Epic (12 page)

“You make me feel like a queen,” I told him as I stroked his hip with the tips of my fingers.

“You are my queen,” he said softly, before he pushed me back on the bed and slid down my body until he disappeared between my thighs.

By morning I was reluctant to let him go. I had enjoyed our little cocoon
, but it was far from self-sustaining. Fame demanded hustle. The more you had of it, the more you had to do to hold onto it. He was preparing for his tour now, auditioning musicians and dancers to bring to life his vision for his first solo concert. He urged me to come with him, but I was still browbeaten over the last tour. I remembered all too well how it felt to be the opening act the audience endured to get to the headliner they really wanted to see.

I didn’t think I could do that again.

The people who loved Jace didn’t necessarily love me. And I had to learn to be OK with that.

So I sent him on his way and concentrated on my own career. A stylist for Tempestuous arrived with another full wardrobe of clothes I could wear to the different store openings I was booked to attend.
I checked in with Gwen Perry, my west coast agent with Schuster and Beckweth, who ticked off any new offers I had. The diet industry was gunning in force to get their mitts on me, which I figured had to do with my high-profile image. They wanted to take the unhappy, highly public failure I had been while fat and turn me into their triumphant before-and-after story, and they were willing to offer me millions to do it. Even Pilar Forrester, who had made quite a name for herself trashing me in the press, had extended a public “olive branch” to start over because she “genuinely cared about me.”

Gwen talked me down from telling Pilar where she could shove her offer.

Even if I wanted to pursue such an endeavor, where would I fit it all? Between the public appearances, pimping my album scheduled to drop by my birthday in August, and the new animated film, “
Black-Eyed Pete
,” that began filming shortly before that, my plate was full. I had music to record for my movie, commitments to juggle with the new season of
Fierce
, and Vanni wanted me to record a duet with him for his new album. Even if I wanted to join Jace on tour, there wasn’t any time. Between Gwen and Iris, I was booked solid. It was going to be hard enough to put Maya and Diego in the mix, much less publicly commit to a weight loss journey just to pacify the masses.

I thought about what Griffin had said about my work ethic. What a pompous ass. He probably assumed I was lazy because of my size, which was the general consensus by
my detractors in the press. I had gotten a lucky break and the pity vote; that was the only reason I had outlasted poor Shelby on the show that landed me on the public’s radar.

Anyone who worked with me would never have called my work ethic into question. I had driven myself past the brink of collapse on more than one occasion. Maybe if he had been a little more receptive and accommodating, he wouldn’t have had to endure my presence for more than one day. He was the one who kept calling us back into the studio to tweak it, when it wasn’t even his song in the first place.

I was so relieved when Graham sent me a text telling me how much he loved what we had recorded. He was ready to push forward with the album release and I didn’t have to see Griffin Slade again.

It was the best news I had all day, but my happiness was even more short-lived than usual. Within minutes Graham sent a follow-up text saying he wanted that song to be the lead single from the new album, complete with a video starring none other than Griffin Slade.

I was at Baxter Mega-Worldwide Media Corporation by that afternoon. Though I knew he was busy, Graham was quick to usher me into the impressive office that overlooked downtown Los Angeles. He greeted me with a hug and kept his arm around me until we reached the chair facing his desk. “Jordi, what a lovely surprise to see you.”

“Thanks for fitting me in.”

He bestowed a benevolent smile. “Of course. We’re family, or have you forgotten?”

I mirrored the smile. “No, of course not.”

“Speaking of family, how did things go in Las Vegas?”

I took a deep breath. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. Long story short: I found my mother. But it isn’t the happily ever after I was hoping it would be.”

He nodded. “It usually never is. So where do you go from here?”

“She’s in bad shape, Graham. Sickly. Poor. Possibly in an abusive relationship. There are so many problems that it is hard to know where to start.”

He leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the desk. “I suppose it won’t do me any good to tell you to take it slowly?”

I laughed. “You and Jace and everyone else I know. But
there’s no way I could just leave her like I found her.”

He nodded. “I understand. And I empathize. Honestly, I do. I just worry about you, Jordi. I’m afraid you’re going to lose yourself again.”

My eyes met his. “I’m kind of scared of that, too. But what choice do I have? I have to do something.”

He gave me a warm, fatherly smile. “I know. And you know if you need anything, you can come to me.”

I was so glad he offered. “That’s actually why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

“I know you want to do a video for ‘I’m Not Sorry,’ but it may not be as simple as asking Griffin. I’m afraid we had a bit of a blowup at the studio the last time we saw each other.”

“Whatever you did, it worked. That track is phenomenal. Have you heard it?”

I shook my head. “I kind of left right afterwards.”

His brow furrowed. “Was there a problem?”

I pursed my lips together. “Kind of. Words were exchanged. I don’t think Griffin likes me very much.”

Graham laughed, much like Jace had done when I admitted as much to him. “Are you kidding? Griffin likes everyone.”

“That’s what I’ve heard. But trust me. He’s not on my short list of fans.”

“Really?” Graham asked as he pulled a folder from the metal racks on the edge of his desk. “I just got an email from a director who wants to use
you for his new movie. Says you were recommended by Griffin directly.”

My mouth dropped open. “What?”
Graham nodded and slid the printout across the desk so I could see it for myself. I read each word in disbelief. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’d recommend you say yes,” Graham stated as he leaned back in his chair. “There’s a lot of buzz about this movie. Possible Oscar contender, even.
Best Original Song. That’s all I’m saying.”

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “Are you kidding?”

He grinned. “You’re in the big leagues now, baby.”

I sat, speechless, in the chair. I
had come to Graham’s office specifically to ask that Diego replace Griffin for the video, but that seemed foolish and ungrateful now that I had this amazing and unexpected offer in my hands. Angus Newhouse was one of the most important young directors in entertainment. He had started as a child star in his native Australia, but found his niche writing and directing independent films that made tongues wag at film festivals worldwide.
The Journey Home
was the first big budget movie he had tackled, and the buzz was huge. It was adapted from a best-selling book of the same name, a period piece about a freed slave enduring the last days of the Civil War in order to piece together her scattered family. A-list celebrities had been cast to tell the tale and it was on schedule for a Christmas release, just in time for awards season.

I glanced over the sheet music for the song they wanted me to sing. It did not escape my notice that
G. Slade
was credited as the writer. Likewise, the lyrics particularly hit home. This was a girl who had risked it all to restore her family. “
Pieces of me scattered to the wind, until I can collect them all again, I’ll never solve the mystery of me
.
I’ll risk it all. No matter how many times I fall. I’ll pick myself up back up again. I’ll never be free until I’ve collected those pieces of me scattered to the wind
.”

My throat tightened as I sang it in my head. It was indeed a powerful piece. I knew instantly this could be
one of the most important songs of my career, the one that finally and truly made me a star.

My eyes met Graham’s
. He stared at me thoughtfully. “So? What do you want me to tell them?”

I wanted to have the luxury of saying I’d think about it, but even I knew that this was the biggest opportunity that had landed in my lap since I was cast on
Fierce
. By the time I left Graham’s office, not only was I booked to film the video for “I’m Not Sorry” during my trip to NYC the following week, but I had signed a contract to record “Pieces of Me” during my stay.

That meant I had
a few more weeks of Griffin Slade. No matter how he felt about me or how I felt about him, I knew I had to make it work, no matter what.

New York City, NY

June 27, 2012

The best thing about working in New York City was that it gave me time to catch up with my bestie, Corey McGrath, who had relocated to the Big Apple to work in his first Broadway production. We t
ried to keep up with each other via text and social media, but we were both busy living our dreams on opposite coasts. We could go days or weeks without talking, and I always felt my life was lesser because of it. It was a special treat indeed when we could hang out in person, like we used to do all the time when we lived together in that art deco apartment in Hollywood.

Corey had certainly moved up
in the world. His new apartment was a two-bedroom loft in SoHo that was open and spacious and much more modern than the apartment we used to share. An entire wall was bricked from floor to ceiling, and that was the wall that now featured all his professional portraits. The rest of the walls were stark white, which, along with the large windows, brightened the spacious room. Most of the space was just that: space. The style Corey was going for on the East Coast was much more minimalist, given how few pieces of furniture or art that he had opted to display.

The doorman
had let me in since Corey was busy with a matinee performance. But there were bright coral flowers in the guest room and a giant arrangement of fruit and goodies on the plain dining room table, tagged with a cheerful, glittery card to welcome me to New York.

I unpacked about a week’s worth of clothes in the empty chest in the guest room, which looked out at the tenth-floor view of the city.
With another appearance at a Tempestuous grand opening, I was sure I’d have at least another two suitcases of clothes to take back to L.A., so I packed light for my two-week stint in the city.

That, and Iris had already warned me that another major makeover was long overdue. I had to clear an entire day for her to work her magic.

I double-checked my phone to remind myself when I was supposed to head down to Iris’s office, only to find a text from Griffin’s assistant, Emma Frost, touching base with me on the shooting schedule for the new video.

I honestly didn’t know what to make of it. Clearly Griffin believed in my talent enough to recommend me for the song for
A Journey Home
, but he couldn’t be bothered to contact me directly. Anything he said or did was typically sent through a third party. And now I was dealing with his flunkies. It was like a constant reminder that I wasn’t worth his personal interaction.

Of all the things I wanted to do while in New York, spending any time at all with the enigmatic Aussie was certainly at the bottom of the list. He always had this way of making me feel inferior, without doing anything at all to make me feel that way.
This made everyone I dared to complain to think I was nuts, which – by default – made me wonder likewise. I could only hope that time with my bestie would help bolster my ego enough to withstand this confusing new dynamic.

I walked down to the local market for some fresh produce, to prepare
Corey one of the vegetarian meals I had learned from Maggie. On the way back, I was on the phone with the children’s home in New Jersey where my mother and my father met. She had filled in her part of my family tree, but the big question I needed to answer now was how my dad ended up there in the first place.

As far as I knew, the Hemphill line was from
Iowa. Granted any information he had shared about his parents had long been forgotten in the fourteen years he’d been gone, and the only real family on the Hemphill side I remembered was Aunt Verna, who died within three years of my dad.

Had he even mentioned his mother or his father? And if not, why?

Needless to say, my itinerary for New York was packed full.

By midnight, Corey and I were sitting on the floor of his living room, entertainment TV on behind us, as we giggled and reminisced over the decimated remains of my Greek-inspired quinoa
salad full of tangy tomatoes, crumbled feta cheese, olives and artichokes. He poured us another glass of wine as I tried to explain why I had such a problem with the “nicest guy in music.”