Songbird

by Jamie Campbell

  I totally expected Forest to be lost. He didn’t seem like the type who would be into my kind of pop music. He seemed like the punk rock or emo kind. Yet every song I threw at him, he could play. And he didn’t just reel them off, he played them well. Either he was a master at reading music or he had practiced. He was seriously affecting my plan to get him fired.

  There was only one thing I could do. “Let’s play Stupid Mess. I’m thinking of adding it to the set list.”

  Ryan’s brow wrinkled in protest even before he said anything. “That’s an old song. You never even liked it.”

  “I think we could make it work. The fans liked it,” I pointed out. Whenever I wanted something a certain way, I would always bring up the fans. Truthfully, I had trawled some of my fan forums and they hated the song too. But it wasn’t well known, which was exactly the point. There was no way Forest would know how to play it. “Come on, Ryan, indulge me. It’s just one song.”

  “Fine.” He sighed before counting us in. I had to think hard to remember the lyrics.

  My left ear strained to hear the guitar. I desperately wanted Forest to be struggling. I expected to hear wrong notes and some quick riffs while he caught up to the rest of the band. The other guys had been with me from the start so I knew they would be able to play perfectly. It seemed we only had trouble keeping lead guitarists.

  We were all a tiny bit rusty, but they all had the general gist of the song. The fans were right, it really was a terrible track. If my record label hadn’t paid so much money for the rights to it, the song would never have made it onto the album. After that, I had my lawyer put a clause into my contracts that all song choices had to be approved by me before they were obtained. It had saved me from any further embarrassment.

  Much to my horror, Forest kept up with us. I tried singing the chorus just a bit differently, using my artistic license to switch it up. Still, he continued to follow my beats. This guy was ridiculous. He just may have been a robot, sent from the future to annoy me.

  When the song was over, Ryan was the first one to speak. “That’s still a terrible song, Brierly. We’re not putting it in the show.”

  “Fine. I thought it might work but clearly it doesn’t.” I turned around to my band. “Thanks guys, I know that was one out of the archives. You all did great.” I purposely ignored looking at Forest. He probably only had a smug look on his face.

  “I think we’ve got the vocals down,” Ryan called out to us. Either he really believed it, or he wanted to go home. He was the best liar I’ve ever known, I couldn’t be sure which one it was. “Let’s wrap for today and we’ll get the choreographer in tomorrow to go through movement. Good with you, Brierly?”

  “Sure.” He wouldn’t change his mind anyway.

  Demi clapped her hands wildly from the seats, giving us a solo round of applause. It made me smile, even if nobody else paid attention.

  The group disbursed, I think we were all happy to be getting out of there. It had been a long day. I weaved through the corridors to my dressing room where my handbag and jacket were waiting for me. I sighed, with another day gone, it was another day closer to starting the tour. The thought almost crippled me, I was a long way off being ready. Even if the vocals were down like Ryan said.

  A knock on the door made me spin around. Forest was standing there, his guitar nowhere in sight. “I think we may have got off on the wrong foot.”

  Did he even have a right foot? “Look, I just need someone to do the job. I’m not interested in playing any games or catering to any egos. I have enough on my plate.” I actually did try to say it politely, yet it still came out like I was a bitch.

  “When I’m nervous,” he started, taking a step into the dressing room. It was one step too many. “I act like an ass. I’m sorry about earlier.”

  The sweetness of his apology caught me off guard. And I really didn’t want to be caught off guard. “I appreciate that. But seriously, I don’t need to know anything about you except that you can play the guitar. Let’s just get on with the job. Okay?”

  Something crossed his face, but I couldn’t read him. “Okay, sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll work on movement.” He emphasized the last word, making it sound much dirtier than it actually was. Or perhaps I was just hearing things.

  “Choreography, yes,” I replied. “We need to move around the stage or we look like puppets. We also need to learn not to run into each other. That’s how people fall off the stage.”

  He nodded, grinning with just one side of his face. So he had an adorable lopsided grin, he probably sneered the same way. I would not let it affect me.

  “See you tomorrow, Brierly,” he said before leaving. He wasn’t quick enough to hide the look of amusement playing through his eyes.

  I had seen that look before, I had been drawn into that look before. There was no way I was going to let myself go down that path again. The last time had almost been the death of me, I had to stay away from Forest. And, more importantly, I had to find a reason to fire him. There was no way I could spend a year on the road with him.

  I was still thinking the same thing that night when I met up with some of my friends. I called all the five girls my friends but there were only a few that I actually liked. Others were acquaintances, introduced by our management teams. It was good for all of us to be seen together and that was the entire point of the dinner. The photographers could take some pictures, the tabloids could make up some stories, and we would get our faces in front of people. Somehow, that was supposed to make us sell more albums and concert tickets.

  There was supposed to be no such thing as bad publicity, but I could definitively say there could be. I had been burned before and it always made me paranoid from then on. When I attended the publicity events that were made to look like a friendly get-together, I kept my guard up the entire time. I couldn’t go through another mistake again.

  We all scowled at the paparazzi as we entered the restaurant, the doorway lit up with flashing bulbs. The shutterbugs all called out our names, trying to get us to turn our attention to them. We played the game well, making sure they got their money shot. We couldn’t outright give them good photos, we had to pretend we weren’t there to be taken advantage of. I’m pretty sure they knew we were using them as much as they were using us. It was the fame game, after all.

  We were ushered to the best table in the restaurant – front and center. The best of the paparazzi outside would still be able to take photos through the window. That was the entire point of our meeting.

  “How’s the tour coming along?” Mikayla asked. She was one of the ones I liked. I considered her one of my best friends.

  “It’s coming on. I kind of wish we could get on the road already. You know?”

  She nodded. Mikayla had sold more albums than I had – probably double my number. She had been around the block quite a few times and she was only twenty-two. Two years my junior but ten times more mature than I was. She played the game well, she knew what she had to do.

  “Are you still looking for a guitarist?” The question came from Sophia, an eighteen year old actress trying to work her way up the ladder. She was insanely talented but nobody was really taking her seriously – yet. She only needed one good role to prove them all wrong.

  “I found one,” I sighed. I suddenly wished I hadn’t moaned to everyone at our last meeting about not having a guitarist. I didn’t think they would remember to ask about it again. “His name is Forest Knight, anyone worked with him before?”

  I got a few shrugs and head shakes before Chrissy joined in the conversation. “I know Forest. He did the tracking for a few songs on my last album. He’s really good.”

  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I would have welcomed some trash talk about him, something I could use to fire his butt. “He’s not that good.”

  “I have no complaints.” She raised her eyebrow and I wasn’t sure what she was implying. Was she still talking about the music? “So you’re going
to be touring with him?”

  “Yeah, if he works out.”

  “Lucky girl.”

  I was starting to dislike the entire conversation. “How so?”

  Chrissy grinned at me like she was remembering something amazing. I didn’t need to witness that. “Forest is hot. The hottest of the hot.”

  “How have I not heard of him before?” Mikayla chimed in, suddenly more interested in the discussion.

  “He’s new to L.A.,” Chrissy explained. “He’s been getting his credentials in Vancouver.”

  “He’s Canadian?” I asked, completely forgetting that I didn’t care for a moment. Forest just didn’t strike me as the Canadian type. I would have placed him firmly in Santa Monica, chilling out on the beach and busking when he got hungry.

  “Nah, just as sweet as maple syrup.”

  I rolled my eyes. So Forest wasn’t exactly what I expected, it still didn’t change the fact he was an idiot that needed to be fired. Nothing Chrissy could say would change my mind about him.

  “I need to meet him,” Mikayla said eagerly. “Brierly, promise me a meet and greet. I can drop by rehearsals sometime. You know how much I love a guitar man.”

  “He’s not that great,” I said. The last thing I needed was Forest dating – or using – one of my friends. Mikayla was sweet, she didn’t need a loser like him lusting after her. “I promise that you can do better.”

  “You’re no fun,” she replied teasingly. I may not have been fun, but I was saving her from weeks of heartbreak. I was certain of it.

  The conversation moved onto other topics, letting me off the hook. I was doing all I could to forget about Forest, I didn’t want him to dominate the dinner conversation too. He already took up enough of the space in my head.

  The big gossip of the night was one of the other starlets and her fast downward spiral. It was a pity. I knew the girl in question and she was a really great actress with a blazingly bright future ahead of her. Until she burnt out and turned to drugs. She was only twenty years old and nobody could get through to her. She was now the favorite car wreck case on all the tabloid television shows. I made a mental note to give her a call. I probably couldn’t do much, but I had to try.

  “You’re eating really well,” Sierra commented, louder than was necessary. She was like that, if she wasn’t the center of attention then she would make sure she was. Even if that meant embarrassing someone.

  Every head at the table turned to face me. My cheeks started to burn. I thought people had stopped analyzing my eating habits. At least I had hoped they did. My eating disorder was old news.

  “Yeah, the food’s good here,” I replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. “How’s your dinner?”

  “Oh, it’s fine. It’s so great to see you doing so well.” She said it like I was a child, patting me on the back just to make sure she was as condescending as hell. Slapping her would have made a terrible front cover for the magazines, I kept reminding myself. Smiles and laughter, that was all that was allowed to be photographed. Especially when you were just about to embark on a comeback tour.

  I plastered on a smile. “Thanks, Sierra. I appreciate your support.”

  She made a show of putting her hand over mine, exaggerating her words. “We are all here to support you. Remember that. We’re a team.”

  There was nothing real in her words. Sierra might have talked a good talk, but she never walked the walk. If we were in a more private setting, I might have called her out on it but there were too many eyes on us. Not only were the photographers outside but everyone in the restaurant was also acutely aware of who we were – and our past problems. I didn’t need that kind of attention. Right now, I just wished she would let it drop.

  I gave her a quick smile and pointedly took my hand back, hoping she got the hint. When I looked at my half eaten meal, I suddenly lost my appetite. I couldn’t stand putting another bite into my mouth. I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Except I had no intention of using the facilities.

  Just beside the bathrooms was the door to the kitchen. I slipped through, ignoring the stares I received for my efforts. I kept going, refusing to stop.

  “Can I help you, Miss?” One of the chefs asked. I strode on by without answering. That was one trick I had learnt since becoming famous. If you looked like you were supposed to be somewhere, people just let you be there. I don’t know how many times I had been in places I shouldn’t have been and got away with it. Too many times to count.

  I kept going until I reached the exit, it wasn’t the first time I had slipped out the back of that restaurant. The regular staff would have known me by now. Obviously the chef was new.

  Outside, I hailed a cab and went home. My adventures and publicity were done for the day. Demi would probably be mad at me in the morning and Mikayla might have a few choice words to say but that would all have to wait. Right now, if I didn’t have some peace and quiet, I would go crazy – literally.

  I had a shower and went to bed, trying to block out Sierra and the faces of everyone else watching me. It was stupid to get so upset about it but I couldn’t help it. The memories of the past year were too much to just shut out, as much as I wanted to.

  Sierra didn’t realize how hard every day still was for me. It wasn’t like you just got over an eating disorder like you did the flu. It was with you forever, a battle that never ended. And some days it was easier than others to win.

  Before I knew it, I was crying. The damn tears that I had kept away all evening were now freely running down my cheeks. I hated crying. I was completely over the useless act but yet they still continued anyway. I buried my head in the pillow and tried to fall asleep.

  I tossed and turned for hours before sitting up frustrated. Sleeping was obviously not on the agenda tonight, despite how tired I was. I couldn’t switch my mind off and lying there in the dark wasn’t going to achieve anything.

  Thinking some work might be able to numb my mind, I found myself in my office. It was the room where Demi and I usually went over things and the walls were surrounded by all the awards I had won over the years. My favorite was the Grammy award I had won for best newcomer. Even after winning dozens of other ones, it was still the most special to me. I could never forget the feeling of pure joy I felt when I heard my name called. I always had something to prove and it was that moment that reminded me I had made my point.

  I turned on the computer and rifled through my emails. Most were just newsletters and advertisements that I had signed up for at some stage. There were a few fan emails, somehow getting my personal address from God knows where. Demi told me not to reply to them because then they would tell everyone and I’d be bombarded with emails, but I normally did it anyway. They were sweet to contact me, the least I could do was reply.

  The rest of the emails were boring so I opened up the internet browser. As if I wasn’t depressed enough, I went through the entertainment websites. I had to know what they were saying about me.

  I knew it was a mistake doing it and it would only upset me even more but I couldn’t help it. Article after article, they were all speculating about how terrible my tour was going to be. According to an ‘insider’, my rehearsals were a disaster and I was being demanding of everyone in the show. That definitely wasn’t true, both the disaster part and the demanding part. I thought things had been going well. Whoever their insider was, they had been at different rehearsals to me – obviously.

  According to one of the bigger blogs, ticket sales for the tour were down and no-one wanted to see my show because they knew it would be a train wreck. Apparently even my most devoted fans weren’t supporting me. I made a mental note to ask Demi about ticket sales. I thought they were going strong, even selling out in some venues, but she did tend to keep things from me if she thought I couldn’t handle the truth.

  I seriously didn’t know why I was even bothering with this tour. Clearly everyone was waiting for me to fail, go off the rails and explode. Instead of being the great comeb
ack that I needed, it was turning into a circus for the media. I didn’t want to be their main act.

  Demi said the tour was a way to thank my fans for their support over the past year. When I was first admitted into the hospital, they had sent cards, flowers, and gifts. I had so many that I started asking the nurses to take them to the other patients so they could have some cheer too. They were all so kind to me that I wanted to show them I was back and better, thanks to their support.

  But if they weren’t even buying tickets, why was I bothering to do it? All the rehearsals, the money, the careers of everyone involved, it could all be wasted by my failure. It was a depressing thought. Was it too late to cancel everything? I had enough money and assets to never have to work again. Perhaps it would be better if I just retired to my house in Spain and lived the rest of my life there in solitude. The great Brierly Wilcox could turn into an urban legend, spotted every few years as a shadow of her former self. That option was actually looking pretty attractive at three o’clock in the morning.

  Chapter Three

  “Brierly! Brierly, wake up!” Demi’s voice was way too loud for so early in the morning. When she couldn’t wake me just by repeating my name, she started shaking me. I knew I couldn’t ignore her then.

  I sat up, feeling every bone in my body protest. I wiped at the line of dribble from my mouth and looked around. I was still at the computer, the horrible articles were still on the screen. Beside the keyboard was a bottle of vodka.

  Memories of the night before started flooding back to me. The comments about my eating from Sierra, doing the backdoor shuffle out of the restaurant, coming home to an empty house, not sleeping, looking up the articles, realizing I was a failure, and then reaching for the vodka in the bottom draw of my desk. It wasn’t a pretty montage in my mind.