Chapter Eleven
Tristan
Every nerve ending in my body felt raw and on edge as I got ready for the results show. When Elly and I got back from the beach the night before, she helped me pick out what shirt I was going to wear. I slipped it on and wondered if we made the wrong choice. I didn’t want to look like everyone else and the shirt was just kind of…blah. I took it off and put another one on. That one looked like shit. It looked like an old man shirt. I took it off and put the one Elly and I picked out back on. I rolled up the sleeves and left it unbuttoned at the collar. It looked a little better.
Once I’d been I the bathroom for over an hour, I heard a tap on the door.
“Tristan?” It was Elly.
“Yep.”
“I have to pee.” She killed me sometimes.
“Okay, thanks for sharing.”
“Tristan!” I smiled; I could hear the agitation in her voice. I don’t know why it amused me so much, but it did. It was like wrestling with a puppy over his squeaky toy.
I opened the door and said, “Are you about to pee your pants?”
“No, you’ve just been in here for a long time and my bladder is full.”
She tried to step around me and I moved over. She stepped to the other side and I moved again.
“Excuse me!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want in here?”
“Yes, damn it! I need to pee!”
“Oh wow, then I guess I probably shouldn’t do this….” I grabbed her by the waist and tickled her. She squealed and screamed and cussed at me until I finally let her go. “You still have to pee?”
She was trying to look mad as she pushed past me and stood in front of the toilet but I could see traces of a smile. She kept standing there looking at me. I knew she was waiting for me to leave, but I wasn’t finished messing with her.
“What?” I asked her with a grin.
“Get out!” Messing with her made me feel better. For those few minutes, I’d forgotten how stressed out I was about the show. As soon as I walked out of the bathroom and closed the door, the nerves attacked me again. It was times like this that I regretted my sobriety. Smoking a fat blunt right then would have taken the edge off.
“Okay, I’m finished,” she said as she came out. “You look really nice.”
“Thanks that was fast. Did you wash your hands?”
“Shut the fuck up!” she said. She was picking up my potty mouth.
Grinning at her I said, “I’m done in there. I’m going to take off.”
“You can wait and ride in the car with me so you don’t have to go out on that death machine.”
I laughed, “I’ll be fine,” I told her. “I need some fresh air.”
“Okay, good luck,” she told me with a smile.
“Oh shit!”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing, I just forgot something.” I found my duffel bag and rifled through it until I found the cross I wear on a chain around my neck. I’m not a religious guy so a lot of people find it strange. I don’t give a shit what they think. When I was a kid and I was about to go out on stage for the very first time, my nerves felt raw like they were right then. I told my producer that I couldn’t do it…I felt sick. While I was talking to him, a lady that was backstage came up to me and held out the cross.
“I’d be honored if you would wear my cross onstage today. It will bring you good luck.”
I took it; touching it made me feel better for some reason. When I came off stage I tried to give it back to her. She told me it had my energy in it now so I would need to keep it. After that, every time I had to go onstage, I wore it. I convinced myself that my success was wrapped up in a stupid necklace. It had accidentally become my trademark back when the boy band was together, and even all those years later, I felt like I needed it before I could go out on stage. I knew it was all in my head, but whatever worked. I slipped it on over my head and waited. So far, it was doing nothing at all for my nerves.
“Your cross!” Elly said. “When I was a kid, I used to think of you every time I saw one.”
I laughed and said, “Imagine a guy like me being associated with anything holy.” She laughed too. “It looks good with this shirt don’t you think?”
“Yeah, it does,” she said. I could tell that she knew it meant more than that, but she either respected my privacy enough not to ask, or she knew I’d snap her head off. Either way, I appreciated it.
“Okay, see you later,” I told her.
“Good luck,” she told me again. On my way out the door, I saw the little pink seashell that Elly found on the beach the night before. I looked over my shoulder to make sure she wasn’t behind me and then I slipped it into my pocket. A little extra luck couldn’t hurt.
Two hours later, I walked out on stage as my name was called and took my seat. It was the final show, so they were dragging it out for two whole hours. I knew our drama queen MC would take it all the way to the end. I wondered if I could get away with punching him in the mouth if I didn’t win.
I looked over at Ethan. He looked as nervous as I felt. I briefly wondered what he had at stake here, but then I realized that I honestly didn’t give a shit. He was nineteen years old. He’d have a lot of other opportunities. I was getting towards the older end of the spectrum; I needed it. We had to sing our song again, the one we’d sang the night before. Ethan went first and I found myself wishing the voting was happening right then. His voice was cracking and quivering all over the place.
When he finished and took his seat, I got behind the mic. I looked out at the audience and saw Elly, with that encouraging, “You got this” smile on her face. Knowing she was here made me feel a little better. I reached inside my shirt and touched the cross. It didn’t help at all; I guess its magic was gone.
I finally just told myself, “Fuck it, the voting’s over anyways,” and I cued the band. I rocked out to Dream On like no one was watching. I was feeling great and smiling when I went back to take my seat; that lasted about ten seconds and then the doubts started to force their way back in. I was twenty-eight years old and I didn’t have shit. Not even an apartment. Why should I believe that this would be any different?
They had two guest stars on who sang, but I swear I didn’t hear any of it. I knew I needed to get out of my head and just see what happened. Stressing and obsessing wasn’t going to help. All it was doing was making me feel like I wanted to puke. I wanted to vomit right there on stage in front of millions of people…maybe on Ethan. Fuck…hurry up! If I was going to lose, I wanted them to just get it the fuck over with.
Finally, after what seemed like days instead of a couple of hours, the little shit MC called us to center stage. The large screen behind us was playing clips from both of our performances. There were a couple when I was so high I could barely remember them. I realized while I listened to it that although I’d thought I was the shit, I’d really sounded like shit. There was another point in sobriety’s favor.
“Tristan…..” The MC said my name, they lowered the lights, the dramatic music was playing and I was holding my fucking breath to the point I could have passed the fuck out.
“Tristan…” he said again. That was it; if he said it one more time I was going to punch him the fuck out. My heart was pounding so hard that it hurt.
“Congratulations! You’re this season’s Fresh Voice!”
I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that Ethan was literally hugging me before I processed what he said.
“Congratulations, man,” Ethan said.
It finally hit me…I won. I had a fucking million dollars and a recording contract. I’ll be damned. I actually hugged Ethan back. I wasn’t in the habit of hugging guys, but he’d been through the same shit as me and he deserved it.
“Thanks, man.” There was confetti falling all over the theater and balloons. It looked like a parade. Everyone was on their feet, but suddenly it was like the rest of them disappeared and all I saw was Elly.
I think the MC was still talking to me when I ran off the stage. It was all a blur, but all of a sudden, I had to kiss her. She looked shocked when I grabbed her and pulled her nearly up off her feet. I crushed my lips down on her sweet ones and, in front of eight million people, I kiss my girl.