by John, Ashley
Did he do it on purpose so she could see?
She tore her eyes away from him to look back at Marcus, who looked fit to explode any moment. He was tapping his wrist to let her know she needed to hurry up.
“One minute,” she mouthed at him.
He sighed and resumed tapping his foot. He reminded Delilah of a distressed puppy sometimes. When he was on top of everything, he was the best assistant in the game, but the minute something went wrong, he spiraled into a nervous panic. Tony would usually be there to pick up the pieces.
“Ready,” Nolan rested his hands on Delilah's shoulder to turn her and gently lead her out of the door frame.
As he locked his door, his freshly applied musky scent tickled her senses.
“What is that aftershave you wear?” her voice sounded dreamier than she'd intended.
“Oh, it's just my natural pheromones,” he winked playfully at her as he locked the door.
“Do they sell that at duty free?”
“It's a Nolan Rigby original,” he winked again.
Each time he winked, his dark lashes and hazel eyes sent her butterflies dancing.
“C'mon,” she touched his arm, “we have work to do.”
“Do I get paid for this?”
“Not a cent.”
“Oh great,” he laughed, “you look nice today by the way.”
“I'm not wearing any makeup,” she furrowed her face, only just realizing she'd let a man she liked see her in her natural state.
“I noticed,” he whispered, “I told you that you were gorgeous.”
Nolan smiled at her as they walked down the corridor towards Marcus. She resisted the urge to slip her fingers into his.
Chapter 13
The entire drive to the studio was an awkward one. The driver kept mumbling angry sounding things under his breath in Spanish that Nolan refused to translate. Marcus kept quizzing Nolan about his entire life, leaning in and touching his knee far too much. Delilah wanted to tell Marcus to back off, but she found it quite amusing.
When they arrived at the studio, there was more angry Spanish as they hurried down the corridors by people who spoke very little English. They knew who she was, but they didn't seem to care. Most of them were young, holding clipboards and wearing headsets, and they gave Delilah the impression that her lateness had got them into a lot of trouble.
They were ushered into a dressing room and told that the stylists would be there soon.
“Is it always like this?” Nolan collapsed into one of the sofa's that lined the room.
Through the mirror, she smiled at him, but not too much, because Marcus's eyes were trained on both of them the entire time.
“You get used to it,” she shrugged, “people have jobs to do and they depend on the star to cooperate so things run smoothly. I'm never usually late.”
“Liar,” Marcus mumbled under his breath.
She shot him a look through the mirror that told him she might be in a good mood, but that doesn't mean he can get away with being a bitch. He received the look and pulled his cellphone from his pocket, still dancing his eyes from Delilah and Nolan every few seconds.
They weren't alone for long, because a team of Spanish stylists burst into the room carrying bags of makeup and hair products. A man wheeled in a rack of clothes for her to try and they were left alone to work on creating the pop star. Dress rehearsals were usually used to find out what outfit she wanted to wear and how she wanted to have her hair and makeup done, but using a translator only made the whole process even more complicated.
As a young, short man with his hair in a high pony-tail started to rub creams on her face, she tried to ask what he was doing, but he didn't speak any English.
“Nolan, can you ask him what he's putting on my skin?”
Nolan joined them at the counter and rapidly asked the man something in Spanish. Delilah found that hearing him speak in Spanish was far sexier than she'd expected. The man returned a short answer, which made Nolan widen his eyes.
“He told me to leave him alone so he could do his work.”
Delilah watched as they started to layer on the makeup. The foundation was the wrong color, they made her eyebrows the wrong shape, and they kept trying to overdraw her lips. Every time she tried to tell them what to do, they brushed her hand away and carried on with what they were doing. She tried to get Nolan to pass on the message, but every time he spoke, they wouldn't answer his questions.
“If Tony was here, they'd all be fired,” she spat at Marcus through gritted teeth, frustrated after the makeup artist started to contour her face until she looked hallow.
“You look hot Delilah,” Marcus said in his usual over the top and campy voice, “just go with it. They know what they're doing.”
Delilah slammed her back into the chair as they worked on transforming her. She normally just let makeup artist's work their magic to make her look completely different, but she found herself arguing with everything they were doing. Was it because they didn't understand what she was saying, or because they were trying their hardest to make her look like a completely different person, than the person who'd walked out of the Paraíso hotel.
Very soon, there was a young woman with jet black hair and dark makeup tugging at her hair, clipping in long and thick wefts. One of the production team came in and barked something in Spanish without looking up from his clipboard. After that, they seemed to work even faster, not bothering that they were pulling her hair or poking eyeliner in her pupils. Nolan translated that the sound check would start in 20 minutes.
When the makeup and hair was finished, she was forced out of the chair and thrown in front of the rack of clothes. The guy who appeared to be the head stylist jumped up from the couch, where he seemed to have been flirting with Marcus, despite the language barrier. The team started to talk amongst themselves, as they pulled tiny items of clothing from the hangers to put them against her body to see how they'd look with the hair and makeup. They didn't once attempt to consult Delilah to ask her what she thought.
Had it always been that way, regardless of if she was in Spain or LA?
She was hurried behind a screen and given a two piece to wear. It looked like some kind of bikini, but it was covered in small pieces of bronze metal, fanned out over her breasts. She squeezed into it, and the inbuilt support instantly pushed her breasts up, so they were almost hanging out of the garment. They weren't small by any stretch of the imagination, but they'd felt uncomfortably big in the 'clothes'. The bottoms weren't far off underwear either. They were covered in the same bronze metal, arranged in a mosaic pattern. Thankfully, they were slightly high wasted, so they came up to her belly button, letting her feel like she wasn't completely naked.
Arranging herself one last time to make sure she wasn't going to slip out, she flung the crazy amount of hair she'd been given over her shoulder and breathed in her already slender stomach before revealing herself to the crowd.
Marcus wolf whistled, and the team of stylists looked pleased with their work for a moment before talking amongst themselves again, ignoring Delilah. She would have felt completely like Delilah White, if it wasn't for Nolan sat on the couch. He wasn't admiring her womanly figure, or her stunning face, or long hair. He looked sad and slightly confused. He smiled to support to her, but he furrowed his brows slightly as he did.
Delilah felt exactly how he looked.
Uncomfortable.
The pony-tailed makeup artist grabbed her arms and started to rub a glittery lotion into her skin, before thrusting her in front of a full length mirror.
She was Delilah White all right. Her makeup might look a little different than usual, but the pop star stared back at her.
“Okay?” the makeup artist said loudly to her in a thick Spanish accent.
Delilah had to admit, the more she looked at herself, the sexier she found it. Her body looked amazing in the costume, her face looked better than it had ever done, and her long and thick blonde hair hung loosely down
her back and over her chest. She looked every inch the pop star she was, and then some.
“Perfect,” she smiled, turning around to look at the back of her costume.
In the mirror, she caught Nolan gazing at her in the mirror. For a moment, she thought he was admiring the view, but the little wrinkle in between his eyebrows told her differently.
The team of stylists hurried out of the room the moment their work was done. She asked Marcus to grab a fresh bottle of water from somewhere, and hoped that he would find it difficult, so she could have a moment alone with Nolan before the rehearsal.
“So,” she held her hands out, “what do you think?”
He looked her up and down and nodded his head. He casually placed his hands on his jeans, rubbing his thighs slightly. He was nodding, but his face didn't look pleased.
“You look nice,” he stopped staring at Delilah's mid drift and met her eyes.
He smiled at her again, but the dimples didn't appear, and the butterflies didn't fly.
“Just nice?” she flung her hair over her shoulder and marched across the room.
She planted herself in front of him and landed her arms dramatically on her hips, leaning into the pose as if she was in a photo shoot.
“You don't like it, do you?”
“No, it's fine!"
“Just fine?”
“You look great Delilah, you really do,” he smiled again, “but it doesn't look like you.”
“That's the whole point!”
In her costume, her bravery had returned. She flicked her mane of hair over her shoulder and crawled onto Nolan's knees, resting her long legs across the sofa. Tucking her hands around his neck, she pulled him in slightly. His scent was just as strong as it had been when they'd left the hotel, and it was driving her wild.
“What are you doing?” Nolan laughed uncomfortably.
“Getting closer,” she whispered, leaning in seductively.
“You really don't need to,” he leaned back slightly.
Offended, she dropped her hands from his neck and slid onto the leather couch next to him. Her exposed legs instantly stuck to the cold fabric.
“I get it,” she mumbled, leaning back into the chair.
“I don't think you do,” he rested his head on the couch and turned to face her with soft eyes, “I don't need all of this to find you attractive. I've told you that already, but you don't seem to believe me.”
“So this doesn't make me sexier?”
“In a way,” he paused, “yes – but that's not what I find sexy. I find you sexy, as a person. You don't need everything on show to get my attention.”
“It's my job Nolan. I can't cover up for you,” her old defensiveness returned.
“I'm not telling you to!” Nolan laughed, sitting up and clutching her hands in his, “But you don't have to try to look like anything, to look 'sexy' to me. Just be yourself.”
She slid her hand from his and itched the back of the head where the extensions were already starting to itch. She was just glad she was in the first air-conditioned room she'd come across in Spain.
“I'm a mess,” she looked to the floor, “I'm so used to guys wanting this.”
“It's not you though.”
“It's become me,” she let out a long sigh, “when they were putting it on me, I felt strange, but when I looked in the mirror, I felt like I looked good.”
“You look amazing Delilah,” Nolan reassured, “but you don't need to look like this to turn heads.”
“Really?”
“You've been turning my head since we first met, and it's not because of what you've been wearing. It's because you're an amazing girl.”
“I'm a woman Nolan,” she joked, pushing out her chest, “excuse you.”
“Woman,” he corrected himself, “that's what I love about you.”
Her stomach wobbled at the word 'love'. She knew it was just an expression, but it made her suddenly feel sick. She'd heard about people falling in love in an instant, but could that really be happening to her? She hardly knew Nolan. She knew nothing about his life back in the states and she didn't know what could possibly lay ahead for them after they both left Paraíso, but sitting next to him, he felt like somebody she could waste a lifetime with, and that was a scary thought.
“I better get to the stage before they start putting Spanish curses on me, or something,” Nolan let go of her other hand and she peeled herself off the sofa.
Checking her reflection in the mirror one last time, she made sure she looked camera ready. It was only a rehearsal, but she didn't want any footage of her not looking her best on stage.
As she reapplied her lip liner, Nolan appeared in the mirror behind her. He had a cheeky smile on his face as he gazed at her through the glass.
“Good luck,” he whispered.
His voice made the hairs on the back of her arms stand to attention. She gazed at his chocolaty eyes in the mirror, before spinning around to grab his half-open shirt. Before he could resist, she pulled him into a kiss. Nolan didn't resist, and their tongues were suddenly touching. She wanted him to put his hands on her, but before it could go any further, he pulled away. Biting his red-tinted lips, he grinned at her from ear-to-ear like the cat that got the cream.
“You better go,” he whispered, still smiling, “they'll be waiting for you.”
“You're coming to watch, right?”
“I wouldn't miss exclusive access to the inner working of a Delilah White show.”
“I'll give you the VIP treatment,” she wanted to lean in and kiss him again, but before she could, Marcus appeared, panting and clutching a bottle of water.
Nolan hastily stepped away and resumed his place on the couch fast enough that Marcus didn't notice how close they'd been.
“I had to go all the way to the other side of the building,” he panted, holding the bottle out, “do you realize how big this place is?”
“Oh, I'm not thirsty anymore,” she took the bottle from Marcus and tossed it to Nolan, who expertly caught it, “it'll mess up my lipstick.”
“It's already a mess,” Marcus looked like he'd wanted to take the words back the second they left his lips.
As she turned to fix the smudged lines, she could feel Nolan's amused eyes piercing into her.
“C'mon, let's get to the stage!” Marcus demanded, wafting Delilah towards the door, “Nolan, you too. Nobody in this damn place speaks a word of English. How do you say 'bottle of water' in Spanish?”
“Botella de agua!” the words rolled off Nolan's tongue.
“I wasn't that far off,” Marcus sighed, “are you wearing lipstick?”
Delilah spun around as she was about to open the door, to see Nolan quickly wiping away the scarlet stain from their intimate encounter.
“Strawberries,” he laughed nervously pointing to the fruit basket sitting next to the makeup on the counter.
Marcus narrowed his eyes on his before pushing Delilah out of the door, and towards the stage. It took all of her strength not to burst out laughing.
Chapter 14
The minute the lights hit her and the music started to pound, she felt at home. The drama and the politics behind the music melted away, because it's what she was born to do. She was performing a song called 'Fight 4 Love', which the label selected as her first mainland Europe single. It was a cheesy dance number that she'd helped to co-write. As a teen, Delilah would write all of her own music, but the second she was signed, the pen was peeled out of her hand and given to a whole host of other people. It's like they didn't trust her. She'd insisted on being present in all of the song writing sessions, and most of the writers that came in, let her have input, but not as much as she'd like. 'Music is money!' is something Tony would chant at her every time she requested more control.
The production company for 'Música Increíble' provided a troupe of backing dancers for her, and they had the choreography down to a fine art. It was the same choreography she'd been doing for 'Fight 4 Love' eve
ry time they'd performed it, so she knew it inside out without needing to rehearse.
After the third run through the song, they'd ironed out most of the camera angles and light tricks, and with the assistance of Nolan, it went easier than Delilah had expected. Every time she danced and sung, she'd catch Nolan out of the corner of her eye watching her, as if mesmerized. One time when their eyes met, he actually gave her a thumbs up, which made her start giggling in the middle of the chorus.
“How am I doing?” she sat on the edge of the stage as she sipped water through a straw.
Normally makeup artists would swarm in to touch her up, but they didn't seem to bother for a rehearsal.
“Wow, is all I can say,” Nolan beamed at her, “seriously, you have it. Whatever 'it' is, you have 'it'.”
Coming from Nolan, that meant more than it had ever meant coming from anyone. She knew she could sing and move, but it frustrated her every time she got on the stage that she wasn't singing her own songs the way she wanted.
“Are you sure?” she put the water on the side.
She caught the backing dancers limbering up and stretching, ready for another run-through. Marcus was marching around the audience section of the studio, holding his phone up trying to get a signal, and the producers and directors were mumbling to themselves, pointing at areas of the stage as they consulted their clipboards and headsets.
“Honestly Delilah, you can really sing.”
“You sound surprised,” she laughed, wrinkling her nose.
“I'm a little surprised,” he jumped up on the stage and sat next to her.
He rested his shoulder against hers.
“Singing is all I wanted to do. Ever since I was a little girl. It's all I could see for myself.”
“When I watched your videos on the internet, I thought you'd be just another cookie cutter pop star, but you have a set of lungs.”
Delilah hated being called 'cookie cutter'. It was a term that was thrown at her a lot in the press, along with 'fake', 'puppet' and 'manufactured'. She knew aspects of her career were all of those things, but the more she fought for control, the harder it seemed to get.