by Bryce Oakley
Elena sighed. “I’m making you a peanut butter and jelly because you're being a brat,” she said, but a slight smile curled the edge of her mouth.
Elena had been the housekeeper of the house for years. She had been as much a part of Vero's life as her own dad. Except that Elena was around more than him.
Vero watched Elena make the sandwich from across the room. “I’m fine. I just ate,” she lied again. Not only did she feel weird accepting meals from Elena when she was perfectly capable of making a snack, she hadn't felt hungry in ages. Weeks, almost.
“You feeling okay, Nica?” Elena asked, using Vero's oldest nickname as she cut off the crusts of the bread like she had done hundreds of times before.
“Just tired,” Vero admitted. She had only been out of treatment for just over nine months, and life had hit her dizzyingly fast the second she had stepped back into the real world.
Immediately after getting out of rehab, she had quit the girl group that she had been in for five years. Lara hadn’t even come to visit her while she was in treatment…
Her therapist had told her not to make any rash decisions, but the choice to quit had been something she had been considering for years.
It was time, though. Now was the time to get on with her career.
She was good enough to go solo. She knew it. Why couldn't everyone else trust in her the way she trusted in herself?
Her phone rang from the coffee table. She didn’t reach for it.
Elena stopped as she set down the plate. “It’s Justin,” she said, reading the caller ID.
Vero grimaced. Her manager was the last person she wanted to speak to at the moment. Justin had told her a few weeks ago that the label didn’t want her to write her own music. They had used the word “volatile.” She had never written any of the songs for UltraViolet, and they wanted to ensure her solo career succeeded. They weren’t taking risks on a bad album.
Elena answered the phone the second time it began to ring, raising an eyebrow as she looked down at Vero.
“Hey Justin,” Elena said, as if answering Vero's phone was common. In fact, it was fairly common for Elena to handle things far outside her role of keeping the house, and because of that, Vero had always viewed her more as a mother-figure than an employee. “Yep, she's here. She's eating lunch.” She pointed to the sandwich and furrowed her brow as if to say: I’m lying for you, so you’d better eat.
“Oh, interesting,” Elena continued.
Vero’s curiosity piqued as she reached for the sandwich. Extra jelly, just as she liked it.
“She’ll be here tomorrow?” Elena asked, turning as if she was going to walk out of the room.
Vero knew it was the oldest trick in the book, but she couldn’t resist. “Who?” She asked, her mouth full of sandwich.
Elena held up a finger to tell her to hold on and Vero nearly laughed in surprise. Elena was an evil genius. She took another bite of the sandwich, watching Elena’s body language as she walked into the kitchen and began wiping up the counter with a cloth as she murmured quick answers to Justin.
As soon as she hung up, Vero sat up straighter. “What was that all about?”
“Oh, nothing,” Elena said, pretending to be very interested in cleaning a spot on the counter near the sink.
“Did they actually find someone to write with me? And they're sending them here without me even approving it?” Vero asked.
“Looks like Justin has been calling you for three days to approve it,” Elena said. “But you won't answer his calls or texts, so he decided to just make it happen.”
Vero’s hackles raised. “I didn’t answer his calls or texts because I’m tired of being treated like some child who can’t write her own songs. You know as well as anyone that the songs I write are damn good,” she said defensively.
Elena nodded sagely. “Nica, I’m no expert in music, so take my advice with a grain of salt. When has variety ever been a bad thing?”
“When it interferes with what I want to write,” Vero said, frustrated. “I deserve to be trusted when it comes to my own music.”
“Of course you do,” Elena said without any hint of condescension.
“Who is it?” Vero asked.
“Billie Rush,” Elena said.
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
“She’s the lead singer of The Shrikes,” Elena added, walking back into the living room to hand Vero her phone back and picking up her plate.
Vero's ears perked up. She really enjoyed The Shrikes first album — not that she'd ever admit that to Billie's face. From the little Vero knew about her, she had always struck Vero as the type of person who took their career and music and art very seriously. She was also very publicly out as a lesbian, as were two other members of The Shrikes. It had made huge headlines when they first talked about it in interviews, but their music had been so well-loved that it had become an afterthought about their band. Another pang of jealousy hit Vero in the chest. When she had “come out,” everyone and their college roommate’s dog wouldn’t stop talking about it.
Although she was fine being out as “not labelled,” she still didn't want her private life aired. She had been careful not to reveal who she was actually dating, especially her last partner, Lara. The scandals would have been immediate, given that Lara was also a member of UltraViolet.
“She doesn't even write my type of music,” Vero said, grabbing her phone to quickly search for more info on Billie.
“Remember what I said about variety,” Elena said, making a tsking sound under her breath.
She found a recent interview with Rolling Stone — a short chronicle of a day in the life.
From the pictures, she saw that Billie was understatedly gorgeous. She had a natural beauty about her, with lush lips and sun kissed brunette hair. One of those women who could go to the grocery store without false eyelashes, which was a rare breed in Los Angeles, especially among the famous. She looked so cool and comfortable in her own skin in every picture. Vero almost felt a pang of jealousy.
“Did you know she named Felix Lucas among her heroes?” She asked, narrowing her eyes at the screen.
“Who hasn’t?” Elena teased.
Vero gave her a defeated look. Her father’s shadow had dwarfed her into life. She had gone by their actual last name as her stage name, since he had chosen the Anglicized version of Lucas for his own. When news had broken that he was her father just months before, she had already quit UltraViolet anyway.
Now she had some fan girl coming over to write a song with her.
“I’m going to prove them wrong. I’m going to write a song with Billie and then write another. I’ll show the label both without telling them and see which one they like more,” she said, opening her eyes.
Elena arched a brow. "A little devious," she said.
“Only a little?” Vero grinned.
“Come help me pick zucchini from the garden,” Elena said. “Stop filling your head with that tabloid garbage.”
That afternoon, Vero knelt in the garden, a sunhat shielding her face. The day had warmed up and the garden smelled equal parts musty dirt and fresh green leaves. She closed her eyes, taking it all in.
"Elena, do you think I'm hard to work with?” She asked, pulling zucchini blossoms to put them in a basket. Her mouth almost watered as she thought about how Elena would fry them to perfection.
"For me? No. For anyone else?" Elena said with a wink.
“Are you saying that because you've known me since I was a baby or because I know where you sleep?” Vero teased.
Elena pretended to consider the question for a moment. "Both."
Vero laughed, shaking her head. "I'm just wondering why this woman agreed to work with me when so many didn't. Is it to get closer to Dad? Is it to kickstart a songwriting career?"
"Here's a crazy idea," Elena began. "Why don't you ask her yourself when you meet her?” She held up a butternut squash and a zucchini.
�
�Wait, are you about to pretend those squash are Billie and me and you're going to say a very wise metaphor about how they're different, but the same, and they both taste great, and you should give each an equal chance?" Vero joked.
Elena looked at her as though she had grown two heads. "I was going to ask which you preferred for dinner, but sure, Nica, whatever you say.” She grinned.
Chapter Three
Billie
When the car pulled up to the decrepit, rusty gate, Billie wasn't sure the driver had led her to the right place. They had wound through the mountains for what felt like an eternity, pulled onto a dirt road, and stopped in front of what looked like an abandoned lot. The view had been incredible before the gate. Now, it looked as though she was about to get chucked into a survivalist TV show.
“This is the place?” Billie asked, leaning forward in her seat in anticipation. The deal was that she would stay for two weeks. Vero’s manager had told Micah that Vero couldn’t be rushed. Lucky for Vero, Billie had a lot of free time without The Shrikes working on anything.
“That’s the address I was given,” the driver said, meeting her eye in the rear view mirror.
Billie’s stomach sank. Something wasn’t right. She was definitely about to get murdered in a scenario that felt akin to The Hills Have Eyes. She found herself staring deep into the woods searching for hidden signs of movement.
The driver reached to press the button on a podium next to the entrance, and the gate swung open on its hinges. Billie was grateful that the gate was silent and not creaky, detracting only slightly from the haunted feeling of the property.
The driveway was long and curving, though strangely even and polished for an abandoned spot where she may or may not become a zombie victim. She stretched in her seat to look for anything sharp on the road that might pop their tires — that move was Horror Movie 101 — but saw nothing.
The car turned a bend in the road and a mansion came into view, tucked back into the trees. Large panes of glass and stone gave it a modern look, but the sheer size was overwhelming. It was more of a compound than a house.
The driver stopped in front of the towering front steps and put the car in park. Billie stepped out, shielding her eyes from the sun as she peered up.
Though there was a tiny crispness in the air of early fall, the property smelled fresh, like recently-cut grass and aging leaves. She smiled despite herself.
At least Hell was a gorgeous place.
She noticed movement in an upper window and spied a blonde head, but the person ducked out of view as soon as her gaze paused.
The driver set her suitcases and guitar beside her, then climbed back into the car as the massive double front doors flung open, revealing a middle aged woman with a kind smile.
“You must be Billie,” she said, hurrying down the stairs. Another man was right behind her. “I’m Elena, the housekeeper, and this is my husband, Jack.” She reached to take Billie’s hand in hers.
“I’m a big fan,” Jack said with a shy smile, ducking his head as he mumbled the words.
Billie wasn’t expecting that. She smiled widely and reached to shake his hand. “Thanks, I appreciate you having me here.”
“Oh, it’s our pleasure,” Elena said. “Come on in, you must be starving after such a long trip.”
Billie had only taken two flights — one from LA to Denver, then another from Denver to Telluride. She’d certainly had worse, even though the plane flying into Telluride was tiny and the runway looked as though it was about to fall off a cliff. Still, she'd had worse.
She was grateful to have a friendly face in the house. It’d make the next two weeks go by much faster, she hoped. Or, if not faster, easier, at least.
Why hadn’t Vero come to greet her? Was she too much of a princess to even meet her own guests?
She walked into the mansion and looked around with raised eyebrows. It was minimally decorated, but with taste. Somehow she had expected extravagance, but the home looked like it belonged in the pages of a Restoration Hardware catalog.
Her room was on the second floor, on the western wing. Elena had winked and told her that she sunsets were gorgeous from the small patio leading off the room.
The mansion wasn’t a rectangle, but instead a C shape curved around with a pool and gardens leading into the wilderness around it. The house was set onto the side of a mountain, as if the mountain had been carved out.
They left her to get settled in before dinner — after Elena had insisted on bringing her a cup of tea and some cut up fruit.
She studied the large guest room. There was a private bathroom complete with shower and soaking tub, hardwood floors that looked like reclaimed barn wood in the best way, and two French doors that swung open on the patio. Though it was small, there was a loveseat bench, a chair, and a table.
Eager to get started, Billie grabbed her guitar, settling onto the patio with her tea and lyrics notebook.
She closed her eyes, waiting for the feeling to wash over her. It was the same feeling she always had when she was brainstorming new songs, whether melodies or lyrics. It felt as though her entire body calmed, her heartbeat slowed, her breath quieted.
She could feel her rough denim jeans against her legs, her bare feet skimming the cool wood of the balcony. It was warm outside, but not too hot. One bird was chirping from a nearby tree, but otherwise, it was blissfully silent.
She had imagined that Vero would want a love song. If Vero was starting out on her own after the girl group, she’d most likely want some sugary-sweet love song to get her solo career started.
Billie usually wrote love songs from personal experience. Real, raw. Nothing sugarcoated. She'd only had a few relationships, but heartbreak always hit her hard. Domino was a master of adding her own personal spin to Billie's lyrics, elevating them.
Billie wished Dom was here now, at least for some sane company.
The hair rose at the back of her neck. She had been sitting with her eyes closed on the patio trying to get into the mood, but she felt as though she was being watched.
She blinked in the sunlight, looking around. Across the pool, she saw a woman standing on her own balcony, watching her. Although she was too far away to talk, Billie instantly recognized her as Vero De Luca.
The platinum hair had thrown her off. Earlier, she had thought she had seen a blonde head, but from her new angle, she saw that Vero’s hair was more silvery white than true blonde.
The long, light hair against her caramel skin made her look otherworldly. The sun shone, illuminating her as she leaned against the railing, watching Billie with an interested expression on her face. Billie's first impression was that Vero was stunning in the same way that poisonous flowers were alluring.
Billie cleared her throat and lifted a hand to give a small wave, feeling awkward under the new scrutiny.
“Hey,” Billie called out.
Vero turned and walked back into her room, disappearing behind gauzy white curtains.
Billie realized her heart was pounding and that she had been holding her breath. Had that actually just happened? Or had she seen a ghost?
Moments later, there was a knock on the door.
She rose, setting her guitar down in her seat, and crossed the room to open the door. In front of her stood Vero De Luca, much shorter than Billie had imagined.
“Didn’t want you to think I was a creepy stalker,” Vero said, holding up two cans of seltzer water. She was even more stunning in person without a full face of makeup. Billie had imagined that she was just one of those beautiful women who look good in magazines, but Vero had a strange allure even fresh-faced.
Billie realized she had been staring and cleared her throat. “Nice to finally meet you,” she said.
Vero brushed past her, walking into the room.
Billie tensed her jaw. “Sure, come on in,” she said, closing the door behind them.
Vero didn’t say anything in response as she walked onto the patio, but just watched her ins
tead. It made Billie feel strangely self-conscious to be watched by those owl eyes.
“I saw you out here with your guitar, but you weren’t playing,” she said, eyeing Billie’s guitar.
“Uh, yeah, I was trying to conjure the muse,” Billie said, shrugging, trying to relax her tension.
“The muse, hmm?” Vero said quietly, almost as if to herself. Her eyes flicked over Billie’s lyrics notebook.
Billie sat on the loveseat, leaning back after taking one of the seltzer cans and popping it open. “You have a lovely home,” she said, unsure of what to say.
Honestly, there was something unnerving about Vero De Luca. Being near her made Billie feel energized and off-balance and self-conscious at the same time. Billie prided herself as the cool, level-headed one of The Shrikes, and women rarely threw her off. Hell, gorgeous women begged for her attention after every show — but that was Dom’s thing, not hers.
Billie drank tea after shows, not tequila. She went to sleep on the bus early. The band was everything to her, and screwing around would screw that up. There was only room for one wild child in the band, and luckily, that monster happened to be her younger sister, not her.
Vero, though… Vero seemed like a time bomb waiting to burst. Billie had read all of the headlines. She had done a thorough Google stalking with Dom after hearing of the offer. Vero had messy breakups, drama with other singers and actors, and had recently been in rehab.
And yet, in front of her, Vero was a real Ice Queen. Billie felt colder just being in her presence.
Billie had a job to do. She had a song to write. And if having a songwriter credit under her belt was going to let her songs have an audience outside of her own band, so be it.
Vero tilted her head, a dimple popping on her cheek. “Uh, hello?” She said to Billie.
“Sorry,” Billie said without further explanation. “What were you saying?”
“I was asking what you actually thought about writing a song together,” Vero said. “No manager speak. You can just tell me.”
Billie knew better than to admit anything too personal to Vero just yet. “I’m here, aren’t I?” She shrugged, trying to come off colder than she felt.