Chapter Nine
Tristan
It was round ten; just me and Ethan were left. I was sitting up on stage listening to him sing Truly, Madly, Deeply by Savage Garden. He was doing a damned good job of it, too. He had upped the tempo of the chorus and given it a whole new sound. Bastard! I was a nervous wreck before he sang; afterwards, I was so nervous that I was afraid my voice would shake when I opened my mouth to sing.
I was trying to think of something else, anything else. My mind went back to Elly and me having sex in the dressing room after her concert. That was fun. She was most definitely the hottest piece of ass that I’d ever had. I counted myself lucky that she remembered me from that stupid boy band and sought me out that night. Doubly lucky, I guess, because she’d talked me into getting sober. Then there was giving me a place to stay. Shit, I was going to have to think about something else; it was sounding too much like a relationship.
I thought about what I was going to do with a million bucks. The first thing would obviously be to get a place to stay. I had no idea where I was going from there, so I wasn’t going to buy a house or anything permanent like that. The thought of being tied to anything made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. I would rent an apartment. A much nicer one than the piece of shit I’d gotten evicted from, maybe one by the beach. I loved the beach; it’s the one place that I felt at peace when everything else around me went to shit. Yeah, that’s what I’d do; I’d rent a place over on Venice Beach…or maybe Huntington.
Maybe I’d get a car, too, after we got back off out tour. I was looking forward to that—getting the hell out of that fucking city. They call it the city of angels. Sometimes I wondered if that really means the city of the angel of death. It would suck the life right out of you if you let it.
I realized I got caught up in my thoughts and Ethan had stopped singing. Everyone was clapping and cheering. They loved him. Shit. I didn’t want him to suck, but I was hoping he wouldn’t do quite so well. I wanted to leave there and be able to tell myself it was in the bag. After his performance, I was going to have to sweat it out until Thursday, no matter how well I did.
The judges all loved him, too. I listened as they told him so and when they talked about how close the contest was going to be. They said it was anyone’s contest. My stomach twisted up tighter than it already was. Ethan smiled at me as he took his seat and I honestly tried to smile back, but it probably came out looking like a grimace. I stepped up to the microphone and willed the butterflies in my stomach to go away. I felt light-headed and in a moment of doubt I wasn’t sure if I would be able to do it. I actually thought about conceding defeat right there.
I closed my eyes for just a second, to get my bearings, and then I looked out at the audience and I saw Elly’s face. She looked like she had confidence in me. She saw me looking out at her and she smiled. I pictured what she looked like when we had sex. Her hair would be in her face, all wet from sweat and sticking to her forehead and her cheeks would be all flushed—she was so sexy. I had to stop there or I’d have a hard-on in front of millions of people. That made me laugh in my head and I suddenly felt better…calmer.
I was doing a country song. It was by Brad Paisley and called Don’t take the Girl. The pianist had tried to talk me out of it. That day when we practiced he said, “It’s a really popular song, Tristan. If you change it up too much people might not like it.”
“Then fuck ‘em,” I said.
The drummer laughed and the pianist said, “That attitude won’t get you any votes.”
I shrugged again and said, “This isn’t an attitude contest. If it were I wouldn’t have even entered it. It’s a talent contest and I know this song is good the way I put it together.” The pianist still looked skeptical, but he didn’t argue further. We did a practice run and I could feel how good it sounded when it was coming out.
When I finished it the pianist said, “I think I was wrong,” with a smile.
“I think you were too,” the drummer said.
I thought about that as I stood up at the mic and suddenly the nerves returned. I knew it was good, but the real question I guess was whether or not everyone else would like it and vote for me. I tried to stuff that down and just sing. I had so much nervous energy built up and I was never sure if the nervous energy would help or hinder my performance.
When I opened my mouth, it all fell away and I just got into the song. When I finished, the whole theatre, including the judges, was up—standing ovation all around. Suddenly Ethan was the one that looked nervous.
Diva was crying. She did that a lot, but this time she had real tears. “You just won my heart,” she said.
The country star was grinning and he said, “Amazing.”
The record producer just gave me thumbs up and a smile, but that was a lot coming from him. I could see Elly on her feet. She was putting her fingers in the sides of her mouth and whistling. It was cute. I walked out of the theatre that night feeling like that million dollars was already in my pocket.