by Violet Paige
“Thanks, man. Look, I’ve got to get ready for some charity event. I’ll call you later tonight.”
“You, charity?” he choked.
“Another one of their damn directives, but I can’t get out of it.” I looked at my watch. I still had to shower and dig through my closet for my tux. “Call you later.”
I pressed the screen to end the call and sat for a second as the cool air escaped the cab. Linc was as invested in my career as I was. I knew I took advantage of him. I trusted him with my money. I trusted him to represent my interests. But most of all, I trusted him to stay out of my way. He never tried to manage me, and that made him the ideal manager.
Chapter Two
Alexa
“Keep still,” my stylist ordered for the third time.
“I’m trying to send out an update,” I explained. It was hard to concentrate on hair, makeup, and social media obligations at the same time when I was in a contorted position.
“Don’t you have a PR person for that?” Helena twisted my hair above my ears.
I grimaced. I wasn’t going to the hospital benefit looking like Princess Leia. “I do, but I try to upload my own pictures when I can. Fans can tell the difference. This is more authentic.”
She clipped my blond locks into place. “I guess that’s why they call you America’s Sweetheart, because you’re just so darn sweet.” She pinched my cheek in a teasing gesture.
“If I hear that one more time.” I rolled my eyes.
“It’s true though. You can do no wrong. Fans love you. The press loves you. I love you.” She smiled at me in the mirror.
“Well, that’s mutual.” I blew her a kiss.
Helena had been with me from my first album cover. The label threw us together, but there was an instant click between us and I hired her on the spot. She traveled with me on tour. She went to all of my press appearances. Some days I had her come to my house before I went out if I knew the paparazzi was going to be snapping pictures of me, which was mostly a guarantee for anything I did.
The sweetheart image wasn’t my idea. The label thought they could sell more music if I was everything that was missing from today’s country superstars. Alexa Wilde, or Lexi, as they started to call me, was born from a list of attributes on a piece of paper and crafted from a manager, tour director, and producer.
When I started I was okay with it. I would do virtually anything to have my songs played on the radio. And if that meant a squeaky clean good-girl image, then I was willing to sign off on that. It didn’t seem like a bad idea at the time.
The crazy thing was that it worked. The label had been right all the way down to the song selections. I sold more albums the first year than any other of its debut artists.
But I was short-sighted. Now I had to watch everything I wore. Everything I said. Everyone I spoke to. It was a nightmare. I couldn’t sing the edgy songs. I couldn’t wear the tight short dresses. They had created the perfect formula and I couldn’t disturb the ingredients. I had to be a role model.
It was like an ironic joke. Me? A role model? What girl would want the life I had before I was famous? If only they knew. But Alexa Wilde was a creation, and no one knew who I used to be. And people seemed okay with that.
I wasn’t sure I was. I didn’t forget where I came from or how my image was born. I wanted the memories erased. The pain. The humiliation. The struggle to rebuild my life. I wanted every trace of the past to disappear. But that wasn’t reality. It was there when I closed my eyes. It was lurking when I fell asleep. I tiptoed through life, scared one day the truth would come spilling out and this dream would be over.
“Lexi, what if we do half up, half down?” Helena asked.
I shrugged, typing away on my phone. “Sure. It’s for the hospital. So whatever is going to make Jake happy.”
“Nothing makes Jake happy, so why even go there?”
“True.” I looked at our reflections in the mirror. “Then do something that will completely piss him off.” I smiled.
Helena laughed. “I don’t want to get fired, but I have something in mind.”
I settled back in the chair while she went to work finishing my hair and makeup for the show tonight.
Jake had set up this charity event for me. It wasn’t often I was in Austin. My Texas tours usually kept me in bigger venues like Dallas and Houston, but this was another opportunity to show how involved I was with children’s fundraising. It was the cornerstone of my platform. Jake didn’t miss an opportunity to exploit my brand’s generosity.
If I wanted I could probably find another manager. It wasn’t as if I was that scrawny girl begging for nightclub gigs anymore. I didn’t have to beg for another thing the rest of my life. I was Alexa Wilde, America’s Country Sweetheart. America’s poster child for sweetness, virginity, and all things pure. I was the girl you wanted your son to date. I was the girl you wanted your daughter to grow up to be. I was the daughter you wish you had.
After three years of managing me, Jake wasn’t going to let me out of his clutches. Our contract was ironclad. I had it examined when he wasn’t around. I had five more years with him. Until then, I had to make the most of the partnership and ride out my pure and virginal image that sold millions of records.
“Speak of the devil.” Helena rolled her eyes as Jake let himself into my suite. We had rented out the entire top floor of the Austin Gold Hotel. It was impossible to keep my location secret, but at least we could keep things secure.
“You’re not going down there like that.” He moved Helena out of the way to place his hands on my shoulders. “Where did you get this idea?”
I could smell his expensive cologne. He was wearing his standard crisp white shirt and a smug look on his face. Jake had sharp cheekbones and sandy blond hair. He almost looked like he could pass as my brother. His eyes were just as blue as mine.
“I like it.” I tucked a flyaway piece of hair behind my ear.
He shook his head. “No way. Too much eye make up. Too much sex. Not happening.” He pointed at Helena. “Fix her before I take her down for the hotel meet and greet.”
“Meet and greet?” I spun in the seat. “You said this was a benefit concert only. You know how exhausting these things are before I perform.”
He opened a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and poured it into a crystal glass. He twisted the cap on and took a sip. Jake was never shaken. Never off his game. My outburst did nothing to change his itinerary. It was a waste of my breath. I knew it before he even opened his lips.
“Your job is to greet your fans. Those people pay to go to your concerts. They pay for your music. Some of them save up every dime of their week’s babysitting money to get your album. So if you have to spend an hour at a meet and greet, then that’s what you’re going to do.” His blue eyes pierced the air. “This is charity, Lex.”
“Fine. Then I’m going like this.” I threw off Helena’s hands.
“Don’t test me,” he warned.
“It’s not a test,” I challenged. “It’s called style. My fans can’t expect the same innocent farm girl act forever. We both know I wasn’t raised on a farm. Styles change. I should change with them. Let me grow with my fan base.”
He huffed. “Sweetheart, you don’t ever have to remind me where I found you.” He threw the water down the sink and straightened his jacket.
My shoulders stiffened. It never failed. Jake would bring up how we met whenever he got the chance. He wanted me to know there was always a card he could play to tug me back in line when I started to step out of the circle he drew for me. Some days the circle was bigger than others. It depended on his mood. I could tell today it was barely enough for me to spin around. I didn’t know what had pissed him off. It we were still friends I would have asked.
My chest tightened. I wasn’t the only one with a secret, but I didn’t know if I had it in me to shred him the way he could rip me apart. What would it take for me to hurt someone like that? Regardless of where our
relationship was now, it didn’t start out this way. Three years ago Jake gave me a chance when no one else would. The part of me that didn’t hate him was grateful for that.
He was the first one to gamble on me. Somehow it created a toxic relationship where I always felt indebted, and yet resentful at the same time. Whatever it was we had, it wasn’t good for me.
He turned to Helena. “You, get rid of the eyeliner and put her in something knee-length. I’ll be back to get you in an hour.” He pasted a fake smile on his face. “Be ready, babe.”
“Jake…” I called after him, but he pulled out his cell phone and walked out the room. I hated the way he mixed pet names that should mean something sweet with vicious threats.
“I tried to tell you…” Helena shrugged.
I raised my hand to silence her. I didn’t want to hear it. As long as I was under contract with Jake I was his puppet. I was his slave. I was his Barbie doll to dress and style how he pleased, shoving a mic and a song in my hand.
I watched as Helena started with my hair from the beginning. I knew what would happen. She’d part it down the middle, wipe the makeup from my eyes, and replace the red lipstick with a dab of light pink lipgloss. America’s Sweetheart always had to look the part.
“We could add some charcoal at the corners. It will be a little smoky and sexy.” She tried to make up for it. “With your blond hair it will really pop.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I smiled. It wasn’t her fault. “He won’t go for that either and it’s a waste of time. I appreciate it. Just keep with the peach tones. He likes those.”
“At least you get to wear the leather boots.”
I grinned. The boots were my favorite. And for some reason, they had become an acceptable part of my image. I could wear them with dresses or jeans. It didn’t matter. The brown leather was embroidered with a darker thread of brown, printing paisleys along the side of my calf.
Other than my guitar, they were the most sentimental thing I owned. I had bought them with my first royalty check. A real country singer needed real boots. I had even worn them out of the store, tossing my beaten up tennis shoes in the box before walking out.
“Always the boots,” I agreed.
The boots were my first foray into starting a fashion line. It was a natural fit to start working with boot designers. I had an entire footwear collection called The Alexan.
I was excited about my new venture in athletic wear. Fans always wanted to know what I did to stay in shape on the road. I posted pictures of my workouts. I posed with my trainer. Truth was I had to workout seven days a week to keep this body going.
It didn’t come naturally to me. Once slice of chocolate cake and I wouldn’t be able to slip into my jeans. Besides, it was a good way to spend my down time on the road. Francisco had gotten creative with our routines. The man was like an artist, but with workouts.
From there it seemed like the next step was to see if I could start selling my own brand of sportswear. I practically wore it around the clock when I wasn’t prepping for an event. Next week I was supposed to meet with the designers who had sketches on my new athletic line. My brand was growing rapidly. It wasn’t only about the music anymore. I was in stores. I was in magazines. I had commercials.
Twenty minutes later I looked at my reflection. “Lexi Wilde,” I mouthed, wondering where the girl was who had fought so desperately to get here. Because I barely saw a whisper of her when I looked at the straight blond hair and the pink rosy cheeks.
I had to believe she was somewhere in there and I hadn’t given up on bringing her back.
“Thanks, Helena.” I stood from the vanity and walked to the closet where my clothes were organized by color. I pulled a white, long-sleeved top from one of the hangers.
As I fastened each of the buttons I thought about why I was in Austin. This was a charity event to help sick children. And here I was pouting about my manager. Angry that I had to do a meet and greet. The guilt surfaced as I sat on the bed to pull my boots up to my calves.
“You ok, Lexi?” Helena packed her brushes into a black case.
I nodded. “Just thinking.”
She sat next to me. “Don’t let Jake get to you.”
“No, it’s not him. Well, only partially him.” My eyes drifted toward her. “Do you ever feel like we’re in fishbowl? Like everyone is watching us?”
She put an arm around my shoulder. “I see you in that fishbowl, honey. But that’s nothing new. What’s going on?”
I shook her off. “Nothing.” I took another look in the mirror and pressed my lips together. “I’m thinking too much about the concert tonight.” There were things I couldn’t even talk to Helena about.
How could she understand the guilt I felt surrounded by the life of privilege I had built? Was there any way to make it sound as if I appreciated it, but yet was completely burdened by my fame and wealth?
I walked into the living room and pulled my guitar from the stand. I sat by the window, staring out over the city. I closed my eyes, and strummed a few chords and let the music I wanted to sing pour out of me. The words I wanted to shout. The sound I wanted people to hear flew through my fingers and my chest as if I needed to get it out before I lost the ability to breathe.
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