Chapter Nine
Elly
The night of round six, I went into work nervous. I hadn’t seen Tristan since our fight a couple days before. I was sure that Tony bought my explanation of why we were fighting, but then I got home and got myself all worked up thinking about what would happen if Tony decided to say something to Tristan about it. Tristan was such a loose cannon, I never knew what he was going to say. He was liable to tell Tony to go fuck himself and let it go at that. Everyone around here knew how moody he was, so that might not be too much of a shock. What worried me most was that he was also liable to tell Tony that the only person around here that he’d fucked was me.
I didn’t know if anything happened between him and Brooke or not, but judging from the fact that they couldn’t even stand to look at each other, I doubted it. I also liked to tell myself that. The point was that I didn’t trust Tristan to keep his mouth shut. It wasn’t because he was some kind of narc, or that he felt guilty about breaking the rules; if he gave us up, it would be because he was pissed off at me, and because he truly didn’t give a shit what anyone thought about anything. He might regret walking away from a million dollars and a chance at a new career, but he was just impulsive enough to do it.
I did my best to concentrate on my job and try not to worry about whether or not he slept with Brooke or whether or not he was going to fill out the rehab papers or whether or not he was going to screw up and tell someone about us. I had to shake it off before people started noticing. Molly already mentioned that I looked uptight. I didn’t think I was going to be able to stop feeling like I was going to explode until it was all resolved, but I at least had to get better at covering.
When it was Brooke’s turn, I watched Tristan watch her perform. She did a bad job. That’s not my jealousy speaking; honestly, she sucked. Tristan flinched and winced a few times. Diva had her hands on her head and the record producer covered his ears at one point. When they finished telling her how bad it was, Brooke left the stage in tears. I felt bad for her. She was talented, but obviously having a bad night. I had to wonder if her problems stemmed from the same place mine did: Tristan Rogers.
He went next. I found myself holding my breath every time he performed; hoping he’d do well. I couldn’t read the look on his face when he took his place at the microphone on the stage. He looked tired…or high. His eyes were streaked with red and he had dark circles under them, as if he hadn’t slept in a while. He signaled to the band and they started playing. As soon as he hit his first note, I knew that this was not going to be one of those performances he owned. This time, I only had to hold my breath for several seconds before I realized that there was going to be nothing good about it. He was screaming again; it sounded like he was furious. He looked angry and I could tell that the judges hated it, maybe worse than they’d hated Brooke’s performance.
When Tristan finished, he stood there looking at the judges as if he was daring them to tell him what a crappy job he did. If that was what he’d really wanted, they didn’t disappoint.
“Wow, Tristan…it’s hard for me to believe you’re the same guy that wowed us last week. You have to be more consistent, man. One performance like that is all it will take to get you voted off the show. In real life, a performance like that could have a stadium full of people requesting a refund. I’m sorry man; I know that’s not what you wanted to hear….” Tristan’s face was neutral. I’m sure it’s not what he wanted to hear, but he either knew how badly he’d done, or he was learning how to react for the cameras—or both. He gave the country singer a barely perceptible nod and turned his attention towards Diva.
Once again, she looked like she was going to cry. She’d been a pop singer for years, but I really think she missed her calling as an actress. She did know music, though, and it was apparent from the look on her face what she’d thought of the performance. She started to open her mouth, and then she shook her head and closed it. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry baby. That was so bad.”
She left it at that and the record producer said, “I have nothing at all positive to say about that. A positive person might say, ‘At least he showed up,’ but considering that performance, it may have been better if you’d stayed at home. I won’t be surprised if you’re in the bottom three tomorrow night.”
The camera had a close-up on Tristan’s face. He was getting good at keeping it neutral. He had to be hurting. I couldn’t imagine performing and then having to stand there and be told how awful it was. I was a coward like that. It was the reason I refused to sing solo—I hated the thought of people judging me. Tristan let them finish though and then walked off the stage with his head held high.