Best Of Everything (29 page)

“Do we have a case of champagne?” Melody asks. John looks her up and down.

“You’ll have to talk to your road manager about that, young lady.”

The band is onboard fifteen minutes later, and Melody and I are sipping coffee. We’ve already claimed one of the bunk areas, which folds up, creating a small seating spot just big enough for the two of us. Amber steps aboard and explains that she and the road crew will be in the van tailing us, and that we should be in Sacramento in two hours, tops. She approaches and sits across from me after giving Melody an unfriendly look.

“Terry called. She wants you to touch base as soon as possible. She canceled your appearances today, so all you have is sound check and the show. But she’s worried about you and asked you to call.” She checks the time. “You need anything?”

“I’m starved. You think we can stop at a fast food place and pick up some food?” I ask.

“This is your bus, Sage. You’re the boss. As long as you make it to the show on time, you can do whatever you want.”

When we roll out of the parking lot, it feels like we’re floating on air. I call Terry and give her my version of events, and she’s supportive and concerned. She asks me how I look, and I tell her my throat’s a little bruised, but I can wear a scarf or something for a few nights and it’ll be fine.

“I’ve got some good news about your friend Derek. His album’s starting strong and gaining momentum,” Terry says.

“But what’s all this about stealing songs?”

“I only know what I saw online. Some guy in New York is claiming the first two singles are his. Could be a nuisance suit or could be legit, I don’t know, but the publicity is getting Derek a lot of coverage he otherwise wouldn’t be receiving, so he owes this guy big.”

“Crap. I talked to him this morning, and he didn’t say anything.”

“He might not have known yet. This just happened a little while ago.”

“Is there anything else? I want to call him.”

“Just leave your phone on. The attack on you is big news. It’s on all the networks. Everyone loves watching a car crash, and this is as good as it gets on a slow day. I’ll get as much mileage as possible out of it – as long as they spell your name right…”

“Will do.”

I hang up and call Derek.

“Hey,” he answers.

“I just got asked by a reporter about my boyfriend’s plagiarism problems.”

He’s silent for a second. “I just heard about that myself. My manager called. He wants to meet. But it’s complete BS, Sage. I wrote those songs. Nobody else did. I’ve never even heard of this guy.”

“Why would he claim you stole his songs?”

“Who knows? Maybe he’s a kook. Or a frustrated musician? Thinks this will drum up interest in his work?” He pauses. “Let’s face it, we’re targets now that we’re out there, you know? Every nut who wants to be in the spotlight will try to use us to get there. My manager says this is just par for the course. Although he also said he’s going to make a huge deal out of it and try to turn it into front-page stuff.”

“That’s funny. Sounds like his brain works the same as Terry’s does. First thing she was thinking was how to make Ralph’s attack into a positive for me.”

“We’re kind of learning how the business works, huh? Not like I thought, that’s for sure, where you write some good songs, perform well, and have a career.”

“It seems like someone’s always trying to bring us down, doesn’t it?”

I can hear the smile in his voice when he answers. “Sage, we were living in tunnels only a few months ago. Now you’re the hottest thing in music, and I’m starting to believe I might sell some records too. If having people trying to bring us down goes with this territory, then bring it on.”

“I guess when you look at it that way, life doesn’t suck so bad. Other than you being on the other side of the country.”

“Which we’ll fix soon. Anyway, let me find out what my manager wants to do with this guy. I know for a fact he didn’t write the songs, so he’s got some angle he’s working. We just need to figure out what it is and defuse it.”

“While making it work for you.”

“Exactly. I feel like I should send the guy chocolates or something. Oh, which reminds me. Thanks for the flowers.”

“It’s the least I could do. Now go steal some more songs or whatever it is you do.”

“Will do.” There’s a long pause. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

“I’ll show you my new tour bus.”

“No way. You got one?”

“Yup. Fully bitchin’. Never seen anything like it.”

“I’m so jealous.”

“Once your record takes off, you’ll have one too.”

“Let’s hope that happens soon.”

“It will. I believe in you, Derek. I always have.”

“That makes me the luckiest guy in the world.”

“In three weeks it does, anyway.”

Chapter 36

The next two weeks go by in a blur of cities: Portland, Seattle, Salt Lake City, Las Vegas. And then, as we finish three nights in Las Vegas, it’s the big show – New Year’s Eve, with several special guests scheduled to appear with Bruno in what promises to be an epic extravaganza.

Not to mention at midnight I’ll be eighteen. Sebastian is going to try to fly in from L.A. with June, who’s now almost fully recovered, and as she said on the phone a few days ago, “bored out of my skull with all this behaving myself.” Melody’s threatened to come torment me, but hasn’t mentioned it in the last couple of days, which tells me she probably couldn’t talk her mom into it.

Terry’s got a good handle on the numbers now, and she was right – my bus barely makes a dent in my earnings. The money is surreal – even assuming things slow instead of continuing to accelerate as they have, I’ll be a millionaire before spring. At her encouragement I’ve stepped up my lifestyle, and now take flights rather than ride the bus if we’re going more than a few hours.

Other than that, my existence is the same – an endless string of anonymous hotel rooms, unsatisfying phone calls with Derek, interviews, media events, and label people already discussing ideas for my next album.

It’s like a kind of suspended animation, where the real world’s kept at bay by the constant demands of pushing the record and touring, and I completely understand how so many acts fall into drug addiction or are cases of arrested development – they’re living in a bubble, where their managers are handling every aspect of their lives, coddling them, and so it seems like the world is one big sandbox created for their amusement.

And in that sandbox there are no rules. Nobody will tell you ‘no,’ or that you can’t have something or you shouldn’t do something. Fortunately, living on the street exposed me to the waste cases and the junkie life; otherwise I could see my future as a limitless series of parties and casual drug use that turns serious and ugly in a heartbeat.

Christmas in Reno was fun. My dad flew in and we overate, stuffing ourselves at a resort up in the mountains, the peaks covered with fresh snow. I got him a voucher good for a round-trip flight anywhere in the U.S., so if he has a few days off and wants to come watch me play, or just go hang out at the beach or whatever, he can. He got me a sweater with what looks like a string of dancing pandas on it.

Sometimes I forget how weird my dad can be.

When he’s saying goodbye, we finally discuss the topic we’ve both been avoiding all weekend.

“I checked, and they’re going for aggravated assault. The presence of the knife may be the deciding factor. He’s going to argue that he had no intent to use it and that it was in his pocket. The DA’s going to argue that he didn’t try to choke you to death and punch you because he planned to stop there. It could go either way.”

“But he’s going to serve time?”

“He should. Just a question of how much.”

“I can’t believe that’s even up for discussion. He tried to kill me. An underage girl. What do you have to do anymore to go to prison?”

“Well, if you were the wrong skin color and got caught with a few joints, you’d be in like lightning. But Ralph’s white, middle-aged, and is claiming temporary insanity.”

“Temporary?”

“Well, he can’t claim he didn’t do it. Too much evidence and too many witnesses. So the best his attorney can come up with is why he did it – and of course, they’re saying it isn’t really his fault. He’s a victim. Since the death of your mother he’s been on medication, has been drinking, isn’t himself.”

“I want him put away. He’s dangerous, and he’ll try it again,” I say.

“I’m following it closely, honey. Don’t worry. He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

“Dad, let the system handle it. Promise me that.”

He looks away. “Of course.”

Now here I am in a suite in Las Vegas, two shows under my belt already and the last one tonight, with tomorrow off. I have no plans for my birthday, but with June and Sebastian coming to town, I’m sure I’ll think of something.

We spent a few hours on the strip this afternoon playing the sidewalk today, but our take was pretty weak – even during the holidays Sin City is a tough patch to work. Grim-faced gamblers and half-drunk rowdies press by, the neon blinking, and bells that trill at all hours nearly drown out our music. Still, it’s a worthwhile exercise, and I believe we’re better for it.

My first single topped out at the number two slot on Billboard, and Terry’s saying that Saul is now planning a big push for the second single. Derek’s album has steadily climbed as well, and he’s now at number twenty-eight and rising. Any time you’re in the top forty you’re winning, and his tone has been more relaxed in the last week since he too got a tour bus. We’re both doing great, and I’m counting the hours until we hook up in a little over a week.

Bruno spots me coming off stage from sound check and smiles at me. “Yo, pretty girl, whatchou doin?”

“Same ol’, Bruno. You know the drill.”

“How ’bout after the show? It’s New Year’s.”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“I’ve got a mega party planned, so just consider yourself at it. Come back to my dressing room after we finish the show.”

“That’s sweet of you, Bruno. Slumming with the likes of me.”

“Hey, you’re my home girl. Plan on making it, all right?”

“I will,” I say, but I sound doubtful.

“Promise?”

I sigh. “Okay, Bruno. I promise. There. Satisfied?”

His grin is ear to ear. “Don’t be all stressed. Have some fun.”

“This is me having fun. You should see me when I’m not.”

“No, thanks. Hey, we’re on for the encore, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Dinners in Vegas are some of the best we’ve had on tour, and tonight’s no exception, with wood-oven pizza and lasagna like mama used to make; or like someone’s mama used to make, anyway. I try not to eat myself into a coma, and busy myself checking the web for any news or gossip about Derek, who’s playing in Chicago.

The plagiarism thing has been in the news consistently, with the guy claiming Derek stole his songs saying that he’s filed suit for millions in damages. Derek’s reaction has been muted and tightly controlled by his label. I watch a YouTube clip filmed that morning in Chicago, where he appeared on a morning talk show, and one of the hostesses asks him about it. The camera closes in on his face and my heart feels tight in my chest as he grins, his green eyes flashing.

“Hey, you can sue anyone for anything. It’s a free country. I could sue Tarantino claiming he stole
Pulp Fiction
from me. Doesn’t make it true.” He shrugs. “I’m not supposed to say anything about it besides we’re looking forward to our day in court.” Then he winks and the audience goes wild.

God, he’s charismatic. I have a sudden urge to call him. But Amber’s hovering around, introducing a new makeup person – as our prospects have improved, our entourage has gotten larger. We’re now up to two buses, one for the band, one for the crew, and Amber has hired a combo wardrobe and makeup person, which is a total waste as far as I can tell given that I have four pairs of pants I rotate, two pairs of Chucks, and a handful of tops. Still, it’s pampering, and it feels good.

The show goes well. I never tire of being onstage performing. The crowd is more enthusiastic than usual, probably because everyone’s drunk leading up to the Vegas equivalent of the Times Square ball drop at the end of Bruno’s show, precisely at midnight. We wind up doing four encores, a tour record for us, and when we get offstage we’re amped from the audience’s energy.

I see a familiar face in the shadows and smile as I approach Ruby.

“Hey. I didn’t expect you to be here,” I say.

“Oh, well, there wasn’t a lot happening in Los Angeles, and I thought I’d come out and see how our favorite new star is doing.”

“Pretty good, I guess. The crowd seems to love us.”

“Always a big plus. And your sales are through the roof.”

“Can’t complain about much, then, can I?” Derek’s face pops into my mind, and I feel a surge of sadness at being alone, but then force myself back into the moment. “How’s Saul?”

“He’s taking all the credit for discovering you, but hey, it’s his sandbox, so let him. You can see how having him in your corner has worked out.”

“Some people were talking about another album?”

“Yes, ideally we’d release twelve months after this one, but Saul’s hoping for nine so we can keep up the momentum. We’ll have plenty of time to talk about that over the next couple of days. Hollywood’s pretty much closed down the last week of December and the first week of January, so that’s a next year discussion.”

“Hopefully you can get Sebastian again.”

“You now know everything about it that I do.”

“Okay, then. Hey, enjoy the show,” I say as the next band prepares to go on.

“Yeah, I have a seat right up front I need to get back to. Just wanted to say hi.”

“Maybe see you around at the after party.”

“Maybe.”

I watch the road crew put the finishing touches on the middle band’s gear and give the lead singer a high five, and then they’re into their set. I do my best to be upbeat, but the air is heavy and I’m feeling moody.

I don’t know why I’m so meh tonight, but the prospect of turning eighteen, alone in a crowd of people who aren’t my friends, is depressing. Melody’s not answering her messages or phone, and neither is Derek, although he at least has a good excuse since he’s also performing tonight. Even Jeremy’s been strangely silent, which I attribute to his turbulent personal life – last we talked, after chickening out countless times, he’d finally given his guy the ultimatum, and it hadn’t gone over well.