by Bryce Oakley
Speaking of, Vero had acted pretty strangely earlier. She had looked completely out of it when Billie had knocked into her, and she had even stared up at her with something… unreadable in her expression.
Maybe Vero was secretly a FemBot who had short-circuited.
Her emotions certainly were robotic.
Be nice? Does not compute.
Billie grinned to herself, picking a marshmallow out of the bowl with her spoon.
The music turned spooky again in the show, drawing Billie’s attention to the female lead hiding inside of a kitchen cupboard.
Clearly, neither of these characters had ever watched a scary movie before. They were committing the cardinal sins of Staying Alive 101.
A strange sound in the house pulled Billie’s attention away from the show and her ice cream. It almost sounded like footsteps on the front stairs.
Now she was being paranoid. She relaxed her shoulders, knowing that a mansion like this one would have an incredible security system.
Was that the sound of the front doorknob turning or was she imagining it?
She strained her neck to see as far as she could into the foyer, but the damn house was too big. She could barely see anything.
The noise was coming from behind her. It wasn't the front door, but the back.
The back door led into the mudroom behind the kitchen. She had almost a straight sight path towards it from where she was sitting.
Not wanting to abandon the safety of the couch, she set her bowl down and kneeled, leaning to see what she could.
The lights were off in the mud room, but the lights of the kitchen provided a dim sight.
She heard a man cursing.
Her heart was pounding in her chest. She could feel its beat in her temples and ears, drowning out all rational thought.
Someone was breaking into the De Luca Mansion, and she was the first one who was definitely going to be murdered.
She grabbed the nearest self-defense object she could find — a vase — and held it up over her head as she stood from the couch, ready to defend her life.
The door swung open and a hulking figure appeared, silhouetted by the back porch light.
She couldn’t make out a face, but the man was tugging something out of the door knob. His lock picking tools, perhaps?
She tip-toed in her socks to crouch behind the kitchen island.
The man’s boots were quiet as he stepped lightly into the mud room, then walked into the kitchen right towards her. Had he seen her?
She couldn’t chance it.
She stood, waving the vase over her head with a wail.
“What the fuck?” The man said, and Billie got her first good look at him.
Felix Lucas.
“Oh Jesus Tap-dancing Christ,” she said, setting down the vase and taking a large step back. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Lucas.”
He was much, much taller in person than she had imagined. She had seen him once at an awards show, but from far enough away that she couldn't embarrass herself by fan-girling over him.
“I suppose you’re the newest security guard?” Felix said with a grin, looking down at her.
He had wild dark hair that curled around his ears and neck, but it was tied back into a ponytail.
“I’m so sorry, sir. I really thought you were a murderer,” she said, her cheeks flaming hot.
He laughed, the sound warm and booming. “No, just a man who can’t see keys at night, apparently,” he said.
“I’m Billie,” she said, holding out her hand formally.
“Felix,” he said, giving her hand a quick shake. “And never call me sir again. It creeps me out.”
She faltered at that, unsure what to say. “Okay,” she croaked out.
He stepped to the fridge and opened the doors, reaching in for snacks that Elena had painstakingly cut up earlier.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Billie said, feeling a bit silly by the admission. She hurried back into the living area and shut off the tv.
“I wanted to surprise Vero, but she doesn’t do very well with surprises. Then I heard you were here writing with her, so I definitely wanted to get here. I’m a big fan,” he said pleasantly, holding a plate of celery sticks and hummus.
“Wh-what? Fan?” She stuttered, her eyes wide.
“Oh yeah, I really love that new single you have out ‘Bad Guy,’” he said. “It’s so different from other stuff on the radio. It's refreshing.”
Billie blinked, unsure how to tell him that he was thinking of another Billie.
There she was, leaning against the kitchen counter, standing in front of her idol in her socks and pajama pants, and he had her confused with another musician. Fantastic. “That’s a great song,” she said quietly, before clearing her throat to add, "But it's not mine. That’s Billie Eilish. I’m in The Shrikes.”
He nodded but didn’t apologize. Maybe he didn't understand?
“So, what made you write with Veronica, then?” He asked, settling onto a barstool.
Veronica? Billie tried to keep a straight face. She sounded so normal with a name like Veronica. All of the ferocity and exoticism deflated with the extra two syllables.
“It’s an opportunity to get my songs out to a much different audience than The Shrikes,” she said, repeating her manager’s words almost verbatim. “I don't know if you've heard our stuff, but we're not exactly in the same genre as UltraViolet.”
He snorted. “That sounds like bullshit,” he said. He stood again and grabbed a beer can out of the fridge, offering one to Billie.
She stared at him blankly, but accepted it, reaching across the island to take it. She would take anything to dull the strangeness of the conversation and ease the embarrassment of almost smashing her musical idol over the head with his own flower vase. “I keep writing music that isn't right for The Shrikes,” she said with a shrug. “We play alternative… kind of indie… with a touch of synth... it’s not the same.”
“The Shrikes,” he considered. “Oh, wait, now I recognize it. You had that hit a few years back.”
“We had a few,” Billie said defensively. Their first album had garnered critical praise and plenty of radio play.
“Yeah, the uh…” He continued, mumble-singing a few lines of “The Wire.”
She grimaced. “That's HAIM. But much closer.”
“So, then why won’t your songs work for The Shrikes,” he asked, opening the beer with a loud burst of sound.
“It’s just not our sound. My sister, our bassist, and I write the music together, and the stuff I keep writing without her is way too poppy for us,” she said.
“Says who?” He asked, taking a long pull from the beer.
“Says… everyone? My sister, my manager, my common sense?” She said, cracking open her own can and taking a sip.
Felix shrugged. “That’s what they said about Heads or Tails and I think that's one of our better albums,” he said.
Heads or Tails was Billie's second favorite Fangs album, right below the self-titled. “Why did you do it anyway, then?” She asked, trying to remember the shift in sounds between Heads and Tails and the album immediately before it. It felt a little faster, with more punk influence than most classic rock, but it wasn’t a completely different sound by any means.
“People are afraid of evolution,” he said simply. “Managers and Labels are especially afraid of change. Look at Veronica. Everyone is panicking about what kind of artist she’ll be now that she’s out of UltraViolet.”
Billie considered that for a moment. “I don’t even think she knows,” she said with a frown.
“Exactly. No one knows. That’s why you have to make the music you want to make. The music that keeps coming out,” he said.
“Easier said than done,” Billie countered with a grin.
He bobbed his head in agreement. “Sure, but what’s the alternative? Becoming Bon Jovi? No, thanks,” he said with a chuckle.
Billie almost spit her beer out laugh
ing. “Ouch, poor Jon,” she said.
“I know, I know. Don’t tell him I said that,” Felix said with a teasing glare.
Billie stared down into her beer. “To be honest though, Vero and I aren’t getting along well enough to write that song, anyway,” she confessed.
He sighed. “She’s had a tough year. First, the big breakup with Lara, then the rehab, then she quit UltraViolet. It’s all been a lot for her,” he said.
Billie blinked with the newfound information, but she tried to play it off as though she knew what he was telling her. Lara was the name of one of the members of UltraViolet. Same Lara?
Felix seemed oblivious to his slip-up. He must have expected the two women to be much closer than they were.
“Yeah, I can see how all of that would be difficult,” Billie said after the silence stretched out uncomfortably.
“I don’t know how best to help her. I don’t know if this is actually what she wants. Being in a band and being a solo artist are two entirely different games,” he said, shaking his head.
Billie nodded, realizing that Felix could be admitting that he had never gone solo out of fear. Billie wondered if he must have held that same kind of fear for Vero.
“How long are you here?” He asked.
“Nine more days,” Billie said quickly, then realized the speed and knowledge of that number definitely appeared as though she was counting down the seconds until she could leave.
He cracked a smile, finishing off his beer. “Well, maybe tomorrow the three of us can have a jam session and Vero can show off her drum skills,” he said.
“Drums? I saw her play piano, but not drums,” Billie said, surprised.
He paused, watching her. “She played piano?” He said, as though it came as a shock to him, too.
Billie nodded, unsure.
He made a surprised “Hmm” sound, then tossed his empty beer bottle into the recycling bin.
“Nice talking with you, Billie. Glad you didn’t knock me over the head with that vase,” he said.
Billie awkwardly laughed, feeling embarrassed all over again.
She watched Felix disappear upstairs.
So many things had just been revealed.
Everyone who had ever told her to never meet her idols was right. Felix Lucas had mixed up Billie’s band twice and outed his own daughter, whether knowingly or unknowingly.
Most interestingly, Vero had dated a woman.
She had quit UltraViolet against her father’s better judgment.
But it was the Lara detail that Billie kept coming back to. Vero had always publicly dated men. A-Listers. Actors. Musicians. So many of them that they were constantly in the tabloids.
Vero hadn't volunteered that information, which made Billie feel uncomfortable holding the weight of it.
The worst part was that Billie knew that she couldn't confront Vero about it, no matter what. Vero completely shut down when Billie had made the mistake of broaching unwanted topics with her. Vero had held her at arm’s length the entire time she had been there.
But Vero had let the mask slip once. Maybe it would happen again.
Chapter Eight
Vero
“Pancakes!” Vero exclaimed as she turned the corner and walked into the kitchen. The sweet smell had been wafting through the house, calling to her.
She paused when she saw it was Billie at the stove, not Elena.
“Pancakes?” She repeated, though she was slightly more confused. “Where’s Elena?”
“Jack is taking her out to brunch, so I thought I’d make some breakfast for us, instead,” Billie said with a casual shrug.
Vero eyed Billie’s running shorts and t-shirt. “You leading a nature hike after breakfast?” She asked, smirking.
Billie glanced down at her shorts. “Oh, yeah, something like that,” she said. “Thought it might help us clear our heads to get out of the house.”
“Oh, well, I know a great hike, if you’re up for the challenge,” Vero said with a grin, arching her eyebrow.
“Listen, The Shrikes played Coachella in 102 degree heat. I’m not a delicate flower,” Billie said, rolling her eyes.
Vero suppressed a grin. “Sure. We'll see,” she teased.
Billie stared off into space instead of rising to the jest.
Vero could tell that something was bothering her — Billie had the poker-face of a toddler.
“What's up?” She asked, glancing around for clues. Then she saw her dad’s satchel on the mudroom bench. “Oh, Dad’s home.” She looked around the great room for any other signs of life, but figured he was either still in bed or out back, swimming, like he did most mornings.
Billie tensed, but didn’t reply. She flipped a pancake in the pan, catching it perfectly.
Vero tried not to appear as impressed as she was.
“So, did you meet him?” Vero asked, grabbing the French press off of the countertop in front of her.
“Yep,” Billie said.
“I thought I read you were a big fan,” Vero said, trying to keep her tone lighthearted so that Billie would know she was only teasing.
“Did you Google stalk me?” Billie asked, glancing over her shoulder.
Vero shrugged. “Had to know what I was getting into,” she admitted.
“Well, I think you of all people should know not to believe every word you read on the internet,” Billie said, sliding the pancakes onto a plate and passing it Vero’s way with a fork.
“Oh, so you’re not a fan?” Vero teased.
“I didn't say that,” Billie said, staring down at the pancakes as they cooked.
“Should I go tell him you had Fangs posters on your wall as a kid?” Vero asked with a mischievous grin.
Billie laughed. “Please don't tell him that. How can you look someone in the eye after they know you used to sing along to their songs in your pajamas, standing next to the poster like you were in the band, too?” She shook her head, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
Vero reached for the syrup that Billie must have already set out. “Wow, you're such a dork,” she said, cutting into the pancakes with her fork. They were buttery pillows of deliciousness. She groaned in delight.
“When I met your dad, he didn’t know who I was,” Billie said, not turning as she poured more batter into the pan.
“Oh, like what a strange lady was doing in his house?” Vero asked in between bites.
“No, uh,” Billie said, staring a hole into the pancakes cooking in front of her. “As in, he thought I was Billie Eilish.” Her shoulders sagged.
Vero paused mid-bite, staring across the kitchen. “That asshole. He knows who you are. Who doesn’t know The Shrikes?” She said, rolling her eyes. “I have a definite memory of listening to Heart’s Content with him on a road trip down to Santa Fe.”
Billie turned, her face skeptical. “Are you just trying to make me feel better?” She asked.
“No, I’m being honest,” Vero said, taking another bite of the pancakes. She chewed, watching Billie’s face go from suspicion to consideration. “As if anyone could get away from The Shrikes two years ago. You guys were everywhere.”
Billie shrugged. “We really need to get that new album out,” she said, biting her lower lip.
“Listen, when I quit UltraViolet and thought about going solo, I had one stipulation. On my own terms. The label couldn’t pressure me into a timeline, and I’m not contractually-bound to put out a certain number of hits each year,” Vero said. She had fought hard to get what she needed to thrive as an artist, but the label had believed in her.
“Yeah, but you’re Vero De Luca. You were the lead singer of the most popular girl group in recent history, and also you have the Lucas legacy behind you. You’re a sure thing,” Billie said, sitting a few barstools down the kitchen island from her.
“And you’re Billie Rush. I do believe Pitchfork said you have the voice of an angel,” Vero said, smirking.
“They did not,” Billie said, laughing.<
br />
“Yep, Billie ‘Cannot Sing Off-Key Even On Purpose’ Rush, the voice of a generation,” Vero joked.
Billie shook her head, grinning as she ate her pancakes.
Vero simultaneously hated and loved that seeing that grin made her own heart beat a little faster.
* * *
“Okay, so, the song,” Billie said, out of breath as they hiked up the trail.
“The song,” Vero repeated, slowing her pace so that Billie could catch up. Vero had seen Billie's Instagram stories of hiking in LA — they were saved on a highlight called ‘Nature’ or some bullshit like that — but hiking in LA near the Griffith Observatory and hiking in the Rocky Mountains were two very different things.
Billie came to a halt, sitting on a rock and taking a swig from her water bottle.
“I've been thinking that we should try a different approach,” Billie started, still trying to breathe normally. “Why don’t we take a few hours to ruminate on that idea you had the first day… about being in love, but it being a painful, scary feeling, right?”
Vero nodded, pulling her baseball cap down lower on her face.
Billie continued, “Let’s each try out some lyrics on our own and bring them back to the table tonight, so that we’re not just starting from nowhere, afraid to step on each other’s toes.”
Vero considered that. “Since when have you ever been afraid to step on my toes?” She asked, raising her brow.
Billie grinned. “True,” she said, lifting a shoulder in an easy shrug.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Vero conceded, then continued walking up the trail.
“When I meant we should go on a hike, I didn’t mean a death march,” Billie said.
“It’ll be worth it,” Vero said, rolling her eyes.
The De Luca estate was located north of Telluride, in an area famous for its hot springs. In the 1920s, it had been a resort for mineral renewal. It had a slight renewal of interest in the 1960s, but had been pretty desolate until her father had bought it in the 1980s.
After the stunt that her dad had pulled last night with Billie, she’d need a bit of rejuvenation. Vero couldn’t believe he’d insult Billie like that. Had it been on purpose or accident?