably want to get a preliminary sound bite from you, so they can start promoting your appearance right away. How’s your schedule look?”
“The guys and I are going to spend some time in the studio for the next few weeks. Then I’m heading to South Carolina early next month for some family stuff. When was she thinking about doing the interview?”
“Well, her schedule is booked for the next several weeks, so probably as soon as you get back from South Carolina. But double check with her people when you call.”
“I will. Thanks for letting me know. And for stopping me from doing something stupid like passing this up,” I said grudgingly.
“You’re welcome. And maybe… if you guys are hiring, you could consider me.” She almost sounded humble.
My brow furrowed at her request. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”
“Why not?” She sounded truly puzzled that I wouldn’t offer her a job. She was delusional.
“Because I’m not sure you care enough about our personal well-beings enough to put aside what you think is best for our image. Besides, we could never pay you what the label does,” I reasoned, hoping the reminder of money would halt this conversation.
“You’re right. You probably couldn’t afford me. But as for the other thing… I’m really sorry about whatever role I played in pushing Izzy away. She was a nice girl,” she offered.
“She was the BEST girl. And she was what was best for me.” A feeling of déjà vu overwhelmed me. We’d had this very conversation in various forms countless times over the years I was in a relationship with Izzy.
“I see that now. But remember, I had a job to do.”
“You’re still a person who can make up her own mind.” I had no sympathy for her.
“For what it’s worth, I hope the universe gives you another chance to win her back.” She actually sounded like a human being instead of like a dragon lady at the moment. But it just wouldn’t work having Lila working with us again.
♪ A Different Kind of Pain by Cold
“Thanks.” I ended the call before she could grovel any more.
Once I got downstairs, I logged into my email and resisted the urge to go through the folder labeled “Flutterby”. The top message was from Lila, just as she’d promised.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I dialed the number listed in it. I patiently waited as the phone rang on the other end. I expected to leave a message either on voicemail or with a personal assistant. I wasn’t prepared for the southern drawl of one of the most recognizable voices in daytime TV to sound on the other end.
“Um… I-I’m calling to leave a message for Elle Ducaine,” I stammered out.
“Now, why on Earth would you want to leave a message when you could just talk to me?” she asked.
I chuckled at her teasing tone. “Well, honestly, Ms. Ducaine, I was expecting an assistant or something to answer.”
“Why don’t you tell me who this is, and I can decide whether to dump you off on my assistant or not?” She chuckled.
“Oh, sorry. This is Dawson Anderson of Lyric—”
“I know who you are. I was just yanking your chain. Thank you for calling me back so quickly. You’re a hard man to track down.”
I blinked hard. I really needed a cup of coffee to get my brain going.
“Sorry about that. Since we left the label, we haven’t really had time to hire for all the positions necessary to run a successful band,” I explained as I started brewing a cup of coffee.
“No worries. I’m assuming your old PR person explained the reason for me reaching out?”
“She said you were interested in interviewing me. I assume you want to talk about the band, of course, and the new label and album. But you’re probably most interested in talking about the viral videos I posted recently.”
Thanks to the miracle of technology, my coffee was ready by the time I finished speaking. After adding the perfect amount of cream and sugar, I took the first life-giving sip.
“You’re a smart man, Dawson. Would you be willing to do a live interview with me?” Elle asked.
“Would I get a list of questions ahead of time?” I’d learned a long time ago to go in prepared.
“For the most part, yes. But sometimes a person’s answers send the interview in a direction I couldn’t anticipate,” she hedged, just like any good investigator.
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,” I admitted as I sat at the kitchen table with my daily dose of heaven in a mug.
“Do you have something to hide? Something you want to keep from this mystery girl you want to win back?” Elle asked, speculation already coloring her tone.
“God, no. She knows almost every one of my flaws. And the ones she doesn’t know, I’m sure she suspects. The only thing I don’t want to answer is what her name is. I don’t want her life upended because of me.” I’d already let that happen to her once before. I wouldn’t put her through that again.
“That would defeat the purpose of posting the videos to win her back.”
“Exactly. So, you promise not to ask her name or any other information that would make people harass her? I don’t want to have to lie on national TV.” Her agreement to that condition was the only way I’d willingly do the interview. Though Izzy’s name had been all ove
r the press a couple of years ago, I prayed that all the women Lila had me photographed with the past two years would dilute the media’s memory.
“You have my word. I won’t do anything that would jeopardize you winning her back,” Elle promised. And oddly enough, I believed her.
“Then I would be honored to do your show. And if you’d like, maybe the band can play ‘Dear Universe’ on your show for the first time,” I offered.
“You’d really do that?” she gushed like she might actually be a fan.
“Yes. I’m going to post a small snippet of song lyrics, but that’s going to be it. So, the unveiling of the full song would be on your show.”
“If I might make a suggestion?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“Post the snippet in about a week. It’ll have more traction if you make them wait a little while for it,” she suggested.
It was a good idea. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Now, let’s figure out when I can get you in the hot seat.” I could practically see her rubbing her hands together in glee.
“Well, we don’t really have anyone managing our schedule at the moment, so I’m not a hundred percent sure on everything. But we’re working in the studio starting next week and continuing for a few weeks. I’ll be out of town early next month for a few days. And then near the end of March we’re… now, this is off the record for the moment?” I lowered my voice to a whisper.
“Of course.”
“Later in March, we’re going to put on a secret concert. Three shows, actually.”
“Wow. So, I definitely want to get you on air before the secret concerts.” The sound of papers rustling came through the line. “But it looks like my calendar is booked until March 14th. Does that day work for you?”
I quickly pulled up the calendar on my laptop. “I should be back in town by then, so that should work. I’ll need to check with the other guys to make sure they’ll be in town then too. But let’s go with that.”
Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1 Page 32