European Tour (Rocking the Pop Star Book 1)

by L. V. Lewis

  I sing, and we dance in a semicircle around him.

  Our hard work this week has paid off. Pit Viper’s Fender adds lushness to the music that keeps the crowd engaged. I soar through song after song, transitioning from upbeat tempos with choreographed dance routines to ballads, all while making several small wardrobe changes.

  We begin the finale, “Masquerade.” Pit Viper plays it much as we practiced it for the past three days.

  It’s funny how each artist brings something different to the table. It isn’t as extraordinary as Brody’s version, but it is an excellent rendition. The rest of my crew hasn’t heard Brody’s version and have nothing to compare this to. Naturally, they’re thrilled with it.

  Suddenly, Pit’s rehearsed solo changes. It morphs into a sequence of notes nearly identical to what Brody played.

  I’m stunned, so I miss my return. One of the backup singers covers for me while I gawk at the man.

  Pit is in the zone and doesn’t seem to be aware of my distress. That’s Brody’s solo, not his.

  The lights go down. I race backstage to Brody who stands with a half angry, half suspicious look on his face.

  “What the fuck was that, Sky?” he asks, and there’s a hard edge to his tone.

  “Believe me, I’m just as confused as you are.”

  We turn to look at Pit Viper, who—walking toward us— is wearing a shit-eating grin.

  We don’t have time to question him. The crowd is crying for an encore, and I never refuse a first encore.

  My mother pushes Pit Viper back out on stage before he can reach us and yells to me. “They want you two back, Sky.”

  We can only go back out on stage and do a five minute encore for my and Pit Viper’s adoring fans as my boyfriend watches another man precisely mimic his guitar solo.

  After-concert interviews have already been set up, so Pit Viper and I have to run the media gauntlet. Brody keeps me moving through while my mother handles Pit Viper, keeping his interviews moving from one magazine to another, one radio personality to another, and finally to live television spots. These have been designed to get some good press out before the final two concerts.

  We get to the iconic deejay Donald Jones reporting live to his legions of fans.

  “Skylar,” the deejay starts, “I think my fans join me in my assessment that this was the best concert on the tour. Do you agree?”

  “Yes, D.J., I think tonight’s concert served to unify my pop fans and Pit Viper’s rock fans in a way that hasn’t been done since the King of Pop worked with Eddie Van Halen and Slash.”

  “I think you’re right. Van Halen worked with Michael on his Thriller album and Slash on his Dangerous album. Listen, how did you know about those guys, anyway? You were probably running around in your nappies while at least one of these occurred.”

  He laughs, and I laugh along for the camera. “My P.A. is a music history buff and he shared that bit of information with me.” I figure I owe Brody a shout-out since his solo had been stolen and we hadn’t even had time to try to get to the bottom of that fiasco.

  I smile at Brody. He’s standing just on the edge of the crowd. This interview is live and he doesn’t want to be in the footage.

  “Smart P.A.,” D.J. says. “Now, one final question, because I know you’ve got a few more of these after me. What was going on with the big screen over the stage during the finale?”

  “What do you mean?” Try as I might to keep my expressions pretty enough to film, I can feel my brow furrowing. “I wasn’t aware anything was going on with the marquee.”

  “Well, during the first part of the song “Masquerade,” the graphics sequence displayed Pit Viper’s name, but during the guitar solo, Savage Saban’s name appeared up there. Intentional? Or fluke? Because that solo was awesome and sounded exactly like something Saban would do. That guy had guitar chops that just wouldn’t quit. Pit Viper is fabulous, don’t get me wrong, but it’s like the spirit of Savage Saban was on that stage tonight.”

  My gaze flies to Brody.

  He shakes his head minutely and his eyes plead with me in a way that makes my blood chill.

  I’d been sixteen when I heard the news accounts of The Savages imploding. The backup singer died of a drug overdose and the frontman had fallen off the planet.

  I smile, scoffing. “Come on, D.J., you don’t really think Savage Saban’s ghost was on stage tonight, do you? I mean, I would’ve been flattered if he had taken the stage with Pit Viper and my band. We would’ve blown the roof off this venue tonight. Maybe someday we’ll all collaborate.”

  “From your mouth to the guitar god’s ears.”

  The interview wraps. I walk straight over to Brody. “So, are you him?” I ask quietly through clenched teeth so no one milling around can overhear.

  Brody doesn’t quail under my glare. “Yes,” he says softly.

  “I’m not sure yet how I feel about this, but I’d like to have found out from you and not from some mysterious fluke happening onstage without my knowledge.”

  He keeps up with me as I walk away.

  “Sky, I was going to tell you at the end of the tour, remember? I had no idea this was going to happen, or I would’ve told you today.”

  I stop to take a deep breath. He did warn me. Several times. It’s practically unfair for me to be mad, but we so need to hash this out. Everything that this revelation could mean to my career has to be explored—good bad, or indifferent. “Let’s just get through these interviews, okay?”

  “You’re right, this isn’t the time or place to discuss it,” he agrees.

  We walk the few yards to the next interview and plaster on smiles that probably neither of us really mean right now.

  Malik is waiting for us just outside the venue’s back door to help us get to the limo.

  A few fans are lining the narrow walkway on either side of the exit, having somehow scored the opportunity to see the stars off as they leave.

  I put on my smile again and wave.

  Brody hands me a Sharpie marker. I sign everything the fans hold out for me to autograph, moving toward the limo as I do.

  I’m avoiding a conversation I know we need to have, prolonging the inevitable.

  Brody follows dutifully behind me and Malik blazes a trail for us as he always does.

  Pit Viper exits the venue, calling out to me, “Skylar!”

  We’re almost to the limo. Close, and yet so far. I sigh.

  He pushes through the crowd, refusing to sign any autographs.

  Brody hurriedly ducks me into the car, but can’t get the door closed. Pit Viper catches up.

  “What do you want?” Brody spits to him. “Haven’t you done enough?”

  “Just move your ass over and let me into the car. I’m still your elder…Saban.”

  What? Seems as if everybody knew who my boyfriend really was, except me.

  We form a nice little celebrity trifecta on the facing bench seats. Pit Viper speaks first.

  “I heard what happened on the screen the same way you guys did, during an interview with D.J.”

  “So, we’re supposed to believe you didn’t do that to get back at me somehow?” Brody asks.

  “Son, I have no hard feelings against you. You were a sick fuck when I first met you. I’m just glad to see you healthy again.”

  “Then who’s behind this? Are we to believe you played the solo, but didn’t have the engineer put my name on the screen?”

  “That’s right. I played the solo given to me by your mother, Sky. She sent me the audio via email before I flew out here. She said it was a surprise for you, so I shouldn’t tell you. I wasn’t sure what kind of fucking game she was playing until I heard about the screen malfunction.” He looks at Brody again. “And I wasn’t sure you were Saban when I met you at the restaurant. I just put that all together tonight.”

  “How?” Brody asks.

  “Never met another fucker with eyes as blue as yours who could play like what I heard on that CD. Once DJ ment
ioned your name, it all clicked into place.”

  Brody grimaces.

  “After what went down tonight, I began to think there’s something foul going on here, and I didn’t want no fucking part of it.”

  I look at Brody. “Is it too much to hope that other news outlets won’t pick up the snafu from tonight and out you once and for all?”

  “I’m not as worried about myself right now as I am about what your mother could do to further hurt you,” he says with a frown.

  “I didn’t know my desire to tour without her would push her to such lengths. I suppose on some level, she feels like you’ve taken her place in my life, and she’s retaliating the only way she knows how.”

  Brody smiles and takes my hand. “Do I even still have a place in your life? I seem to recall that I haven’t been as straightforward as I should’ve been about my past and my identity. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you with the whole story from the beginning.”

  I squeeze his hand back. “You were probably right to feed me bits and pieces, because I don’t know if I could’ve handled the whole truth all at once, if I’m being honest.”

  He pulls me into an embrace. “I promise not to withhold anything about me from you again, past or present. I’m going to share the whole truth with you always, beginning tonight.”

  “Hey, don’t go getting all kissy-face back here while I’m riding with you two,” Pit says. “It’s not fair.”

  “Shut up, Max.” Brody says in mock-irritation, then smiles. “I’ve seen you get more than just kissy-face a time or two.”

  “That was in my wilder days. Got my own cook at home and a couple of ankle biters now.”

  “Cook?” I ask.

  “That would be my wife,” Pit Viper says.

  All I’ve ever seen him in is snakeskin and leather, and I can’t seem to think of him as Max, the husband. “And the ankle biters are your children, I take it?”

  “Yep, my wee ones.”

  I am floored. “I would never have known you were a family man.”

  “Looks are deceiving,” he says.

  My mother is a testament to that.

  Maybe from the outside looking in, she has always been the perfect manager and mother, but behind closed doors, she’s not one who can be trusted. No one has had to live through what I’ve experienced with her.

  I can’t wait to get back to the hotel to confront her. I am done with her conniving.

  DAY TWENTY-SEVEN

  Mother answers her door in her matching gown and robe, looking as if she’s been sleeping like someone who has not a care in the world. Guiltless—as if she hasn’t just tried to sabotage her own daughter’s career.

  “My darling girl, what is it that’s so urgent you must speak to me about tonight?” She stifles a yawn. “We do have an early flight in the morning, you know.”

  I stalk into her room, allowing her to close the door.

  I pause before I speak because I am desperate to get the tone of this conversation right. She could very skillfully turn this around on me—exactly the way she did with Connor. This time, I’m not going to allow her to use my mistakes against me, or regurgitate what she believes she knows about the man I love to make me toe the line. I am exceedingly grateful to Brody for boosting my confidence in myself in the ways in which my mother failed.

  Tears gather in my eyes, but I will them not to fall.

  My emotions surprise me. Even with everything she’s done, it isn’t an easy thing to fire one’s mother.

  I clear my throat so I can speak clearly and confidently. I need her to know I mean what I’m about to say.

  “The team and I will continue to the final two concerts on the tour,” I say carefully, “but you won’t be joining us.”

  She stares blankly at me. “I beg your pardon?”

  I really shouldn’t have to spell it out for her, but I’m going to. “I will no longer need your services as my manager. I will give you six months severance, which should give you enough time to either find another position or decide to retire. I’ll provide you with a monthly allowance, enough to live on and take care of your property, either way.”

  “An allow—” She shakes her head and wags a finger at me. “No. Skylar, this can’t be you talking. Brody put you up to this, didn’t he?”

  “Mother, you are so wrong about that. Brody spoke in your favor even though you gave his solo to Pit Viper and put his stage name up on the screen. He’s the reason why I’m not cutting you off completely.”

  “What do you mean? I did share the solo with Pit Viper, because I was trying to help you, but I have no idea what you’re talking about concerning any names on screens.”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You were in perfect position to do it and no one else besides you, Malik, and I knew the solo was composed by Brody. I won’t ask how you figured out his stage name, because it doesn’t matter now. You’re out. Brody will manage me in the interim until we return to LA.”

  “Brody? I helped you to build the Skylar brand. What has he done? Fucked you senseless and poisoned your mind against me?”

  Maybe it would shock her into some semblance of reason if I did tell her just how he does fuck me senseless, but I hold my peace, because that’s none of her business.

  “You’re not listening, Mother. Brody stood up for you because he’s lived being estranged from his grandparents who wouldn’t even entertain the thought of supporting him in the career he loved. He thinks I should cut you some slack, because for all your shortcomings, you tirelessly championed my singing career.”

  “You’d still be on that teeny bopper show and singing at county fairs if it weren’t for me.”

  “That may be true, but I’ll be much better off in the future without you running my career and sabotaging my personal life at every turn. Goodbye, Mother.”

  TWELVE

  BRODY

  DAY TWENTY-SEVEN

  When I hear the door opening to her suite, I know Sky’s back from canning her mother.

  I wait.

  She doesn’t come.

  She shouldn’t have to, though.

  She’s made so many concessions for me, the least I can do is go to her now.

  My heart hammers in my chest as I push the door open and enter her suite. I shut the door behind me and rest my forehead against the cool, wood surface as I gather courage to face her. This isn’t hard for me because I’m ashamed to share all the details of my addiction. It’s hard for me because I’m afraid I will lose her. Somehow in the five and a half weeks we’ve been touring together, she has come to mean more to me than any woman since Kim.

  I turn and move toward her.

  Sky is at the wet bar pouring herself a drink, and I stare from the middle of the room. She’s magnificent—so much more beautiful now that she has truly come into her own musically, business-wise and personally.

  She wears a tight smile and stares back, locking me in the intensity of her gaze.

  I’m okay with her looking at me in this searching way now, as if she’s already mentally prepared herself to peel back the remaining layers of my past, resolved to get to the bottom of all the secrets I’ve withheld from her.

  If Elaine Samuelson has been true to form, she’s unloaded some things on her daughter about me in a final attempt to malign my character, to thwart my ability to manage Sky’s musical affairs. However, that’s not what I’m most concerned about now. I would leave the tour in a heartbeat if I could do so without losing Sky as my lover, best friend—and future confidante. That is where I mucked things up, not trusting her enough to unload all my demons when I shared snippets of my past with her before.

  The space between us feels like a wider chasm than it actually is, and I don’t know if what I’m going to tell her tonight is going to bridge the gap I created with my secrecy and baggage, or make it wider. First things first, though. Right now, I need to hear how she feels about what just transpired with her mother.

  My throat is dry a
nd my heart pounds with anxiety. “How did it go?” I ask.

  She cocks her head to one side. “As well as could be expected, I suppose. Mother was caustic and bitter to the very end.”

  Sky salutes me with her glass and swallows the corner of amber liquid left in the tumbler.

  “She’ll come around,” I say, not sure it’s true, but I hope it is for her sake.

  Sky has never known the heartbreak of parental loss and that’s not something I want for her. Even though her mother essentially betrayed her, Sky will miss the presence of that relationship in her life if she decides to sever ties. I know from experience that it can nearly destroy you if not channeled properly.

  “Only time will tell.” She sets the glass on the bar. “I’m going to wash my face and take a shower.” She suddenly looks very tired. Her eyes are red—either from tears she’s already shed, or ones she’s just managing to hold back.

  I don’t ask if she wants company in the shower. I’ll let her choose whether we will be together tonight now, or later.

  Turning without another word, she provides her answer. Sky disappears into the sanctum of her bathroom, and I saunter back to my own room. A shower sounds good, so I take a quick one, too. Dressed in a T-shirt and pajama bottoms, I go back to her suite to wait for her to emerge from the bathroom.

  In the hotel’s thick terry cloth robe, she’s fluffing her hair with a towel and starts at seeing me waiting on her bed. A delicate hand goes to her throat.

  Stripped bare of the armor that makes her Skylar, she’s Sky—the girl I met at the I.Y.M. office in LA six weeks ago. I don’t want to share the worst episodes of my life that will most assuredly taint her perception of me. My confession will forever alter her opinion of me. But…I must.

  “Do you want to talk now?” I ask, my voice low, uneasy. My fear has always been that she will reject me if I tell her all the details of my shameful fall from grace and the tragedy that ensued.

  She joins me on the bed, looking deep into my eyes. “Yes,” she says. “I want to know everything that’s happened to you—everything that made you who you are.”