Rocked in Pieces

by Bayard, Clara

  I sighed. Spoiled brats. “I’m twenty-three. How old are you?”

  “Nineteen,” she said. “We all are, except Bonnie.”

  Bonnie, it turned out, was the redhead. “I turned eighteen last week, so I’m the youngest. No one lets me forget it.”

  “I understand,” I told her. “Since you’re all of age you can sign and we can start. Just try not to swear on camera.”

  “Deal,” Bonnie said.

  I held a paper out the skeptical Jade. “So are you in?”

  She took it, but didn’t look at it. “Do you get paid for this?”

  “Yeah, it’s my job.”

  “Are you on camera or do you just ask the questions?”

  “Both, why?”

  She smirked. “I was just wondering if there was a lens wide enough to fit a fat bitch like you on the screen.”

  Two warring desires filled me. The first was to shove the rest of the papers in my hand down her horrible throat. The second was to get back in the van and hide. I did neither. Instead, I did my job. I survived over a decade in the foster care system. One snooty blonde wasn’t going to take me down. Especially not now when I was just starting something exciting and important.

  “Good work, Jade. You used your magic eyeballs to see I’m kind of fat. I’m sure your parents are very proud of your ability to see things in front of you. Now, unless you want to tell me some of my hair is pink, that I’m wearing jeans, or some other obvious observation, either sign the form or move out of the way.”

  Little Bonnie clapped and someone else gasped.

  Jade gaped at me for a second and then shook it off. “Whatever, I don’t even like these lame bands. I have better things to do.” She stomped away, glancing over her shoulder to find that no one was following.

  I grinned at the others. “Okay, sign your forms and hand them over. If anyone wants to fix their hair, now is the time.”

  After giving them a few minutes to primp, I gathered them in a line that would fit within the camera’s frame easily. “Guys, remember. Don’t interrupt each other, and no swearing.”

  I stepped out of frame and asked a few questions to warm them up, but all seemed very comfortable on camera. They did well, showing all the necessary enthusiasm without any profanity. That was nice.

  When we finished, I thanked them and was about to head to the next group when Bonnie stopped me with a hand on my arm.

  “What’s up?”

  She smiled, shifting her weight from one foot to the other repeatedly. “That was fun. We did okay?”

  “You were great.”

  “When can we see it online?”

  “I’m not sure, probably tonight or tomorrow, depending. But if you put your email on the release I’ll make sure someone sends you a link.”

  “Oh great. Cool. Um… can I ask you one more thing?”

  “Of course.”

  Steven rolled his eyes and wandered away.

  “How’d you get into this job? It seems really amazing.”

  “It is, so far.” I told her about getting the internship at The Hot Sheet while I was in college and then hired as a freelancer and then getting my own gossip column as the site grew.

  “Oh, wow. Did you study journalism?”

  “Nah. I wanted to write fiction, actually. But they don’t really have internships for that, so I took whatever writing gig I could find. The rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Got it. Do you get to meet a lot of famous people?”

  “Not that many yet, but hopefully I will. I did meet Dream Defiled. And Julia Clark.”

  “Oh, cool. I love Julia. She’s a badass redhead.”

  Remembering our venomous first encounter, I smiled. “She sure is.”

  “Do you like being on camera?”

  “No.” I skimmed my hand over my belly unconsciously. “I kind of hate it, but I’m getting used to it more. And most of the time I get cut out of the footage anyway.”

  “Okay. Uh, thanks for answering my questions.”

  “No problem. It was nice meeting you.”

  “You, too.”

  I nodded and walked over to where Steven was standing.

  “What was that all about?”

  I shrugged. “Not sure, really. She just had a couple of questions. No big deal.”

  “Did you tell her the band wants to murder you?”

  “I left that part out.”

  “Bummer. And it’s a shame you can’t write about that, either. Would be a good story to leak to someone, don’t you think?”

  I shook my head. “Not very newsworthy. I mean, why would they like me?”

  He nudged my foot with his. “Well, I could understand if they knew you better. You’re terrible. But you just met them, they shouldn’t despise you like I do. Not yet, at least.”

  “Dick,” I said, and punched him in the arm.

  We laughed and got ready to shoot a new group of fans.

  The next few hours passed so quickly, I didn’t have time to think about anything but work. We talked to what felt like thousands of Dream Defiled fans, and my face hurt from fake smiling at everything and everyone.

  When we finished there, we headed back to the hotel again for more uploading and checking in. After a long conference call about logistics for the live stream and a long time answering emails and comments on the website, Steven and I passed out fully clothed on the two beds in my room with our dinners sitting on the room service cart between us.

  The next day was the big day. The first real test if the two of us could actually pull off what needed to look like a huge team effort. Steven headed over to the venue early to caucus with the rest of the audio/visual nerds and I was left to prepare for a very long night.

  I texted Becca about timing and met for coffee with a horrifically chipper publicist from the band’s label, Christine. Fortunately, she mistook my desperate desire to get away from her as quickly as possible for efficiency, we got through the business we needed to discuss and parted ways.

  After packing up everything I’d need for the show, I grabbed a cab and headed over to the site of the real madness.

  Even early in the afternoon, the arena was packed. Security, screaming fans and swarming press had created traffic problems and an impressive amount of noise. It took fifteen minutes from the first pass through security to get close enough to a door for the driver to let me out.

  Waving the pass around my neck at pretty much everyone I saw, just to be able to keep moving, I made my way into the backstage area. I’d texted Steven and told him where to meet me.

  By the time I found my way to the green room, my brother was already there and ready to shoot.

  “Nice of you to join us, slowpoke,” he said grinning as he fiddled with a light.

  “Yeah, yeah. This place is insane. Can’t imagine how bad it’s going to be in a few hours.”

  “No kidding. You missed all the excitement this morning. Three paps and a dozen groupies already got booted and arrested. Some of them snuck in yesterday and slept here. The others managed to get in with the crew this morning.”

  “Wow. You didn’t get any tape of that, did you?”

  “I wish.” He set his camera on the tripod and looked at the setup. Apparently deeming it acceptable, he wiped his hands on his jeans and crossed his arms. “You ready?”

  I patted my list of questions. “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Okay, I’m set here, let’s get to it.”

  Nodding, I texted that we were ready, and within minutes Becca appeared with Joe.

  “Hi Ellie,” she said. “Steven.”

  “Hey Becca. Where are the others?”

  She shook her head at me. “Can you make do with just Joe for now? The other guys are running a bit late.”

  I opened my mouth to complain, but then saw the stress on her face and decided to play nice. “Sure.” I turned my attention to Joe. “Have a seat, I won’t keep you long, I know you’ve got sound check soon.”

 
He shrugged and sank down onto the sofa. “No problem. I’ve got nothing else to do right now.”

  “All right.” Becca left the room, raising her phone to her ear, as I gestured for Steven to start filming and sat down across from Joe. “Tonight’s the night. The big Bright Dark Dreams re-launch is here. Joe Hawk, tell me how it feels to finally get your tour underway again.”

  He grinned and began to speak, spouting the same boring shit I knew he’d say, and the fans would devour. It wasn’t great, but it was enough for now. We talked for a few minutes and then I turned to the camera.

  “Listen up, HSTV viewers. For the rest of the night you’re getting something special. The same all access pass I’m wearing around my neck, and you don’t even have to leave your couch. Stay right where you are and catch all the action tonight, streaming live, starting at five o’clock eastern. Don’t miss a thing!”

  I thanked Joe for his patience and we recorded a few more quick promos before I sent Steven off to transmit them to the site. Joe headed back to his dressing room and I checked my hair one last time.

  Once I’d done that and drank a bottle of water, the rest of the band had arrived and it was time for sound check, and then, the actual show.

  Six

  I’d expected to be tired by the time the show ended, but I wasn’t. Instead, I was wired. All the lights and music and people and screaming and everything made me feel like I’d had a gallon of espresso.

  Steven was off shooting crowd things, and I was tucked backstage to catch the band exiting with my little DSLR. It was interesting to watch the guys onstage from so close. With everything that Dream Defiled had been through lately, I figured it would show. And in some ways it did, but not in a bad way. Their stage chemistry was still fantastic, and their professionalism shined through. But there was a new dimension to their performances. Something raw, almost frenzied. It was something I’d seen in videos of their very early shows in tiny clubs. Now, whether it was the loss they’d all suffered or the strained relationships between them, every song spoke of a wildness you rarely see in such famous groups. It was compelling and dangerous. Great entertainment.

  As each of the guys passed me, I just filmed them silently, scanning their smiling faces and exhausted bodies. I wasn’t sure what I’d do with the footage, but I felt like I had to capture it.

  Dex came by first, followed by Rick. Matthew followed them and I made sure to keep my face hidden behind the camera. But through the lens, his stare burned into me. He stopped close to me, t-shirt stuck to him with sweat, outlining every inch of lean muscle.

  My mouth watered and I worried I might fog up the camera, so I looked away, focusing on Joe as he trotted offstage. When he reached me, he slung an arm over Matthew’s shoulder and grinned at me. “What did you think?”

  “I thought it was great. How about you?”

  “Killer. Best show of our lives, no question.” He raised his fist and hooted, making me laugh. Apparently he was feeling kind of wired as well. “Now, we party,” he shouted, dragging Matthew away.

  I panned over to the empty stage for a few seconds and then shut off the camera. We’d gotten permission to film a little bit at the after party, which was great, but I also really wanted to have some fun myself.

  At the party, which was held in a gorgeous old mansion on the outskirts of the city, I made sure we got some quick footage of the welcome and speeches, and then stowed all the gear so Steven and I could unwind. While we packed up, I noticed an already stumbling Dex wandering off into the backyard alone, and Julia dancing with the lead singer of Playology.

  I noted both to my brother and he shrugged. “Everyone is having fun. Now it’s our turn.” He certainly didn’t waste any time doing just that. About thirty seconds later, he found a girl in a tiny red dress holding a bottle of rum and I didn’t see him again for the rest of the night.

  “So much for my date,” I muttered, heading over to one of the three bars.

  I got in line and used the wait time to do some people watching. The house was beautiful in that stuffy old antique way and seeing fashionable drunk groups of people dotted around it was kind of funny. I wondered how long it would be before someone broke a priceless vase or puked on a painting.

  Right when I was about to order, there was some kind of commotion behind me and then a shower of ice-cold liquid fell on my back and dribbled down me. I wheeled around, scowling. There was a somewhat familiar looking woman standing in front of me, looking down at the floor. I looked too and saw an intact wine glass and the broken red heel of a stiletto.

  “Oh, I am so sorry,” she said, still not looking at me.

  “It’s okay.”

  The bartender came around and handed me a towel. I wiped at the back of my shirt enough to keep it from dripping and thanked him.

  “My pleasure,” he said. “You can go to one of the powder rooms to clean up if you want. There’s one on either side of the stairs.”

  I smiled. “I’m fine, I think. It’ll dry. I’ll just drink some wine myself and won’t notice the smell.”

  He laughed and looked at the woman, whose face I was still trying to place. “Ma’am, do you need help?”

  She shook her head, sending the mass of red waves out in around her. “I’m fine. And please, call me Laura,” she added flirtatiously.

  I could feel the bartender rolling his eyes along with me.

  He bent over and picked up the glass and her heel and handed the latter to her.

  She batted her eyelashes and him and put her hand on his arm. “Let me just slip these off so I don’t fall over.” She removed her shoes and then finally looked at me. “Hey… I know you,” she slurred.

  “You do?”

  She nodded, pointing her one good heel a little too close to my face. “You were at the show. Backstage.”

  “I was.” The bartender and I exchanged a glance, and he headed back to work.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ellie.”

  “Hmm. I don’t believe I know anyone by that name. Here, hold these.” She shoved her shoes into my hand and reached down into the bodice of her dress. She pulled out a phone and tapped the screen a few times. “No, no. No Ellie.” She squinted up at me and then frowned, and suddenly I knew exactly who she was.

  “You’re Laura Clark?”

  She tossed her head and smiled, thrusting out her chest. “I am.”

  “Julia’s mother.”

  Her lip curled up in a sneer. “Manager. Julia’s manager. We still haven’t established who you are, however.”

  “Ellie Martin. I work for Hot Sheet TV.”

  She cocked her head to the side, thinking. “Martin… Martin… oh. Oh my, yes. You’re the woman who wrote those gossip columns about my dau- er, client.”

  I sighed, resigned to getting another lecture about being a plague on humanity. But she surprised me by wrapping her arms around me and squeezing tightly.

  “Those were fantastic, dear. Really excellent. I can’t tell you how many calls we got around those stories.”

  “I… I… okay.”

  She pulled back and grinned at me before reaching down into her bust again. This time she pulled out a little gold card holder. She opened it and handed me a business card. “Look, if you ever need someone to verify a tip, let me know. Or just keep in touch and I might have something for you every now and then.”

  I took the card. “Um… sure, thanks. But actually, I’m working on something different now and…” but it was pointless. She wasn’t paying attention to me anymore. A man with silver hair in a gorgeous suit walked past us and her eyes zeroed in on him like a missile. She snatched her shoes out of my grasp, muttered something like goodbye and padded after him.

  All I could say was, “Wow,” as I turned back to the bar.

  The bartender asked the person he was serving to wait and handed me a glass of white wine. “To match your back,” he said.

  I laughed and took it, wandering off as I sipped it slowly.
My back was starting to feel sticky, so I went in search of a bathroom where I could do a more thorough job of cleaning up.

  All the ones on the first floor were occupied, so I went up a grand staircase to the second level. It was quieter up here. There were still party guests, but most seemed to be either sneaking off to do something private or sitting in corners chatting about who knows what.

  After strolling down a hallway lined with paintings of roiling seas, I found an open bathroom. I pulled my shirt up and wiped off my back as much as possible. Once I was done, I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled.

  “Sticky stinky wine back or not, looking pretty good, El.” I reapplied my lipstick and went back outside. I wandered a bit more and found my way to a set of French doors leading to a large balcony. There was a small table and set of chairs, and a line of potted plants framing the view of the large backyard surrounded by dense forest. A few stars were visible in the sky and I sighed happily.

  “Shit, even the sky looks better from a mansion,” I noted.

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  I spun around to see who had spoken. It was Matthew. My mouth went dry.

  “Sorry if I scared you.”

  “You didn’t,” I squeaked. Nice one, dumbass.

  “Good.” He grinned, flashing a row of perfect white teeth. “I was following you.”

  I choked on a breath and tried to cover it with coughing. “Why?”

  “I was curious. Your back is all wet, did you know that?”

  “Yes. It’s a long story.”

  “Ah.” He leaned against the wall next to the door, clearly not in any hurry to leave. “I have time.”

  “Oh. I… it’s not really a long story, I guess. Someone spilled on me. I came upstairs to clean up.”

  Just seeing him made me nervous. Which was stupid. I’d been looking at the guy for a couple of days in person, many months in pictures and videos before that. There wasn’t anything unfamiliar about him. Except the way he made me feel. He just did something to me. It was attraction, interest, sure. But it was also beyond that. Some part of Matthew Daniels spoke to a place hidden deep inside me, one I was afraid of and excited by. Awash in contradiction and confusion, he left me off balance in a way I didn’t understand, but was coming to enjoy. And crave.