by Payge Galvin
“Actually,” she leans over and hands me a small business card. “I’m here for you.”
I read the card—it’s mostly blank, just a name and phone number on it. Melissa Banks. I look over at her again. Melissa Banks? Only the most famous talent agent in Hollywood. “No shit?”
She laughs. “No shit. I was thinking that now that you’re out of the competition, you might need someone to turn to for advice.”
“Yeah? Like what kind of advice?”
Melissa shrugs. “Only the winner of American Voice is under contract to the network—you’re actually lucky you’re off the show…I can do so much more for you. Endorsement deals, concerts, record deals—you name it. You’re the hottest thing in town, Mr. Varga, even though you don’t seem to realize that yet.” She nods to the card. “Not very many people have that number, so don’t lose it.”
“I won’t,” I say, tucking it into my pocket.
Not two seconds later, there’s a guy sliding into the seat on the other side of me. “Dillon Varga?” he asks, handing me a card and not waiting for a reply. “I’m Leonard Katz, president of Platinum Records. We want to talk to you about some unique opportunities we might have for you.”
I glance over at Melissa who’s staring straight ahead. I hand her the card. “You probably need to talk to my agent. Ms Banks, this is…” I wait.
“Leonard Katz,” he says. He reaches around me to shake Melissa’s hand. “And we’ve met.”
“Great,” I say, getting up out of my seat and jumping over him. “Then I’ll let you two work things out.” I cross the aisle and slip into an empty seat on the left hand side.
I relax as soon as the house lights go down and the ones on the stage go on. The judges table looks funny with only the three of them there and then Sam, Luke, and Savannah walk out on stage and take the three remaining seats in the contestants’ box. Nobody mentions me or Natalie—not like I thought they would, but still. It’s like we never existed.
Like everyone expects, Sam gets voted off and he sings his kick-off song, a passable version of “God Bless the USA” by Lee Greenwood. Figures. For once, the American People got it right.
Luke and Savannah hug each other, and then Luke walks to center stage to sing his last song. If there was a way to have them both win, I’d take it in a second.
I hear the guitar riff and nod. Wise choice—“One” by U2. And as expected, he kills it, channeling all that’s great about Bono but bringing a lot of Luke to the song too. He finishes to applause that shakes the seat I’m sitting in and my stomach clenches a little for Savannah.
She wouldn’t tell me what her final song was going to be. Said she wanted it to be a surprise. She looks beautiful standing all alone in the spotlight, as if this moment was made for her. Savannah’s almost shimmering if that’s possible, and I’m not sure if that’s some sort of lighting effect or if it’s all her. I think it’s all her.
I don’t recognize the song at first, but she sings it beautifully. Unlike some of the divas who have been on this show, she doesn’t just go for volume, but makes every quiet note count, like something special we’re all straining to hear. When she gets to the chorus, I realize that it’s “When You Tell Me You Love Me” by Diana Ross. I sit forward in my seat, drinking in every word, knowing that out of the thousands of people in the audience, she’s singing this to me. Savannah is singing to me.
The applause that meets the end of her song is as loud as Luke’s, at least that’s what I tell myself. Savannah has to win. I brought her here, I feel sort of responsible for the outcome. The audience is reminded once again to vote and to come back for the reunion show tomorrow night when the new American Voice will be crowned.
I hang out while the theater empties, waving to Ms. Banks as she walks down the aisle. I wonder what they worked out. I’ll call her tomorrow. Kind of cool thinking I might actually get a record contract. And an endorsement deal—maybe I can get a free guitar. I see Luke come down the stage steps and into a small crowd, so I walk over there to say hi.
“Dillon! Man!” he says when he sees me, grabbing me around the neck in a huge bear hug. “This is so much bullshit, man.”
“Lucas!” a small, dark woman scolds.
“Sorry Mom,” he says, sounding like he’s six years old. “Dillon, this is my mom.” He points to a tall, skinny older white man. “And this is my dad.”
I glance at Luke, and he raises his eyebrows. His dad. Wow. “Nice to meet you both,” I say, shaking hands.
“Luke told us all about how nice you were to him,” his mom says, grabbing my hand in both of hers.
“Thanks for looking out for him,” his dad says, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think those were tears in his eyes. “We’re all so proud of him.”
“Me too,” I say.
Luke bumps me with his elbow. “I think someone’s waiting for you.”
I look over and see Savannah by the exit door. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow!”
“Definitely,” he says as his family gathers around him.
“Hey,” Savannah says when I reach her.
“Hey,” I say, a little awkwardly. I’m not sure how we are in public yet.
My question’s answered when she reaches up and kisses me deeply. “I’m glad you came,” she whispers in my ear.
I bury my face in her neck. “Wouldn’t miss it. You were amazing.”
She pulls back to look at me. “Do you think so? Luke was so good too, I just can’t tell.”
“Don’t worry about it. I loved it.”
“It was for you; you know that right?”
“Which is why I loved it even more,” I say.
Savannah glances at the door. “The family went ahead to get a table, nothing special, just a late dinner at the Italian place in the hotel.” She looks up at me. “Will you come?”
I hesitate. I hate other people’s family dinners. Feels like I’m an imposter, that I don’t really know how to act.
“I’m sorry,” Savannah says quickly. “Maybe next time.”
There’s so much unsaid in that sentence and I can hear the disappointment in her voice. “It’s just…” I begin, but I’m not sure where to go next. How to tell her about the trailer parks and the series of ‘uncles’ who quickly replaced my dad. About the drugs, and the cops and then the foster homes that I never want to think about ever again, much less talk about.
“You don’t have to explain,” she says, reaching for my hand. “It’s fine.”
I take a deep breath. It’s time. At least for a little bit of it. “I haven’t seen my mom since I was twelve. My dad left years before that. And my brother…” I wave my hand in the air, because that’s about all I can get out at the moment. “I don’t exactly come from a regular family. And I’m afraid it might be awkward…” I look down at her, but the pity I expect to see in her eyes isn’t there. Just understanding.
“It won’t be awkward because it’s you they want to meet. Not your family,” Savannah says. “But you don’t have to come to dinner. It’s fine.”
I drop her hand and lean in for a quick kiss. “I’ll come. I’d love to.”
She smiles and grabs my hand again as we walk through the doors. I’d totally forgotten about the cameras, but whatever the network was doing to keep them away isn’t working too well. There are at least a dozen reporters in the lobby, but I just wave and keep my mouth shut as we walk through them and into the casino. The security guards stop them from getting any further, and I squeeze Savannah’s hand tight as we get to the restaurant. Her family takes up most of the place, with a big, long, table pulled together in the middle of the room. I take a deep breath.
“Savannah!” her dad booms, standing up in his chair and waving us over. He’s a big guy, not just tall but big, like an ex-football player. Shit. Not only am I the guy who is sleeping with his daughter, but I’m also the guy that the entire world thinks fucked Natalie Greer in order to stay on the show.
“It’s okay,” S
avannah says, reading my mind. “I told them it was all a mistake. That you got railroaded for being too good.” Several people jump out of their chairs to give her a hug as we approach. I stand off to the side feeling like a total out of place dick, until Savannah puts one arm around my waist and pulls me into the crowd. “Everybody, this is Dillon.”
In seconds, I’ve shaken a dozen hands and two empty chairs are pulled together at the table. The meal is like being at a crazy party in the movies where there are so many conversations going on at once, it’s hard to keep track. An hour later, I push my chair back, thanking everyone.
“Dillon, my boy,” her dad says, standing up to shake my hand over the table. “I’m real sorry about what’s been happening. You’re a true talent, and Savannah says that she wouldn’t be here if not for you.”
I shake my head. “Savannah’s the talent. She deserves the best.”
He raises one eyebrow at me. “I’m glad we agree.” I don’t miss his message. Another reason I better not fuck this up.
“I’ll walk you out,” Savannah says, getting up from her chair. “You did great,” she says, as soon as we’re out of the restaurant.
“They’re nice,” I say. “And they really love you.”
“I guess,” she says. “Sometimes that feels like a lot of pressure.”
I look at her, but I don’t really get what she means. How can having a ton of people love you feel like pressure? Isn’t that what everyone’s supposed to have? Supposed to want?
Savannah grabs my hand and laces my fingers through hers as we walk toward the lobby.
“I’m going to go out the back way and get a cab,” I say. “Avoid the crowds.”
“I wish you could stay with me tonight,” she says.
I picture her naked on my bed.
“Don’t get me started,” I say, pulling her over into a corner of the casino. I kiss her hard and then let her go. “But after tomorrow, all bets are off.”
“Okay,” she says, kissing me back and pressing into me in that tantalizing way she has.
“You’d better get back, or your dad’s coming after me.”
After a few more quick kisses, she turns to go and I slip out of the hotel, as far from the lights and cameras as I can get.
***
I can hardly believe this is it, as I settle into my seat at the back of the theater. It’s packed tonight, and people around me are whispering, but mostly leaving me alone, thank God. I’m so nervous—I can’t imagine what Savannah’s going through. I send her one more good luck text, even though I know she won’t read it before the show.
The music starts and the top ten finalists walk onto the stage and take their seats. Well, the top nine anyway, because they haven’t bothered to replace me. The first part of the show is a retrospective on the screen of everything that’s happened in the past couple of months condensed into a nice ten minute package. There are some clips of me, but definitely no solos.
After the group number, everyone gets to sing one last song. I can tell every contestant’s glad to have one more shot at the stage, and I realize that I miss it too. I never got to sing my goodbye song. That would have been nice. Luke sings his song, and he does such a great job that I almost feel bad rooting against him. Savannah gets up for her last song before the winner is announced, but there’s a commotion down in front—some people are shouting, and it takes a few seconds to realize that Savannah’s leading them in some kind of cheer. It ripples up the seats like a wave, and all of a sudden I hear my name being shouted over and over through the whole theater. What in the hell is she doing? I’m waiting for Rick to stop the show when the light of a network camera shines on me, and everyone turns to look. I have no idea what’s going on, but the tech beside the camera motions for me to follow. We walk down the aisle to the stage steps, and Savannah’s grinning like a crazy person as I step onstage to deafening cheers.
“What’s going on?” I ask her.
“My last song is going to be our last song,” she says, handing me an earpiece and a mic.
“There’s no way they’re going to let you do this.”
“They don’t have a choice,” she says, smiling at the table full of judges who look just as clueless as I do. “It’s all been arranged.”
Savannah nods to the bandleader who’s sitting at a grand piano at the side of the stage and within two bars I know what she’s up to. Savannah shrugs. “I figured you knew this one.” She gestures to the crowd. “They needed this.”
“You’re crazy,” I say, but grab the mic in time to sing the opening words to “Hello,” the Lionel Richie song we were famous for back in Rio Verde.
Just like the old days, Savannah smiles at me while I sing my part and then joins in, our voices winding together, then breaking apart during the solos. It’s so different singing this with her now. It’s not a joke anymore. At the end of the song, we’re both grinning, and then come together in full view of the audience and the American People for a kiss more meaningful than any I’ve ever had. The audience is on their feet now, and we wave as we walk off the front of the stage. I turn to walk back down the steps, but Savannah grabs me and leads me to the contestants’ stand to wait together to hear the results.
There’s a lot of pausing, a lot of drumrolls, a lot of speeches about how this was the greatest season ever, and by the time they get to the winner, Savannah’s nails are digging into my skin so hard I’m sure she’s drawing blood.
“And the new American Voice is…” Gavin pauses so long that I want to kill him. “Luke Conrad!”
There’s a moment of disappointment, but then the three of us are jumping around and hugging as confetti and streamers pour down from the ceiling. “Go!” I say, pushing Luke toward the center of the stage. “They’re waiting for you.”
Luke waves and bows, first to the judges and then to the crowd. I can hear his family up in the stands, screaming the loudest of all. Everyone gets quiet as Luke prepares to sing his victory song, and I’m genuinely happy for him.
Savannah grabs my hand and puts her head on my shoulder as we watch. And instantly it’s okay that I didn’t win. And that Savannah didn’t win. Because this is only a contest. And there are more important things than being the next American Voice.
***
The sheets are a tangle around our bodies as we lie there in my bed, the entire city lit up at our feet. Savannah’s absently stroking my arm and I’m lazily running my fingers through her damp hair, our motions slow and deliberate now, nothing like the frantic grasping of an hour ago.
“I want to do this every night for the rest of my life,” I say, kissing her on the temple.
“I can’t have you every night,” she says. “What about when you go on tour? Ms. Banks was already working something up this morning.”
“Come with me,” I say.
“Look what happened the last time you said that,” she says with a grin.
I tickle her in the side. “No, really. We were talking, and she thinks that we’ll do even better on the road together. You know, play up the America’s Sweethearts angle.”
“Really? Do you think you could stand spending that much time with me? We’re going to be together for months on the American Voice tour first.”
I kiss her again. “I don’t think I can stand not spending that much time with you.”
Savannah laughs and runs her finger down my arm, tracing the words on the tattoo I got after that horrible night in Rio Verde. “First there was sex, and then came death.” She looks up at me. “You never told me what that means. Is it like some kind of Adam and Eve thing?”
“Something like that,” I say, deciding that’s a better interpretation than a reminder of what happened to get me here. “It’s wrong though.”
I grab the pen that’s on the nightstand and cross out the last word, replacing it with what I really believe now.
“There,” I say, showing it to her.
“First there was sex, and then came life,” she read
s, then laughs. “You’re ridiculous.” Her face turns serious again. “But I love you.”
I tuck her into the curve of my body. “And I love you.”
I can feel my eyes getting heavier and her breathing getting more regular. Knowing that tonight neither of us is going to put our clothes on and walk out the door. That we’ll both be right here when the sun rises over the red hills in the distance and the strip wakes up for another day.
Together.
###
A Sneak Peek of Unfiltered & Unsaved
Chapter 1
First there was sex, and then came death.
Brittany was at it again.
As Hope neared the dorm room, she could hear the echo of the headboard pounding the wall, counterpointed with the constant moans and cries that her roommate had learned from the stream of porn her temporary crushes brought as instructional videos. Oh God, yes, fuck, give it to me wasn’t exactly what Hope wanted to hear at damn-it’s-late o’clock when she had a headache, a major essay due, and another anxiety attack looming on the horizon.
Hope stood ten feet from the door, glaring at it, willing lightning to strike, but as usual, if God was planning on doling out punishment, He was willing to take his time about it. I really need to get a new place, she thought for about the thousandth time. Of course, there was just no way to swing the moving expenses, security deposit, first and last rent—even if she could have passed the credit check, which she couldn’t.
When she’d last (politely) asked Brittany if she’d mind not having so many boyfriends over, or at least letting her know ahead of time so she wouldn’t be locked out, the other girl had given her a blank, flat look and said, “If you’d get laid even once we wouldn’t be having this discussion. Get over your purity ring already.”
Which was not fair, because Hope didn’t even have a purity ring. Well, not anymore. She just didn’t want to have sex with every single man who crossed her path. Or most of them.