by R.S. Grey
“Are you ready?” Cammie asked, stepping out of my bedroom in a strapless Oscar de la Renta gown. The red fabric looked killer with her tan skin and dark hair. She was my date for the evening, and she would definitely be showing me up.
“Almost,” I said, pointing to the hair stylist who was still working to make my curls as perfect as possible. He’d used about three bottles of hairspray and I was currently sitting in a cloud of perfume, make-up, and hair product that threatened to suffocate me. “You look amazeballs.”
She spun in a circle and laughed. “Why, thank you. Summer said we have to leave by 5:30 P.M. to make it in time for the red carpet.”
“Done! Let’s get your dress on now,” the hair stylist said, spinning the chair around so that I could look in the mirror. I hardly recognized myself, which was usually the case by the time the red carpet looks were completed. My hair was loose and curled to perfection. My eyes were dark and dramatic and my lips were painted a bright red and would match my second dress for the night, my performance dress.
The bodice of my first dress made it almost impossible to breathe and as we rode in the limousine toward the Staples Center, I feared that my lungs were in danger of collapsing.
“If I pass out on the red carpet, you’ll have to carry me past all the photographers,” I warned Cammie.
“Sounds good,” she nodded. “I knew what I was getting into when I signed up to be your date.”
I winked. “You better put out at the end of the night.”
“If by ‘put out’ you mean order us Chinese food while we nurse our aching feet, it’s on.”
I laughed and relaxed as much as possible against the limousine’s seat. The traffic wasn’t terrible getting to the Staples Center, but there was a line of cars waiting to drop off various celebrities and musicians so they could have their turn on the red carpet. They had to time it well so that there was a constant stream of celebrities walking the carpet. When it was finally my turn, I let Cammie out first so that she could shield me from the paparazzi. I always feared stumbling while they snapped away, capturing my face as it hit the pavement. As such, I took my sweet time standing up on my four-inch heels.
Cammie and I walked hand-in-hand toward the center of the carpet where the media were stationed like soldiers on a battlefield. Various news channels were lined up in the front for interviews while the photographers were positioned on a platform behind them so they could continue to snap photos.
Once my cheeks were in danger of falling off from smiling so hard, I made my way toward an “E News!” camera for my first interview.
“You look absolutely stunning,” Gina—the red-carpet correspondent— said, holding my hand up so I could spin in a circle for the camera.
“Thank you, thank you. I have to be honest though, I had pizza at midnight last night,” I joked, turning to the side.
Gina gasped playfully. “That’s okay. I had a whole bag of Twizzlers while I was getting ready,” she laughed, and then jumped into the first round of questions. It was all simple and fun. She asked questions about my upcoming album, about my tour dates, but then in the middle of the interview, I felt a hand hit my lower back, just above the tight material of my gown. When I spun around, the first thing to hit me was his scent. Jason’s cologne was stronger than the haze of beauty products surrounding me and I had to fight not to sway on my heels. It wasn’t that he was doused in it; rather it was the way my emotions reacted to his scent. Without meaning to, I’d come to associate it with pleasure and happiness.
He looked similar to how I’d seen him when he dressed up for the high school prom, but his tuxedo was designer and impeccably fitted. His cufflinks were in place and his shoes were shined. His hair was styled professionally, a fact I’m sure he hated, but it framed his handsome features for everyone to see.
Gina squealed into the microphone when she saw that he was electing to join us for the remainder of the interview.
She turned to the camera with a bright smile. “Jason Monroe is here to join us as well! We get an exclusive first interview with the pair who will be part of the most anticipated performance of the night,” Gina spoke before turning back to us. “Are you guys ready for it?”
I could have come up with an answer for her question if Jason’s hand hadn’t been turning slow circles on my back. C’mon, seriously. I don’t need to get turned on in front of a news camera.
“We are. We’ve been practicing for the last few weeks,” Jason said, edging closer to me. The paparazzi were having a field day with the pose, snapping away from the second level like their lives depended on it.
“Could you give us a sneak peak of the performance? Maybe some insider info,” Gina asked with a bright smile. She was trying to do her job, but I just wanted the interview to end so that I could step away from Jason and finish walking the red carpet.
“I think you’ll appreciate the ending,” Jason said, looking from Gina to me. Ending? We’d rehearsed this song one million times on that stage and I couldn’t think of any special ending. The choreographer had stayed true to her word. Our performance would be simple and under-stated, none of the special effects and costume changes that would accompany Lady Gaga’s performance later on in the night. Now that would have a crazy ending.
“I can’t wait. Thank you guys for joining us. Could you look into the camera and say, “You’re watching ‘E News’?”
…
Just because I was performing, didn’t mean I could skip the actual event and just hangout back stage. No, I had to sit in the front row with Cammie on one side and Jay-Z and Beyoncé on the other. That’s right, I was sitting with hip-hop royalty while I watched award after award get announced on stage. I was nominated for two: Best Pop Solo Performance and Album of the Year. Both of which would be announced after my performance, which was good. I couldn’t concentrate on a single thing knowing I was minutes away from getting ushered back-stage for a dress change and a final warm up.
“You’re almost up. Are you nervous?” Cammie whispered, leaning in so no one could overhear her.
I gave her a pointed stare. “I want to vomit everywhere.”
She squeezed my hand tight. “Yeah, let’s try and avoid that if possible.”
The show cut to commercial break and a stagehand signaled for me to move backstage just like we’d rehearsed. My heart hammered against my chest as I let go of Cammie’s hand and stood, holding my dress up so that I could walk easier. I glanced back to find Jason, but he was heading toward the opposite side of the stage, moving with a purpose. My stomach dropped. I really wanted to talk to him before we performed— just to have him tell me that we’d be okay.
I breathed deep and let the stagehands guide me backstage, directly into the behind-the-scenes mayhem.
“Ms. Heart,” a young girl with a headset spoke. “You have ten minutes before your performance. Wardrobe needs you now.”
The next few minutes passed in a blur. People moved around me, tugging off fabric and dressing me in more. The tight red dress was far easier to breath and move in, so I welcomed the change even if my boobs were on display. No really, the girls were OUT. A make-up artist went to town touching up my lipstick and face, while a hair team attacked my head.
I sat with my hands folded on my lap and my eyes closed, repeating the phrase, “just breathe, just breathe.”
Our lyrics played in my head over and over again as I tried to calm my nerves and get into the zone.
“Three minutes!” a stagehand yelled as an assistant buckled my high-heels into place.
I kept my eyes closed, trying to separate myself from the mayhem around me.
“Two minutes!”
The crew led me to the side-stage where a sound assistant was standing with my guitar in hand.
“Everything is plugged in. Don’t trip on the cord as you walk out there,” he instructed while another person simultaneously fitted the sound monitor into my ear.
Deep breaths were my saving grace.
I inhaled deeply and glanced across the stage. Jason’s sharp features were visible just behind the curtain. As soon as the lights dimmed and the curtain fell we’d walk out and take our places. His eyes locked with mine and he nodded once, giving me a piece of confidence that I dearly needed.
“Showtime,” the stagehand yelled, gently nudging me up the stage stairs.
…
My heels hit the stage and I walked to my mark, the light gray “x” sitting in the very center of the dark wood floor. My hands shook and I tried to will my breathing to settle. Once we met in the middle of the stage, I glanced up at Jason. He looked so sure of himself, confident enough for the both of us.
“Breathe, Princess,” he whispered as he reached for my hand, gripping it tightly and offering me a piece of reassurance just as the heavy curtain started to lift and the house lights dimmed.
I knew Cammie was sitting out in the audience watching me. I knew millions of people were tuning in for our performance, anxious to see our first duet. My breaths were quick and uneven, my heart was racing, my stomach was knotted in a tight ball, but my hands— they knew what to do.
The moment I settled my guitar into place and my fingers fell over the chords, everything became clear and simple.
Five…
Four…
Three…
Two…
I strummed the opening chords as Jason tapped his foot to the beat. The duet began with a short solo, the crowd focused on my fingers as they danced across the fretboard. Then Jason gripped the microphone with both hands, closed his eyes, and sang the first lines, stealing the attention, and the hearts, of everyone watching.
Something about you caught me by surprise
Though I always knew you’d be my demise
I didn’t want you to love me
Didn’t want you thinking of me
So I kept my distance
Tried to ignore your existence
I was blinded by my pride
With you, the Jekyll to my Hyde
But that’s where you found me
Baby, that’s where you unwound me
I joined him for the chorus, our voices blending together. Jason’s voice was deeper than mine, but he had notes of a natural tenor. His range was a little less expansive, but it was obvious why our label had wanted us to collaborate. It took hardly any effort on our part to combine our pitches into a perfect harmony.
Loving you would be as easy as taking a breath
But to look at you, that’s a dance with death
I’d risk it all,
For you I would
You’d make me fall,
And fall I would
Loving you would be as easy as taking a breath
But to be by you, that’s a dance with death
I turned to Jason as I sang the next lyrics. Our eyes locked as I poured passion into the words. The audience was there, but they weren’t the ones I was singing to anymore.
I thought once was enough
You turned to me and called my bluff,
Maybe I should have walked away
but I couldn’t resist, I needed replay after replay
Loving you would be as easy as taking a breath
But to give you up, that’s a dance with death
We were over from the start
I never said I’d give my heart
So now it’s time for this to end
After all, a friend is just a friend
Loving you would be as easy as taking a breath
But to give you up, that’s a dance with death
So now it’s time for this to end
After all, a friend is just a friend
Chapter Thirty-One
The music faded out as the crowd began to cheer. Claps and whistles rang out across the stadium and I pulled the monitor out of my ear so that I could hear them all. I knew they’d cut to a commercial break because that’s how we’d rehearsed it, so I relaxed and took my first relieved breath of the day.
We’d done it.
We’d sung our duet, and sadly, I knew I’d never be able to sing alone again, not knowing how much better it could be with Jason by my side.
I turned to look at him, to share a glance that only we could understand, but when I did, I saw that he was still holding his guitar, with his monitor in place and his pick between his fingers.
I hadn’t noticed him continuing to strum his guitar at first. It was impossible to hear over the noise of the stadium, but then the calls and the whistles died down. The crowd realized, just as I did, that Jason’s song wasn’t over.
I frowned, running through the scenarios in my head. Had I cut our duet off short? Was I messing up part of the choreography? Then I listened to the chords he was playing and I knew that I hadn’t messed up. I’d never heard the song before.
I took a tentative step toward him, unsure of how to inconspicuously ask him what he was doing without everyone realizing that I was clueless. He smiled and turned so that he and his guitar were facing me, only me. He continued to strum the opening chords of his song, a light melody filling the air around us. It was beautiful guitar work, soft and gentle like a lullaby, but with the aid of the amps it spread across the stadium, silencing the crowd.
I could feel them enamored right along with me, but when Jason began to sing, the entire audience melted away. Without thinking, my hands shot to my mouth and I stood there, completely taken aback by the surprise ending he’d been planning along.
He wrote me a song.
You crawled beneath my skin
I pushed you away,
But still you clawed back in
Before you, I could be alone
Now I can’t stand the thought of you out there
Out there on your own
Before you, my world was black and white,
So simple, oh so simple
But now I’m missing my guiding light
So come back Brooklyn, come back to me
I’m not good without you by my side
And this life’s stuck in neutral
If you’re not along for the ride
Before you I thought I had a favorite borough
Staten Island, Queens
Seems I wasn’t quite so thorough
Those are far too plain
Nothing near as good lookin’
No, nothing near as good lookin’
As you, my dear Brooklyn
So come back Brooklyn, come back to me
I’m not good without you by my side
And this life’s stuck in neutral
If you’re not along for the ride
Maybe I could go on without you
I could leave this town and start anew
But that’d be a lonely walk
With your smile weighing on me like a cinder block
So come back Brooklyn, come back to me
I’m not good without you by my side
And this life’s stuck in neutral
If you’re not along for the ride
So won’t you come back to me,
My dear Brooklyn
Come back to me
His fingers slowed, his voice quieted and I was left standing there with his lyrics playing back through my mind. They wound around my heart until I was left with the realization that Jason had just thrust his soul out onto the stage for the whole world to see.
Unlike when we’d finished the first song, the crowd didn’t stand up and cheer. The stadium was absolutely silent save for whispers that grew as I stood with my hand covering my mouth and tears streaming down my cheeks.
“I can’t believe you,” I said, though no one could hear me. The words were a whisper against my palm.
Each second stretched into eternity as I watched him swing his guitar around so it could rest against his back. It took him two steps to reach me and then I was in his arms, gripping onto his shirt and crying even more. I’m sure the Grammy producers were a
ttempting to pull us off stage, but they’d just have to hold their horses because I was not letting him go anytime soon.
“I’m so sorry for everything,” he whispered into my ear, as if he still had a single thing to apologize for. Hello, the man had just serenaded me in front of a live audience and he’d sung about Brooklyn being his favorite borough. I mean, c’mon.
“I love you,” I promised him, pulling my head back and realizing that the entire audience of the Staple Center was on their feet. They’d loved Jason’s song as much as I had.
Just before the heavy black curtain fell, we held our hands up between us and bent forward for a dramatic bow. I swore I could see Cammie whooping it up next to Jay-Z.
When we walked off stage, I didn’t let Jason leave my side. We had post-performance interviews and the rest of the show to get through, but I didn’t care.
“I cannot believe you did that!” I exclaimed once I’d gotten him alone back in my dressing room.
He smiled and shook his head. “I’m surprised you didn’t catch on earlier. They always made me stay later than you at rehearsals.”
I laughed. “I always just thought you needed extra practice!”
He scooped me into his arms. “Me? Extra practice? Never.”
So that meant that for at least a week, he could have let me know that he wanted to be something more than friends. He could have saved me the misery of last night and the nights before that as well.
“So what does this mean?” I asked, letting him hold me as the show’s producers started knocking on my door, no doubt trying to get us back in position for the award show. The categories we’d been nominated for would be coming up soon.
“It means I love you. It means I want to give us a real chance at being together.”