by John, Ashley
“Do you think there's too much playback,” she asked, “especially on the verses? I feel like I'm being drowned out.”
“A little bit,” he nudged her with his shoulder and pointed his head in the direction of the producer who was walking past them, but looking at the floor as if trying not to catch the eye of the 'demanding talent'.
“You there!” Delilah called, pointing to the man.
He stopped and lifted his head. Even from a distance, she heard the deep sigh leave his throat.
“Mí?” he pointed to himself as he glanced nervously at his clipboard, letting Delilah know he had somewhere more important to be.
“Translate,” she nudged Nolan, “tell him I want the playback turning down and I want to sing fully.”
Nolan rattled off some words in Spanish, but the producer just rolled his eyes and sighed again. He returned something to Nolan, and Delilah stared at him, waiting for a translation.
“He said no,” Nolan sucked air into his teeth slowly, “he said it stays like it is.”
“I'm sick of this,” she mumbled to herself jumping off the stage.
She brushed past the producer, making sure to barge into his shoulder as she did. Marching across the studio, she felt the venom boiling in her veins, and the years of being told what to do by stuffy men in clipboards was bubbling to the surface, and the poor Spanish producer was the one who was going to take the blow.
She marched all the way to the sound box at the back of the audience area, pushing every runner, stylist, editor, director and producer out of her way. Hurricane Delilah was in full force.
“Mic,” she barked at the man fiddling with the sound and lighting.
“Qué?” the man screwed up his face, not really acknowledging her.
“Microphone!” she cried loudly, “El Microphone? Microphonique? Just give me a damn microphone!”
She screwed up her fist and stuffed it in front of her mouth. The man rolled his eyes, similarly to how the producer had done, and tossed her a microphone. Tapping on the mesh, it echoed throughout the studio, letting her know she was live.
“Oi, producer,” her East London accent in full force, “listen up Señor!”
Slowly, she started to walk back down the stairs, through the crowd of people she'd pushed her way through. The talking lowered to a gentle murmur, until the entire place was silent and every pair of eyes was on her. The only sound came from Marcus talking very loudly into his phone outside of the studio.
Gently, she closed her eyes and opened her mouth. She didn't know what she was going to sing until she hit the first note. All she kept thinking was 'show them what you can do girl'. It was something her mother used to say to her before any gig or audition. She was the one who had the faith in Delilah since the beginning, even if she didn't herself.
When the words came out, she realized she'd taken on the chorus of the most difficult song she'd ever tried to sing, Whitney Houston's 'I Will Always Love You'. She could feel nerves bubbling at her exposed voice, but it didn't show. Her voice traveled around the studio, captivating every single person as she performed every run, lick and high note with complete perfection. As she walked through the crowd, she made sure to pace herself so that she'd hit the grand finale of the song in the producer's face.
It wasn't his fault, but Delilah felt like she was singing to every man who had told her to be quiet and sit in the corner. She held the note for as long as she could. Her face screwed up, she could feel the veins in the side of her head popping to the surface and her skin burned and her lungs screamed out. With one last run, she dropped the microphone from her mouth and dropped her head, letting her hair fall over her face.
The second her lips were closed, the trance ended, and she was fully aware of what she'd just done. She left her head bowed as she panted for air for what felt like an eternity. It was only a couple of seconds before somebody started to slow clap, until the entire studio erupted into a barrage of applause. She opened her eyes, but they darted right past the producer, to Nolan, who jumped down from the edge of the stage. He laughed in disbelief and muttered 'wow' to himself and joined in the applause.
“Nolan, ask him again,” a smile spread across Delilah's face as the applause roared out throughout the studio.
Marcus wandered in, dropping his phone from his ear. He joined in the applause, but he had no idea why he was clapping. Nolan repeated the question to the producer and the producer tapped his earpiece, looking up to the director's box that looked over the studio. He mumbled something into it, bowing his head and pressing it to his ear.
“Sí,” he smiled at Delilah and tapped her on the shoulder.
He turned to Nolan and rapidly fired something at him, before prizing the microphone from Delilah's hand and scurrying off to carry on with his work.
“What did he say?”
“They'll alter the levels for the next run-through to see how it goes,” Nolan smiled and walked over to her.
Delilah breathed a sigh of relief. She glanced over her shoulder, and the people were rushing around and barking things at each other in Spanish. She hadn't made a complete fool of herself, and she'd managed to prove her talent to a room full of strangers who didn't speak her language, with the power of her voice. If only Tony could see her right now.
“Where did that come from?” Nolan still looked in shock.
“Frustration?” she laughed.
“I've never seen anything like it,” Nolan shook his head, “every single jaw in this place dropped when you hit that note at the end.”
“Really?” she'd been in such a trance, she didn't even remember.
Her mouth opened, and what came naturally to her, happened.
“Really!” Nolan laughed again, taking another step towards her, “I'm so proud of you."
The words struck Delilah in the chest, and they made her feel warm inside. Why should she care what a man she'd only known for a few days thought about her? Why should she care if a man she barely knew was 'proud' of her? Deep down, she'd wanted to prove herself to Nolan as well. She wanted to prove she was more than the diva he'd first met or the demanding and stuck-up character that she'd turned into.
In such a short time, he'd managed to chip away at the perfect veneer, and he'd let the real Delilah Smith out, and it felt so good.
“That means a lot,” she looked down to the ground and studied her impossibly high shoes.
“You really are something, Delilah,” his voice lowered to that deep whisper she liked so much.
He walked over towards her wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight embrace. He squeezed her tiny body into his, and she returned the hug by wrapping her arms around his waist. She didn't feel the tickling in her stomach like she usually did. She felt an ache in her heart. An ache for a man she barely knew, but didn't want to lose.
“Delilah?” Marcus' outraged voice broke up the hug.
“What?” she snapped.
“What's all this,” he wagged his finger all over Nolan, practically pulling them apart.
“Don't you have things to do?”
She felt angry at Marcus for ruining the moment.
“Hmm,” Marcus pursed his lips together and narrowed his snake-like eyes on her.
His eyebrow rose, and he titled his head back slightly, letting her know that he was on to her. In that instant, she knew exactly what he was thinking, and who he was thinking about. André.
“I'm going to find the little boys room,” Nolan smiled to them both before excusing himself.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Marcus dragged her to the side of the stage, mumbling in an angry whisper, “Tony will kill you if this gets out!”
“If what gets out?”
“Thing is, I'm not stupid. I see the way he looks at you, and I see the way you look at him.”
“So?” she shrugged, wriggling her hand free of his.
“Do I need to remind you who's joining us on the end of our trip?�
� he tilted his head and crossed his arms, like a disapproving father.
“About that -”
“It's all arranged,” he shot her down, suddenly becoming forceful, “André has to come here.”
“Oh come off it Marcus, I've hardly had a conversation with the man. He's nothing more than a slice of eye candy.”
“Exactly!” Marcus lowered his voice again, “And he has to come, don't you understand?”
He widened his eyes to Delilah, as if trying to tell her something without actually saying the words. Dumbfounded, she stared at him, feeling the wrinkles in between her eyebrows folding together through the makeup, as she tried to figure out what he was telling her. The light bulb went off and it took all of Delilah's strength not to punch her assistant square in the chest.
“This is a set-up, isn't it?"
She thought back to how André even found out about her trip to Spain. He'd called her out of the blue telling her that he was working close by and he'd join her. The label happily extended her trip and canceled her engagements, so she could spend some time with her French model boyfriend. It all suddenly felt too convenient.
“Do you get it now?”
“You're telling me André is only coming for a photo opportunity? Has somebody told the paparazzi he's coming here?”
“That's the whole point!” Marcus was frantic now, as if he'd already said too much, “André isn't a big star in America yet, but you are, and vise-versa. You're helping him raise his profile over there, and he's helping you over here.”
“This is a joke right?”
Delilah knew some element of their relationship was for that, but she had no idea it was on purpose. Had it been a set-up since the beginning?
“How long has this been going on?”
“Since you met him at that party in Paris. He wasn't there by chance. His management have been paying you, and you've been paying his management for photo opportunities. It's a headline trade-off.”
Delilah felt sick. Everything they said about her was true. She was nothing more than a puppet to them. A way to make money. It wasn't about the music, it was about the men she was making rich.
“Cancel his trip,” Delilah barked at him, “the deal is off.”
“I can't,” Marcus shook his head, “don't make me.”
“Listen here, Marcus,” she leaned into Marcus's face and pointed her finger sternly at him, her voice as scary as she could make it, “you cancel his trip or I'll be finding myself a new assistant.”
“You wouldn't,” the fear filled his eyes.
“I would, and I will.”
“Tony told me if -”
“Tony put you up to this?”
“It was his idea from the start. He wanted to make you big in Europe and he knew André would help.”
It had all been a sham from the start, and what made it worse, André, Tony and Marcus were all in on it. She wondered how many people at the label knew. Were they all laughing at the 'arrangement' when she was thinking that a world-class model was interested in her?
“Cancel it,” she repeated again, “I'm done with this bullshit.”
Pushing past Marcus, she tried to contain the anger as much as she could, but when a runner handed her a microphone to go through the routine one more time, she almost ripped his hand off at the wrist. She burst through the dancers, knocking a girl to the ground as she tried to stretch.
“What are we waiting for?” she barked into the audience.
When the music started up, and the lights lowered on her, she caught sight of Nolan walking back into the studio, with a confused look on his face.
Chapter 15
After the rehearsal, the producers told Delilah they didn't need to do anymore. It was only a Euro Dance song, but Delilah sung it like it was the last song she'd ever sing. All her anger and hatred funneled through the song, to the point where she was screaming out the lyrics. At some points, she stepped out of the choreography to do her own thing, which only caused confused looks from the dancers. The minute she stepped off stage, the applause started again, but she didn't care for it.
It was fake.
It was a sham.
Everything about her was a 'concept' created by somebody else, and she'd just been dropped into it.
Was it because Nolan had pointed it out, or was it because she was sick of people making decisions for her? She was sure it was a combination of both, but the more she looked at Nolan and thought about her life back in LA, the more she found herself being driven towards him.
The entire drive back, Marcus stayed deadly silent in the front, and Nolan fidgeted in his seat, clearly sensing the atmosphere. Outside of the hotel, Marcus jumped out of the car and practically ran towards the entrance.
“What's up with him?” Nolan laughed awkwardly as the car drove away.
The sun was starting to set on the sleepy street, and the shops were all shutting up. Men sat on bikes outside of the hotel like usual, and their eyes were trained on Delilah more than usual. Her hair was still huge, and her makeup was still pretty much intact, but she'd swapped the skimpy outfit for her comfortable vest and shorts, and she was glad when Nolan offered his jacket to her. It wasn't like she was cold, but it was nice to cover up after spending the entire day semi-naked, singing and dancing.
“They got his order wrong at Starbucks,” she mumbled, “or he broke a nail. I can't keep up.”
Nolan laughed, but she could tell from the way his eyes fixed on her that he didn't believe her. How could she tell him the truth without coming off like the bad guy?
They stood awkwardly outside of the hotel, moving from side to side as people hurried up and down the sleepy street. Julia marched out of the hotel and started brushing the front steps. She harked her neck back and spat onto the street, and as if nothing had happened, she carried on with the brushing. Their eyes met for a second, and it clearly took a moment for her to recognize Delilah, but when she did, she filled with disdain and her slightly hairy top lip curled up.
“Have you got any plans tonight?” Nolan asked.
The shadows of his face in the darkening street made him look even more masculine and stronger than ever. She'd never met a man who looked somewhere between tough and nerdy, with such a warm personality.
The mesh didn't seem to fit, but it worked.
“I need to wash all of this off,” she circled her finger around her face, “and then I'm probably just going to get an early night.”
“Right,” he nodded, “you'll be tired after today.”
She nodded sheepishly back to him and dropped her eyes to the pavement. Julia started to brush behind her, and she was sure that the owner was brushing the street dirt purposefully in Delilah's direction.
“What about you?” Delilah asked politely.
She felt uncomfortable. She was somewhere between wanting to pull him in for a kiss and wanting to run and hide from him. Her mind wandered back to what they'd talked about amongst the sunflowers. Nolan didn't like cheats or liars, and Delilah felt like the biggest fraud ever.
“Well,” he started, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice, “I was hoping we could spend it together?”
“Oh,” she mumbled, still not able to look him in the eye.
“But I guess you're sick of me after spending the whole day with me.”
He couldn't have been further from the truth. She was embarrassed that he thought that, because she felt the complete opposite. Was that really the vibe she was giving off?
“I'm just really tired Nolan,” the more she said it, the more she wanted to yawn.
She was tired, but for Nolan, she could easily go without sleep. Did she trust herself to spend the night with him and not mention what she'd found out? How could see keep looking in his eye when she knew all along that she had someone else? Arranged or not, André and her were an 'item' as far as management and the press were concerned.
“I'll let you get your beauty sleep then,” he winked and smiled, but the s
mile looked disappointed, “I'll walk you up to your room.”
They walked in a strange silence. A voice in her head was screaming out to her, telling her to grab the chance to spend time with him. Their days in Spain were numbered and she wanted to spend as much of it with him as possible, but her heart was the one that was stopping her.
When they got to her door, they stopped and Delilah looked at the ground for a moment.
“Are you sure I can't tempt you?” Nolan scrunched up his brows.
It was obvious he was fighting with himself. He looked like he didn't want to beg, but it was obvious that he wanted to spend time with her as much as she did.
“I'm sure,” she said before she had chance to think about it.
Time alone would give her time to think, and time to figure things out. Marcus wasn't likely to bother her all night, and Nolan would be on the other side of the wall. Too close, and too far away, all at the same time.
“I guess this is goodnight then,” he shrugged reluctantly.
They hovered. Do they hug? Do they kiss?
“Night,” she smiled as she pulled her key from her bra.
“Goodnight Delilah,” he bowed his head and headed towards his room.
She watched as he slotted his key into the lock. He lifted his head and half turned towards her. His lips parted, but no sound came out. Whatever he was going to say, he stopped himself and went into his bedroom.
Inside of her own room, she clutched her hair. She could have screamed and kicked the walls down. She wanted to go straight after him, but she didn't know where it would lead.
She wanted him so bad.
She wanted to talk to him.
She wanted to spend time with him.
She wanted to touch and kiss him.
She wanted him more than she'd wanted anything in her life.
Peeling her vest over her head, she kicked her shoes off and dropped her shorts to the ground. In the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror. Under the florescent lighting, she didn't look sexy or hot like she had done in the dressing room, she looked caked in makeup and terrifying. She looked like a clown with lips drawn on too big and eyes too wide. Sighing, she undid her bra, casting it in the sink, soon followed by her underwear.