My Own Personal Rockstar

by Kirsty McManus

  To distract myself, I scroll through his other Instagram photos. There’s one of him with his partner and girls. I look at how happy they all seem together, and my heart breaks a little. I wish I had that. Not with Lincoln—although, of course in another universe that would be the dream—but someone who looks at me the way he looks at Rachel and the twins.

  It will happen for me eventually. I’m sure of it.

  FOUR

  Lincoln

  I’m almost more nervous now than I’ve been at any of the previous elimination shows on Sing to Me. Maybe because this is real life now, and not a game.

  I head inside a non-descript building on King Street in Sydney’s city centre. Apparently, this is where Max Hargreaves, manager extraordinaire, works from.

  There’s no one at reception, so I follow the instructions on the text JC sent me and take the elevator to the tenth floor.

  On arrival, I see there’s no one at this reception desk either, but I can hear music coming from down the hall. I follow the noise, identifying the song as Juicy Wiggle by Redfoo. I hope that is not indicative of Max’s taste. But then, he’s represented JC through a long and successful career, so I shouldn’t judge.

  I reach the office at the end and pause in the doorway. An older guy with a shiny bald head is facing away, looking out the window and moving his head from side to side in time with the music.

  I clear my throat, and he spins around.

  “Lincoln! You made it! Sit down, sit down.” He points to a chair in front of his desk that I belatedly realise looks like a baseball glove.

  I perch awkwardly inside the mitt and smile at Max. “Thanks for taking the time to see me.”

  “Nonsense. I’ve been watching you all season and hearing the good things JC has been saying about you. I know you’ve been through all this bullshit before, so I’ll get straight to the point. You have potential, and I want to make money from that. I’m thinking a national tour with at least thirty dates.”

  “Seriously?” My brain feels like it’s about to explode already.

  “Yeah, I saw the voting data from the show, and you have a lot of fans. Your social media tracks well, too. Do you know your most popular demographic is women in their thirties and forties?”

  I feel my face get hot. “Uh…”

  He laughs. “They see you as approachable. You’re their age, and they remember you from the old days. It’s hard to make a tour work for many of these reality stars, because all-ages gigs don’t sell well, and it’s often kids who watch shows like Sing to Me. But the data showed you appealed to a wide cross-section of viewers. It’s not just the cougars, but women in their twenties, and pretty much all guys over eighteen are fans, too.”

  I’m not sure I agree with him using the term cougar for any woman over the age of thirty, but I get what he’s saying. And I suppose it’s all quite flattering. Obviously, not appealing to teenagers is a little bit of an ego bruising, but I can live with that.

  “That’s really great. It sounds very positive.”

  “It is. So, if we do this tour, can you and your guys be available at a moment’s notice?”

  “Of course. I mean, JC told me to wait until I’d seen you before telling the rest of the band the news, but I’m sure they’ll be as excited and ready for this as I am.”

  “Good, good. I’ll have my assistant talk to your assistant, blah, blah, blah.”

  I don’t want to tell him I don’t have an assistant, so instead I say, “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  “Please, just call me Max. None of that ‘sir’ crap.”

  I smile. “Sorry. Max.”

  “Okay. Now get out of here. I have a waxing appointment in five minutes, and the woman is coming here to the office.”

  I blink. Right. I don’t want to ask what he’s having waxed. “No problem. Thanks again. I’ll…uh…see myself out.”

  I stand up and leave the office, dazed. Did that really just happen? Could it be that easy?

  I get out my phone and call Rachel. She doesn’t answer, so I leave a message for her to call me back. Out on the street, I head in the direction of my hotel, not really paying attention to my surroundings. I don’t come to Sydney very often, so I should be making the most of it, but I’m too distracted. I’m going on a national tour!

  I can’t wait to tell the guys. And thank JC! I lean against a nearby wall and shoot off a few texts. I see I have a ton of notifications on Instagram, so I scroll through a few. Most of them are fans, and their loyalty makes me smile. I’m so glad I’ll be able to play for them again.

  And then I see a message from Felix. I was going to call him while I was down here if I had the chance, but he contacted me first. And via a public comment on Instagram, of all things.

  Are you in Sydney, man? You want to meet up tonight at Nicky’s Bar? 9?

  I should probably reply privately, but the odds of being ambushed by a bunch of people at this late notice on a Monday night are small.

  Sounds great. I’ll call to confirm.

  I make my way back to where I’m staying at the Shangri-La. My room has an amazing view of the historical Rocks area, with the Harbour Bridge in the background to my left and the Opera House to my right. It doesn’t get much more iconic than that.

  I stare out at the scene, intermittently being interrupted by phone beeps from the guys replying to my text. They sound as excited as me.

  My phone finally rings with Rachel responding to my voice message.

  “Hey!” I say, knowing I sound like a little kid hopped up on too much sugar.

  “Hey. How’s your work thing?”

  “Actually, I didn’t want to ruin the surprise until I knew for sure, but I just came from a meeting with Max Hargreaves. He manages JC’s career.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, he’s organising a national tour for me and the guys! Isn’t that amazing?”

  She takes a split second too long to reply. “That’s great,” she says eventually.

  “What’s wrong? Are you worried I’m not going to be around as much? Because I’ll make sure I’m close to home whenever possible. And the three of you might be able to come along to some of the shows. Maybe Sydney and Melbourne?”

  “Maybe,” she says neutrally.

  “Rach! Why aren’t you happy about this? I thought it’s what you wanted. For me to be successful with my music career.”

  “I guess I just don’t want to get my hopes up. Have you signed any paperwork? How many shows is it? How come they’re not offering you a record deal or any international dates?”

  I laugh. “Honey, you’re getting way ahead of yourself. I literally just came out of the meeting. But Max said they’re thinking about thirty shows! And a national tour is just the starting point. Of course, if it goes well, they’ll start considering record deals and international venues. We just have to take it one step at a time.”

  “But you’ve already paid your dues. Surely, ten years of local gigs is enough to prove you’re worthy of more.”

  “Please don’t worry about any of that. Enjoy the fact that it’s all finally coming together!”

  “I guess…”

  I hear a noise in the background. “Is that the girls? Can I say a quick hello?”

  “Uh, I might have to call you back later. I think Madison is trying to cut Isabella’s hair.”

  “Oh. Definitely sort that out. Call me tonight! I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” she says, sounding distracted. She hangs up, and I look back out at the harbour. Rachel’s reaction wasn’t exactly what I expected, but I’m too excited to let it bother me now. She’s probably just overwhelmed from looking after the girls for a couple of days. Twins can be exhausting.

  My phone rings again almost immediately. It’s Felix.

  “Oh, hey, buddy. I was just going to call you.”

  “How’s my favourite rockstar?” he says, teasing.

  “Good. Great! I just met with JC’s manager, and he’s
organising a national tour for me and the guys!”

  “That’s fantastic! Well done.”

  “Thanks!”

  “Where are you staying? I’ll come meet you, and we can have a celebratory drink before heading to Nicky’s.”

  “I’m at the Shangri-La.”

  “Wow. You really are moving up in the world. Okay, I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  I head for the bathroom to take a shower, a huge smile on my face.

  This is it. I’m on my way.

  ***

  After bathing, I change into some fresh black jeans and a grey T-shirt. I dry off my hair and rub some product through it. It’s hard to make curly hair look good all the time. I wish I had the Sing to Me stylists on hand every day. Not that I enjoy being waited on, but on the days I don’t wash my hair, it looks messy and fuzzy, so I just tie it up.

  I watch a bit of the in-house cable before heading downstairs to wait for Felix. After ordering some red wine, I sit near the window and contemplate how far I’ve come.

  I had a fairly modest upbringing. I’m an only child, but I’m not close to my parents. They’ve always been heavy drinkers, but in the last few years, they seem to have taken a turn for the worse. I’m not even sure they remember they have a son most of the time. They live down near the New South Wales border, so it’s just over an hour in the car from my place. The last time I tried to see them, Dad was out at a pub, but Mum didn’t know which one. And Mum could barely string two sentences together. I tried for years to get them into AA to no avail.

  Eventually, I had to give up—especially once I had children of my own. I couldn’t be dedicating large chunks of time to saving two people who didn’t want to be saved.

  I now only call them on their birthdays. I can’t imagine they’d care if I told them about my tour news. I’d be surprised if they even knew I was on Sing to Me.

  I met Rachel just out of high school, so she’s always known about Mum and Dad. She used to get frustrated with them on my behalf, constantly seeing how they were ruining their lives and ignoring their son. And while Rachel and I have been a bit on-again-off-again over the years, our relationship is a million times healthier than the one my parents have. I think because Rachel and I met so young, we needed a bit of space every now and then to grow as individuals before reuniting.

  But now with the twins, we’ve made the commitment to stay together permanently. We’ve talked about getting married, but Rachel wants to wait until the girls are a bit older and can be left with friends or family while we go on our honeymoon.

  “Lincoln!”

  I look up and see Felix standing over me. I get up and embrace him. Felix is a good friend, but because he lives in Sydney, I don’t get to see him very often in person.

  “Hey! It’s been too long.”

  “I know. Let me just get a drink, and you can tell me all about how you’re conquering the world.”

  I smile and watch as he talks to the bartender. Felix is a very attractive man. Tall, lean, square jaw, and perfect dirty blond hair. He’s also gay, much to the dismay of many women I’ve seen approach him over the years.

  Today, he’s wearing distressed denim jeans and a dark blazer over a stripy T-shirt. I always feel inferior next to Felix. Not only does he have great taste in clothes, but he’s also a smart and confident guy. I have to work extra hard when I’m with him.

  He returns from the bar and sits opposite me, sipping something clear from an old-fashioned glass. “So. Tell me what’s been happening with you since the last time we spoke. I need to know everything.”

  I grin. Felix always knows how to make someone feel special. His company is exactly what I need tonight. And while it feels slightly disloyal to have the thought, I’m kind of glad I’m down here in Sydney so I don’t have to deal with Rachel’s disappointment.

  Right now, it’s all about the celebration.

  FIVE

  Tash

  Because I was up at 5am and I have another early-ish flight tomorrow, I decide I should go to bed soon. But I’m too wound up, and I pace restlessly around my room.

  I use Skype to call Millicent at 8pm so I can see Daisy and say goodnight. I wave at her tiny face on the screen.

  “Hey, sweetie. How are you?”

  “Good. How was your meeting?”

  “It went well. Thank you for asking! And do you know who I saw today?”

  “Who?”

  “Lincoln Page! I got him to write you a message!”

  She squeals. “Really?”

  “Yes!” I hold up the boarding pass so she can see. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

  “He’s really handsome, isn’t he, Mum?”

  “That he is,” I sigh.

  Millicent sticks her head in the frame. “Stop pining after someone you’re never going to see again.”

  “Actually, I know for a fact he’s going to be at a club two blocks away in one hour.”

  “Is he doing a show?”

  “Oh, no. At least, I don’t think so. He’s meeting up with a friend.”

  She narrows her eyes. “How do you know that? Did you steal his phone?”

  “Of course not! He posted it on Instagram.”

  “Well, that was silly of him.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you going to go?”

  “You should go, Mum!” Daisy says, excited.

  “No, I’m not going,” I say firmly. “It would be weird.”

  “Oh, go on. Do it for Daisy,” Millicent teases. “Get a photo of him for her to go along with the autograph.”

  “Hang on. Didn’t you just say I should stop pining for him?”

  “I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore,” she says. “Ryder had a bad dream last night and insisted on sharing my bed, so I barely got any sleep. That kid is like an octopus on caffeine.”

  I laugh. “You poor things.”

  She tilts her head to the side. “You know, if you did go see Lincoln, you could ask him to post a picture of one of your bento boxes on his account. He has a lot of fans, doesn’t he?”

  “About thirty thousand,” I confirm.

  “And he asked about your business.”

  “No. I couldn’t do that. That would be even weirder than just going to the bar to stare at him.”

  “I don’t know. It could mean extra profits. And you’d be able to buy me that Audi for real.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, shutting down the conversation. There’s no way I’m asking Lincoln Page to endorse my brand.

  “Okay, well, we’ll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams!”

  “You, too. Goodnight, Daisy. And say goodnight to Ryder for me.”

  “I will.”

  I hang up, shaking my head. Millicent is crazy.

  ***

  All right. Maybe I’m the crazy one.

  After going to bed and failing miserably to fall asleep, I jump back up and put on a pair of skinny jeans with a black halter-neck top. I slide into some white tennis shoes and head out the door, grabbing my purse on the way.

  It’s amazing how if you really want to do something—even if you know it’s dumb—you can find any number of ways to justify your actions.

  And I’ve managed to come up with three perfectly good reasons why I should be going to Nicky’s Bar right now:

  1. I didn’t eat a proper dinner, so I’m actually quite hungry, and I don’t want to pay the extortionate prices they charge for room service at the hotel.

  2. I may have misunderstood Lincoln’s Instagram post, and he could be performing tonight after all. It makes sense because you’d have to be pretty clueless to tell thirty thousand fans you were heading out for a quiet drink with a friend. It could be a marketing ploy, and he’s really doing one of those ‘secret’ gigs like the one Prince did in London that time.

  3. Okay, I don’t really have a third, but I’m going to borrow Millicent’s suggestion and pretend that I
might actually ask him to endorse my brand. I would never really do that, but two reasons didn’t quite seem enough.

  Despite my justification, I know this is a bad idea. I should have at least worn a hat. My flame-coloured hair stands out a mile away. The only consolation will be that the club should be so busy, there’s no way Lincoln will spot me.

  But when I reach the entry, there are fewer people than I expected. I suppose it is a Monday night, and Lincoln only posted the message a few hours ago. Plus, not all his fans would be over the age of eighteen and living in Sydney. But still.

  I contemplate turning around and going back, but I figure I’ve come this far. I might as well have one drink.

  I head inside. The place isn’t particularly big, but there are at least fifty people scattered about. Enough for me to not be immediately recognisable.

  I stand against the wall and do a quick scan of the nearby faces. No Lincoln.

  I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. I go to the bar and order a mojito, taking it over to a white leather couch in the corner where I won’t look so obvious. It’s been forever since I’ve visited a place like this. Single mothers don’t get a lot of free time.

  At least the music is fun—a continuation of the nineties pop that was playing in my hotel room. I bob my head along to Everybody by the Backstreet Boys and sip my cocktail while reading the food menu. I start to relax, and I’m glad I came out. I deserve to celebrate after my success today.

  And then my stomach does that swoopy roller-coaster thing as I notice Lincoln and another guy walk over to the bar. I assume he’s with his friend Felix. Did they just arrive? I hope they haven’t already seen me.

  God, what am I doing? I was worried about what he’d think if I followed him on Instagram, but having him spot me here would be a million times more embarrassing!

  I figure I’ll finish my drink and discretely leave when they’re no longer standing in the path to the exit, and he’ll never know I was even here.

  They collect a couple of beers and start making their way over to my part of the club. I prepare to be sprung and brace myself for the impending mortification.