Rock Star: The Contest (Book 2 of a Bad Boy Romance) (11 page)

W
hen evening rolled
around I was no longer worried. That I had made it this far in the contest was an achievement in itself. I knew I could go back to my business. I was nervous about making the finals, but I wouldn’t let it be everything. One thing I had learned from Spike, in all his ramblings, was that it was OK to not be famous. To not have a crowd of fans clamoring over you. That ultimately in the end what mattered most was that you enjoyed life. That came with those that you surrounded yourself with. Friends, family and service to others.

I wanted to be a singer. But there was no one preventing me from being that. I didn’t need to win a contest to do that. I didn’t need the approval of the gatekeepers, or every person in the world to love my songs. It had to be something I loved first and foremost. Eventually there would be a group, a tribe, a small collection of people who would relate to it, and enjoy it too.

I had seen the way the careers of many great people had gone. Their rise to stardom, their fall and eventually their comeback. Some experienced a comeback that was far greater than when they were known as a star. Others, it was less. But they were working. Doing what they wanted. And wasn’t that the reason we all wanted to do what we loved? To get up and feel passion about how we spent every hour of our life. Not given to a life of drudgery but a life where we gave the world our gifts.

“Are you ready?” Spike asked.

This evening was all about playing a live gig in a club in the city of Portland. It would be seen by industry bigwigs. The who’s who. Each of us would sing with a backup acoustic guitar. It would be a stripped down, close up and personal show. They wanted to see how well we could perform without all the effects, and gauge the response of a live audience in a setting where people were drinking. Drink seemed to bring out the best and worst in people.

When we arrived, I was expecting there to be chicken wire around the stage. You know, a way to prevent all the bottles from knocking us out, when they realized how crap we were. Well, at least I was.

Instead it was a small setting. Dingy lighting. The stage was not even a foot off the ground. There was one microphone, a glaring round light shining down where we would be standing and a stool behind for the guitarist.

Despite the fact that the show provided their own guitarists to those who couldn’t play guitar, I had arranged to have Spike accompany me. He was thrilled by the chance to show off his skills. I tried to calm him. I knew he could get a little carried away. Less is more, was what I told him. I didn’t want him ripping into some Van Halen solo halfway through just to show off. He had always been capable of forgetting why he was playing once his fingers touched his guitar.

But he was the only one that I could trust with this. I needed to knock this one out of the park and gain the confidence of those listening and the business folk who no doubt were going to be critiquing every little thing. We were told they would be assessing stage presence, tone, pitch, song writing ability and overall talent. They would also take into account the feedback from the audience. To them that was gold. Instant feedback, even if the audience was drunk, was valuable data they couldn’t get from just throwing an album out there and hoping it sold.

As I approached the stage I could see Leann on the other side of the stage glaring at me. I know that she still expected me to fail, but that wasn’t going to happen. At least I hoped it wasn’t. I had every intention of making the final five.

“I’m ready. I think.”

“You will be fine. Just imagine this room is the coffeehouse. If anyone gives you a dirty look, just think that it’s the Dancing Jelly Babies pissed off because you are hogging the stage and nailing it,” Spike said.

“Thanks.” I stifled a laugh.

I had heard of artists who had performed all their life, feeling jitters before they went out. Some even vomited. That’s how I felt now. Completely vulnerable. I tried to push the images of tripping over as I came out, or forgetting the lyrics, from my mind.

Earlier that afternoon I had given Spike the lyrics that I had written with Chase. I hummed the tune and gave him the chords. Within a few minutes he had it down. The guy had a good ear for music and he knew exactly what to do.

I watched as he fumbled around with his guitar wires. A loud crackle sounded as he plugged the wires into the end of his guitar. A few seconds passed as he made sure all the strings were in tune, then he gave a nod. I stepped up to the mic and looked out. The room was dark, and I could only make out the faces at a couple of tables. Tables had been placed around the small room. Little candles illuminated those who sat around. It was quite eerie to be really honest.

I cleared my throat. Took a large gulp of water. That was the one thing I dreaded the most. Losing my voice. It usually happened if you were singing for several hours, but depending on the time of the day, your throat could quite easily go dry and that would be a nightmare.

I tapped the mic.

“Testing. One, two.”

I heard one of the coordinators off stage whisper, “It’s already been set up. Just sing. Sing!”

I gave a nod to Spike and he began. That night I sang my heart out. There are moments when singing a song that something changes. You almost get a chill up your spine. Your hairs on your arms stand up. This was one of those times. When I was done, you could have heard a pin drop. I didn’t know if they hated it or loved it.

Then the applause started and my eyes widened as they stood to their feet. I had received a standing ovation. No one else so far that evening had received that. So on one hand I felt grateful and over the moon, and then again, I felt embarrassed.

I shuffled off, then turned back to find Spike bowing like a loon. He kept playing a couple more licks on the guitar then throwing up the rock sign that looks like horns with his hand.

“Spike. Spike.” I tried to keep my voice low. He eventually heard it, waved to everyone and left the stage.

“Did you hear them? Damn, they loved it. This is it. What am I doing serving coffee to freaks every day? I was born for this shit,” he said.

“Wow, you were pretty good,” Maisey said, coming up alongside us but paying much more attention to Spike. Spike’s eyes widened. It was if he had seen an angel come into the room.

“Thank you,” he said.

For a moment they stood there staring at each other, and I had a feeling they had forgotten that I was standing with them. It was a classic “damn, I think I’m in love” moment. Which was a good sign, being that he had been chasing me for way too long.

“You are?” Maisey asked.

Spike swiveled his guitar around his back and extended his hand, giving her a short kiss on the hand.

“Spike.”

“Maisey.”

Again there was an awkward pause. However, it didn’t last long as the moment was interrupted by a scowling Leanne. Though she didn’t seem pissed off at the fact that I hadn’t failed. She was just annoyed that she was the one who was going to follow up on that. It wouldn’t have bothered me, but it was what she whispered into my ear that made my excitement and hope evaporate.

“I can see why you liked Chase. His lips taste so good. You might have made the finals, but you’ve lost him.”

She gave me a smug grin before stepping out on stage to perform. I glanced over at Chase who was in the audience. He looked back at me and then his gaze went back to the stage.

“No. He wouldn’t have done that.”

“You okay?” Spike asked.

“Yeah, I think I just need to get some air.”

I ambled back to the exit door at the end of the hallway and pushed it open. A gust of wind hit me, taking my breath away. Outside Teddy and Sophie were locking lips. She had her hands all over him.

“Oh hey, Meghan,” Teddy said. “Great job. I heard it from out here.”

“Thanks.”

Sophie must have picked up on the expression on my face, as she gestured for Teddy to go inside.

“I’ll be in, in a moment.”

She came over and put her arm around me.

“I know that look. What’s happened? Is it that bitch Leanne? As I can go in and bitch slap her.”

I waved her off. “Leave it.”

“Do want a drink or anything?”

“No, I just want to be alone.”

She nodded and slowly walked away.

I could hear Leanne from out here. She was hitting all the notes and delivered a song that was exceptional. I fully figured that she would make it into the final five. Once the song was over and I had managed to collect my thoughts I went back in. Nearly everyone was in the main club area, except a few crew.

That’s when I saw it.

Leanne came off and Chase came over to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on him. After she kissed him, he was holding her. That’s when she saw me. His back was to me, but she was staring my way. She smiled.

I backed up. I couldn’t believe it. Why would he do this?

As I backed into the exit, Chase turned his head.

I didn’t wait to see his reaction. I pushed opened the exit door and bolted into the night.

* * *

I
didn’t have
a ride back to Lakeside, but I sure wasn’t going to return in the van with them. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and my cheeks burned as the cold froze each track. I hadn’t worn a jacket, as it had been pretty warm when we had left. Now the fall weather had taken a turn for the worse.

Hurrying down the street, I ducked into an alleyway and took a moment to catch my breath. My throat was burning, and I had twisted my ankle running in boots with heels that were too high.

I sobbed uncontrollably until there were no more tears. I couldn’t and I could believe he would do this. I didn’t know who was more stupid. Him or me? I should have listened to Spike, and realized that a guy like him could never be with just one woman. He was a country rock star that was used to having women throw themselves at him.

I felt humiliated. It didn’t matter that I had just experienced the most intense high from singing. I had almost forgotten all of that. The only image burning in my mind was him kissing her. She wasn’t lying. But why? I thought we had something special. He had seemed so pissed off at Leanne earlier that morning.

I continued walking down the streets. I glanced at my watch, it was little after ten. I entered a café and took a seat in a booth. My hands were red from the cold. My ears were stinging. I just needed to warm up.

A waitress came over. She was wearing a blue outfit with a white front. Tapping her pen on a pad. She had to be in her late fifties.

“You OK, sweetie?”

I caught my reflection in the window. There was no hiding that I had been crying. My eyes were swollen. I sniffed and blinked hard.

“Can I get a cup of coffee?”

“Yeah, sure.”

She looked worried as she walked away.

A few minutes later she returned with the coffee, and a slice of apple pie.

“On the house.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Let me guess, a man?”

“Yeah.”

“I got rid of my ex-husband and have felt happier for it. They really do a number on your heart. I feel your pain. You going to be OK?”

I nodded. She left.

In the restaurant there were only two other people. One looked like a homeless man. His clothes were torn and appeared as though he had been wearing them for weeks. Another was a businessman. Pristine. A nice suit. Gold rings, and a set of keys beside him. No doubt, they belonged to the flashy Lexus outside.

It had always struck me as odd. How some in society could live in the lap of luxury while others barely had enough money to buy a cup of coffee. Time working in a café had taught me though not to judge based on appearances. Those who had lots of money didn’t always dress in expensive suits. One man I had known wore what most would have considered rags, and yet he paid for a brand-new truck in cash. He was just very careful with his money. Others gave the appearance of looking as if they had it all together, but beneath the surface they were struggling to keep their heads above water.

I nursed the coffee, allowing its warmth to thaw out my hands. Each sip was like heaven, warming me up from the inside. I ate the apple pie and immediately felt better. I wasn’t sure if it was just the sugar rush. But food had a way of being comforting. Often too comforting. I had gained a considerable amount of weight the year before from overeating. It was my way of coping when I was under pressure. I knew it wasn’t good for me, but that didn’t stop me from reaching for the cookie jar.

Sophie had started a ninety-day fitness routine and I joined her. That took off the pounds but I knew they would come back like a boomerang if I let my sadness take over.

Once I was done, I left the waitress a good tip, and left a little extra with a note that asked her to pay the bill of the man sitting across the room. The one who looked homeless.

Before I left, I asked where the Greyhound bus stop was, the waitress directed me and said it was three blocks down. She was concerned that I was walking alone by myself at this time of the night. I reassured her that getting mugged right now would have been the least of my concerns.