Rock My World (2 page)

“Have a nice day!” Jenna said.

As the door slammed shut and she waited for the
carpool line to start moving, she watched her daughter stalk off toward the
high arched doorways of expensive private education, yearning for the days of
timeouts and naps solving all behavioral problems.

Beep,
beeeeeep
!
Beeeep
! Her cell lit up with a text from
Airika
telling her when she could pick up her dress. She
was grateful to have such a good friend, who always went out of her way to hook
her up. She and
Airika
had been best friends forever.
Since
Airika
was Erica. They met the summer before
second grade at Jenna’s lemonade stand outside her parents’ house in Malibu.
Even then, Erica could talk anyone into giving her what she wanted, and Jenna
(along with everyone else) was mesmerized. Erica strutted up in her acid wash
jeans, side ponytail and the bright white
Keds
Jenna
had been eyeing for months, and said, “Man, it’s hot! You
wanna
give me a glass of lemonade to cool off?”

Jenna did. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew
then, that this was the coolest girl she’d ever meet. From that day on, they’d
been inseparable. Jenna’s parents tried hard to instill in her a good work
ethic, not spending much money on clothes or private schools or unnecessarily
expensive acting lessons (which she desperately wanted to take). Jenna envied
the trendy girls whose parents took them shopping on weekends, to auditions for
commercials, and let them watch PG-13 movies. Erica’s parents belonged to that
ilk. They thought her time was better spent shopping at designer stores,
enrolling in the most expensive private school, and getting private gymnastics
coaching in case she stumbled upon elite-level talent.

Through recess games and first crushes; through Erica’s
parents splitting up and her transition to
Airika
;
through sneaking out for the first time to go clubbing and getting drunk off
tequila—they’d been thick as thieves. They’d even stuck together when
Jenna got pregnant senior year, and all her other friends stopped speaking to
her. She became a social leper, quietly getting fatter and fatter, the halls
clearing quicker and quicker as she trudged down to the delinquent wing where
they held remedial English, How to Pass the G.E.D. and Parenting 101, while her
above-ground peers studied for the SAT’s.

Airika
was her only friend. Well, except her “baby
daddy,” of course. She was lucky to be one of the few people in the world to
meet her one true love in high school. To think that now, eighteen years later,
they would be preparing to celebrate their anniversary as much in love as ever;
it was more than she could have hoped for, or deserved.

With the world against them, they conquered the
odds and escaped not only the Hollywood curse of doomed relationships, but the
more common one (and less geographically specific) of getting married too young
and growing apart. Jenna was lucky. No one could deny it, not even her.

And
Airika
, now fashion
stylist to the stars, was still looking out for her friend. Why else would she
have booked Jenna’s exclusive fitting with the newest “It” designer,
Karyn
C? She designed the most amazing red carpet gowns,
having just dressed Natalie Portman and Julia Roberts for this year’s Oscars.
Jenna could barely contain her excitement.

Later on, Alex would be flying in from…where was
he? Germany? Hungary? Japan?
 
She
couldn’t keep track anymore. All she knew was he would fly in this afternoon to
take her on a super secret date and she wanted to make sure she looked perfect.

It had been three months since they’d spent more
than eight consecutive hours together. Alex was touring with his band to
promote their new album, leaving her to take care of things at home. It took
its toll, no doubt. But it was an amazing opportunity for Alex—the
culmination of years of hard work to reach this point—headlining their
first world tour.

Plus, she’d been able to convince him to hire
Airika
as his personal stylist, thus ingratiating her into
the world of rock stars (her true childhood dream). Jenna owed her so much and
it felt good to be able to hook
Airika
up.
Airika
came back early from the European portion of the
tour, glowing with excitement. She had a beefed up roster of rock star clients
hoping to replicate Alex’s success for themselves. It was fantastic for
everyone. Jenna was so proud of him and all that he had accomplished. And
tonight, they’d finally get to celebrate.

***

Alex never got used to flying on private jets. Not
that he minded. The food was amazing and as a light sleeper, being able to
fully recline without some random stranger leaning their head on his shoulder
was a bonus. Especially after playing shows almost every night this month.

He couldn’t shake his discomfort that there were
more staff onboard than passengers, catering to him. He tried to rationalize it
as his own contribution to the nation’s employment drought.

When they landed, a town car awaited his arrival,
driver ready to take him anywhere he pleased. Fame meant a lot of things to get
used to—entering establishments through side doors, traveling with
security, paparazzi stalking him. Having someone else navigate L.A. traffic
wasn’t hard to enjoy.

“Hey Max,” he said to the driver. “How’s Shelly?”

“Good, boss. Thanks for asking. Where to?”

“Home.”

“Home it is.” Max said, pulling away from the
tarmac.

A half hour later, they pulled up to a white
mission style home on a quiet Santa Monica street. Its high archways lead into
a Spanish tiled courtyard, opening up to an oversized red door. Alex opened it
and breathed in a sigh of relief. No matter how nice the hotel rooms were on tour,
nothing compared to home.

Their home was a perfect combination of his and
Jenna’s personalities. Bright and open, it was filled with photos and trinkets
collected during their years together. The wall leading from the entryway into
the living room overflowed with black and white photos of Felicity growing up.
Looking at those pudgy baby photos gave him a twinge of nostalgia.

 
He
loved returning home to the competing sounds of indie folk music blaring from
Felicity’s room—the antithesis of his own punk rock roots—and HGTV,
which Jenna kept on 24/7 “for ideas,” she said. She was constantly
redecorating, but the style du jour seemed to be red and white
nouveau-vintage-mod, or something along those lines. It was strange, returning
to an empty house.

Before he could set his bags down, his cell phone
rang. “What?” He demanded. “No, I told you I won’t be able to be reached until
sound check tomorrow. No. No. No. Bye, Simon.” He shook his head at his overbearing
manager and switched his phone off. He felt guilty about lying to Jenna, but
needed time to pull off his big anniversary plan. The quiet of his empty house
was overwhelming, especially in contrast to the gaggle of people who constantly
surrounded him on tour.

The piece of home he missed the most was his
backyard. Having grown up in apartments and high-rises his whole life, it
represented adulthood. To have a backyard meant he was making his own way in
the world—not slaving for a landlord or homeowner’s association. Each
house on their street was built in a different decade with its owner’s style on
full display.
 
He loathed the idea
of living in one of those cookie cutter communities where everything looks identical
and no one can paint their house or forget to mow their lawn. Maybe it was the
adult manifestation of his punk rock rebellion.

He slid on a pair of well-loved jeans and a white
undershirt before heading out to his workroom. He wanted tonight to be perfect.
His body craved the heat of the sun and the sweat of manual labor to transport
him away from his professional problems and bring him back to where he wanted
to be—home.

***

Airika
Thomas left
Karyn
C’s
and headed straight to her office. “Good morning, Ms. Thomas,” her assistant,
Meg, said handing her a triple soy non-fat decaf sugar-free hazelnut macchiato.
“Trevor called from the shoot and says they need more boots because the model
is refusing to wear anything made from animal hide.”

“Who the fuck does she think she is?
Naomi-fucking-Campbell?”

Meg paused before continuing, “Jess says we’re set
on Martine’s dress for the Grammys but we need her for a final fitting today.
But you also have to go to Malibu to meet with Julia’s niece who is going with
the lead singer of Brands of Charlotte, who is slated to win Artist of the
Year. Which do you want me to reschedule?”

“Neither.”

“You won’t have time for that and the photo
shoot,” Meg said, worried.

Airika
rolled her eyes and looked at her assistant with
pity.

“Um, also, Simon had this delivered a while ago.
Phazee
Crux are doing a behind-the-scenes DVD, and they
need you need to sign this waiver.”

“Call Martine, have her meet me at the office for
the fitting. I’ll stop by the photo shoot on my way out to Malibu. And get me
Gisele’s selection for Milan so I can stop by while I’m out there. Do you think
you can handle that?”
Airika
snatched the remaining
messages from Meg, stomped in to her glass-walled office and slammed the
self-closing door behind her, which took its sweet time clicking shut.

Today was turning into a total disaster, and it
wasn’t even lunchtime. What did these dimwits do when she wasn’t here? She
stared out her window at the oracle of the Hollywood sign she paid double the
rent to look at, hoping it would offer the answers she sought.

She was leaving on tour in two days. There was too
much to do and she didn’t trust her team to keep up with her standards while
she was gone. She had to go, though. And before then she needed to convince
Jenna to let Felicity appear in the biopic about Shawn. The director fell in
love with her from her headshot and offered
Airika
a
producer credit if she could get Felicity Anders for the role, knowing it would
lead to a massive boost in press for the film.
 
Felicity approached her months ago
saying she wanted to act but that her mom wouldn’t let her audition. Jenna
wanted Felicity to stay away from the spotlight until she was at least
eighteen, preferably forever. And she didn’t want her own daughter to go around
exploiting her famous grandfather.

Prior to getting knocked up, exploiting her famous
daddy was Jenna’s M.O.; but now, in typical parental hypocrisy, she was above
that sort of vapid name-dropping.
Airika
disagreed.
She knew the power of fame in this town and intended to build her empire taking
full advantage, dropping every name she had in her arsenal, casting the net as
wide as possible.

“
Cici
Hi,”
Airika
drawled in her Coolest-Aunt-Ever voice, pacing the
floor. She hated leaving messages. “So look, Sweetie. Everyone is excited for
your audition tomorrow at four. At this point it’s really just a formality, but
we’ll need to get your mom to sign off on it. I’ll keep working on her but
maybe you can talk to your dad and get him to help us out with her. Kay?
 
Bisous
! Ciao!”

She hung up and opened a new email from her
father’s lawyer, Ira
Stearn
.
 
Unconsciously she clenched her teeth as
she read, her knuckles turning white as she thrashed out a reply on the
keyboard.

She pulled a protein bar out of her fuchsia
designer handbag, knocking over her macchiato. “No!” she yelled, grabbing the
nearest paper, desperately dabbing in a vain attempt to save her brand new
white
jeggings
.

“Is everything okay?” Meg asked, gasping in horror
at the mud-colored stain oozing down her boss’ leg.

“No, everything is not okay! Look at this!
Uaaggh
! Now I’m going to have to go home and change. I’ll
be on my cell. Get me Gisele!”
Airika
grabbed a silk
sequined scarf from her office closet and cinched it like a belt, letting it
dangle enough to cover the stain. She would die if anyone saw her like this.

Chapter 3

Glistening beads of sweat dripping from his
forehead, Alex surveyed the wonderland he’d created. The lazy drooping pepper
trees dotted with hanging candles, an antique wrought iron park bench below,
and the white rose bushes lining the fence led his eye to the crowning jewel of
his landscape design: the bridge. It was a little white bridge, simple enough,
but in order to shape it, he’d spent time with an old boat maker learning how
to curve the wood into neat little arcs, like the upside down hull of a boat.
It was a near perfect replica of Jenna’s drawing of the bridge where they first
kissed. It looked over a small waterfall that wound down into a babbling brook,
snaking around the oasis-like garden.

Paper lanterns were strung like a canopy and
candles flickered on lily pads, giving off a magical glow. He installed
rock-shaped speakers to blend into the surroundings for the reveal of a song
he’d written seventeen years ago, but never before played for her.