Note to self: When your world starts to crumble around you, just keep smiling! And make mental note of names to add to the hit list.
I arrive at the studio at nine o’clock on Wednesday morning for my scheduled final stage rehearsal. Tonight is another live performance for votes before tomorrow night’s elimination round. I’ve been working with Beau and the show vocal coaches to perfect my song for this evening, and feel confident and ready for the performance. Since our team performed as a group last week, the other two teams are performing group performances tomorrow night. Beau has hinted that next week’s shows will start contestant duets, and I can’t wait to see what that’s all about.
“Layne, they’re looking for you in conference room A,” Gabby says moments before I step out onto the stage to run through my song one final time with Mallory, the choreographer.
“Who’s looking for me?” I ask, confused about who would pull me away from my final practice.
“Everyone. The network,” she says with a pointed ‘I told you so’ look.
The network? Oh my God, this can’t be good, can it?
My legs are numb as they carry me towards the network executives. Gabby doesn’t say anything else as she leads me through a series of hallways, past offices that I didn’t even know were here. After a quick knock on the closed door, she opens it and allows me to enter.
Inside the room sit about six men and women all dressed in professional suits and dresses. Sitting at the end of the conference room table is the man with the starring role in my dreams. Beau Tanner. I swallow the golf ball that’s suddenly lodged in my throat and return my focus to the man standing at the opposite end of the table.
“Layne, it’s good to finally meet you. I am Jackson Zimmerman, President of the network. Please have a seat,” he says, motioning to the empty seat next to Beau.
I feel all eyes on me as I make my way to my seat. I was just about to step on the stage for my final dress rehearsal so my attire isn’t exactly “executive” appropriate. The tight leather dress and blood-red pumps don’t do much for my confidence as I stare down the faces of the handful of people who could decide my fate on this show. The real people who decide if I even perform tonight.
“Miss Carter, I’m going to be frank with you. We’ve had concerns from other contestants as to the extent of your relationship with your coach, Beau Tanner. This is something that we take very seriously. Contracts were signed by all parties at this table–namely you and Mr. Tanner. Now, while we encourage you all to continue to live your lives, we can’t have relationships between the coaches and the contestants. You recall signing the agreement, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir,” I reply through my dry throat.
“You don’t need us to produce the document you signed? Margaret from Legal is here and would be happy to show you the document with your signature,” he states, indicating towards the woman to his left.
“No, sir. I recall the document.”
“Good. Now. We have a slight dilemma with this entire situation. We’ve had a lengthy conversation with Beau and he ensures us that your relationship is purely friendship and in no way breaks the contracts that you’ve both signed. Is that how you’d describe it?”
“Yes, sir. Beau and I are friends, nothing more.” I don’t dare risk a glance over at him. I don’t know what would be worse: seeing him so casual at this moment or him seeing straight through the lies.
“That’s good. But, here’s the dilemma. Apparently, America loves the thought of you two together.”
I’m startled by his words, looking up at him with big, shocked eyes. Now, I look over at Beau for the first time since I’ve sat down. He’s staring at me with those intense eyes that hold a hint of laughter.
“The website, which hosts the Behind the Scenes videos, has increased traffic ten-fold. Social media is abuzz with speculation about your relationship. The network has done extensive polls on the topic in recent days and it seems that America wants to see more of you and Beau, Layne.”
“Sir?”
“So, while we’re in no way condoning the breach of your contract with us, we are maybe encouraging you to…tease the audience a little more.”
“What do ya mean by that?” Beau asks, speaking up for the first time since I walked into the room.
“Oh, you know, little touches here or extended glances there,” the woman on the right of Mr. Zimmerman says.
“So you want us to flirt?” Beau asks.
“Yes,” she confirms.
“It’s all about giving the viewers what they want, and right now…they want more of you two.” Six sets of eyes bounce between Beau and me. “We want you to tease the audience. Leave them speculating. Make them want to come back for more. That’s where tonight’s special performance comes into play,” he says with a big wolfish grin.
Oh, shit. I look around the room at the brightly smiling faces and twinkling eyes. Something tells me I’m not going to like this. Not one bit.
*****
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Rising Star. Tonight, we have an exciting night of performances lined up for you as each contestant performs for your votes. All twelve contestants are ready to go this week, but at the end of the night tomorrow, only ten will stay. That’s right, this week the two contestants with the lowest number of votes will be sent home, missing out of their chance to be the next Rising Star. Are you ready?” Becker asks the audience who is on their feet, cheering.
“Tonight, we’re going to kick off our show with a special performance. Social media has been abuzz lately with speculation about a certain contestant and her coach. To set the record straight, let’s hear it for Layne Carter,” Becker says as the spotlight shines brightly, illuminating my position on the far corner of the stage.
After this morning’s meeting, I wasn’t a fan of their master plan. In fact, I hated it. I don’t want to be treated like a chess piece, strategically moved from place to place for the benefit of the network, for the show. But, here I am. About to perform a song that can only be labeled as “a cock tease.” There is no way that this song performance will set the record straight. In fact, it’ll probably only confirm everyone’s assumptions. Right or wrong, they’re going to be led to believe one thing after this song.
Beau met me in the hallway after the meeting. His attitude towards the entire situation appeared too casual. It was like he was happy to be a performing monkey for these yahoos. But then he looked at me and said, “Now, I get to touch ya and I don’t have to worry about what they’ll say.”
Everything inside of me melted at that moment. Being able to touch Beau or stare at him without worry of who’s watching is the only silver lining to this cluster-fuck idea. But the powers that be have spoken. The idea was planted and now they’re all sitting back, watching it grow like mold on cheese, ready to reap the benefits. Ratings gold.
The familiar beat to the song Beau and I just worked on all day starts up. I look out and see him sitting at the coach’s table in front of the stage. I bring the mic up to my mouth and start to sing the words that I reviewed in a crash course earlier.
“People are talkin’, talkin’ ‘bout people. I hear them whisper, you won’t believe it. They think we’re lovers, kept under cover. I just ignore it, but they keep sayin’ we laugh just a little too loud…”
I sing the rest of my part as the audience feeds off my every word, whispering to each other as if confirmation was just declared on live television. And I don’t blame them. If I were watching from the outside looking in, I’d believe that I was confirming a secret love affair to the world. Hell, isn’t that what the song practically screams? And it doesn’t help when Beau grabs the microphone he was secretly hiding underneath the table and stands up.
“I feel so foolish, I’ve never noticed. You’d act so nervous, could you be fallin’ for me? It took a rumor to make me wonder. Now I’m convinced, I’m goin’ under. Thinkin’ ‘bout you every day…”
Beau walks up the stairs at the end of the stage, joining me front and center. We sing Bonnie Raitt’s, “Something To Talk About” together for the entire world to see. I didn’t even get the opportunity to call my mom before tonight’s performance. A quick text message telling her that I had so much to talk about was all I could get in. I’m sure she’s practically foaming at the mouth to get to me after this little publicity stunt. Hell, she’s probably already picking out wedding reception venues.
The thing that no one will know is that even though this is for the good of publicity, the looks we steal are real. Singing with Beau is as natural as the conversations we’ve shared and the kisses we’ve stolen.
“Layne, Beau. We’ve heard the rumors about something going on between you two. What can you tell us about that performance? What does it mean?” Becker asks when the song is complete.
“Nothin’ to tell. I’m Layne’s coach and her friend. Everyone’s gonna think what everyone’s gonna think, ya know?” Beau remains cool and collected like always.
“Layne, anything to add?” Becker asks and holds the mic in front of my face.
“Just that I’m here to compete like everyone else and rumors aren’t going to keep me from this competition,” I add.
“Well, I didn’t hear a confirmation or a denial so you decide, America,” Becker says. He’s basically holding his big wooden spoon, stirring the pot of drama that has become my life. Good times.
*****
“Layne, you’re up next,” Gabby says from the doorway of the green room. Corie was first up tonight and did an excellent rendition of Colbie Calliat’s “Try.” I hope it’s enough to keep her here another week. Just the thought of dealing with these catty people without my friend and ally is terrifying.
With the exception of Ben and sometimes Maxwell, no one really speaks to me. Yet I hear plenty from them as they stand on the outskirts of the room, discussing my “relationship” with Beau. Everyone is so certain that I’ve slept my way to this point that it’s almost laughable. It doesn’t help that Shawna is running her mouth like a freight train with nothing in the way but wide-open spaces. She keeps everyone talking with her “insider knowledge.” I mean she was rooming with me for a short time, right? Apparently, that makes her the resident expert of everything in my life. Throw in a few first-hand encounters and you have all the makings for a healthy dose of the dramatics. Hell, maybe if I engaged in just a little piece of the crap they’re saying about me, I’d be much more relaxed and better equipped to deal with it all.
Note to self: If you’re going to pretend to sleep with a judge, maybe it’s time to sample the goods.
I’ve become accustomed to the talking. When I found out that Colton had a fiancée, I couldn’t escape the whispers. Even in a city like Chicago, they followed me everywhere I went. No one messed with me at Chaser’s, though. Whether because I was considered old news by then or because Tiffany put the fear of God in anyone who even thought about mentioning it, I’m not sure. But, I know that since I started at the bar, I haven’t had too much trouble with gossip.
Until now.
I wait for my cue before stepping out on the stage. Three weeks in and this has become like second nature now. I reach my starting position and smile brightly, waiting for the band to strike up my music. When the familiar beat washes through me and I’m bathed in bright lights, I forget everything. I forget everyone backstage, sitting in the audience, and even those sitting at the table in front of me. I let go and sing because that’s what I do–all I can do. When the going gets tough, I get lost in my music. When all else fails, I submerge my mind in the one thing to bring me comfort, besides my son. Because when it’s all said and done, these people will be gone, but the music will still be there. Deep inside me, wrapped around me like a blanket, embedded in my soul like a familiar tattoo.
I stand in the heat of the spotlight wearing my sky-high red heels, tight leather tank top and matching black leather pants. Add in a little bit of teasing from a big bottle of expensive hairspray, some dark, heavy eyeliner, and I look like I stepped out of a 1980’s Joan Jett video.
“Midnight, gettin' uptight, where are you? You said you'd meet me, now it's quarter to two. I know I'm hangin' but I'm still wantin' you…”
This is my favorite part of performing. The moment where I work the stage, engage the crowd, and just feel the beat, the rhythm. This song speaks to me better than any song I’ve sang so far, so when I feel my spirits soar for the first time in I don’t even know how long, I know it’s as a result of this song. I feel playful. Energetic. Unstoppable.
When the song is finally over, I take in everything around me. If I go home after tonight, it’s not because I didn’t give it everything I have. It’s not because I did something I wasn’t supposed to do…even though I was pretty damn close. Multiple times. It wasn’t because I couldn’t do it at all. It was because now just isn’t my time. This show, this opportunity wasn’t right for my life at this moment. And that’s okay.
I look over at the coaches who all wear matching smiles. When I lock eyes with Beau, I feel it clear down to my painted toenails. They actually curl a little in the tip of my heels as I recall the forbidden kisses we’ve shared. Though those kisses can’t happen anymore, that doesn’t mean I can’t fantasize about them. Lord knows I dream about them all night and think about them all day.
If I go home tomorrow night, I’ll miss out on those stolen glances, illicit kisses, and the smoldering looks–just like the look I’m getting right now. If I go home, I’ll deal. Without Beau.
I hope that the fans will spare me for at least one more night.