Best Of Everything (6 page)

“Sounded okay. Not great,” she says, passing judgment with the finality of a hanging judge.

“We’ll get better in the next couple of weeks. Taking off four days was good for me, though. I feel like I’m recharged, you know?” I assure her, and it’s true. My voice has never been stronger.

“Good. You’re going to need stamina. We’ve got more photo shoots, interviews, and a slew of appearances ahead of the release. Talk shows, radio, magazines, the whole drill. And there will be some charity events and award shows between now and then.”

“Bring ’em on. I’m ready.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She stares at me with a blank expression. “I saw the coverage of you and Derek. How’s he handling things?”

So she knows. I shrug. “Good. I mean, as well as can be expected, you know? We’ll get through it.”

She nods again, but her eyes say she’s unconvinced. “I’ve been working with Derek’s booking agent, but it’s going to be hard to get him into most of the venues. The promoters like the lineup as it is, and the only possibility is a string of dates in the Midwest.”

I slump. That’s what I was afraid of. Regardless of how I view it, there are huge financial stakes in play, and Derek’s not A-list yet. I have no doubt he will be, but my opinion isn’t relevant, at least not until I have my own headlining tour, and that’s a ways off, if ever.

“The other thing we’re running up against is that he’s signed to a different label, and obviously Saul wants to keep things in the family. If you start to break big, why should he give a slot to Derek rather than one of his roster? You can see his point, even if he doesn’t say so out loud. That’s just how the business works.”

Our food arrives and it smells like heaven, oversized cubes of melting cholesterol globbed on top of my pancakes like icebergs swimming in a carbohydrate sea.

“But there are some dates you think you can get him on?” I say as I slather the pile of flapjacks with syrup. Terry watches without comment as I cut lumberjack-sized bites and fork a small mountain of pancake into my mouth.

She pours half her dressing on the salad and spears a chunk of chicken with her fork. “In the Midwest, for a week and a half.”

I must look crestfallen because she sounds defensive. “Sage, getting even that was a small miracle. Everyone loves the lineup as it is, and I had to pull a lot of strings to make that happen. I sold Saul on the idea that it would be a good move to capitalize on the nostalgia of you and Derek on the same stage.”

She chews thoughtfully on her salad as I hoover another mound of pancake. “Maybe I can sell Saul on the idea of some promo appearances together. The world is just fascinated with the young love aspect of your story. And obviously it’s more…sensational just at the moment.”

“That would be awesome. I’d fly anywhere to do one.”

“Let me think about it a little. Saul’s protective of his acts. He’s putting everything he has behind you – he’s convinced you’re going to be a megastar, and Saul has the juice to make that happen. I get the feeling he views you and Derek as a complication, not a positive, but maybe I can turn that around. He’s stubborn, but he’s also one of the smartest businessmen I know, and if he sees an opportunity, he’ll jump at it.”

“Well, then let’s try to make him see Derek and me as an opportunity.”

Terry and I eat in silence, canned music piping through overhead speakers like in a cheesy department store elevator. When I sit back, stuffed, the last of the pancakes hulking defiantly in the center of the plate, she pushes her salad away and orders a cup of black coffee. When the waitress clears the dishes, she lowers her voice.

“How serious are you about this guy?”

Blood rushes to my face, and I do my best to keep my tone flat. “Very.”

“And he feels the same way?”

I nod.

She takes a long, thoughtful sip of her coffee and frowns. “This stuff tastes like tar.” She puts the cup down. “How are you coping with the kid thing? Really?”

“Fine, I guess. I mean, I don’t have to do much about it personally. I’m here, he’s there. So not a lot I can offer but moral support.”

“You okay with that? You looked like your head was going to explode on the tabloid sites.”

“That’s just my ‘surprised by the ex with the kid at a public event’ look.”

She nods. “Don’t let it get you down. We need you laser focused on making this launch work. Everything else has to take a backseat. Are we clear?”

I’ve been expecting this, and suspect it was the whole reason she invited me out. She wanted to get a read on my stability and mood, and read me the riot act if she had to. She needn’t have bothered. I’m way better at beating myself up than she’ll ever be – I’ve had a lot more practice.

I match the intensity of her gaze with my own.

“Crystal, Terry. Crystal.”

Chapter 6

The next morning I’m up early. I’ve got an interview with a national music pub at 10:00 and a syndicated radio program at noon. After that I’ll be at the record company’s offices going over set and lighting ideas for the tour, and signing off on cover art for the album – purely a formality, I’m sure, since if I completely hate it, they’ll still run it. I’m getting used to the entire illusion of choice, the way the industry works, and I’m fine with it. As Terry’s said a dozen times, if I go huge, it will all change, and then they’ll be falling all over themselves to do what I want. But for now I’m a pretty face and not much else, so I’m expected to suck it up and keep smiling, which I’m refining to an art form.

Ruby picks me up at 9:30 and drives me to a coffee shop in Beverly Hills, where I’m totally out of place with my black jeans, Chucks, and long-sleeved concert T-shirt. The woman we meet there is in her early thirties, laid back with an easy smile, wearing nondescript business casual that makes her look like she works in a big-box store. She’s the West Coast stringer for the publication, and talking to her feels more like a discussion with a fan than a journalist – she’s seen every TV performance I’ve ever done and opens by telling me I’m one of her favorite singers.

The coffee’s strong and the questions routine: What was it like working with Sebastian (fun and challenging), what song do I like the most on the new album (I love them all, but the first single has a special place in my heart), how do I feel about going out on the road for what’s looking like at least a year (excited), did I ever think things would snowball as they have (not really).

These are all softballs I’ve been rehearsed on numerous times by Terry and Ruby, and I know the answers cold. I get the sense she wants to explore the Derek thing, but is holding back – it’s not part of the article’s scope, and she’s too much of a fan to push it, for which I’m grateful. After half an hour we shake hands and go our separate ways, and Ruby assures me the interview went well, which I already know. The publications basically print whatever press release the record companies send them – the content’s just filler between the soda, skin cream, and gum ads.

The radio station is in Westwood, near the apartment, and we stop in so I can use the bathroom and freshen up before we head over for the show. Ruby is busy assuring me that the talk show host will play nice – apparently he’s normally a shock-jock type who’s built his following with abrasive commentary and inflammatory topics. I don’t listen to the radio, so I have no idea what to expect.

We get to the radio station and it’s underwhelming. I was expecting something like Sebastian’s complex, and this is more an armpit. The waiting room smells like a high school locker room, and the harried receptionist looks jumpy as she juggles phone calls.

The co-host, a weasel-faced man with a heavy East Coast accent sporting enough gold jewelry to start his own pawn shop, comes out of the studio and introduces himself as Fast Eddy. I’m guessing that’s supposed to mean something to me, and I smile and make nice. He leads me into the studio, which has sound-deadening baffles on the walls and feels too humid, and seats me in front of a microphone across from a morbidly obese man wearing sunglasses even though there’s hardly any light.

I don the headphones and the fat man finishes up his rant against illegal immigrants, and then looks up at me as Fast Eddy gives me a thumbs-up sign.

The host turns his attention to me. “It’s a real pleasure to have one of America’s hottest talents with us on the Don Simons show today. Everybody knows her by only her first name, but like with Bono and Madonna, that’s more than enough. I’m talking about, of course, the lovely…Sage! Sage, sweetheart, welcome to the show!” he says, his voice professionally modulated and smooth.

“It’s great to be here, Don. Thanks for having me.”

“I’ve got so many questions for you, but the first one is…how tall are you? You’re a little thing, aren’t you?”

“I’m five three.”

“You know I like ’em small, right?”

I’m not sure where this is going, but I don’t skip a beat. “It never came up.”

“Well, when you’re old enough to drink, give me a call. I’ll treat you right.”

“That’s something to look forward to,” I say, a smile in my voice. This is his deal, shock stuff, and I’ve lived on the streets long enough to be able to talk a good game.

“Now, Sage, you’re putting the finishing touches on an album, am I right? Do they still call them that?”

“Sure.”

“You know, when I was your age, they actually had records. Vinyl. Those were heady times. Now it’s all MP3s and iTunes.”

“The technology’s always changing,” I agree. “But what doesn’t change is a good song.”

Fast Eddy cuts in. “She’s got that right.” He’s obviously the yes-man of the duo, there to play straight to the host’s over-the-top delivery.

“She’s got more than that right. I wish the listeners could see what I’m looking at. I mean, va-va-voom!” Don says with an exaggerated leer in his voice.

I don’t say anything, figuring it’s his problem to cover any dead air his off-color remarks cause. He leans forward, obviously not happy I didn’t go for the bait.

“Listen, Sage, I was on the Internet today, and I saw a big row over you and Derek, the deadbeat who almost cost you the talent show win – some floozy showed up with a rug rat. Can you tell us anything about that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” I say, still smiling. I’ve been expecting it to come up, and Terry and I have discussed how to answer any questions.

“What? Some bimbo waves a kid at my man, I’d be going all ghetto on her ass, am I right?”

“I’ve seen him do it. It’s not pretty,” Fast Eddy pipes in.

“I think everyone was surprised, that’s for sure,” I concede, a diplomatic nonanswer.

“What’s really going on? You can tell me. Come on. Give. You back together with that bum? I loved it when you kicked him to the curb.”

“I don’t discuss my private life,” I say, my voice still calm, even though my heart rate is climbing and my ears are burning.

“Oh, baby, don’t do me like that. Give daddy a little shugah. What’s the deal with him? You banging him?”

I’m not going to play along anymore. “Do you know how old I am?” I ask quietly.

Something about my tone stops Don dead, and suddenly his routine isn’t so funny anymore. He makes an attempt to salvage things, but it falls flat.

“Not exactly. But you look plenty old enough to me.”

“That’s probably because I lived on the street for a while – where I had to dodge perverts and scumbags who like to bully and hit on young girls.” I pause and then go in for the kill. “You know anyone like that?”

Fast Eddy can’t jump in fast enough, and after a few one-liners they cut to commercial. The host looks like I punched him, but I don’t care. Fast Eddy escorts me out of the room, where Ruby’s sitting, her face white – she’s been listening over the speakers in the reception area.

“Oh, Sage. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine. I can take care of myself.” The truth is I’m furious, but I won’t give anyone the pleasure of seeing it. I turn to Fast Eddy, who looks embarrassed.

“Don’t take any of this personal. It’s just the way we roll on the show, you know?” he tries, an oily smile in place.

“Yeah. No sweat. I’m sure that went down great with his fans. Maybe next time he can club a baby seal to death or something. You know, for shock value.”

That pretty much cuts off the civilized discussion. I turn to Ruby. “Are we done here, or do you want me to go in and kick him in the nuts?”

She laughs in spite of herself. The receptionist smiles for the first time since I arrived, and even Fast Eddy has to stifle a chuckle. “No, I think you got your fifteen minutes of fame, Sage. Come on. Let’s go to the next one,” she says, and we leave without me saying another word.

Once we’re in Ruby’s car, I shake my head. “Sorry if I ruined things. The guy’s a complete douche bag. He crossed a lot of lines.”

“Well, we’ll need to see how fans respond, but my take is that you ate his lunch and bitch-slapped him. I think it’ll play well. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that’s all anyone wants to talk about for the next few days during your interviews. You made him look bad, and I think he’s had it coming for a while. Best of all, you did it with class. That’ll buy you a lot of cred with a younger demographic. Who hasn’t wanted to tell off a bully and bury them in the process?”

“So it’s not just me overreacting?”

“Not at all.” Ruby’s phone rings, and she takes the call while pulling into traffic. I can’t hear the caller, but I can guess it’s Saul from her responses. When she hangs up, she’s smiling. “Saul listened to the playback and he loved it. Said you just went up a couple of notches in his book, and he wants me to get maximum mileage out of it.”

“That’s great. Let me call Terry.”

I dial her number, but it goes to voice mail. I leave a cryptic message. “Terry, it’s Sage. Interesting interview with the shock jock. Call me whenever.”

We grab lunch at a retro fifties burger joint and head to Saul’s offices, where I spend several hours looking at photos of set designs being proposed for the tour. I’d imagined just setting up amps and playing, but the record company has other ideas, some of which are pretty cool, and others that look like Cirque du Soleil gone horribly wrong.