Toronto Collection Volume 2 (Toronto Series #6-9)

by Heather Wardell

  I'd been joking, especially since the car Jo had sent for me that morning had tinted windows and nobody'd be able to see what I wore, but they actually stood considering it for a moment before Jacques said, "This time. Once you've done your first public appearance, though, never again."

  Jo had booked that for next week, a video interview with Evelyn since I already knew her. A few more days of comfortable clothes before I became a fashion victim forever. "Okay. Are we done?"

  Roberto clapped his hands, and four model-worthy women pushed racks of clothes into the room. "Honey, not even close."

  *****

  When I dragged myself into the new apartment that night to find Jason unpacking his suitcase, I slumped against the bedroom door frame and said, "I'm so glad you're home," relief flooding me at the sight of his tall lean body. Normality in the midst of my new insane life. "I have to tell you what's—"

  He turned to me, and I saw two things in his face: exhaustion and anger. "No need. I saw you at the airport."

  Was he being sarcastic? "You had your car there so I didn't go—"

  He threw a sock toward the laundry hamper with unnecessary force. "Not you you. I saw you on TV while I waited for my luggage. Prancing around in that ridiculous skirt."

  I took a breath to explain why I'd worn it but he rushed on and I realized he'd been building up steam while he waited for me to come home. 'Home', to an apartment he'd never seen before. "Not that I needed to see you. When I got off the plane I had at least twenty text messages telling me about your little show."

  I knew his friends often teased him about me, claiming I was too wild and crazy for his accountant self. He'd always laughed it off but he clearly wasn't amused now, and I wanted to apologize but couldn't figure out what for. I hadn't sent those messages, after all. His friends' opinions weren't my fault.

  "And you got a record deal out of it?"

  Remembering Jo's plan, I said, "Sort of."

  He came forward into the light of the living room. "What does that mean? And what the hell is on your face?"

  I touched my cheek. I'd nearly forgotten how I looked. "A ton of makeup. They did a photo shoot for my new web site and my first song's cover art this afternoon. Well, this afternoon and tonight."

  Planned for three hours, the shoot had taken seven. Endless waiting while people touched up my face and my wig and my clothes and tweaked the tiniest details of the set, then a few quick pictures while I tried to look happy and excited, then a costume and set change and more endless waiting. Who'd have thought being a model was so exhausting? I'd fallen asleep on the fifteen-minute ride home from Sapphire Angel, and my poor driver had clearly felt terrible waking me up.

  Jason didn't speak, his mouth pulled tight and his green eyes cold, and I said, "Look. Can we please talk about this? I know it's weird. Trust me, it's weird to me too."

  My voice quivered at the end, my fatigue and his coldness hitting me at once, and he relented. Slipping his arm around my shoulder, he said, "I know. I'm sorry, it's just hard to take in. I do want to hear about it. Let's sit down. You won't get that makeup all over me, will you?"

  I smiled, relieved. "They said it's smudge-proof. I suspect it's bullet-proof. I may never get it all off."

  I followed him slowly and stiffly toward the couch. He looked back. "What's wrong?"

  I tried to shrug but even that hurt. "I have a personal trainer now. He kicked my butt yesterday. An hour running on a treadmill in Sapphire Angel's private gym, singing the whole time. Thank God I'm already a runner, but even so it was brutal. Then weights. Then we did it all again today before the photo shoot."

  Jason dropped onto the couch. "Singing on the treadmill? Why?"

  "So I'll be fit enough to dance and sing on my tour. Assuming he doesn't kill me first."

  I managed to settle myself onto the couch without whimpering too much, and Jason looked me over. "Geez, Amy, you look nothing like yourself. It's creepy."

  I thought so too. With the makeup and costume and wig I'd seen Misty in every mirror not Amy. "Should I go wash my face?"

  He reached to stroke my hair, which had been gelled back into a low flat bun so it wouldn't peek out under the wigs, then pulled back. "I'm afraid I'll get stuck to all that stuff in there. No, I can't make you get up again after seeing how hard it was for you to sit down. Okay. Tell me how this happened."

  When I'd finished the tale he said, "And you're actually going through with this?"

  "I've signed the contract."

  Jason, who'd often proclaimed that anyone who'd break a contract was slimier than pond scum, grimaced. "Why the big rush? Especially for the move. The security guys at the gates eyed me like they thought I was a criminal."

  I tried to shrug again. "It all happened so fast, and I wanted to make sure I signed with someone good before everyone lost interest in me. The move was because people haven't lost interest yet and Jo doesn't want me mobbed. I wish I'd been able to wait too, but I had to take the money and make the center happen. This is my big chance."

  His eyes softened, and this time he did touch my hair, skimming his hand along its lacquered surface. "I'm glad to hear you say that. I was afraid all this would put the center out of your head."

  I shook said head and snuggled into him. "I want it more than ever. Jason, look. I know you don't like this whole pop star thing." I waited for him to deny this, but he didn't. Disappointed, although not surprised, I went on. "I'm sorry if it embarrasses you. I just have to make my dream come true."

  "The dream of the center."

  I nodded. "Of course."

  He turned so he could look into my eyes. "You don't plan to keep this pop star stuff going long-term, right? I mean, at twenty-five it's time to find a real career."

  Anger zipped through me and I pulled back. "Singing is a real career."

  He squeezed my hand. "I know. But not for you. You've wanted the center forever and you don't want to lose it to bouncing around on stage in a pink wig. Right?"

  My anger wasn't going away for some reason, but of course he was right so I took a deep breath and made myself relax. "No, I don't. And I won't. I'll use the songs to get the money and then I'll be done." I tightened my grip on his hand. "You like this apartment, right? I loved our other one but we can keep it and go back there when things go back to normal. And in the meantime we get to live in this place." I gestured at the fireplace in the living room, something he'd always wanted in an apartment, then over at the huge windows with a gorgeous view of downtown Toronto.

  "I do like it," he said, smiling for the first time. "We certainly couldn't have afforded it before. I'll like it even more once the security guards stop glaring at me."

  "They will. They just haven't seen you before." Longing for comfort and cuddling, and no more talk about my career, I head-butted him like a cat until he wrapped his arm around me.

  "I love it when you do that." He pressed a kiss to my forehead.

  "I know."

  He laughed, then kissed my mouth. My exhausted body struggled to life as I kissed him back, but I recoiled when he tried to slip his tongue between my lips.

  "Thought you might be into it for once," he said, apology in his voice. "Now that you're Misty."

  Misty or not, I'd never let him. Or anyone. Not ever. The feel of something like that in my mouth sickened me at once. No deep kissing, no giving oral sex. I hadn't been able to since... since Giselle died.

  Those cold brown eyes flashed into my mind again and I swallowed the bile rising in my throat before saying, "I'm sorry, Jason. I never will be."

  He deserved better. He'd only once suggested I go down on him and when I'd said I didn't do that he'd apologized and never tried again. The kissing thing, though, I knew he didn't understand. But I'd never told a soul and I wouldn't change that. I was over it, so why bother?

  He kissed me again, teasing my lips and not trying to go deeper, then helped me off the couch so we could go to our bedroom and make love. I fell asleep moments afte
r, still covered in makeup but too tired to get up and scrub my face, and my last thought was, "With Jason back everything will be fine."

  Chapter Four

  "Tim's here now, so let's put off our talk about your tour and go hear your first new song. Okay?"

  Not really. The image guys and the vicious personal trainer were one thing, but I really didn't want to have someone else writing my songs and I didn't feel like meeting the guy.

  But it apparently didn't matter how I felt because Jo didn't give me time to answer before pushing back her sapphire-blue chair and picking up her sapphire-blue cell phone and heading out of her office on sky-high sapphire-blue heels. Every last detail of the woman's world matched the streaks in her hair. I both admired the focus and thought she needed therapy.

  Curious about my new boss, I'd done some research and discovered she'd been the founder and lead singer of a band in the eighties called "Sapphire Angel". Hence both her company name and the blue everywhere. Her trademarks as a singer had been the color in her hair and the power in her voice. I'd downloaded a few of her songs and been stunned by their beauty and pain. The group had disbanded suddenly in 1987, just before a concert tour, but they'd never announced why. Somehow I felt Jo wouldn't want me to ask.

  She led me down the hall of her blue empire and I wondered if the center would look half as good when I got it going. She'd clearly transferred all the passion she'd had for her own music into bringing new music to the world. I could do the same, use my momentum after fulfilling my contract to kick-start the center.

  But first I had to meet my lyricist.

  Jo opened a door and ushered me inside. "Tim, here she is. Your new best friend."

  Tim. Brown hair cut short and tidy. Brown eyes. Wearing khaki pants and a black blazer over an off-white turtleneck. Not ugly, not hot, not hugely tall, not short. The neutral beige of men. You'd never be able to pick him out of a crowd. "Hi. I'm Amy."

  Jo poked me. "Try again."

  "Amethyst?"

  She raised her eyebrows and gave me a "come on, you know this" look. "Whenever you meet someone in the industry, or a fan, you are..."

  "Oh!" I hadn't thought I needed to use my new name in a situation like this. "I'm Misty?"

  "Don't make it a question, but yes. Try again."

  I cleared my throat and held out my hand to Tim. "Hi, I'm Misty."

  We shook hands as he said, "So I hear."

  I chuckled, but it froze in my throat when he added, "So, who wrote 'Out Loud' for you?"

  "I did."

  He gave me a smile that grazed the edges of patronizing. "Of course. But with whom?"

  I blinked. "With me. I wrote it by myself. Words and music."

  "Huh."

  The grunt sounded more approving than doubtful, but I didn't know how to respond so I looked to Jo.

  She laughed. "Don't let him push you around, Misty. Okay, Tim, let's hear this song." He pulled an MP3 player from his bag as she said to me, "My daughter writes most of the music. You'll meet her eventually. Oh, and I won't be hanging around all the time you and Tim work, of course. Just this time since everything's new."

  New and bizarre. How long would it take to get comfortable introducing myself as Misty? I felt sure Jo wouldn't have much tolerance for me forgetting. When my cousin Christine got married, she said it took her nearly six months to get used to her new name. But at least she hadn't had to change Christine to something else. She'd still been herself.

  Tim connected the MP3 player to the sound system. Music filled the room, sparkling and upbeat, with an undeniable pop sound but still richly detailed, and to my surprise I liked it a lot. I wished I'd written it, actually. I was far better at writing lyrics than music, so letting Jo's daughter take over the music part wouldn't bother me too much, especially if all her songs were as good as this one.

  Then the singer began, and I hated everything I heard.

  I listened with increasing horror as she sang of her prom night promise to her boyfriend. Her willingness to finally give him everything he'd been waiting for and her insistence that her life revolved around him was bad enough, but when she promised there'd be no consequences no matter what happened I couldn't take it any more. "I will never sing that."

  Jo looked up. "Pardon?"

  Tim stopped the song as I said, "I can't. I won't. I'm not telling girls that they should... should sleep with their boyfriends on prom night and not worry about what might happen later."

  I was so angry and disgusted my hands were shaking, but even through that I felt a twinge of fear as Jo pulled herself up to her full height and said, "You will. Or you're out."

  I couldn't. Giselle. I couldn't do it. I took a breath to say again that I wouldn't do it, but Tim spoke before I could. "Jo, look. Can you imagine how weird this week's been for Amy? Let me take her out for coffee and talk about the song. I'm sure we can find something everyone can live with."

  I turned to him and saw a strange tension on his face, more than just anger or annoyance that I didn't like the song. I didn't have time to analyze it, though, because Jo said, "Listen, Misty. You have a huge opportunity here. You'll be a household name, a star. At least, you will if you don't blow it over a little prudishness about lyrics."

  Jo had sung, "Slap me silly then screw me senseless," on one of her songs. Prudishness was clearly not one of her flaws.

  "It's not that, it's—"

  Tim caught my arm. "Amy."

  I turned to him again.

  His eyes burned into mine. "Coffee."

  I didn't want Jo to fire me, and she didn't want to hear my concerns. Maybe Tim would. "Fine."

  He said to Jo, "I'll help her understand how it all works, okay?"

  She nodded slowly. To me, she added, "Listen to him. If you throw away a chance like this you'll hate yourself forever. You have to go for it."

  I didn't trust myself to say anything in response.

  *****

  "She will fire you, you know. You're lucky she didn't do it then."

  I knew he was right, and I couldn't say I didn't care because I did, so I just leaned back against his car's seat and sighed.

  "Amy, seriously. Think. You're on the brink of something a million starlets would kill for. Jo will get you there if you let her."

  "She can get me there with my own songs."

  He shook his head. "'Prom Night Promise' is everything your target audience loves. Gushy and romantic but still sexy."

  "Obsessive love is hardly sexy."

  He laughed. "You were never a teenager, I take it? Never had all those hormones racing through you, messing with your mind?"

  The back of my throat tightened but I managed to say, "I get your point."

  "Good."

  We neared a Second Cup and I said, "Ooh, can we go there? I like their maple lattes."

  "Sure." He turned in. "Keep your sunglasses on, okay? It should be fine, though. Doesn't look too busy. I was heading for the Setherwood Cafe. Would you rather go there?"

  I laughed. "That'd be weird. I work there."

  He parked and stared at me, and I qualified it with, "Well, I did until yesterday."

  When I'd realized how busy I'd be in my new world, I'd had my driver take me to quit my waitressing job and give back my company sweatshirts. The grouchy old geezer who owned the place had been annoyed that I hadn't given any notice but my manager, who'd seen my video online, excitedly filled him in while I stood awkwardly listening. While my former boss still hadn't been overjoyed with me, he'd been nice enough to wish me well. Still, I didn't particularly want to go back as a customer any time soon.

  Tim insisted on paying for my non-fat sugar-free latte, the only kind my trainer Marcus had permitted me to have, and his own coffee, then we found ourselves a table tucked away in the back corner.

  "Okay. Why does that song bother you so much?"

  I sighed. It was hardly a secret but I hated talking about it. "My best friend died four months after prom night. She got pregnant that n
ight, and the guy she thought loved her wouldn't help her, wouldn't even talk to her after she told him. I did everything I could, and I thought she'd decided to give the baby up for adoption, but she went to some butcher of a doctor without me and..." I shook my head. "She died alone in her room."

  He let out a low whistle. "And you guys were how old?"

  "Seventeen. It was her boyfriend's prom, not ours. So you see why I can't sing it, right?"

  He took a sip of his coffee, then another. Then he set down the cup, but picked it up again before speaking and took yet another sip. I sensed I wouldn't like what he was trying to figure out how to say.

  The cup settled onto the table again. "Amy, you have to."

  I shook my head but he kept talking. "If you quit you don't, obviously. But otherwise you do." He sighed. "I'll revise the next songs to make sure they're less... that way, but you'll have to do this one as it is now."

  I wanted to challenge that but I also had a question. "The next songs? You've already got them ready?"

  He nodded. "I try to have two or three songs available at all times. Jo doesn't usually give me much time to get them ready."

  "So this song was just waiting for me to show up?"

  He started to nod, then said, "Well, sort of."

  I raised my eyebrows above the top of my sunglasses.

  "Angel Dove was going to take it but she decided she didn't like it."

  Angel Dove, an actress whose only real talent was flashing her half-cantaloupe-glued-to-her-chest fake breasts in every movie, was now making a much-mocked move to singing. I'd be recording her castoff? Ew.

  He chuckled. "I don't need to see your eyes to know you're a huge fan of hers."

  I had to smile, and slipped off my sunglasses because the place was nearly empty and I felt silly wearing them inside. "I don't think I'm the target market for her... assets."

  "Good diplomatic answer. Jo would be pleased." His eyes met mine and held hard. "So. You'll do the song?"

  If I did it, I'd make money for the center to honor Giselle. Tim and Jo were right, teenage girls would love the song. But encouraging those girls to fall into bed with their boyfriends whether they felt like it or not would utterly dishonor Giselle and how she'd died. I squeezed my eyes shut, struggling.