CHAPTER THREE
The photo hit the tabloids Wednesday. The ten-sentence blurb accompanying it made page twelve, and it was enough to bring some paparazzi to town. They staked out the theater, and I had to turn into a jungle adventurer to get through the bodies. If only I had a machete.
“Hey, do you work here?” one guy asked, shoving a microphone in my face.
I pushed it away only to have it replaced with another one. By the time I got to the door, they hovered around me like starving vultures. The security guards held them back.
“Have you seen Gracin Ford drunk?” another guy shouted over the din.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I should’ve kept on walking. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.
Spinning around, I shoved between the two security guards and held up my hands. The paparazzi stopped, holding their breath for the scoop.
“The only thing I’ve seen Gracin Ford drink is water.”
Their cameras dropped at once.
“How do we know you’re not lying?” a woman asked.
I shrugged. “Guess you don’t. But the only thing you’re going off of is a photo some vindictive ex-girlfriend took three months ago.”
“Are you the new girlfriend?”
I laughed hard enough to clutch my side. “Not even close.”
My father pulled into the parking lot, distracting the crowd. I made my getaway into the theater and turned the corner toward the stairs, slamming into Gracin. He grabbed my arms to keep me from falling. My forehead rested on his shoulder too long to be polite. Or impolite since I’d run into him. He dropped his hands and took a step back.
“I overheard what you said.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, opening them as he exhaled the same way. Honestly, boredom started to set in while I waited for whatever thoughts circulated in his mind. “Thank you.”
“What?” My throat closed around the word, cutting off the T.
“You heard me, Carly.” He stared over my shoulder toward the still open door. We stood far enough inside nobody would see us. “They’ll go away in a day or two, once they realize there isn’t a story here. You may have helped make it faster.”
I glanced back at the crowd. Dad stood center stage, and I had no doubt he was telling the paparazzi the same thing.
“They feed off other people’s misery.” Gracin settled his gaze back to me. There was a sadness about him I’d not seen. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get …”
“Get what?”
He shook his head and turned around. I stared at his retreating back, waiting for the answer I’d probably never get.
∞ ∞ ∞
Graduation had seemed so far away when I was a freshman. Saturday morning, it loomed over my head like a gray cloud that may or may not rain at any given moment. Gracin had texted the night before reminding me to be at the show by six for the opening night sell-out. Like I’d forget.
Dad had an emergency at the resort, and Mom scheduled an all-important mani-pedi, which I conveniently bowed out of. Miranda volunteered to take my place much to Mom’s delight. Luke sucked up and went in to help Dad even though he was supposed to work the theater later. Talk about a brownnoser. Even though they’d all be at the stadium for the ceremony, it hurt that we wouldn’t go together.
Thank God Nena’s dad let her pick me up. When Nena honked the horn of her fifteen-year-old Cavalier, I ran out the door carrying my black slingbacks and wearing the forbidden flip-flops. Gibbons had announced Monday that any student who showed up to graduation in flip-flops would not be allowed to participate. I thought it was stupid, but then again most of the rules the school came up with these days were stupid.
We crowded into the locker rooms behind the bleachers, draping our gowns over our arms. Once we put them on, it’d be final. No turning back. It was a terrifying thought. I wanted to get to Nashville, but I didn’t want to leave my friends.
After an hour of organizing us, reorganizing us, and then yelling at us to get back in line, the teachers stopped once the band started playing, their notes wafting in the warm spring air, signaling the beginning of the end. Then Pomp and Circumstance began. One by one, we made our way to the folding chairs lined up on the track by the football field. Less than a hundred kids in my class, one of the smallest to ever graduate here, sat and pretended to listen to the boring speeches. The only common theme was “you’re leaving this life behind.” Tears rimmed my eyes.
Nena and Ivy were right. I was a sentimental fool.
Finally, Mr. Gibbons announced Nena’s father as the speaker. This would be quick. We begged him to keep his speech to less than three minutes. Reverend Brand laughed, but he agreed.
“This is a bittersweet day for me,” he began.
My phone buzzed in the pocket of my skirt. I closed my eyes, fighting off the frustration filling me. This was my day. He wouldn’t do this, would he? It could only be Gracin. Everyone else was here. I slipped my hand under by gown and tugged the phone free. A few of my classmates gave me the stink-eye and I mouthed “Sorry” at them. Guilt filled me from the pit of my stomach to my esophagus, and I thought it would spew from my mouth.
I unlocked the screen as discretely as possible. Thank God, I was toward the back and at the far end of my row. If Gibbons saw this, he’d blow a head gasket without caring who witnessed it. I tried to be stealthy, but several people around me heard the slight gasp escaping my lips after I read the text.
Congrats. ~ G
My head shot up and I turned around, searching the stands like an idiot. No way he’d show up at my graduation. My dad’s balding head stood out near the middle of the bleachers. Mom sat beside him, dabbing her eyes with a hanky. She loved going all Scarlett O’Hara at times like this. Luke and Miranda sat beside her. My gaze drifted back toward Dad and the guy sitting next to him. A dirty Dodgers hat hid his golden locks, but there was no doubt it was Gracin. He cocked his head to the left and raised his hand. I nodded as a smile spread over my face.
There wasn’t a reason for him to show up. He hardly knew me. In the week since I’d been his P.A., we’d probably spent a total of two hours together tops. Even then, we’d been doing a million things at once with Gracin barking orders at me in rapid-fire succession. But I appreciated his presence.
Reverend Brand kept his promise of less than three minutes. He wrapped up his speech and the senior class applauded as if he’d just won the Nobel. Nena beamed at her father and wiped the tears from beneath her eyes. Ivy squeezed her shoulder. Not for the first time in my life, I wished my last name began with a B.
Mr. Gibbons called each name. Nena walked across the stage like a runway model as she accepted her diploma. After Ivy had hers, she bounced off the stage and waved toward her family. It felt like an eternity until he got to the R’s. I smiled widely at him as we did the practiced handoff. Gibbons leaned down and squeezed my hand tight.
“One day, you’ll put that phone away, Carly,” he whispered.
I laughed as I made my way back to my seat. When I glanced back at the stage, Gibbons smirked and shook his head. This time he couldn’t bust me for using my phone, and we both knew it.
∞ ∞ ∞
Gracin leaned back in his dressing room chair with his eyes closed and his feet crossed at the ankles a half hour before the show. His hair curled up like a flame reaching for the sky. It didn’t look right on him, but this was his stage look, or so I’d been told.
“Carly, you ready for this?” he asked without opening his eyes.
I brushed the lint off the velvet jacket he would wear during a ballad. It looked more like something you’d see in Vegas than Branson. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Everything’s going to happen pretty fast. Just making sure you’re ready, that’s all. You don’t need to bite my head off.”
“I didn’t bite your head off, Gracin. I asked a question.” I shook the coat, causing it to snap like a towel in a locker room. “And you might as well get used to it. I ask a lot of questions.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” he replied.
“Good. Then why’d you show up to graduation?” I hung the velvet jacket back into the wardrobe so I couldn’t see his face. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to not see him or for him to not see me.
A long sigh slid through his lips. “I … I would’ve graduated this year, but never went to school so I didn’t. Got my GED on the road when I was sixteen. After that, I never had a reason to go to one.”
What about friends? What about dances and parties and football games? I kept those questions to myself. He probably didn’t want to hear them. I couldn’t imagine never being in school. My hands covered my face before sliding through my hair. Then I actually heard what he said and I spun faster than a Tilt-A-Whirl. “Wait, you’re twenty.”
Gracin met my gaze. “No, I’m not.” He pressed his hands into the vinyl covering the armrests. “King Albert lied about my age to get me into the group. They wanted a fourteen-year-old and I was only twelve. Nobody ever figured it out or questioned it.” He shrugged and leaned back into his seat. “Just one of the many cover-ups by Albert Ford. There are three people in this world who remember the truth.”
“Just three? Somehow I doubt that.”
“Last year, my aunt gave me a card that said Happy 20th and my uncle signed it. I’ve been faking it for so long, people believe it. Even my family. So yeah, three people. Me, my father, and now you. Welcome to the ever-spinning web of lies.”
“Oh.” My mind whipped around this information, barely able to grasp what I’d just heard. Pretending to be older just to get into a singing group. But continuing to lie about it. Why?
“You remember the set list? Which jacket goes with which song? When the wardrobe changes are? It’s going to happen pretty fast –”
“Yes, I know.” I straightened and inhaled sharply. Despite his confession, he didn’t need to be such a dick. “You’ve already said this today, and yesterday. Maybe even the day before. I didn’t miss a beat during rehearsals. Or did you forget?”
Gracin stretched his arms above his head, finally opening his eyes. He sat up suddenly, causing me to take a step back into the wardrobe. “People expect certain things from me onstage. I have to be charming, witty, and sing like an angel. They want me to dance until my legs fall off. They want me to stare into their eyes and sing only to them.” He sighed and collapsed back into his chair, entangling his fingers across his taut abs. “They want me to be everything they desire. That’s my job. Your job is to make sure it goes smoothly.”
I rolled my eyes. Talk about stating the obvious.
“Don’t screw this up for me, Carly.” Gracin stood and closed the gap between us. He stared down, capturing my gaze. The intense heat radiating through his eyes caused my stomach to tighten and toes to curl. “This may just be a job for you, but this is my life.”
Holy hell. If he used that intensity on stage, soccer moms would swoon alongside their teenage daughters. Gracin smiled and stepped back. He knew he’d gotten to me, and I hated him for it.
A rap on the door prevented me from opening my mouth and saying something that probably would’ve sounded stupid. My knees knocked together as I moved around him. Dad smiled when I opened the door, and Gracin’s dad stood beside him.
“You two ready for the big night?” Dad crowed. He stepped into the room as if he owned it. Technically, he did, but he never understood boundaries. When I was fourteen, I put a padlock on the inside of my bedroom door to keep him out. He broke the lock with bolt cutters. At least he had the courtesy to knock on Gracin’s door before barging in.
“Gracin, are you prepared?” Albert asked. I detected a hint of disgust in his voice. A quick glance at Gracin told me I wasn’t the only one. “The show’s sold out. Mr. Reynolds even opened some standing room only tickets earlier in the week. They sold in under an hour.”
“It’ll be fine,” Gracin said. The playful tone in his voice had disappeared the moment his father came into the room.
“Good to hear, son.” Dad slapped Gracin’s shoulder and turned to me. “Everything good?” He raised an eyebrow with an unasked question.
“Yep, all dandy.” I smiled widely without it being obviously fake. “Just discussing the wardrobe changes with Mr. Ford. Again.”
Gracin mouthed, “Mr. Ford?” toward me. I hadn’t called him that since the day we met. I shrugged. It didn’t hurt if my father thought I was still being respectful.
“Glad you stepped in to help with wardrobe after Ree quit.” Dad beamed at me. “I knew you’d be a good fit for this job, bug.”
Oh my God, Dad, I thought. And if Gracin or his father knew exactly how I landed this job, I doubt they’d agree.
“Time to get ready,” Albert said. “You’ve got less than ten minutes to showtime. Unlike L.A., the people around here expect you to start on time and not when you decide to climb on stage.”
The brief surprise on Dad’s face dissipated back into cool professionalism before either Ford noticed. But I caught on. Dad glanced at me out of the corner of his eye before following Gracin’s father into the hall.
Once the door clicked closed, Gracin collapsed into his dressing room chair, burying his head in his hands. The tension between father and son wasn’t direct hatred, but it wasn’t subtle either. Albert’s digs at Gracin were meant to sting. Maybe he earned the anger from his father, but something told me there was more to the story.
Everyone knew of Gracin Ford’s antics a little over a year ago when he hadn’t even bothered to show up for two concerts, and one had started an hour late because he’d been too drunk to go onstage. The tabloids had willingly reported his alcoholism and his stint in rehab. By camping outside the stage door for the last few days, it was clear they didn’t believe Gracin had cleaned up his act. Hell, even I expected him to chug a bottle of vodka at any minute. But didn’t Gracin deserve a second chance?
“Okay, get the leather jacket,” Gracin said as he stood.
I hurried to the wardrobe, trying to think of something to make him smile before he went out there. As I tugged the leather jacket off the hanger, I realized the best thing to say was nothing. It wasn’t any of my business.
“Thanks, bug,” he whispered as I slipped the jacket over his shoulders.
I cringed. “Please don’t call me that. It’s not… The story behind it’s funny to my family, but not to me.”
He held my gaze in the mirror, a flash of understanding in his eyes before he nodded once.
The show went by without a hitch, but I couldn’t help feeling something about it wasn’t right. The music sucked. I mean, big time sucked. Not that the crowd cared. Gracin did two encore performances, all planned of course. Sweat covered his face after the last note left the stage. I followed him dutifully to his dressing room.
“Well?” he asked between breaths. He bent over and inhaled deeply. The encore, a fast-paced rap-style song, sent him all over the stage at a sprint.
“It was good,” I answered, hanging his discarded denim vest back in the wardrobe. Febreeze that tomorrow.
“Good? Only good?” His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line.
I hated lying, so I usually made a practice of telling the truth no matter how much it got me into trouble. This was the perfect time to change things up, so naturally I didn’t. “Honestly, it’s not my type of music.”
“You’re saying it sucked?” Gracin kicked his shoes off with more force than necessary.
“I’m not saying that.” Yes, I am. “It’s not my thing.” I waited for a reaction. My legs burned, and I wanted this to be over so I could head to the last few hours of the final big senior class party. I had no idea being behind the scenes would be so exhausting. “You were great, though,” I added sincerely.
“Little late for that.” He turned, staring me down much like he did before, but without the sexiness of it. “What would you change?”
I blanched when I realized my mind used the word “sexy” alongside an image of Gracin.
“Well?” he prodded. The intensity of his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes, and the sheer closeness of him turned me into a puddle of goo. I couldn’t let him get to me, not like this. Gracin Ford was a self-entitled jackass, not a guy to swoon over. Besides, I don’t swoon over guys. Not my thing. “I see,” he said when I failed to respond. He backed away and returned to his chair. “You’ll criticize, but you won’t back it up with any real thought.”
That knocked the still-forming dirty thoughts out of my head. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on, cowboy. I can back it up.”
“Really? I doubt it.” He crossed his ankles, relaxing back in his throne.
My calves tightened from all the running I’d done during the show, but I stood strong. “Fine, the sound is too techno. It was all vibrations and screeching. There wasn’t any real music going on. The band looked bored, and irritated. Nothing they did came out pure since it all sounded computerized. So, yeah, it sucked.”
Gracin’s expression didn’t change. He just stared, waiting for me to go on.
So I did. “The dance numbers were predictable. The dancers fake-swooned over you and also looked bored, not like they care since they at least have a job, but there wasn’t any heart in it.” I took a breath and went on. “And I have no idea what you sound like. Even during the ballads, it was like you were too afraid to let people hear your voice. It’s just not -”
“Okay, I get it,” he snapped, holding up his hand. “You hated it.”
“I didn’t hate it, I just didn’t like it that much.”
“Let me ask you this, what did you like?” The tension in his jaw could slice through granite.
This was going to be hard to admit, but I hadn’t lied yet, so some embarrassing truth was called for. “You.” I was going to need some serious downtime after this. Preferably involving tequila. “You’re graceful up there. You moved through the numbers and songs, even the silly between song banter, naturally. I could tell you enjoyed being in front of the crowd.” All the truth telling weighed on me, adding to the exhaustion of the evening. I scooted toward the wall, using it to hold me up as I made myself as clear as possible. “Look, I’m not into techno-pop music. This isn’t the kind of show I’d see willingly. Don’t be offended, but you did ask for my opinion.”
Gracin nodded and stared off toward the door. I couldn’t see his face and had no idea what might be going through his mind. Without looking at me, he asked, “What kind of music are you into?”
The laugh that shot out of my mouth was louder than intended. “That’s not an easy question to answer.”
“Try me,” Gracin said. He turned toward me, his face still unreadable. “What do you like?”
This was not the time for an in-depth conversation about my musical tastes. It was nearing midnight, and I wanted to get my party on with my high school friends one last time. I slid down the wall until my ass hit the shag carpeting. He wasn’t going to let this go, so I thought I’d just get it out of the way. “I like music that makes me feel alive.”
A week before prom, Nena, Ivy, and I snuck into a bar in Kimberling City for an open mic night. There was a guy who got onstage with just his guitar and sang a few original songs about living in the Ozarks. He wasn’t a very good guitar player, but his voice was like a vanilla latte warming me from the inside out.
“I like purity, unrestrained voices, simple guitar riffs. Songs with emotions reverberating through each chord, each lyric.” Sighing, I tucked my feet under my thighs. “It could be jazz, metal, alternative, anything that makes me feel like the songs were written only for me or even about me.”
“So anything but techno-pop?” Gracin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
I chuckled. “The problem with techno-pop is the techno side. Maybe if you stripped down the techno, I might like the real music behind it.”
“But maybe not?” Gracin’s small smile fought for freedom.
I returned it with a warmer one of my own. “Yeah, maybe not.”
He nodded and pushed his hands off his knees to stand. “You’re tired. Clean up tomorrow afternoon.”
I glanced around the nearly spotless room. There wasn’t much to clean up, which was part of the reason I was so exhausted. Not like I was going to let that stop me for the night. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I slid it out and unlocked the screen as Gracin pulled off his black t-shirt. The phone almost fell to the floor, but I caught it before it was too obvious. Seriously, this was not going to happen all summer. Just because I wanted to trace the lines of the muscles curving around his arms and chest, didn’t mean I should.
I glanced at the text from Nena, Where R U?
Just as I started typing back, Gracin ruined the peace and quiet. “You can text your boyfriend tomorrow. Or at least wait until you’re out of my dressing room.”
My head snapped up before I finished typing the space after “I’m.” Gracin sneered, the slight grin long gone. What a dick.
“Problem?” he asked.
The edge, yeah, I went over it. I was way too tired to deal with his bipolar bullshit. “Yeah, there’s a few problems. One, I don’t have a boyfriend. Two, I’m late for a party. Three, you’re being a colossal asshole right now, and I’d rather you wouldn’t. Is that enough or would you like more?”
“There’s more? Please, enlighten me.” He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Although I have to admit, I’m not surprised you don’t have a boyfriend. Scare them all off with your wonderful personality?”
“And we all know how your lovely personality handles the ladies,” I shot back like a spitting cobra. It was a strike below the belt, and I knew it, but this guy was so freaking arrogant and self-assured and just a jackass overall.
He laughed, and I hated him even more. “If you’re referring to Sheila, you’re so far off the mark you can’t see the target, sweet cheeks.”
“I wasn’t referring to Sheila,” I said. The tabloids were pretty sure Gracin’s fall from grace had to do with his famous girlfriend dumping him by cheating in plain sight. She was seen at a film festival with her arms wrapped around pop music’s latest bad boy. Apparently, she hadn’t bothered to tell Gracin it was over between them.
He closed the gap between us, breathing heavy as he bent so we were nose to nose. “You can’t believe everything you see on TV, Carly,” he whispered.
“What about what I read, Gracin? Or is everything that’s been written about you just a bunch of fairytales?” Me and my big mouth. I should’ve let it go, but I wouldn’t be me if I let him, or anybody else for that matter, have the last word. Well, that and arguing with someone who fought back was kind of a turn on. This was so not good.
“You don’t shut up, do you?” His lips were parted slightly. All it would take was a tilt of the head and an inch to close that distance.
And I waited for that to happen, wondering what his lips would taste like.
Gracin stepped back, breaking the hold his stare had on me and knocking reality back in. God, what was I thinking?
He shook his head and grabbed a white t-shirt as he strolled toward the door. “Lock up on your way out.”
I flinched when the thick wood connected against the frame behind him. Rage built inside me, resulting in a very childish scream and foot-stomping incident. Worse, I threw the only thing I had available. My precious cell phone shattered against the door like glass against concrete.
So much for screen protectors.
Why did August twenty-seventh have to be so far away?