Home: A Novel (2 page)

Read Home: A Novel Online

Authors: Rachel Smith

BOOK: Home: A Novel
13.55Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

“LILY RAE!!!”

“Oh my God, you’re my idol”

“I Love you, Lily Rae!”

“I want you to have my baby!”

I could feel the blood pumping through my veins heat up a few degrees.
 
W
hen mobs of fans went into total fan girl mode it freaked the hell out of me. My palms began to sweat and the collar of my shirt seemed to tighten by the second. Soon, it was visible by the increased movement of my chest I was starting to hyperventilate. Funny how I could dance around on stage while singing my heart out and barely get winded, but a few crazed fans and I was gasping to catch my breath.

Sarah stepped in front of me as two bodyguards flanked my sides and one brought up the rear. I gave the fans a small smile, a wave, and then put my head down to move forward.
 
W
hat I thought would be a simple walk to my dressing room turned into my worst nightmare.

In a flash of movement, my cocoon of security seemed to dissipate before my eyes. I saw Sarah pushed to the ground, with one muscular bodyguard pulling bodies away to get her off the floor.
 
T
he man at my left had two teenage girls on his back, clawing at his neck and face while screaming my name.

The last bodyguard drew me tightly to the front of his body.
 
T
hreading one arm around my shoulders, he used the other to push through the crowd.

My head was spinning. How everything went bad so quickly, I had no idea. I felt like I was in the middle of some bad zombie apocalypse movie instead of walking backstage after my show.

After a few seconds, I heard a grunt in my ear before the warmth at my back was gone. I was completely alone, and worse, accessible to crowds of people in the small hallway.

I turned, thinking I could bolt for my dressing room. I took two steps before mobs of fans surrounded me. In a pure state of panic, I pleaded with them to leave me alone.

“Please,” I said. “I need to get to my dressing room.”

It was useless.
 
T
he darkness was moving into my peripheral vision. Fearing I would be trampled by a crowd of people, I curled my arms around my head for protection. I could feel hands on my body, hear voices screaming my name.
 
W
ith a final breath, I prepared for the darkness to take over.

“This is it. I’m going to die,” I whispered, and felt my body lifted into the air.

I looked up into the eyes of Colton Jefferson.

And if the fans made my skin crawl with fear, Colton Jefferson put them at a dead sprint. Being a slimy music executive, I was surprised he didn’t leave me to be trampled by the crowd. He’d surely make more money from my tragic death.

“Hurry, in here,” Sarah said as she held the door for me.
 
T
he moment Colton set me down and we were securely locked in, I turned to hug her.

“Thank you,” I mumbled into her shoulder. It took me a moment to get my breathing under control.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Sarah knew about the darkness that threatened when I was in a large crowd. Besides my Mama, she was the only other person that knew about my condition.

“Yeah,” I whispered.
 
T
aking a deep cleansing breath, I turned to grab my bag and a change of clothes.

“Lil, baby, there’s a few people here tonight I need you to schmooze with,” I heard from over by the bar. I turned to see Colton fixing himself a drink on the smooth, marble countertop. “And I lined it up so about fifty fans will do a meet and greet for autographs and pictures.”

I froze in my tracks. “What?” I asked, barely able to register what he just said to me. “Did you not just witness what happened out there?
 
T
here is no way I’m dealing with any more people getting too close to me tonight, Colton.”

“Sweetheart –”

“No, I’m changing clothes and heading to Des Moines. I told your assistant this already, Colton. My parents are meeting me there in the morning so I can spend time with them before the show.”

“Babe, it’s a done deal,” he replied.

“No. I’m not doing it,” I said. I walked closer to him, mostly so Sarah would be out of earshot. “You’ve made me do a lot of shit, Colton, but
 
not
 
tonight. I haven’t seen my parents in almost four months. I’m changing clothes and Sarah and I are getting on the bus to head out. Immediately.”

I grabbed the drink out of his hand and turned on my heel to go change my clothes, thankful my back was to him as the alcohol made me wince when I swallowed it down.

Within half an hour, Sarah and I were prepared for security to escort us to the tour bus. Colton had disappeared, but I knew he couldn’t be far. He never gave up that easily, unless it would benefit him in some way.

The coded knock coming from the other side of the door was my cue that security was outside and ready to roll. My bags were lined up so the roadies could grab them and head out. Sarah opened the door and the fans went insane.

There were now seven beefy men ready to put themselves in the path of destruction for us. Apparently they called for backup after our first attempt which made me extremely thankful. Fans were pushing and shoving from every direction. It was pandemonium.

“What is with people tonight?” I looked at Sarah and asked.

“I guess Colton delivered the news that the meet and greet was cancelled,” Sarah answered sarcastically. “How very thoughtful of him.
 
W
ell, into the lion’s den my dear. Unfortunately, it’s the only way to the bus.”

We stepped into the corridor as the intensity of the crowd grew. Some were screaming with excitement to see me, jumping all over like they’d won the lottery. A whole row of people were lined up against the wall, holding their glossy photos and digital cameras. Fucking Colton. Making promises impossible for me to keep. Instead I end up letting down an entire group of fans who feel cheated out of their one chance to meet me. I felt like a witch heading to be burned at the stake.

People were being shoved in every direction. Mothers with teenage girls who wanted a picture with me. Fathers with teenage girls who wanted a picture with me. High School and College aged kids, who were seemingly obsessed with every aspect of my life, shoved cameras in my face.
 
T
hen there were the slimy middle aged stalker men who were just plain creepy.
 
T
hey didn’t have a teenage daughter with them as their excuse to come to my concert.
 
T
hey were there all by themselves. I should be thankful they bought a ticket, but yuck.

As we got to the outside door I realized even more fans lined the feeble metal fence, creating a small walkway for us. I would have to go directly through them to get to the bus.

You have GOT to be kidding me
.

Security was definitely earning their pay tonight.
 
T
hey were being pushed, hit, kicked, and at one point I swear I saw a girl lean in and bite one of the guys on the hand. Every time they’d shove into security, I’d get shoved into Sarah. I was holding her hand so tightly I’m surprised she wasn’t screaming out in pain.

I could see the steps into the doorway of the bus.
 
Home Free,
 
I thought to myself. My anxiety level was through the roof with all these people so close to me. All it would take is one crazy person to stick out a knife or worse, pull a gun and start shooting.

Just then a young girl, maybe eight or nine years old, slid herself between the rungs of the fence and stood in front of us. My bodyguards moved to push her out of the way but I yelled for them to stop. I was worried the crazy mob would ambush the little girl. As much as I wanted to get out of there, I didn’t want her to get hurt.

I pushed through two of the big men and stood in front of the girl. She looked up at me with big eyes. Eyes that looked familiar. Eyes that were so deep blue they looked like the middle of a lake on a bright summer day. Her hair was a dark chestnut like mine. I stared at the little girl while security kept the rest of the vultures away.

“Can I have your autograph?” she asked, holding her picture and black pen up to me.

“Sure,” I knelt down in front of her. “Is your mommy here?”

“Right there,” she said. I turned to see the mother wave and give the girl a thumbs up.

“What’s your name?”

“Maria.”

“Well here you go, Maria.
 
T
his man here will help you get back safe to your mom, okay?”

“Thanks, Lily. When I grow up, I wanna be a singer just like you!”

I blinked back tears as I stood up.

And when I grow up, I wanna have a daughter just like you.

My breath hitched as the tears threatened to spill over. I didn’t want the fans to see me break down. I grabbed Sarah’s arm and hurried into the bus.
 
W
alking all the way to the back where my private bedroom was located, I held my hand to my chest and tried to steady my breathing. I scrunched my eyes closed as tight as possible, but it only made the image of the little girl become clearer. I could still hear the screams coming from every side of my bus.
 
W
hy couldn’t they just let me be? I sang for them. I danced around for them. I put on a great freaking show for them. I walked out on the extended stage and offered high fives and handshakes to the lucky people in the front rows. But now it was over. I wanted comfy clothes, my best friend, and bad reality
 
T
V until I had to slip into “Lily Rae” mode and do it all over again tomorrow.

“What the hell was that about? Are you okay?” I heard Sarah come into my room.

“That little girl,” I whispered. “She looked just like me.” I stared out the window, unable to look at her. “Like if I had a daughter….she would look just like that little girl.”

“Don’t, Lil,” Sarah pleaded. “Don’t think about it.”

“I can’t do this anymore,” I said as I closed my eyes. I grabbed my phone, pushed a couple buttons and put it to my ear.

“Who are you calling?” Sarah asked.

I just shook my head and looked to the floor. I heard the call be picked up on the other side.

“Lillian, it’s late, is everything okay?”

“Mr. Vangoal, sorry to bother you at this hour. I need to meet with you immediately. Can you be in Des Moines, Iowa by tomorrow afternoon?” I asked.

Sarah’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion, likely wondering why I was calling my lawyer at 11:30pm after having a nervous breakdown.

“I think that should be ok, Lillian. I’ll have my secretary check in the morning and let you know the details. Are you in some kind of trouble?” he asked.

“No trouble. I just need your help.”

“Okay,” he said, but I could hear the concern in his voice.

“Thank you. And please, this meeting needs to be confidential,” I stressed.

“As always, Miss Raftzen. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Mr. Vangoal.”

I pushed the button to end the call and tossed my phone onto the bed.

“Can you please share with me what the hell is going on?” Sarah asked.

I stood on shaky legs and walked to make sure the door was securely locked. As I turned around, I could see the worry on Sarah’s face. I was always so strong and composed.
 
V
ery rarely did I fall apart. And when I did it was always when I was completely alone. But now, the wetness that had hit my eyes was beginning to take form and fall down my cheeks in a steady stream.

“I’m going to meet with my lawyer tomorrow afternoon in Des Moines,” I said quietly. “And together we’re going to begin the process of me quitting the Country Music business.”


Oh my God
,” Sarah breathed.

“I’m done,” I said. T
hen the sob broke from my throat and tore completely through my body. In between hiccupping breaths, I looked at my best friend and said the words I never thought I’d hear myself say, “I want to go home.”

 

 

Chapter 2

I
turned onto the street that would take me directly into Glenview.
 
T
he two hour drive from the closest airport was a brief moment of peace for me. For years, I had rarely been behind the wheel of a car. I was constantly being pushed and pulled in so many directions at once, and then practically thrown into the back of a vehicle and off I go. Off to the next venue.
 
T
he next photo shoot.
 
T
he next interview or talk show or whatever the hell else they had planned for me that day. I had no control over my life. Sure, the $42 million I put in the bank last year made it a little easier to accept, but still. I didn’t even have control over that. My accountant and lawyers handled everything. One time I went to an ATM and couldn’t take out cash because my chosen pin number “wasn’t authorized.”
 
W
hat was up with that?

As I inched closer to Main Street, I realized it resembled something out of a movie. Little Mom and Pop shops lined the picturesque streets.
 
T
here was a bar on each side, a small grocery store, and a bank on the south corner.
 
T
he flower shop sat smack in the middle alongside a cute little gift shop. It looked like a new salon had opened up since I left, as well as a photography studio.

It was like Mayberry threw up, and out came Glenview. Small trees and vibrant flowers were planted in concrete barrels lining the street. An American flag hung in the front window of the post office.
 
T
here were bright gold fliers posted every few steps reminding everybody that the Glenview High athletic boosters were hosting a meal before the opening football game in a few weeks.

I smiled when I saw two old men sitting on a bench in front of the pharmacy. I immediately whipped around and pulled in. Shutting down the engine of my rented Lexus SUV, I opened the door.

“Hey, Pops!” I cried as I quickly got out of the car.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said, nudging the man next to him. “That’s my granddaughter, Lily.”

The other man looked me up and down. “Um, hi,” I said with a little wave as I tripped up the curb. How I’d made it all these years as a celebrity being such a klutz was beyond me.

“She don’t look like no rich singer,” he said to my Pops.

I looked down and took inventory of my plainness. I had made a very conscious decision when I got dressed that morning. I didn’t want to come home all tricked out in designer clothes and give the impression I was stuck up.
 
W
hile I did have on a pair of vintage Levi jeans with my dark brown suede boots, my top was just a simple long sleeved cream colored tee. My dark hair hung low to the middle of my back in soft curls. I can’t say God blessed me with naturally kick ass hair; but he did bless me with an awesome voice so I could afford to pay someone to make me look kick ass.

“What the hell you say?” Pops said back to him. “She looks like a magazine picture standing right here in front of me,” he said as he stood up and shuffled slowly toward me. “Always were the prettiest girl in the room,” he said, and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

It was definitely time for a drink.

“So does Jimmy still keep the beer cold in this town since I left?” I asked with a smile as I hitched my hand onto my hip.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt nothin’ for us to go find out,” Pops said, taking my hand to lead me across the street.

I ordered a draft beer with tomato juice. A shiver ran down my spine after my first sip, it tasted that good. It was not an easy feat for me to drink my ‘socially acceptable’ drinks in the business. God forbid I go to a restaurant and order a damn beer. I was always forced to drink the newest fruity girly drink in order to keep with my image. Photos of me downing a whisky sour would probably give my PR team a coronary. Reason number six hundred and thirty-seven that made it so easy to walk away.

“So tell me, sweetheart, you home for long?” Pops asked.

I looked around to make sure no one would overhear my answer. Of course, being the middle of the afternoon in po-dunk Iowa, we were the only people in the bar.
 
T
he guy Jimmy had working was busy stocking the cooler, not paying attention to us at all.

“Um…yeah, funny story. Um…I sort of will be, for, um, awhile.” I was stuttering all over my words.
 
T
he only people aware of my plans to end my career were my lawyer and Sarah.
 
T
he entire staff would be receiving notice today of their termination. I made sure to get out of town before that happened. My lawyer, Mr.
 
V
angoal, knew once everything was tied up I would still continue his services. He’d been so good to me over the years and knew my business and handlings like the back of his hand. He also understood that I was done dealing with everybody’s sticky fingers when it came to my finances. Finally, I’d have control over my own life. It was almost a foreign concept to me anymore.

“How long’s awhile?” he asked.

“I’m not a singer anymore, Pops,” I said quietly. I looked at him sideways out of the corner of my eye. His beer was stalled halfway to his mouth as he stared straight ahead.

He finally turned to look at me. I was so uncomfortable I started giggling. Bad trait to have, especially as a performer, but any time I was nervous or uncomfortable I’d break out in a fit of giggles. By the look on Pops’ face, he didn’t find anything about my last statement very funny.

“How the hell is that possible?” he asked.

“Well,” I sighed, “I got sick of it. Enough is enough. Do you know that people steal my clothes from hotels and sell them on the internet?” I asked. “I mean, come on. I can’t go anywhere. I have no life. Every person I know has their slimy fingers in my fucking bank account.” I was starting to get pissed. I always dropped the f-bombs more when my temper got going and it didn’t matter who was around to hear them. “It’s not worth it. I thought it was. I thought there was no way in hell I’d ever come back here looking to put down roots. I thought I’d have it all and ride off into the sunset with my cowboy.”

I looked down at my beer glass as a sudden sadness washed over me. “All my life, I dreamed of being a famous singer. As long as I can remember. I know people will think I’m insane for leaving it all behind. But over the years, Pops, my dreams have changed. As much as I love to be up on stage and make records, I won’t do it at the expense of my happiness.
 
T
here has to be more to life, right?”

Pops tried to smother his smile with his beer glass.

“Well, I’m glad you finally got your head out of your ass, kid,” he said. Of everything I’d just told him, that’s all he had to say in response. Unreal. He threw a few bills on the bar and got up to leave.

“Wait.
 
W
here are you going?” I asked. “We just got here.”

“Gotta get home, darlin’,” he said. “Stop by and see your Grandma soon, ok?” He winked at me before shuffling away toward the door.

I nodded. “Ok” was all that would come out of my mouth.

What the hell?
 
I wondered to myself.
 
Apparently seeing your only granddaughter twice in twelve years didn’t constitute enjoying a full beer together. But Pops always had a way about him. He listened to your problems but somehow could get you to come to the solution yourself.
 
T
hen he was done.

I heard the jingle of bells hitting a door and looked to my left thinking it was Pops making his exit. Instead, a shadowy figure encased by the sunlight behind him entered the bar. My stomach dropped and I got that feeling.
 
Y
ou know, the one where butterflies flap around and get you all giddy until it bottoms out straight to your knees? Check!
 
T
his silhouette of a man was magnificent.
 
T
all and built. He grabbed his hat off his head and ran his palm through his thick, dark brown hair. It was long enough that it curled at the nape of his neck and around his ears. He came a few more steps into the bar and……

“Oh my God,” I breathed.

I recognized him instantly. Obviously he’d changed, but he was still the boy I knew all those years ago.
 
T
he one I had placed high on a pedestal and made any other man I’d ever known seem not good enough.

He took a few steps further into the bar before he saw me and stopped in his tracks. His light green eyes were as round as saucers and the color drained from his face like he had seen a ghost.

“Bright Eyes,” he said as he exhaled.

“Yeah,” I managed to croak. My mouth was dry and it was hard to spit out any other words. I couldn’t believe that after twelve years I was seeing my best friend again. He stood frozen, staring at me like he didn’t know what to do next. I saw, as he started to thaw, a slow smile creep up on his lips as he glanced at my half empty beer glass.

“Drinking in the middle of the afternoon? I see you haven’t changed much. Did you at least pay for the beer this time?” he asked with a smirk.

I jumped up off my barstool and ran to him.

“Hey, Justin,” I said softly in his ear as I threw my arms around his neck. It was just like the old days. He wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed. He quickly let me go, but held me at arm’s length as he scanned my body. “And Pops paid for it, actually,” I finished.

“Oh, well that’s good to hear,” he said. “Though I figured with your celebrity status you were probably used to getting shit handed to you for free.”

I rolled my eyes and smiled up at him. His eyes searched my face like he was looking for something. I was uncomfortable having him study me that close, so I pulled back and stood awkwardly to the side. “Will you join me for one?” I asked. Justin followed and sat on the barstool next to mine. Once I got myself situated, I took a moment to see all that he had become.

Time had been good to Justin DeLuca. His All American Boy features from high school turned him into one hell of a good looking man. I looked him up and down, admiring his solid, muscular body and his tanned skin. He had to be just over six feet tall and his shoulders seemed twice as wide as I remember. He was wearing a pair of worn blue jeans, a gray t-shirt covered in dirt and sweat, and a pair of dark brown work boots. I took a deep breath and smelled him.

Holy Lord, he smelled like a man. Not the type of man I was used to, with shiny manicured fingernails and the stench of expensive cologne, but a
 
man.
 
He’d been working in the sun all day doing manly things, I’m sure.

“What?” he asked as he grabbed the handle of his glass to take a sip of his beer. He didn’t even have to order, the bartender had his short draft ready before his butt even made it to the seat.

“You’ve changed,” I blurted. It came out more of an accusation than an observation.

“Well no fucking shit,” he said with a slight bite to his tone. “You took off twelve years ago.
 
W
hat the hell did you think was going to happen?”

My head jerked back like I’d been smacked in the mouth. All of a sudden he went from smiles and hugs to snapping at me like I’d committed a crime.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” he interrupted me. “You just didn’t mean a lot of things, Lil.”

Well, damn.
 
T
his was not how I envisioned a reunion for the two of us. I didn’t know what to say, so I pretended to be totally intrigued with the tab on my tomato juice can.

“What are you doing here?”

I looked up to see Justin looking directly at me.
 
W
hen my eyes met his, my heart fluttered again and dropped down into my stomach.
 
W
hat is happening to me?
 
I thought to myself. Even though I’d had a crush on him growing up, we always had a very platonic relationship. And now, here I sat twelve years later like some teenage kid with a super crush, feeling a pull from somewhere deep just because he looked into my eyes.

I took a breath to calm my nerves. “I…..I can’t do it anymore,” I told him while shaking my head. “I thought singing was my dream. I mean, it
 
W
AS my dream once upon a time. But all the bullshit got in the way and it stopped being fun.” I looked up to see his expression had hardened.

“I’m done,” I shrugged.

“Just like that?” He asked. “I can’t believe that you just woke up one day and decided to throw it all away.”

“Well, it didn’t happen overnight,” I corrected him. “I put the wheels in motion with my lawyer about six months ago.
 
W
e’ve been quietly working to get out of all my obligations and dissolve the staff on payroll.”

“So basically what you’re telling me is the last twelve years of making records and going on tour was for nothing. Right?
 
Y
ou didn’t have to leave
 
T
HE DAY of our high school graduation to go chase your dream. A dream that, we come to find out, was the wrong one?”

I felt my eyes get huge. He was obviously mad that I had given up, but he just didn’t get it. He would never understand, and there was no way I’d ever tell him what really happened.

I wiped the sweat from my beer glass. “It just got too hard. I lost me. I lost the Lil that put on fake shows in her bedroom at night singing into a hairbrush to Reba McEntire tapes.” I drained the rest of my beer and set down my glass. “I wanted to be a singer, Justin, not a puppet so everyone else could get rich off of my hard work.”

Other books

Losing Control by Jen Frederick
Wet and Wired by Zenina Masters
Whiskey Sour Noir (The Hard Stuff) by Corrigan, Mickey J.
Purrfect Protector by SA Welsh
Outside Chance by Lyndon Stacey
Truth Be Told by Carol Cox
Un puente hacia Terabithia by Katherine Paterson