by L. V. Lewis
She massages her temples like she suddenly has a terrible migraine. “He’s a smart one, I’ll tell you that,” she says calmly, then laughs chillingly. “Giving you bits and pieces of his past—reeling you in just as neat as you please. But, you mark my words, honey; he’s going to lower the boom on you, leaving you bereft. Of course, that’s if he doesn’t relapse first.”
Exasperated, she retrieves her purse and gloves from the chair. “I’m exhausted, so I’m going to head to my room, so I can take a nice, long shower before the concert. I suggest you do the same.”
I turn my head away from her. “Jenny’s on her way here to do my hair and help me organize my wardrobe changes. We’ve done three whole concerts without your help or direction, so I’m sure we can do the next three without you, as well…”
She sighs, and opens the door. “I sincerely hope that’s the case, my dear.”
She can’t just leave without having the last word.
I peek out from backstage to take in the epic crowd we have amassed in Madrid. The lights are dramatically low as Alyssa performs “This Song Is For You.” She holds the final note and magnificent fireworks explode. The packed audience goes nuts for her finale. Pit Viper is worth every penny of my investment. This crowd is almost twice as large as the one we had in Berlin.
“Five minutes until show time,” Brody whispers against my ear.
I smile and lean back against him. He is my rock—my home—my love.
Alyssa runs backstage straight into my arms once the fireworks are done. A partition goes up so the set can be changed, and Brody and I share a group hug with her. “Sky, the crowd is sick tonight. You gotta kill it, girl.”
Nervous, but excited, I exclaim, “I will. I promise.”
She continues in the direction of her dressing room.
Brody and I walk together onto the elaborate set where a trapeze is set up for my grand entrance. He helps me into the device and fastens the harness. He looks around, so do I.
The crew is busy with last-second preparations, so we take the opportunity to kiss.
“I’ll be standing in my usual spot,” he says. “Let’s give those gossip rags something to write about this week.” He laughs.
I nod and say, “Will do.”
My band members take their places on stage while Pit Viper waits in the wings for his cue. He’s supposed to enter from the left and join the band after I’m lowered onto the stage and the dance routine begins.
The pulleys engage, raising me high into the scaffolding that holds the giant klieg lights, and I look down. My obnoxious mother is waiting in the wings, her lips pursed in displeasure.
What else is new? She disappeared during Alyssa’s show, and I assumed that she was sitting the show out in the green room. We haven’t spoken since our “Come to Jesus” meeting earlier, and she had found her own way to the concert, refusing to ride in the limo with Brody, Malik, Alyssa and me.
My stomach flutters and fizzles like champagne, and I take a deep breath. Most performers get a little nervous before going on stage, and, even being as experienced as I am, I know if this didn’t happen, I’d probably turn out a lousy performance.
The dancers take their places.
I lower the hands-free mic to my lips and flip the tiny switch on the battery pack strapped under my costume. My heart leaps, but I don’t dare make any sound because the mic could already be live.
The stage engineer’s voice finally feeds into my earpiece. “Ready, Skylar?”
“Yes.”
The lights come up, and the music begins to play. The countdown also begins in my ear.
I start singing at my cue as I’m lowered onto the stage. The crowd erupts into cheers, and I begin my set with “Love Me Now.”
My feet touch the stage and I release the harness. We’ve rehearsed this to death so I fall into perfect step with the dancers.
Pit Viper cuts into the song with an intricate string of riffs, as I complete the first turn with the dancers. The crowd goes wild with the legendary guitarist’s entrance, and a spotlight follows him to his mark on the stage.
I sing while 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 transfixed. 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,” and Pit Viper plays it perfectly like he has done 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’s an excellent rendition. The rest of my crew hasn’t heard Brody’s version so they have nothing to compare Pit’s version to. So naturally they’re thrilled with it.
Suddenly his 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 appear to be aware of my distress. That’s Brody’s solo, not his.
The lights go down, and I race backstage to Brody, who has 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 toward the infamous Pit Viper, who is walking toward us wearing a shit-eating grin.
We don’t have time to question him. The crowd is crying for an encore, and I never refuse an encore.
My mother pushes Pit Viper back on stage before he can reach us. She yells to me, “They want you two to come back, Skylar.”
We can only go back out on stage and do a five minute encore for our adoring fans. It pains me that my boyfriend has to watch another man precisely mimic his guitar solo.
After-concert interviews have already been scheduled, so Pit Viper and I have to run the media gauntlet. Brody keeps me moving while my mother handles Pit Viper. We move from one magazine journalist to another, one radio personality to another, and finally to live television spots. The goal is to get good press before the final two concerts.
We get to the iconic deejay, Donald Jones, who is reporting live to our legions of fans.
“Skylar,” the deejay starts, “I think your fans and I agree that this has been the best concert of the tour, so far. Would you agree?”
“Yes, D.J., I think tonight’s concert unified both my pop fans and Pit Viper’s rock fans in a way that hasn’t been done since the time the King of Pop worked with Eddie Van Halen and Slash.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right. Van Halen worked with Michael on his Thriller album and Slash on his Dangerous album. Listen, how do you know about those guys, anyway? You were probably running around in your nappies while at least one of those epic events 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 was stolen from him, and we hadn’t even had time to get to the bottom of it.
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 last question because I know you’ve got a few more of these interviews to go. What was going on with the big screen over the stage during the finale?”
I’m confused. “What do you mean?” I was desperately trying to keep my composure for the camera, but I feel my brow furrowing. “I wasn’t aware anything was going on with the marquee.”
“During the first part of the song, “Masquerade,” the graphics displayed Pit Viper’s name, but during the guitar solo, Savage Saban’s name appeared up there. Intentional? Or fluke? Because the solo was awesome and sounded exactly like something Saban would do. Man, that guy had guitar chops
that just wouldn’t quit. Don’t get me wrong, Pit is fabulous, but it’s like the spirit of Savage Saban was on stage tonight.”
I look over at Brody, partially hidden from sight. He nods, but his eyes plead with me in a way that makes my blood chill.
I was sixteen when I heard the news accounts of The Savages imploding. The backup singer died of a drug overdose, and then the front man fell 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’d taken the stage with Pit Viper and my band, but that just didn’t happen. If it had happened, it would’ve been epic, though, right? We would’ve blown the roof off the venue, I’m sure. Who knows? Maybe someday we’ll all collaborate.”
D.J. laughs. “From your mouth to the guitar god’s ears.”
The interview wraps up, and I walk straight over to Brody. “Are you him?” I ask quietly through clenched teeth so no one milling about can overhear us.
He doesn’t balk under my intense glare. “Yes,” he says softly.
“I’m not sure how I feel about this, yet, but I would like to have found this out from you and not from some mysterious fluke onstage.”
I walk away, and he follows.
“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 and take a deep breath. He did warn me. Several times in fact. I guess it’s unfair for me to be mad, but we so need to hash this out. This revelation could mean everything to my career, which means it has to be explored—good, bad, or indifferent. “Fine, let’s just get through these interviews, okay?”
He nods sadly. “You’re right, this isn’t the time or place to discuss it.”
We walk a few yards to the next interview and plaster on smiles that betray everything we are feeling at the moment.
Malik waits for us just outside the venue’s back door so he can help us into the limo.
A few fans line the narrow walkway on either side of the exit, having somehow scored the opportunity to see the stars off as they leave.
I plaster on a fake smile again and wave to the fans.
Brody hands me a Sharpie marker, and I sign everything the fans hold out for me to autograph, slowly making my way to the limo.
I avoid conversing with Brody. I know I’m prolonging the inevitable, but I’m just not ready to talk about it yet.
He follows dutifully behind me while Malik blazes a trail for us as he always does.
Pit 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 fast enough. Pit catches up with us.
“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? Did everyone but me know who my boyfriend really is? What the fuck?
We form a nice little celebrity trifecta on the facing bench seats. Pit speaks first.
“I found out what happened on the screen, the same way you guys did, during an interview with Donald Johnson.”
“So, we’re supposed to believe you didn’t do that to get back at me somehow?” Brody asks skeptically.
“Saban, I have no hard feelings toward 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?”
Pit nods. “Yes, 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 learned about the screen malfunction.” He looks at Brody again. “I wasn’t sure you were Saban when I met you at the restaurant. I just figured that shit out tonight.”
Brody cocks his head to the side. “How?”
“Never met another fucker with eyes as blue as yours who could play like what I heard on that CD. Once D.J. mentioned your name, it all clicked into place.”
Brody grimaces.
“After what went down tonight, I’m sure that something foul is going on here and I don’t want any fucking part of it.”
I look at Brody. “Is it too much to hope that other news outlets won’t pick up the snafu, outing you once and for all?”
Brody shrugs, helpless. “I’m not as worried about myself right now as much as I am about what your mother could do to further hurt you.” He frowns.
“I can’t believe that my desire to tour without her would push her to such lengths. I suppose on some level she feels like you’re a threat—you’ve taken her place in my life, and now she’s forced to retaliate the only way she knows how.”
Brody smiles and takes my hand. “Do I still have a place in your life? I know I haven’t been as straightforward with you as I should’ve been when it comes to my past and 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 then stares into my eyes. “I promise not to withhold anything about me from you again, past, or present. Sky, I’m going to share the whole truth with you, beginning with tonight.”
Pit rudely interjects, “Hey you two, can you refrain from getting all kissy-face while I’m riding with you. It’s not fair.”
“Shut up, Max.” Brody says in mock-irritation, then smiles. “You’ve gotten way more than just kissy-face around me a time or two.”
“Yeah, well that was in my younger, wilder days. I have my own cook at home, plus a couple of ankle biters now.”
“Cook?” I ask.
“Yeah, that would be my wife.” Pit laughs.
I’ve only ever seen him in snakeskin and leather, so it’s hard to think of him as ‘Max, the husband.’ “The ankle biters are your children, I take it?”
“Yep, my little wee ones.” He laughs.
I am floored. “I would never have guessed that you’re a family man.”
“Looks are deceiving.” He winks, and smiles.
My mother is a testament to that.
Maybe from the outside looking in, she’s the perfect manager and mother, but behind closed doors she can’t be trusted. Plain and simple. No one should have to live through what I’ve experienced with her.
Honestly, I can’t wait to get back to the hotel so I can confront her. I’m done playing her conniving games.
DAY TWENTY-SEVEN
My mother answers the door in a matching gown and robe. She looks like someone who has been sleeping and doesn’t have a care in the world. Guiltless—as if she didn’t just try to sabotage my career.
She rubs her sleepy eyes. “My darling girl, what is so urgent that you had to speak to me about it tonight?” She stifles a yawn. “We have an early flight in the morning, remember?”
I stalk into her room, and she tentatively closes the door behind me.
I pause before speaking mainly because I’m desperate to get my tone right. My mother can be very skillful sometimes, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she turned this whole thing around on me—exactly the way she did with Connor. But this time, I’m not going to let her to use my mistakes against me, or regurgitate what she believes she knows about the man I love in order to make me toe-the-line. The truth is I’m exceedingly grateful to Brody for boosting my confidence in the way that my own mother failed to do.
Tears gather in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
My emotions surprise me. Sadly, ev
en with all of the things 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 understand that I’m serious about what I’m about to say.
“The team and I will finish the final two concerts on the tour,” I say carefully, “however; 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 anyway. “Mother, I no longer need your services as my manager. You will receive six months of severance pay, which should give you enough time to either find another position or retire. I’ll also provide you with a monthly allowance—enough for you to live on, and take care of your property.”
“An allow—” She shakes her head, and wags a finger at me. Her tone is accusatory. “No, Skylar, this isn’t you talking. Brody put you up to this, didn’t he?”
“You are so wrong about him. He actually spoke in your favor even though you gave his solo to Pit Viper and put his stage name up on the screen. Honestly, he’s the reason why I’m not cutting you off completely.”
She’s shocked at my admission. “What do you mean? I shared the solo with Pit Viper because I wanted to help you. I have no idea what you’re talking about concerning any names on screens.”
I don’t believe her. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You were in the perfect position to do it, and no one else besides you, Malik, and I knew it was really Brody’s song. I won’t ask how you figured out his stage name because it doesn’t really matter now. You’re out. And 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 you against me?”
Maybe it would shock her into some semblance of reason if I told her just how well he fucks me senselessly, but I hold my peace, because, really, it’s none of her business.