Before He Was Famous: HotFlush Book 1

by Becky Wicks

  'You were tipped to go in at number one but that fuck-wit Brandon Cleaver just beat you.'

  Mickey laughs, re-taking his seat at the mixing desk. 'Again? His voice hasn't even broken yet.'

  'Still, you beat Lentini. She came in at number nineteen with that saccharine, pre-pubescent moan-a-thon they had her sing. Fuck knows why they gave her a ballad. Never give pop rejects ballads, I told 'em. It's like commercial suicide.' Denzel rolls his eyes. 'If she was in the UK she'd be on the Adrian Mole within a week.'

  I frown at him.

  'Dole,' he says. 'Anyway, they're re-stocking Times Square Virgin with Play Me and Lockton, you're playing on MoonRise on Friday night. That cool?'

  My stomach does a double knot this time. Not just because I know for a fact how upset Courtney is that HotFlush gave her such a shit song (we were talking on the phone about that for an hour just yesterday) but because MoonRise is like the second most watched evening entertainment show after Saturday Night Live.

  'They want you to do two numbers -- Play Me, easy as piss obviously, and something else. I was thinking The Facebook Song?' Denzel says.

  'I can do something different,' I say quickly. People already know The Facebook Song. There are so many songs I know I could do better -- songs I'm actually more proud of.

  'What have you done this morning, for the album?' he asks.

  'No, I mean, one of my own,' I interrupt before Mickey can speak. 'I've been working on a new one, at home,' I continue.

  'Really? When?' Denzel looks surprised. It's true, I've had barely any time to myself for two weeks. Last week was spent promoting the single and we've been recording the album every second in between. I was flown in a helicopter to upstate New York for a radio interview, and then to Philadelphia and Boston. I sang live in no less than nine radio studios, all of which then played my song, which made HotFlush very happy and Jayde severely pissed off. She's been begging me to take her everywhere with her, and she's not allowed.

  Outside each place a group of fans, (mostly girls) stood screaming and waving banners. I spent time with all of them, signing whatever they wanted me to sign, except one lady's ass when she went to pull down her jeans -- as a joke, so she said. One little girl cried so hard when she hugged me I thought she wasn't gonna let me go. 'You made her want to learn guitar,' her mom told me, pulling her away gently. I'm influencing people's lives. It never stops being surreal.

  I also had to go on the Morning Show and explain why I struck out at the pap, which actually went OK, considering. I think most people understand I was stressed and not used to being confronted coming out of buildings, and that I obviously just reacted on impulse.

  There was one woman who called in and ranted about how kids with million dollar bank balances think they can do whatever they like, and how we have no right to attack those who want to report on the fame we always craved and now can't handle. But ultimately Denzel reckons we made the best out of a bad situation. And in his borrowed words - all publicity is good publicity.

  'I probably shouldn't tell you this, but if you get some more good hype from MoonRise,' Denzel's saying now, looking serious for a moment, 'there's a possibility Knight Ryder will want you to support them on tour.'

  My breath catches. 'Denzel, really?' I scrape my hair back from my face. This is fucking huge.

  'Their manager's been on the blower, mate. He saw this,' he says, waving the magazine, 'and they're scouting for a new talent to get the teeny boppers in. Between you and me, he's a bit worried that since Ryder came out, the audience has been mostly guys. Not that he cares if he's a bit Fifty Cent, Stoke-on-Trent, you understand, but he says teenage chicks are the ones who buy the merchandise so... you know.'

  'I get it,' I say, kind of. I want to call Jack right now. He's the hugest Knight Ryder fan ever. I knew we were repped by the same label but their front man, Ryder Telling is a legend. Not only is he hilarious in every interview he does, but the last album was written mostly by him and reached number one on the Billboard 200. It went on to sell more than four million copies in the U.S alone, and I think I read it recently got certified quadruple platinum.

  Ryder started out selling plants in a market, in Portland. Apparently he played his guitar during slow days and eventually people started coming just to see him. He had four top 20 hits from his first album alone and he's only twenty-four years old. He has a massive following... possibly even more since he came out. To tour with him would be insane. Life changing.

  I try to keep calm, stop my heart from battering my chest like a caged bull. It might not happen. I have to nail MoonRise. I have to play something new.

  'Let me show you what I've got?' I say, reaching for my guitar.

  'Show us what U've got,' Mickey quips and we all groan. The show seems like it happened a thousand years ago already.

  There's a knock on the door. The security guy pops his head in. 'Chloe Campbell's here from Shimmer?'

  'The Chloe?' Mickey says, turning to me.

  'Yeah, I said she could sit in on some recording, if that's OK?'

  'Fine with me.'

  Mickey's grin is as wide as a block of Edam when Chloe walks in. Since the interview, Marianne's put her in charge of an exclusive blog; a partnership with HotFlush, following my progress for the fans. It's only been going a week or so but the hits are racking up as fast as they are on my YouTube channel and the label know a social media presence is everything. Apparently you have to have over a million likes on Facebook alone for anyone in the business to take you seriously. Every little helps.

  She raises a hand to everyone, smiling brightly. I kiss her cheek. The blueberries waft around her as I beckon her inside and I notice both guys eyeing her up and down. Instead of wanting to punch them, I kind of feel proud. She's wearing black skinny jeans and high red heels with a matching tight red sweater. Her legs look longer. Her boobs look bigger. Her camera case is hanging against one jutting hipbone. The glossy mag lifestyle is affecting her already.

  Denzel steps forward and takes her hand. 'Ah, the infamous Chloe. Great job getting that exclusive sorted,' he says. 'Even more beautiful in the flesh, look at that boat!'

  Chloe looks around her, confused.

  'Boat race? Face,' he says, beaming. 'Lucky man, Lockton! Hold onto this one.'

  'Oh, we're not...' we start hurriedly.

  'You're just in time,' he interrupts us as Mickey goes to shake her hand, too. 'Just two more tracks to record for the album and we just found out he made number two in the charts with the single.'

  Chloe's eyes widen. 'Play Me? You're kidding? Oh my God, Noah!' She throws her arms around me in an instant and I catch the guys looking at each other knowingly.

  'Must be the subliminal message,' I say into her hair. 'Tell people to play me and that's what they do.’

  'No, it's because you're amazing,' she gushes, pulling away and looking excitedly into my eyes. Hers are sparkling, alive with sunbeams. 'This is it, Noah, you're actually living your dream!'

  For a second it feels like it's just us two in the room. Like we never screwed it up, like we're still kids, Chloe in my room strumming my guitar. Chloe gathering the crowds to hear me play in Florida, singing the funeral song we wrote for Prairie Dog. She's right. This was my dream, all of it. Chloe encouraged me from the get-go; she was my number one fan, following me round with her camera.

  And then there was Cooper.

  'Noah's about to show us something he wrote himself,' Denzel's saying now. 'Pull up a pew.' He motions to an empty swivel seat and Chloe sits down, crossing her lean legs, a smile still playing on her face as she takes her camera out of the case.

  'I can take a few shots for the blog, right?' she says, 'like we discussed?'

  'As long as I get a butcher's first,' Denzel tells her and she flashes a scarlet smile like butter wouldn't melt. She's wearing red lipstick. It occurs to me I've hardly ever seen Chloe wear lipstick. Or heels for that matter. I guess there's no need for it in Boulder, but she looks diffe
rent. More confident somehow.

  I slip through the door and take a stand behind the mic, adjust my guitar strap around me. Mickey's been obsessing about compression settings, reverb tails and drum sounds all morning as we've been recording another soulless, scientifically engineered piece of commercial drivel for the album. I've said nothing, because I know better than to start pissing people off with my own opinions on what they're making me sing at this point. But the single, Play Me is an embarrassment. I know this one will sound better as a raw acoustic. It will also sound like me.

  Seeing only my reflection in the glass, I look for the green light to signal Mickey's pressed record and my fingers take over the frets.

  15

  Chloe

  Watching Noah through the window I'm so proud, but weirdly it seems normal somehow, like this was always going to happen. He looks like a star, an actual superstar in front of the mic as he starts picking the strings.

  His torso-hugging black shirt is just the right size to showcase his biceps when they flex over the guitar. The label pays for a personal trainer now, because he can't go to the gym without being mobbed. His muscles jut out like rocks and I know a million girls right now would kill to be me; to watch this, or to feel those fingers on their skin instead of on those strings.

  Jayde's face flashes into my head momentarily and I feel guilty all over again. The way she looks at me lately, it's like she's willing a jumbo jet to land on my head. Noah doesn't cheat on her though, the way I cheated on Cooper. He doesn't disrespect anyone the way I disrespected my family that night.

  Noah starts playing. Denzel starts nodding.

  I haven't heard from Cooper in a while. It strikes me pretty often how I don't even miss him. How maybe his 'hangry' ways and disabled parking and permanent vapo-pen puffing were all just signs that it was over; signs I ignored because I was looking for reasons not to leave Boulder and my mom.

  I look at Noah now in his fitted dark jeans, his Converse sneakers, the way his stubble and his thick curls make him look even more intense somehow as he works the frets and sings. If I'm honest, maybe I needed a reason not to be here, too, with the voice and the smile and the eyes that still undo me.

  People using words like daggers

  Only make me sharpen mine

  But I'd give up my armor

  Show the world a softer side

  If you were up there waiting

  Storing kisses with the stars

  Where the branches of our past

  Have built a future that's just ours...

  The girls who gasp and shriek when they see him take a lot of getting used to. So do the paps. One asked me if I was his girlfriend and the next thing I knew, there was a photo of me in the New York Post with the header Mystery Brunette seen Shopping with Noah Lockton. Another reason Jayde hates me, I'm sure. Oh, and the Tweets are just as weird to see:

  @NoahLockton I have your photo in my bedroom. What do you think of me naked? #PlayMe

  @NoahLockton i love all of your songz u make me so happy!!!

  @Noah Lockton When are you coming to Vegas? I'm saving all my money so you can #PlayMe

  The label actually pays for his clothes now, too. We whizzed around Soho in a black car, running into stores, buying stuff he liked the look of and running before people recognized him. Sometimes we managed, sometimes we didn't but I got an entire exclusive blog out of it, which racked up over forty-thousand hits in a day. Marianne and Aaron couldn't believe it.

  Aaron.

  I suddenly remember my photography mentor waiting downstairs. He wouldn't come up. Said two would be too many. He's probably right.

  Close your eyes, I'll be with you

  I'm not going anywhere

  There's a reason that I love you

  And I know how much you're scared

  Let other people climb the ladders

  in a world of silly things

  'Cause we'll be at top

  Looking out at better things...

  The producer, Mickey, fiddles with a series of sliding knobs to get the sound right. I fix the 50 mil to my camera and busy myself with close ups of his fingers working the buttons, until I catch what Noah's actually singing and the whole thing registers at once like a steam train smacking me in the face.

  Let's head back up to the tree house

  Where secrets run free with our dreams

  Under this blanket of stars, you and me,

  We're the best we'll ever be...

  I can't breathe. I realize I'm gripping my camera so hard it's practically about to snap. I fumble to put it back in its case as he picks the strings through a bridge, but when I look up Noah's staring right at me through the glass. He's still singing. And now I'm really coming undone.

  Let's head back up to the tree house

  Where secrets run free with our dreams

  Under this blanket of stars, you and me,

  We're together

  We're free.

  I swallow hard. My cheeks are on fire. Holy shit, it's like he's been in my head, untangling my thoughts one by one. I'm back in the tree house, seeing the stars spin, swigging the vodka, waiting for him. Denzel and Mickey are tapping their feet, then clapping, then whistling and Noah's on his way back through.

  For a second I want to flee. I want to run back downstairs to where Aaron's waiting for me -- I was only given twenty minutes to get my blog shots because we have to go set up a fashion shoot in the East Village. But he's coming back through the door and Denzel and Mickey are telling him the song was beautiful and thoughtful and touching and bound to break the hearts of a million teenage girls. Teenage girls who have no idea at all that it's about me.

  'What did you think, Chloe?' Denzel's asking me now, and I realize I've zoned out, sunk into my seat.

  'I um... yeah...,' I say, swallowing. 'It's different.' I sling my camera case over my shoulder. Dammit. I have to get out of here.

  'Exactly,' Mickey says, slapping Noah on the back. 'Man, if I knew you could write songs like that I would've left more room for your stuff on the album.'

  'What do you mean?' I say, his words breaking through my sudden panic. 'Noah's own stuff won't be on the album?'

  'Not this one,' Denzel replies.

  'What? That's ridiculous. Noah's an incredible songwriter. That's what people should be hearing. It's his album, isn't it?' The words blurt out of my mouth before I can stop them and I swear I see Noah almost laugh. He looks kind of sheepish too. I can't look directly at him, but I can't help speaking out either. No matter how I feel about whatever it was I just heard - and to be honest, I really don't know how I feel about that right now - he's so talented. The world needs to know the real him, like I do.

  'It doesn't work like that darling,' Denzel tells me. 'Major record labels like HotFlush will only sign what they hope will sell, and seeing as your boy here is turning into one of the hottest names in the U.S right now they're willing to take the chance that he'll make them some money. But, they're going on the fact that people wanna hear what Noah Lockton, TV sensation,' he highlights the words with a waggle of his fingers, 'has already proved himself to be good at. They're not about to take any chances on anything else.'

  'What about The Facebook Song?' I say. 'It went viral!'

  'I know. Look, I've no doubt you can do more mate...', he's looking at Noah now, '...you just proved it, but we can't risk sending your own stuff out there just yet. Maybe on the next album, or on the tour, if it works out...'

  'Tour?' I say, looking at Noah, finally.

  'I'll fill you in later,' he says.

  'Listen, mate, the way you're really gonna get noticed is with clever branding and marketing and by staying in the public eye. Look at Miley Cyrus. Be more like her.'

  Noah and I both snort at the same time. 'I don't know how to twerk,' he tells him wryly, but Denzel doesn't even flinch.

  'You already have a serious Internet presence, which is great, and Chloe here is helping with that. Concentrate on building that
up, get out on the town, make an impact and make a damn good album and we'll see what happens. The ones who succeed my friend, are the ones who want it the most.'

  'Like Miley Cyrus?' I say.

  'Yes. Like Miley Cyrus.'

  'But I can do my own song on Friday, right? At MoonRise?' Noah asks. I feel my eyeballs bulge. MoonRise? This is massive.

  Denzel takes a deep breath. 'Technically, it's not a great move. We should have you do something else from the album.'

  'But the album stuff's not as good for a small studio like MoonRise,' he says quickly. 'When I play small gigs it's better with just the guitars.'

  Denzel looks thoughtful. 'What's that one called again, the one you just did?'

  'Tree House,' I say before Noah can answer. I flash my eyes in his direction. He's smiling at me, a little uneasily but I nod my head to tell him I'm cool with it. I have to be. MoonRise is huge. Noah could be huge. If he's huge now, when people haven't even heard what he can really do, he could go stratospheric.

  'Tree House,' Mickey repeats thoughtfully, twizzling his beard with his fingers again. 'That's the cutest fucking thing I ever heard.'

  16

  'Hey, Chloe, do you have the names of the models we used at the shoot the other day?' Aaron asks from behind me. I swing around in my chair, almost spilling my coffee over my keyboard with my arm. I swear to God, even the sound of his voice makes me break out into a sweat sometimes. It's not just that Aaron's hot and almost ten years older than me, but he's a great photographer and I've never actually been around anyone quite so inspiring in my line of work before. Knowledge is power, as my dad used to say. I'm kind of in awe of him.