From the Top - Chapter 23

Sunday was a whirlwind. With focusing on finishing my shows at the Blue Ridge on a good note and getting all of my school stuff out of the way and ready for me to miss a week and a half, I hadn’t even started packing. On top of that, Mrs. Phillips had planned a big party to send me off. Everyone was there except Hanna, who was conspicuously absent. Kat told us she was just really busy with school, but I don’t think either Mrs. Phillips or I bought that.

The party went for a long while, well into dinner, which Kat told me to skip. I learned her plans as the party wound down when she packed a large blanket and some of the food left over from lunch into the back of my car. She wanted to spend some alone time with me before I disappeared for a few weeks, and I was on board with that plan.

We pulled up to Lake Reed south of town, pulling off the road and bouncing along into the tree line. The first few times I’d been down to the lake, I’d left my car out by the road, but there were places where the ground was solid and you could pull up pretty close to the lake. Because everyone knew about those spots, the ground stayed clear because of the regular run of cars that pulled up and parked there.

Thankfully, they were vacant tonight. It was getting cold, so the number of people coming up to the lake to park had started to lighten up. I pulled the blanket out of the car and spread it out while Kat pulled some of the food out of the car and started unpacking leftover pulled pork sandwiches and potato salad. It was still light enough to eat, but the sun was very close to the horizon, just about to go down.

“You excited for Hollywood?” Kat asked, handing me a sandwich.

“Yeah, definitely. Still feels a little unreal though, you know,” I said. “I mean, I know I made it through the audition and all, but it’s hard to wrap my head around being on TV.”

Kat nodded. “I can only imagine. You’re going to meet some interesting people, maybe some who’ll be good for your career.”

“Or maybe some pains in the ass,” I said, thinking back to the one girl at the audition.

“Yeah, probably some of those too. I just … these are people with big dreams like yours, and some of the same life experiences, and there will be people who work on shows …”

“Don’t go there,” I said, reading her mind. “I don’t care who I meet there, how much we have in common, or how famous they are, I love you. And that’s that.”

“Okay,” she said quietly.

She was almost one hundred percent different than the girl I’d met two years ago, but occasionally that scared, anxious girl reared her head.

“I’ve spent the last two weeks at lunch hearing about all the challenges they’ve given contestants in the past, so that part has me a little worried. Writing songs on the fly, trying to play someone else’s song in front of them, whatever. I’ve been spoiled just playing my own stuff, you know.”

“Yeah, but you spent all those years talking to musicians, watching people play; I can’t think of anyone who has the experience in music you have. You’ve been around it since you were born.”

“I’m not sure you can learn much music theory through osmosis,” I pointed out.

“Says you,” she said, giving me one of her little smiles.

“So, how’s college going?” I asked, changing the subject. “You don’t call, you don’t write.”

“I talk to you every night, you dork,” she said.

“I know. I guess we haven’t really talked about it since you left, but you seem to be adjusting well. No … attacks or anything.”

“There have been moments where I felt a little overwhelmed, but I did the breathing exercises that Dr. Rothstein taught me, and it’s helped. Mostly, I’ve been doing well. No one knows … who I was before. The old me. So I’ve gotten to kind of figure out who I am, make a new me.”

“Well, I, for one, like this version.”

“Me too,” she said, a big grin on her face.

“What about Deanna?” I asked.

“She’s nothing. She talks a big game and tries to be all tough, but she can’t touch me in the pool. Coach fucking loves me, so she mostly keeps her distance. Saves her bullshit for other girls. Not that anyone takes her seriously.”

“Good … and Hanna?”

I’d avoided talking about her all through the party, but I was worried about her. I knew she hadn’t talked to her mom since their blow-up last weekend and the one time I’d called her, it went straight to voice mail.

Kat sighed, pushing remnants of coleslaw around on her plate, “Hanna’s still really angry. At her mom mostly, but you too. She feels that both of you are trying to destroy her life.”

“Just because we don’t think she should date her professor,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Well, she tends to ignore that part of it. She’s completely compartmentalized her relationship with him and her dealing with him as a professor.”

“But she’s still talking to you?”

“Yeah,” she said. “She’s decided I’m not as much to blame as you or her mom, so we’ve been okay. Not great, but she’ll at least talk to me, which is good, because it would get lonely in the dorm by myself if she didn’t.”

“Good. You should keep staying out of it, as best you can. Don’t lie or anything, but I think she needs someone to talk to, in case things start going bad.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I just … hope she gets over this. It drives me crazy when we’re out of sorts.”

“Just give her time,” I said. “This is going to fall apart. There’s no doubt about that. It’s just a matter of how long before it does.”

“I hope so,” Kat said. “Not that I want her to go through that, or anything. But …”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said, and then shook it off. “Okay, that killed the mood.”

“You’re right. Stay put, I’ll take care of this,” she said, standing up and gathering the paper plates and plastic silverware that was scattered around us.

“You sure?” I asked. “I can help.”

Kat leaned down and planted a quick kiss on my lips, “I’ve got it. You just relax.”

I sat back on the blanket and watched her moving around as best as I could. The sun had fully set now, leaving us in darkness except for the moonlight reflecting off the lake. I probably should have thought to bring a flashlight or something. Rookie mistake.

Kat headed up to my car to deposit the trash, her flip-flops flapping against her heels as she walked. I looked out at the water, enjoying the quiet. Well, quiet except for the chatter of crickets and the occasional splash of a fish jumping. Still, it was peaceful.

A minute later, Kat plopped back down on the blanket next to me.

“There, all taken care of,” she said.

“Thanks,” I replied. “We should probably get going soon, though. I still have a few last-minute things to do before my flight tomorrow.”

Kat shifted closer to me on the blanket, “Oh no, you don’t. We’re not going anywhere yet.”

Before I could respond, she pressed her body against mine and brought her lips to my neck. I inhaled sharply at the contact.

“Kat …” I said, my voice strained.

She brought her face back up to mine, her expression serious, “Charlie, there are too many people at the house right now for this. For us.”

And with that, she kissed me, long and deep. I responded immediately, kissing her back as my hands found her waist. We stayed like that for a few minutes, our kisses growing more heated.

Finally, Kat pulled back, breathless. She put her hands on my chest and pushed me onto my back. I looked up at her silhouette backlit by the moon.

“Are you sure?” I asked quietly.

She nodded. “I’m sure.”

I felt my pulse quicken. This was really happening. Kat and I had been taking things slow, not rushing into anything physical. We’d never gone farther than some heated making out. But now, here, under the stars by the lake, it felt right.

Kat leaned down again, her hair forming a curtain around our faces. My hands traced up her sides as our lips met again. Her fingers found the bottom of my t-shirt, pushing it up slightly as they grazed my stomach.

I shuddered at her touch, my whole body igniting. We spent the next hour by the lake, kissing, touching, and making love in the darkness.

***

The flight to LA was amazing. I was put in first class and, because I was emancipated, I didn’t have to have anyone come with me or jump through any hoops like I had for the trip up to New York for the New Year Show last year. There was even a driver waiting for me at baggage claim with a little touch pad that had my name on it.

I thought we’d gotten the star treatment backstage at a couple of the larger shows we’d done for MAC, but it was eye-opening to see how even someone on the very bottom rung of the Hollywood ladder was treated. I didn’t even mind the guy driving off right after I pulled my duffle bag and guitar case out of the car, before I could get out the word “thanks” after he dropped me off at the studio. It still felt really high-class.

I was on the Odyssey Entertainment lot, with people going every which way, and what the driver had told me were sound stages on either side of me. The place seemed massive, and chaotic. I had to suddenly jump out of the way as a golf cart came whipping down the street where the driver had dropped me off. Although, I wasn’t sure if street was the right word for it. Maybe alley.

He’d told me we were being dropped off at Studio Fifteen, which was the building in front of me, with a huge, multi-story number fifteen on the side of it, and a rather plain door across from me. Going through the door, I was stopped by a bored-looking security guard on a stool next to a little podium.

“ID?” he droned.

I fished my license out of my wallet and handed it over. He inspected it for a few seconds before scanning something on his computer screen and then waving me through.

“Stage is down the hall, last door on the left,” he said without looking up.

I followed his directions down a narrow hallway with concrete block walls painted an ugly shade of tan. The floor was that speckled linoleum tile you see in old elementary schools. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a few of them flickering. It felt like I was walking down the corridor of a high school basement. Definitely not the glamorous Hollywood studio I had pictured.

At the end of the hall, I pushed through a heavy metal door and stepped onto the set of The Stage, except it wasn’t really a set at all. I had always assumed the big auditorium I saw on TV was some kind of theater on a sound stage. But it was all fake. Just a set built inside this cavernous sound stage. The auditorium itself was real enough. It could easily hold five hundred people. But the walls and backdrop were nothing more than wooden frames covered in painted canvas and soundproofing. It was wild, like getting to see behind the curtain of a magic show and realizing how the illusion was done.

Still, even knowing it was all artificial, it was an impressive sight. Rows and rows of red velvet seats faced the wide stage. Spotlights pointed down from scaffolded riggings high overhead. The famous neon “The Stage” sign glowed brightly. And on the stage itself sat the judges’ table with its four high-backed chairs. It was surreal to see it in person after watching some episodes on TV. I hadn’t watched a lot of it like some of the kids at lunch, but once I got the audition, I’d watched a few episodes to try and get an idea of what I was in for.

I made my way down the aisle to the front section where about twenty other contestants were clustered in the seats. I recognized a couple of them from the regional auditions. Everyone seemed to be keeping to themselves, sitting singly or in pairs, chatting quietly. I took an empty aisle seat a few rows back from the stage.

They kept us waiting for a little while as a handful more showed up and found seats. Finally, a man came out onto the stage. He had perfectly coiffed salt-and-pepper hair and wore an expensive-looking tailored suit.

“Hello everyone, I’m Phoenix West, executive producer of The Stage,” he announced, his voice really echoing through the sound system in the empty room. “First, I want to welcome you all to the show and congratulate you on getting this far. In a little bit, we’re going to get you all in some vans and take you to the cast house that some of you might be familiar with from watching the show. First, I want to walk you all through how this next week and a half is going to go. Some of this may be old news for fans who’ve watched the show, but we want to make sure everyone’s on the same page.”

“This first part of the competition is the pre-taped portion, which will be edited and shown with footage from the cast house, which I’ll explain in a minute. Those who get past this portion of the show will be brought back near Christmas for the two live performances. There, the audience will have the final choice of who wins the show. For this section, there will be three performances total. After each performance, five of you will be eliminated.”

“For the first two performances, we’ll announce the challenge in the morning. You’ll then have the rest of that day plus half of the following day to prepare. That second night you’ll then be brought here to the soundstage to perform live and be judged.”

“For the final performance, you’ll get a full extra day to prepare and rehearse before taking the stage, due to the more complicated nature of the challenge. All of the judging for these performances will be done by our four permanent judges, although there is the chance that a fifth celebrity judge will participate in some of them. That, however, will not be announced until the performance night.”

He stopped his pacing and faced us directly, “Aside from the performances themselves, you’ll all be staying together in the competition house. The house is fully outfitted with cameras in every room, except for the guest house which is our production area … and the restrooms, of course.”

“Contact with the outside world will be extremely limited from the house. You are allowed two phone calls total from the production guest house. All cell phones and other devices will be confiscated upon arrival. There will only be monitored Internet access as well, with all communication restricted.”

“In addition to the installed cameras, we will also have camera crews moving about documenting everything. Do your best to ignore them and just go about your time naturally while you are in the house. You’ll only have to interact directly with the cameras if you’re pulled aside by a producer for an on-the-spot interview. Those can happen anytime, even during preparation, and we expect full cooperation. The house will have food and drinks, but no cooking facilities. Catering will provide your meals, both at the house and here on performance nights.”

Clapping his hands together, he added, “I think that covers the key details. If you have any other questions, there will be at least one producer at the house at all times to assist you. Vans will be here shortly to take you to the house. Good luck to you all. This is going to be an amazing experience!”

With a wave, he walked off stage, not giving us any chance to ask questions. While it all seemed more or less clear, he hadn’t said anything about any of the performances themselves which left, at least me, with a lot of questions.

The speech didn’t really answer any of my questions, but I guessed there wasn’t much I could do about that now except wait and see what happened. Everyone stood up when Phoenix left the stage and started making their way up the aisles. I followed the stream of people out the heavy metal door and back down the dingy hallway, expecting to head outside to the vans.

Instead, we were stopped by the security guard from earlier, who was now standing just outside the door. “Vans aren’t here yet,” he announced in the same bored tone as before. “Everyone wait by the back door there.”

He pointed across the alleyway to an open door revealing a small break area with some benches and vending machines. People shrugged and shuffled over toward it. I wandered in that direction as well but again stayed on the fringes of the group.

I noticed the cowboy, Cole, I met at the audition leaning against a vending machine, also trying to stay out of the way. I was about to go over and say hi when a thin but kind of ripped guy in an overly tight black t-shirt walked toward him and stopped.

“Out of the way, redneck,” he said in a thick Jersey accent.

“The name’s Cole, not redneck,” Cole said, but stepped aside to let the guy get to the vending machine.

Jersey guy apparently decided he wasn’t thirsty after all, because he didn’t move to use the machine, now he seemed more interested in Cole.

“Ohh, listen to him,” the guy said, looking around like he had an audience, which he kind of did. “You know this competition’s never been won by a country singer before, right? You should think about packing it in and going back to your sister in the trailer. Save yourself the embarrassment.”

I could see Cole clenching his jaw as the guy kept needling him.

“Oh, don’t get all bent out of shape,” Jersey said, chuckling as he looked around again for support. “I’m just giving you some friendly advice. This here is the big time and I thought a poor country boy like you could use the help.”

Cole didn’t respond, just kept glaring. As Jersey opened his mouth for another barb, I decided I should try to defuse this thing. I stepped over and put a hand on Cole’s shoulder.

“Cole. Hey, man, good to see you again. Way to go making it through the audition. Hey, my name’s Charlie,” I said, putting my hand out toward Jersey, trying to come off as friendly as possible.

“Vince,” the guy offered aggressively. “What are you, his boyfriend?”

“Nope,” I said, feeling Cole’s shoulder tense under my hand. “So, Hollywood, huh?”

Vince snorted, his eyes flicking over me dismissively.

“Doesn’t look like this hick’s the only one in over his head. At least he has an excuse with the country thing,” he said, looking me up and down with a sneer. “Fucking boy wonder over here. Listen up, punk, only one of us is winning this thing, and the sooner you figure out it’s going to be me, the better off you are.”

It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. I couldn’t even see the point of this. Maybe he thought he was psyching people out or something, but we didn’t even know what the first challenge was going to be. Even if he did get someone off balance with the macho man routine, they’d bounce back before we ever got on stage. Hell, we hadn’t even gotten to the house yet.

“Good for you,” I said evenly. “Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out. We’re all just hoping to do our best while we’re here.”

I took my hand off Cole and wasn’t smiling anymore. He reminded me of people like Aaron and Harry. I knew the type well and knew they could sometimes do something wildly self-destructive and stupid if they thought they were losing face.

Vince laughed what he probably thought was a haughty kind of cool laugh, but it came off way too nasally for that.

“My best? Please. I could stroll on that stage drunk and half asleep and still blow the rest of you losers out of the water,” He shot Cole a contemptuous look. “Especially this rodeo clown.”

“Look, man, I don’t know you, but it seems like you’ve got some weird chip on your shoulder. All I’m saying is maybe dial back the attitude a notch. Could make this a less stressful week for everyone.”

Vince stepped forward until he was practically nose-to-nose with me.

“How about you dial down the unsolicited advice before I dial up a fist in your face?” He smiled coldly. “Sound good, bro?”

I just shook my head. It was like I hadn’t even left fucking high school.

“I’m gonna walk away now. But for what it’s worth, if you made it this far, you’ve got real talent too. Maybe. Don’t blow it by being a jackass when the cameras start rolling,” I said, and then added, “Good luck this week, Vince.”

“So, how’ve things been?” I asked Cole, putting a hand on his arm and guiding him away from Vince, who was glaring at my back.

“I appreciate you stepping in, but you didn’t have to do that. I had it under control,” he said when we got to the other side of the room.

“I know, but sometimes they blame the wrong person when stuff like that happens. Besides, I don’t care how tough I come off. I don’t know if Vince noticed or not, but there aren’t any cameras yet, so that whole show was pointless.”

“Yeah, well … okay. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. So, how’ve you been? I meant what I said before, it’s really cool you made it through the audition.”

Cole shrugged, “Nothing too exciting. Trying to hustle up whatever shows I can find, ya know? Did a set at a roadhouse last weekend that went pretty well. And I did an open mic night at a coffee shop earlier this week. Neither paid great or anything, but a gig’s a gig.”

“Absolutely, a gig’s a gig,” I said supportively.

“What about you?” Cole asked. “I bet you’ve been tearing it up back home.”

I laughed self-consciously. “Nah, not really. With school starting up, I’m mostly just focusing on finishing my senior year and playing our regular gig at the bar where I live. It’s small, but having a set gig every weekend is lucky.”

Cole shook his head in disbelief. “Man, I keep forgetting how young you are. A high school senior out here auditioning for ‘The Stage”.’ That’s impressive as hell.”

I just kind of shrugged at that.

“So, how’d you end up with a regular gig? I’d kill for that.”

“I worked there for a little while, and the guy that mentored me had a gig there. Once I got my contract, they let me start having my own shows.”

“You had a contact already? Jesus, I’m so far behind.”

“Don’t get too excited,” I said. “The contract crashed and burned, hard. And I made an enemy of the label, who went out of their way to keep me from getting any gigs this summer. I might have been better off not having the contract at all. It’s why I ended up here, because I couldn’t book anything. They managed to get every venue I got booked to cancel on me. Even a possible new distribution deal backed out.”

“Man, that’s brutal.”

“I know. I guess that’s the lesson. We have to be careful, because these guys can take it away if they want to. Of course, it’s easier if no one really knows who you are. Hence, this,” I said, waving his arm toward the studio across the alley.

“Yeah,” Cole said, a serious look on his face. “Makes you think.”

Before we could talk about anything else, a small convoy of white vans pulled up, each with “The Stage” logo plastered on the sides. A few, what I assumed to be crew members, hopped out and started corralling everyone toward the vehicles.

“All right! Contestants in the vans!” one of them called out. “Let’s get a move on; we’re on a schedule here!”

“Here we go,” I said.