The Song in My Heart

by Richardson, Tracey

  Dess had watched a YouTube clip of Erika’s performance first thing this morning, and while she shouldn’t have been surprised, Erika still managed to astound her with how fearlessly and commandingly she moved around the stage. She was sexier than ever, if that was possible—her thighs looking rock hard in their tight jeans, her tight leather vest hugging her fabulous breasts. Her face was as classically beautiful as ever—the generous mouth and luscious red lips, eyes the color of night that could swallow you whole. Dess had trembled at the sight of her.

  “She was going places with or without any influence from me,” Dess finally said. “God, her voice sounds better than ever, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t even think she’s hit her stride yet with her voice.” Sloane whistled. “Imagine what the world’s in for when she matures into it? Oh, and she’s hitting the recording studio next week to get a couple of singles out.”

  Dess smiled into the receiver. Hearing about Erika this way and seeing the clip of her latest performance gave her a dizzying sense of satisfaction. She’d been right to push Erika to pursue her career, no matter how painful the sacrifice.

  “How is she doing otherwise, Sloane?” Dess was almost afraid of the answer.

  Sloane hesitated. “She misses you. She’s hurting. But…”

  An intake of breath stalled in Dess’s chest. “Tell me.”

  “I think she finally understands that she has no choice but to keep moving forward, professionally…and personally.”

  Dess leaned against the porch railing for support, closed her eyes against the fresh wave of pain.

  “Good. That’s good.” She trembled, and it took every ounce of her strength to keep her voice from failing her. She didn’t want Sloane to hear how much she was hurting, even as her heart tumbled into her stomach.

  Tonight, she thought, she’d look at the stars and hope that, wherever Erika was, she was doing the same.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hitting the recording studio was not nearly as much fun as Erika had anticipated. It sucked, actually. At least, compared to performing in front of a live audience. Recording was pure drudgery, she had quickly learned. It was tedious and repetitive and required long hours of standing around, waiting for others to do their part. It took three days to learn and record the song, called “Down Where You Belong,” which had been penned by a blues band from Tennessee that Dayna knew. A half-hearted attempt to convince Dayna to let her record one of her own songs was quickly dismissed. According to Dayna, Erika was nowhere near ready to record anything she’d written herself. She had a solid, proven formula, Dayna told her, and by God they were going to stick to it.

  The latest tactic in Dayna’s so-called rock-solid plan was for Erika to attend MTV’s annual music video awards later this week in Inglewood, California. She wasn’t nominated for anything, hadn’t been selected to perform or to present. Hell, few people at this echelon of the industry even knew she existed. Next year by this time, they’ll be stepping on top of one another to get to you, Dayna had promised her. But for now, it was important to network, to be seen as though she belonged there with the likes of Beyoncé, Katy Perry, Imagine Dragons, OneRepublic.

  Erika was skeptical. She would be an interloper, practically a nobody. “And exactly how am I supposed to make an impression?”

  Dayna triumphantly retrieved a magazine from her briefcase. It was a copy of Us Weekly, featuring a photo and article of a twenty-six-year-old-up-and-coming actress who’d just filmed her second feature film—a romantic thriller with Bradley Cooper.

  Erika crossed her arms over her chest at Dayna’s shit-eating grin. The woman had more tricks up her sleeve than a magician. “Okay, I’ll bite. What does Bethany Dunlop have to do with anything?”

  “Lots, I hope,” Dayna said. “You’re going to be her date at the MTV awards.”

  “Get serious.” Bethany Dunlop had been called one of the world’s top ten beautiful people, and last month she’d been crowned by People magazine as the country’s most eligible bachelorette. She was a lesbian, and she was out. But what the hell would she want with an unknown singer when she could be on the arm of someone in the same celebrity stratosphere? Someone who, like her, was a household name?

  “I couldn’t be more serious,” Dayna said, growing animated. “Her manager owed me a favor. And after Bethany watched a YouTube clip of you, she happily agreed. Said you were incredibly hot and that she wanted to get to know you better.”

  “Christ, Dayna. Anyone else you want to prostitute me out to? Do I have to fuck her too at the end of the night?”

  Dayna leaned back in her chair and unceremoniously hoisted her Prada-sheathed feet onto her desk. Her laughter filled the large, pretentious office. “That’s rather a personal decision. But if it were me…” Dayna stared dreamily at the ceiling. “I’d fuck her like a cowboy.”

  Erika rolled her eyes. Whatever the fuck that means. It occurred to her that Dayna had a second agenda with this little ploy. Parading her around on the arm of a hot young starlet would further sabotage any chance she might have of getting back with Dess. Not that that seemed like even a remote possibility. She hadn’t seen or heard from Dess in three months now, and she doubted she ever would again. Dess had made it abundantly clear that Erika was on her own, that chasing her dreams meant there was no chance for them.

  “Fine,” she finally relented. “Whatever.” There would be more of this phony crap, she fully expected. Staged alliances with people who could supposedly boost her career, pretend friendships with celebrities, appearances that would maximize her exposure. The blind date with Bethany would hardly register as a blip on the bullshit meter six months from now, she supposed.

  A limo picked her up promptly at seven. Though she accepted it as part of doing business, she was still annoyed by the whole maneuver. How dare Dayna pass her off like a piece of meat! And who was to say this Bethany wasn’t going to be a stuck-up bitch? Or a head case? It was going to be a night from hell, no matter how it was sliced, she decided. Would she be expected to bow in Bethany’s presence? Walk three paces behind her? Would Bethany act like she was doing her a huge favor, letting her tag along as her date?

  She’ll probably ditch me the minute we get there, Erika thought, then decided that might not be such a bad thing. Let the photographers get their red carpet shots, then sayonara, baby.

  The limo stopped before a one-story, Spanish-style bungalow in Brentwood. Moments later, Bethany Dunlop emerged. Along with a man. A very flamboyant, slender man in a Popsicle orange tux who minced his way to the car. Perfect, Erica thought. I’ll be a third wheel, and they won’t even miss me when I slip away.

  “Hi,” Bethany said, extending her hand to Erika as she climbed into the back seat beside her. “I’m Bethany. How do you do?”

  She was pretty. God, she was pretty. Gorgeous. Her blond hair was up off bared shoulders that were as creamy as satin. Her eyes were emerald green, matching her very expensive-looking earrings and necklace. Her lips were done in a pale pink shade of lipstick so as not to draw attention away from her eyes and her ridiculously snow-white teeth. She was a Barbie doll. A perfect specimen. And completely out of Erika’s league.

  “I’m well, thank you,” Erika managed to squeeze from an impossibly dry throat. With a moist palm, she shook Bethany’s tiny, smooth hand. “I’m Erika Alvarez.”

  “And I’m Raymond,” said the orange-suited man who climbed into the seat across from them. His dark, thinning hair stuck up in about three different directions. He held out a hand as limp as last week’s bouquet of flowers. “I’m Bethany’s assistant. And her best friend.”

  And you’re higher than a kite, Erika thought, shaking his hand.

  He leaned forward, giggling. “Don’t worry, girls, I won’t intrude on your privacy tonight. I know how to disappear.” He winked and laughed in a soprano voice. “Poof! Just like that, Raymond disappears. You watch.”

  Erika stole a glance at Bethany, who gave her a benign smile.
Her eyes, however, said she wanted to do Erika right here in the back of the limo, as soon as they could ditch Raymond.

  Oh, shit, Erika thought, her palms really sweating now.

  * * *

  Dess sat at her computer, a glass of wine in her hand. She’d taken to drinking a glass or two a night lately—something she’d not been in the habit of doing for years. Back then, it was because of the stress and exhaustion from her performance and travel schedules. Now it was the aching hole in her heart that only alcohol seemed to soothe. She couldn’t shake Erika from her mind, her heart. Maybe if she, like Erika, had something to move forward with, her emptiness would not be so crushing. She shook her head, thinking how naïve she’d been to think she could go back to her predictable, staid, safe life.

  Through Sloane, Dess had heard that Erika would be attending the MTV awards tonight, and like a love-struck teenager—or maybe a loser who had to resort to stalking—Dess clicked on the live stream of the ceremony on her computer. The event wouldn’t air on television until tomorrow night, and she couldn’t wait for that. Pathetically, she wanted—needed—to see Erika, no matter how brief a glimpse.

  Dess squinted at the grainy footage of couples strolling the red carpet, looking resplendent as they stopped briefly to pose for photos or for a quick word with a fan or a journalist. Jay-Z and Beyoncé, Carrie Underwood and her hockey player husband, Rihanna and her date (not Chris Brown!), Taylor Swift—a steady stream of the beautiful and the powerful. For a moment, Dess was transported back to what seemed like just yesterday when she was strolling down red carpets with Dayna on her arm. Of course, Dayna had lapped up all the attention like the glamor slut she was, while Dess had treated it as an obligation to be endured. It was like running a gauntlet of blinding camera flashes, microphones, arms jutting out for autographs—all for the sake of being seen as someone who mattered in the entertainment industry. God, I’m so glad that stuff is behind me, Dess thought, taking another sip of wine.

  It seemed that dozens of couples had strolled past the camera before, finally, Erika appeared. A flutter, so sweet and familiar, began in Dess’s stomach as Erika’s sheer beauty stole her breath. Her hair, black and shiny and wavy, hung loosely over her ears and past the collar of her white blouse, which was deliciously unbuttoned halfway down her chest. Her jacket and pants, custom fitted to perfection, were the color of Dess’s glass of cabernet. But her eyes had no more time to appreciate her former lover before she stopped and waited for a tall, slender young woman in a long, tight gown to catch up and latch possessively onto her arm. Dess recognized her immediately—Bethany Dunlop. A hotshot young film actress who’d been nominated for an Oscar for her very first film. It was either great luck or she had one hell of a future before her. She was an out lesbian too, a rarity, although not as rare as when Dess came out at the height of her career more than a dozen years ago.

  And now she’s dating Erika! The thought stirred something dark and granite-like deep within her that she couldn’t immediately identify. Another glass of wine, she decided, might help her figure out why she felt like throwing something against the wall.

  * * *

  Unfortunately, Popsicle guy had melted away from Bethany’s side by the time the ceremony ended, leaving the two women alone. There were more photo ops, more introductions and pretend interest from people whose fleeting glances gave away the fact that if Erika’s name didn’t immediately register, she was a waste of their time. Screw them, Erika thought. If Dayna was right, these same people would one day be eating out of her hand. She thought about how that would feel as she watched Bethany laugh about something out of earshot with one of the stars from the television show House of Cards. Would joining their inner circle make her as phony and pretentious and superficial as most of them? Would she have to check her brain and her scruples at the door? Dess wasn’t like that, and she’d been one of the most famous musical performers on the planet for a while, Erika reminded herself. But Dess was special. Dess was one of the most grounded, genuine people she’d ever known. Even Dess’s confession about railroading another singer’s career had not changed Erika’s respect and admiration for her. She’d had a weak moment, had, for a time, become someone different. But Dess was not that person now, and Erika longed for one more moment with her, one more conversation, one more touch.

  Thinking of Dess this way was always followed by a sick, weary feeling that turned Erika’s legs to rubber, made her head swim. It was followed, always, by a twist of panic in her gut. Which was then chased by the mountain of self-doubt that hovered over her like a shadow. Would any of this ever be worth the price she was paying? It had to be, she thought, because it was the only thing that kept her going.

  “Sweetheart, are you ready to ditch this place?” Bethany purred in her ear.

  Erika bristled. She wasn’t anyone’s sweetheart. Not anymore. “Sorry. I don’t think I’m in the mood for one of the after parties.”

  “Oh, that’s perfect.” A predatory smile played on Bethany’s lips. The tip of her tongue played between her teeth. “Let’s go back to my place.”

  Every shred of common sense told Erika not to do it, but at this moment, she was sick of trying to live up to self-imposed standards that, quite frankly, hadn’t been working so hot for her lately. She didn’t want sex with this woman—or any woman who wasn’t Dess—but the thought of another night alone held zero appeal. Tonight she needed the company of someone who had absolutely no connection to Dess. Someone the polar opposite of Dess and who wouldn’t in the least remind her of Dess. And yes, even if it was with this hollow shell of a woman. At least there’s no danger of me falling in love with her, Erika thought with some consolation. That part of her was reserved only for Dess.

  “Joint?” Bethany held out a gold-plated cigarette case to Erika in the back of the limo.

  “No thanks.”

  “God, you’re boring.” Bethany threw her head back and laughed. “Honestly, it’s okay. As long as you’re not boring in…” big green eyes danced in Erika’s direction “…other areas of your life.”

  A hand crept onto Erika’s thigh, lightly massaging. Bethany snuggled closer, laying her head on Erika’s shoulder, moving her hand higher, feathering it down to the inside of Erika’s thigh, leaving no doubt of the possibilities that lay ahead. Erika flinched as the contact came within an inch of her crotch, but she didn’t push Bethany’s hand away. I’m not that much of an angel. Not tonight.

  Dayna’s advice flooded back to her. Get a few dates out of Bethany, she’d said in a tone that implied it was not merely a suggestion. Those dates will get you more press than eight months of trying to get it on your own, Dayna said. The idea of using Bethany—or anyone—made Erika’s skin crawl. But as Bethany’s long thigh slid against her own, it occurred to her that maybe everyone in this business ended up using each other one way or another. Perhaps, she thought, as her breathing intensified with every new stroke that neared her center, using people is simply an unavoidable part of playing the game. And you want to be a player in this game, she reminded herself. You are a player in this game. This is not about you, the person; this is about Erika Alvarez, the future star.

  Bethany’s slender fingers skittered across her clitoris, circling it like a shark zeroing in on its prey. Her breath lodging in her throat, Erika tried to back up against the seat, but there was nowhere to go. Bethany began kissing her neck, her throat, as her hand pressed harder, faster, cupping and stroking Erika now for all she was worth. Oh, Christ Erika thought, squeezing her eyes shut, wishing for once that her goddamned body wasn’t so responsive to the touch of another woman. I’m going to come, and it’s going to be the most useless, unsatisfying orgasm of my life.

  “I want to see how hot you really are,” Bethany whispered, nipping at her earlobe, her hand urgently unzipping the fly of Erika’s pants and slipping inside to continue her explorations. She palmed her clit in a back and forth motion.

  “Aw fuck.” Erika groaned at the orgasm that
had a mind of its own. She came against Bethany’s hand, thinking all the while how stupid this was, how weak she was being.

  “Oh, yes, that’s what I like, baby. I like making you hot. And making you come.” Bethany’s hand retreated from inside Erika’s pants, reached for Erika’s closest hand, and thrust it up her dress, between her own moist thighs. She wasn’t wearing underwear. “My turn.”

  Erika didn’t need to be told twice.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  When Dess returned to her condo with Maggie, both of them wet from a soaking November rain that pelted them with icy needles from the sky, her sister Carol was waiting inside for her.

  “Hey, you,” Dess said, shaking off her raincoat and hanging up Maggie’s leash in the front hall closet. “This is a nice surprise.”

  “I took the liberty of starting a pot of coffee. Hi, Maggie, how’s my sweet girl?” Carol scratched Maggie’s chin—the only dry spot on her. The dog lapped up the attention until her wet wiggling became too much, and Carol gently shooed her away.

  “To what do I owe this surprise visit?” Dess poured them both a cup of coffee.

  “To invite you to my place for Thanksgiving. Mom’s coming too, of course. And Sloane.”

  Dess glanced at the wall calendar. Thanksgiving was just sixteen days away, and she wondered how she’d forgotten it was so close. But she did know why. It was because the days, weeks, were rolling into each other with little to differentiate them. Playing her guitar, reading, cooking, walking Maggie had, once again, become the landmarks in her life by which she marked time’s passing.

  “Great, I’ll be there.” Dess carried the two steaming mugs to the breakfast bar and set them on the granite counter.

  “Perfect.” Carol dumped cream and sugar into her cup, then lazily opened the Guitar Aficionado magazine Dess had left there. She stopped the flurry of page turning suddenly and Dess knew precisely why. “Holy shit.” A low whistle was her exclamation point.