by Becky Wicks
A knock on the door behind me makes me jump. I open it a tiny way and my eyes bug out. It's Chloe Campbell. 'Hurry, let me in!' She steps inside quickly and slams it behind her, taking my place leaning against it. She laughs, like I do as we listen to the mob racing past us. 'Sorry, I can't handle that,' she says, flustered.
'I don't blame you,' I say.
'At least not without this,' she follows, unzipping her giant designer Mulberry purse and pulling out a bottle of Dom Pérignon. She flashes me a mischievous grin, puts her purse down on the plush couch. Then she heads for the dresser and picks up two of the champagne flutes. She's looking elegant but casual in skinny jeans, red heels that match her lipstick and a white short-sleeve cardigan. 'They told me you were in here. I guess make up will be here soon. So,' she says, 'are you excited?'
'Honestly?' I say, walking to one of the two smaller chairs and sitting down. 'I'm a wreck.'
'Noah used to be like that. You'll get used to it.'
'Really?'
She shrugs, then scrunches up her face. 'Maybe, maybe not. Between you and me, I hate all the fan stuff. I mean, I love the fans, don't get me wrong, but when they send in groups like that and they all want photos... Noah's better at that than me. I need a drink before I deal with that.'
'Conor's better at that than me,' I tell her, watching her manicured fingers clamping over the bottle top, and popping it off. The sound makes me giggle; it's been a long time since I drank champagne and I watch as the cork flies off into the corner, where Travis has left his bag of clothes and his guitar case. She hurries to get the froth into the glasses as the bubbles threaten to fizz over.
'Cheers, to you and Conor,' she says, handing me one and clinking her glass to mine. I throw her an amused smile as she sits on the couch, opposite my chair, crosses her legs. 'Oh come on, the rest is show business,' she says, gesturing to the walls of gold-framed country music legends behind us. 'Besides, Travis seems to be getting along very well with a groupie in the bar across the street.'
'How do you know that?'
She reaches for her purse again, holds up her phone. A twitter photo shows Travis leaning into a brunette, holding a pint glass. I roll my eyes. 'Guess he's given up on trying to convince everyone we're a couple,' I say, taking a sip of my champagne. The acidity feels good in my mouth and then swirls in my stomach, mingling with the nerves.
'I doubt that,' Chloe says, 'but he probably doesn't get yet how cameras are literally everywhere! You can't do anything without the world seeing you. Except, maybe, drinking champagne before meet and greets.' She frowns over her glass. 'All publicity is good publicity, though. Even if people start calling him a cheater, more people will tune in to watch the competition. Hate to say it, but Denzel is probably loving this. Ooh, is that your dress?'
She nods at my red designer gown on the coat hanger. 'Yeah,' I say distractedly. The thought of Denzel encouraging more eyes on us for the wrong reasons turns my stomach even more. I don't have to tell Chloe how the thought of being paired with Travis in any way, shape or form is quickly turning into the bane of my life, but I can't possibly tell her how I'm having second thoughts about this fame stuff altogether. I used to think it was all I ever wanted, but after this week I just want peace and privacy, to make my music and keep my family safe, and be with my boyfriend. I should've learned from the island experience how the media manipulates and harms, but I need the money. And everybody wants me to sing.
'You don't look happy,' Chloe says now, cocking her head at me.
'Aside from this morning, I haven't seen Conor in days,' I tell her, drumming my nails on my glass. 'I know I'm sounding like an idiot, but he's going through some stuff. I feel like I haven't been there for him.'
'He understands, I'm sure,' Chloe says, her pretty eyes showing empathy.
'He does, I know he's happy for me, but... something doesn't feel right.'
'Like what? You earned this!'
'I mean with Travis,' I blurt. The champagne is really hitting my empty stomach now.
'It doesn't feel right with Travis because you love someone else, I get that,' Chloe says. 'But Stephanie, as long as you're true to yourself and Conor, nothing else matters. What everyone thinks doesn't matter, not in the end.'
She stands up. 'Right, I'm pretty sure someone will be looking for me. Gotta go rescue Noah anyway, all those grabby hands all over him.' She winces, puts her empty glass down on the table, then walks over and kisses my cheek. 'Listen, I know you'll be fine. Stay smart, sing your heart out, talent always shines. Oh, and keep the champagne cork, it's good luck!'
'Thank you,' I tell her as she opens the door, looks around her for any more crazy mobs. Then I listen to her heels hurrying away.
I sit for a moment, sipping my champagne, reciting the inspirational lines I've learned by heart: Whenever you think you can or think you can’t, either way you are right.
I want to think I can do this. But I meant what I said to Chloe; something still doesn't feel right. Shaking it off, I go to pick up the champagne cork. I move Travis's guitar case, search the floor. It's not there. Travis's bag is open next to it. I move it and still don't see the cork, but something else catches my eye.
My heart rises up in my mouth. I pull out the songbook from the bag, ignoring the cork that flies back out with it and rolls across the floor. I flick it open as the room starts to spin, leaf through the pages. Lyric, after lyric, after lyric.
Oh my God.
I fall back to the carpet on my ass. Tears of fury and disbelief stream down my face. The door opens. A voice behind me.
'Stephanie, I have something I need to tell you.' His voice is firm, but troubled. Fury rockets through me like a missile, fuelled suddenly by the champagne as I scramble up and face him.
'This?' I say to him. Travis's eyes widen as he looks at the book in my hands. His face crumbles immediately. I can smell the alcohol on his breath as he tries to take it from my hands. 'What the hell were you thinking?' I yell at him, swiping it away. 'Travis, this is Conor's! All the songs you said were yours...'
'I know, I was going to tell you!'
'When? When were you going to tell me?'
'Now,' he says, sitting on the couch, wringing his hands. 'Conor asked me to wait till after you'd sung, till everyone had seen what you could do, but...'
'Conor asked you to wait?' My brain isn't taking this in. I sit heavily on the chair opposite him. 'What are you talking about? Conor knows you have this? Did he sell you the songs?'
'I stole them. He found out. Stephanie, I'm sorry.'
My head is reeling. I slam the songbook down on the couch beside me. Conor knew?
'He said you needed the money for the shows, that you wouldn't sing if you knew I'd stolen the songs...'
'Damn right I'm not singing with you!' I yell. I stand up again, grab my purse. He catches my arm. 'I need to talk to Conor, right now.'
'Stephanie, listen. You have to sing. It's all set up. The media will be on us like dogs if we cancel now, the rumors...'
'There are already rumors, Travis!'
'It'll be worse. Sing with me. Sing with me but just tell the audience the songs are his. Jackson and Judge, you'll still get your names out there...'
'Why should I do that? Why should I not tell everybody what you've done, up on that stage? You stole Conor's songs to get a shot at HotFlush?!'
'I'm begging you,' he says, putting his hands together in front of me. 'I'm trying to do the right thing, now, before we go up there, but I'm begging you, don't tell them on that stage. I'll tell Denzel myself....'
'This is insane, Travis. I knew something was off about all this.'
'I'm so sorry.'
'I don't want to hear your apologies,' I hiss, struggling against the alcohol strangling my brain. He's right; the media will hound us more than ever if they get wind of this, they'll make our lives a misery. I'll have more stories written about me. Conor will be dragged into it when that's the last thing he ever wanted.
&n
bsp; 'Why didn't he just tell me?' I say out loud as I look at Travis through my tears. Anger and humiliation are making me tremble. I'm furious. I've been taken for a complete idiot, by everyone! Travis rattles on drunkenly about New York and Conor hearing him at the Cake Shop but I only half take it in. Whenever you think you can or think you can’t, either way you are right. The quote springs back into my mind yet again, like a song. I can't go through with this, can I? I can't let Travis go up there and sing. But I can't do it alone either.
'We have to fix this,' I tell Travis, taking deep breaths. 'We have to work together.'
'Are you serious?'
I stand opposite him, fold my arms, a plan forming. 'I've worked too hard to let you ruin this.'
'I know, I know you have.'
'Everyone should get a second chance, Travis. Prove you're worth me giving you yours.'
26.
Conor
'Selfie!' Poppy cries, leaning over me from her seat behind and pointing her phone at our faces. I smile into the camera and she giggles. She's still high from meeting Noah Lockton, and Emma still hasn't stopped texting her friends the photos he took with them backstage. Over two thousand, three hundred people are here. Mom is sitting next to me with her glass of white wine. My aunt is next to her and Stephanie's aunt and brothers are at the end of the row. All of them came and introduced themselves to my mom, which I thought was really sweet.
'I like them,' my mom tells me now, noticing me nodding at Cory. He's wearing Stephanie's face on a T-shirt, which is kind of weirding me out.
'Did you expect not to?' I ask and she lowers her eyes. I feel bad instantly. She's been trying so hard to be supportive of me and Stephanie and I know she's proud, but my father's stubborn refusal to make use of the ticket I gave him to hear my songs being sung still stings us both, even if we're not saying it. 'Stephanie's incredible, mom,' I say instead. 'You'll really like her.'
'I can see the difference in you since she came along,' she says without a trace of condemnation. She squeezes my hand and I feel a rush of pride for my mom. She's standing fast in her support of my search for Micah, in spite of my dad. And she's here now without him, which means the world.
Most of the audience are teenage girls, not that I'm surprised, but the journalists and label execs are all talking amongst themselves in the VIP rows behind ours and I'm doing my best to make polite conversation whenever one recognizes me and approaches me. Word has spread since Stars was released. I'm getting used to the fact that people know who I am but I can't quite get used to the fact that I'm about to watch Travis sing my goddam songs. I make an effort to bite my tongue. This was my choice. And it's the right thing for Stephanie. I only wish I could have seen her this afternoon.
My calls went unanswered and when I asked about seeing her in the dressing room I was told she was in make up and couldn't see anyone. The whole time I was giving Poppy her guitar lesson I was trying to shake the feeling that something's wrong. This morning Stephanie asked me to come see her before she went on. She gave me a media pass. And then silence.
The lights dim. A whispered hush. Poppy squeezes my shoulder from behind. They're on the stage in a heartbeat. Cameras are rolling. People start cheering. My palms start sweating in equal pride and anxiety as I see her, almost glowing in the place a million stars have stood before her. Wow.
Stephanie's dressed in a red, low cut, figure-hugging dress. Her hair is curled and bouncy over her shoulders and brand new black cowboy boots almost match the ones Travis is wearing. They've put him in a red shirt to match her dress. I bite my cheeks. I clap and whistle with everyone else. I know she knows I'm in the front row, but she doesn't meet my eyes as Travis introduces them and they launch into their set.
Tarot Cards goes down a treat. I can tell Stephanie wrote it. Then comes Shine - one I know she wrote herself. Travis harmonizes and prances about and flashes his too-white smile on every cue and I can hear how people are falling for his act, the son of a...
Deep breath. Just wait for the final song. What the hell are they going to do?
I search for Stephanie's eyes again but she's refusing to look at me. 'We have a change in schedule tonight folks,' Travis announces over the rapturous applause. 'There's a guy in the audience who really should be up here. He wrote the most amazing song for tonight and I think he should be the one to sing it.'
What?
'Ladies and gentlemen, an extraordinary Nashville talent. Conor Judge. Will you come up here please?'
I freeze in my seat. Then I feel my mom's hand on mine, and Poppy's on my shoulder again. The crowd is whispering in confusion. Stephanie wouldn't be doing this unless something happened. I'm in trouble. I knew it. I'm in more trouble if I don't get to my feet.
Photographers flash me as I make my way up the steps. I can feel the camera following me on the dolly now. Holy shit...I don't want this. But I don't want Travis singing my damn songs either. Stephanie's eyes are unreadable as Travis hands me his guitar. 'You should've done this all along,' he says, pulling out a pick from his pocket. It's one of Fret's.
'A song about someone you've lost, someone you loved, is not an easy song to write, let alone sing. Put your hands together, Nashville!'
The crowd stops whispering at his command, and instead, over two thousand voices start to scream and applaud. The lights are in my face but I can still make out Denzel sitting next to Mel. He's tapping furiously at his BlackBerry like this sudden improvisation of the set is news to him. It wouldn't surprise me one bit. Stephanie steps closer, so close I can smell her perfume, see the thick stage make-up disguising her. 'Play it how you wrote it,' she says to me as Travis walks off stage.
Her blue eyes are full of fire, her lips glossed in a thin line and instinctively I know what's happened. I block it out. I'm on the fucking Ryman stage and TV cameras are pointed at my face. The cheering subsides as I start to play.
You’re shadows in the morning light
The conscience telling me to fight
And equal fear that wounds just like a knife
You’re music wrapping round guitars
And melodies in smoky bars
All memories of another life...
I remember it of course; the way it spilled out of me, slowly but surely, the way I never used to be able to sing about Micah at all. It got easier after I told Stephanie the story. And then Travis stole it.
The half of me that lives without you
Never gets too far
‘Cause half my heart is out there
Screaming
Wondering
Pleading
Asking where you are
So crack me open, wreck me with the memories of us
If it doesn't break our hearts it isn't love
It's only when I'm almost done that I register my mom dabbing at her face in front of me, Stephanie's aunt staring with her hand over her mouth, and Stephanie herself, improvising over the top of my tune. She's improvising with me up here at the Ryman. I almost laugh, but I'm aware of the cameras in my face, the audience holding their breath. It's different to the way Travis sang it. He took the key and the chords from the songbook, but the tune was never mine. I can sense what we're doing right now is making history.
The crowd is so loud when I play the final note. I can barely hear my own thoughts, but Stephanie's wrapping her arms around me, kissing me on the cheek. Her anger at me seems to have vanished. Is she pretending for the cameras? 'Nashville! My boyfriend, Conor Judge! Isn't he amazing!'
The entire audience gets to their feet and it hits me what she's doing. She's showing the world she's not with Travis Flynn, no matter what rumors might be flying, no matter how pissed she is at me. 'We want to thank Noah Lockton and HotFlush for this opportunity,' she says, 'And Travis, a great performer, I think you'd all agree.'
More cheering. Travis walks back on, takes his guitar from me. I can see a million things in his eyes but as he turns to the audience and tips his hat, his showman's back on show and Ste
phanie holds his hand high, too. She's being so goddam good, not telling anyone what's happened, bringing me up here, letting us all do our thing, but more than that she's killing it. I can see the crowd adores her.
'We just want to write our songs,' she says now, over the screaming. 'You know, this city is so full of talent. To the people out there who feel like they're working so hard and not getting anywhere, don't let anyone stand in your way. Don't let yourself stand in your way!'
'Thank you Nashville,' I say into the mic, taking a bow with them.
'Thank you, Conor Judge,' she replies only to me, and I catch a glint in her eyes that tells me I'm still in trouble. In a daze I head back to my seat, but the camera follows me as my mom stands up and hugs me and my aunt does the same across the row of seats. I sit down, smile, smile, smile, watch as Stephanie walks off the stage with her guitar and suddenly, everything has changed. We can't go back from this. America just saw everything. My heart is thrumming like another instrument.
The whole way through Noah's first half I'm dying to head backstage, to know exactly what happened. Denzel's gone from his chair and so has Mel. I watch as the real, established and world famous star commands the audience's attention; the way Poppy's laughing and shrieking and singing along to all his songs. I smile to myself as Stars begins and Courtney Lentini steps on to more crazy screaming and stomping.
I don't want this. Not one bit. But I'm damn glad I got to sing at least one song up there on the stage; to know what it feels like to play at the Ryman. To play a song about Micah at the Ryman. Even if I never find him, it was one hell of a release.
Just before the break, I make my way to the side doors. I want to see if I can get backstage before the audience spills out. I slide out of the door, focussed on being as invisible as possible but someone reaches for my shirt sleeve, pulls me into the shadows of the auditorium. My throat dries up with my words when I see who it is.