More Than a Love Song

by Cathy Cole

  Rhi held up her bag of outfits. “Where can I…?”

  There was no way she was changing in front of this guy, or any of the other shadowy figures scurrying around the room.

  Gary giggled and flapped his hands. “Don’t mind me, darling. I’ve seen it all before.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sure you have,” Rhi ploughed on bravely, “but I haven’t, so…”

  “Go next door,” said Susi Wilks, appearing as if by magic through a door Rhi could have sworn hadn’t been there a moment earlier. “There’s a long mirror you can use. Andy will be here as soon as he can.”

  Lila, Polly and Eve followed Rhi into the room Susi had indicated. Even Eve seemed cowed by everything that was going on.

  “This is really serious, isn’t it?” said Lila with a nervous laugh.

  “Yup,” said Polly.

  Rhi pulled on her favourite piece, the playsuit with bluebird-shaped patches that Polly had sewn all over it. With a pair of aviators and some wedges, she felt pretty good. Fluffing up her hair, her confidence returning, Rhi twirled for the others.

  “What do you think?”

  “A bit Farmer Joe for me,” said Eve, wrinkling her nose.

  “It’s a good thing I didn’t make it for you then, isn’t it, Eve?” Polly countered. She gave Rhi a wink.

  Rhi felt a wave of love for her friends. “Ballgowns aren’t really my thing, Eve.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m more of a hoedown gal.”

  “Darling,” said Eve earnestly as Lila burst out laughing, “ballgowns are everyone’s thing. You just have to find the right one, not to mention the right occasion.”

  Rhi hopped out of the playsuit and pulled out item number two: a soft grey shift dress. It looked completely awesome over the top of deep purple leggings. She left her feet bare.

  “The Glamour Awards, this is not,” sighed Eve, shaking her head.

  “She doesn’t want to be glamorous,” Lila pointed out. “She wants to be Rhi.”

  This was a lot more fun than Rhi had been expecting. “I wanna be Rhi,” she sang, giggling. She spread her hands either side of herself and waggled them jazz-style. “I wanna be me. Oh I wanna be Rhi…”

  “Very kooky, chicken,” said Gary, popping his head round the door. “Ready for the face?”

  Wondering when Andy Graves would show up, Rhi happily settled herself down in the big white chair. Gary hummed to himself, selecting colours from an enormous trunk of lipsticks, blushers, mascaras and eyeliners. Several people in black polo necks stood around, whispering in groups.

  “What’s the name of the band, darling?” Gary asked, painting Rhi’s cheeks with something that felt light and cool.

  Rhi had no idea. A flash of unease rippled through her gut. What was she doing here, if she didn’t even know the name of the band she was going to sing with? She wasn’t even sure she liked their music.

  “I don’t think they’ve decided on a name yet.”

  “What kind of music do they play?”

  Rhi didn’t know that either. “It’s… hard to describe.” That was true at least, she thought with a nervous giggle.

  Gary painted her eyelids with a shimmery mauve powder, then whipped a mascara wand up and down her eyelashes. Twirling her chair round, he raised his neatly plucked eyebrows (he was wearing eyeshadow, Rhi saw now) at Lila, Polly and Eve.

  “What do we think, loves?”

  Lila clapped. So did Polly. Eve folded her arms and ran her cool grey eyes from the top of Rhi’s head to the tips of her bare toes.

  “Sweet,” she said eventually. “If folksy farmhands are your thing.”

  Gary whistled. “Get you, pussy cat with claws. Have you considered a career in the fashion business?”

  Over the next couple of hours, they played around with several different looks. Rhi liked the more natural approach, with a peachy face powder that seemed to enhance the sprinkle of freckles across her nose. Eve read the fashion and music magazines scattered on the low tables while Polly and Lila buzzed around Rhi making noises of delight.

  “Stunning!”

  “Babes, you look incredible. Your eyes are like Bambi’s!”

  The front door banged open and the shadowy make-up artists and stylists and photographers all went into a busy huddle, with much clicking of heels on the wide uncarpeted floors, as Andy Graves strode in. Susi Wilks was beside him in a flash, taking off his coat. He took one look at Rhi – and to her horror, he burst out laughing.

  “Oh dear girl, you are adorable! The boho look is out. Dead. Gone. I want high-voltage, not chicken feathers. Gary, Gary, Gary,” he added, wagging a finger at the make-up artist, “have you lost your senses? This is not what we discussed.”

  Gary raised his muscular shoulders in apology. “We were playing around, boss. Waiting for you to arrive.”

  “Lucky I got here when I did,” said Andy Graves. “You’d have put her on a combine harvester for the photos.”

  Rhi felt as a small and insignificant as a flea. From feeling on top of the world, she suddenly wished she could disappear into the padded white leather of the stylist’s chair.

  “Now,” Andy Graves began as Susi Wilks pressed a glass of sparkling water into his hand, “I have been in a meeting this afternoon discussing a review of successful pop singers in the last two years with accompanying market research. Based on what I have learned, this is the approach we are going to take. Beka, I want you to bleach Rhi’s hair ice-blonde and crop it really short. Then—”

  Rhi exchanged shocked looks with her friends.

  “You… you want to crop my hair? But I don’t want—”

  Andy Graves flowed on as if Rhi hadn’t said a word. “Short hair is much easier with the wigs I will have designed for you. This –” he flicked his fingers at her outfit “– will never do. Chanice! Karmel! Loyd! Where’s the body-con wardrobe I asked you to put together?” A rack of brightly coloured clothes in lurex, neoprene and PVC was wheeled into the room. Rhi stared at them. They all looked very tight. And revealing. One bright red dress appeared to be made of rubber, and seemed to consist of one strap across her breasts and another around her hips.

  A punchy techno-pop beat suddenly filled the room, bumping and grinding through the large speakers set on either side of the white marble fireplace.

  “I give you… Shox,” Andy Graves said, adjusting the volume so the beat pumped even more loudly through the room. “Your new band. You are going to be a sensation when I’ve finished with you, Rhi Wills.”

  Rhi was at a loss for words. This was not the plan.

  How much was she willing to sacrifice to follow her music dream?

  SEVENTEEN

  Andy Graves’ fashion stylists swarmed around the white leather chair. They poked and prodded and talked about Rhi as if she wasn’t there at all.

  “She’s a bit heavy, isn’t she?” Chanice had ice-blue eyes and long white-blonde hair pulled back into a plait that fell almost to the floor. “Andy, you’ll have to put her on a diet. These outfits are unforgiving on muffin tops.”

  Boom, boom, boom went Shox on the sound system. The singer – ex-singer, Rhi guessed, given Andy Graves’ plans – screamed over the top. She couldn’t make out many words, but thought that she caught ooh and booty and, possibly, licks.

  “Let’s try the black leather catsuit,” said Loyd, a handsome man with a half-shaved head. “It’s so butch.”

  Karmel – a small, pretty Asian woman – plucked the catsuit from the rail and gave Rhi a brisk shove in the small of the back. “Time to take off the dishrag, darling. Be back here in five.”

  Aware of the watchful gazes of her friends, Rhi dumbly headed for the changing room, took off Polly’s beautiful grey dress and pulled on the catsuit. It squeaked, and the tight leather cut into the backs of her legs.

  “Now we’re talking,�
� said Loyd with satisfaction. He gave the front zip a brisk tug, revealing a lot more cleavage than Rhi felt comfortable with. He rummaged through a collection of shoeboxes and thrust a pair of shoes towards her. “These I think.”

  To murmurs of approval from the other stylists, Rhi slid on the highest pair of red platform spikes she’d ever seen in her life. Andy Graves looked up from his phone, and gave a brisk nod before returning to his call.

  “You’ll get used to the footwear, darling,” said Loyd, noticing the panic in Rhi’s eyes. “Gary? We need a look to match this. Biker, rock-chick, sex appeal, bad, dangerous. Kids love all that.”

  Rhi cringed as Gary selected a heavy foundation and a neon mascara and started laying pastes and powders thickly on her cheeks. She felt utterly powerless. Why didn’t she speak up? Why couldn’t she stop this? Surreptitiously she tugged her zip a little higher.

  A skeletal girl with bright red buzz-cut hair – Andy Graves called her Beka – stepped up to the chair when Gary had finished. She pinned Rhi’s hair painfully tight to her scalp, and then selected a blue wig with an asymmetrical fringe. Rhi could hear her muttering irritably under her breath as she tugged and heaved it over Rhi’s thick curls.

  “Up you get, darling.” Gary gave Rhi a hand out of the chair. “Give your friends a twirl.”

  Rhi could barely stay upright, let alone twirl. Polly’s eyes were as round as marbles. Lila had her hands over her mouth.

  “You look incredible, Rhi,” Eve said in awe.

  Rhi didn’t feel incredible. She felt like a trussed-up chicken in a blue wig. She looked beseechingly at Polly and Lila.

  “Tell me honestly,” she said. “What do you think?”

  “It’s very… now,” Lila said carefully.

  Polly frowned. “Can you even breathe?”

  “Not much,” Rhi confessed. She was nervous about breathing too hard. The catsuit zip felt as if it would plunge to her tummy button.

  “You look sensational,” said Andy Graves, sliding his phone into his pocket. It promptly started ringing again. “The press will adore you.”

  Rhi stared at herself in the mirror. A tall, leggy, sexy, fierce blue-haired girl stared back. It felt appropriate that she didn’t recognize herself. Even without the dramatic makeover, Rhi had been keeping so many secrets lately, and asking herself so many confusing questions, that she hadn’t known herself for days.

  Who am I? What type of artist do I want to be? she thought, gazing into the biker-chick’s neon mascara eyes.

  The answer came to her at once.

  Not this.

  “Andy?” she said, before she lost her nerve. “I don’t think this is quite… me.”

  A collective gasp ran through the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at her as if she’d just grown horns.

  “Don’t you want to be famous, Rhi?” Andy Graves enquired. “I know what I’m doing. Ask any of the acts I’ve worked with over the years. Trust me. This is what it takes. Take a seat in the chair, there’s a good girl. Time to cut your hair. That wig is sitting on you like a toupee on a bank manager.”

  Beka approached, clippers in her hand. Rhi felt the blue wig being lifted off, and the blessed feeling of cool air on her head. The clippers started to buzz. The sound, and the horrified looks on her friends’ faces, kicked Rhi into action.

  “No,” she said loudly. “I don’t want to cut my hair.”

  Andy Graves sighed with irritation.

  “Rhi, he said, “do you know how lucky you are to be here?”

  Rhi swallowed. She couldn’t let herself be bullied into this. “Yes,” she said. “But I still don’t want a haircut.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath from Chanice and Loyd. Beka swung the clippers idly from one hand, watching and waiting for someone to make a decision.

  Anger sparked in Andy Graves’ eyes. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being contradicted. “There are a million girls who would kill to have this opportunity,” he pointed out. “I’m willing to be patient this once, but you have to decide, Rhi. I don’t like wasting my time, and I don’t work with amateurs. Are you willing to do what it takes to make it?”

  Rhi felt terrible. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I… I need to think about that.”

  Andy Graves sighed, and checked his expensive watch. “That’s it for tonight, team,” he said. “When Rhi has made her decision, we can come together again.”

  “Spoiled little girl,” Rhi heard someone say – possibly Chanice. “Throwing her toys out of the pram.”

  Loyd grumbled, zipping away the body-con collection of clothes in a series of large black bags. Even Gary, the friendliest of Andy Graves’ team, wouldn’t meet Rhi’s eye as he packed his make-up cases.

  Rhi tottered to the changing room, kicked off the red spikes and wriggled out of the catsuit. A battle was raging in her head. She was a coward. This was her moment. She would regret it for the rest of her life if she didn’t see it through.

  As she came slowly out of the changing room in Polly’s grey dress, Loyd whipped the catsuit out of her arms and stuffed it irritably into a zip-up bag with the rest.

  “You’re such an idiot,” Eve hissed at Rhi as a silent Susi Wilks showed them to the door. “You’ve come this far, and it’s like you want to throw it away. Don’t you realize what this guy is offering you?”

  Rhi turned to the others, desperate for some advice that she felt comfortable with.

  “You have to do what feels right for you,” Lila said, squeezing her arm encouragingly. “You did look… well, kind of amazing. But if you didn’t like it…”

  “You’re more than a coat hanger,” Polly reminded Rhi as Paulo the driver opened the passenger door and waited for them to get into the car. “This isn’t just about the look. It’s the whole thing. It’s the music. So ask yourself this, Rhi. What do you want to do?”

  That’s the problem, Rhi thought hopelessly. I don’t know!

  EIGHTEEN

  “Rhi! Can you come down here, please?”

  Rhi’s mother sounded stressed, as usual. Rhi pushed away her homework – she’d been having trouble concentrating anyway – and headed down the stairs.

  Her parents were standing together in the study.

  “What?” Rhi looked from her mum to her dad and back again, a flutter of unease in her stomach. “What’s happened?”

  Her father smiled. “Nothing to worry about, Rhi.”

  “Nothing?” echoed her mum. She tapped a key on her computer. “You call seeing your daughter plastered all over the internet nothing, Patrick? Rhi, can you explain this to us?”

  Rhi looked at the computer screen. She saw herself laughing in the Heartside to the familiar sound of “Heartbreaker”. As she watched, the picture dissolved into a thousand pieces, resolving itself into a moody one of Rhi on the beach with her hands in her coat pockets and the wind blowing wildly in her hair. The music played on. “Let me go, make me stay, Heartbreaker, show me a way…”

  It was Max’s photo montage. Rhi’s music video.

  “How did you get this?” Rhi said, half embarrassed and half pleased. Had her parents googled her? Were they maybe starting to get more interested in Rhi’s music plans?

  “An email was waiting for me when I got in from work,” said her mother, dashing that particular hope. “It linked to this.” She stared at the dissolving, spinning pictures of Rhi as if she’d never seen her daughter before. “I’m so embarrassed. It’s had over five hundred views, Rhi. All those people know about it, and your own parents didn’t.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us, love?” said her father, more gently.

  You’d know about it if you ever listened to anything I said, Rhi thought. She shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  “Of course we’re interested!” said her mother, sitting down abr
uptly at her desk. “Interested in stopping you from throwing your life away! That scout of yours sent over the contracts today. He wants you to sign away your entire life.” She waved a sheaf of closely typed paper under Rhi’s nose. “It’s a pretty song, but really, Rhi? You’re not thinking straight.”

  Rhi swallowed. Her throat felt thick with tears. “It’s what I want to do,” she said in frustration.

  “You’re fifteen years old,” said her mother. “You don’t know what you want to do. But I can tell you this. Six months down the line, when all the glitz and the glamour has worn off and your scout has got bored of you, do you know what will happen? He’ll throw you on the scrap heap and move on to someone else. And there won’t be a thing you can do about it. He will own you. All of you.”

  “I want to do this!” Rhi said furiously. Do you? whispered the voice in her head. The voice of all her doubts and fears. Ruth’s voice. Rhi pushed it aside. “Why can’t you understand that?”

  “We’re trying, love,” said her dad. “But your mother’s right. This contract is bad news.”

  “Of course I’m right,” said her mother. “I’m always right. I most strongly advise you not to sign this, Rhi.”

  The more her mother went on about what a bad idea all this was, the more, perversely, Rhi wanted to do it. She snatched the contract from her mother’s hands and held it closely to her chest. “I’ll sign it if I want to,” she said. “Andy Graves wants me, Mum. Me.”

  “He wants a doll to dress up and push around,” said her mother forcefully.

  Rhi winced. Her mother was closer to the truth than she realized. She reminded herself of everything Andy Graves was offering. Somehow it felt dimmer and more unreal than ever – even now that she was holding the contract that would make it all happen.

  “We do want the best for you, Rhi,” said her dad.

  The best for me? Rhi thought hopelessly. Or the best for you? She didn’t know. She couldn’t work it out.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” said Rhi’s dad.