Encore (Stereo Hearts Book 2) (27 page)

“Racier—” Salami Breath jumped in. If it were possible, he leaned closer.

“Right,” Pit Stains agreed, lifting his arm higher. “Your first album had everyone bopping and dancing along—really lighthearted. But this new one is darker, much more sexual, more introspective. Most artists would hesitate to make such a massive jump, but you did it so effortlessly.”

Bored. To. Death. “Thanks, man,” Yoshi said, trying to think of new ways to torture Gus. “That means a lot to me.” Had he already said that? He couldn’t remember.

“The new album has people wondering if they should hand you a box of tissues and give you a shoulder to cry on.”

“The new single, especially,” Salami Breath jumped in.

Pit Stains moaned as if he were in pain. “Ah, man, ‘Blizzard
.
’
That song…” He slammed his fist into his chest. “Even I shed tears over that one. Cried like a little bitch. That one got me right in the heart.”

“It’s just so honest. It makes me feel like this album
has to be
about a real person. Maybe a specific woman, in particular?” Salami Breath asked.

Okay, a little less bored. Yoshi grit his teeth at the territory he felt them treading. His eyes fell to the black leather necklace swinging from his neck. He zeroed in on the lime-green string, still in the shape of a ring, that hung from it. Swallowing, he seized the necklace and tucked it into the deep V of his T-shirt.

Most interviewers thought they were being slick, but Yoshi always saw them coming from a mile away. He knew where these questions were going, and for the first time since they’d trapped him on that love seat, his heart thundered against his ribs.

“Is the album about anyone in particular?” Yoshi frowned. “Absolutely.”

“But you’re still with Carmen Rodriguez, right? You’ve been with her since album one. And there’s never been a
public
spat between you two. Perhaps a little trouble in paradise? Behind closed doors?”

Perhaps that was none of his fucking business. Yoshi opened his mouth to say just that.

Pit Stains jumped in before he could. “Some people think it’s an apology album. Some people think it’s a ‘fuck you’ album. Why don’t you set the record straight, Yoshi?”

“Oh, definitely a ‘fuck you’ album. For sure.” Yoshi gave the first honest answer he had all morning. “And no, it isn’t about Carmen. She’s great.”

“So, a woman from your
distant
past?” Pit Stains pried.

“Ah…” Yoshi went to answer, then realized most of the words lingering on the tip of his tongue wouldn’t fly on network TV.

Sensing hesitation, Salami Breath jumped in. “We won’t pry, we won’t pry. That’s not our style here at KLAV.”

“I appreciate that, man,” Yoshi said, happy for an out. He wasn’t unaware of the new clip in his voice, the new thundering in his chest, or the new bounce of his knees. He tried to stop them from bopping, but couldn’t. He leaned forward when the combination of their scents suddenly became heave-inducing.

Of course, Pit Stains leaned with him. He rested his elbows on his knees.

Yoshi nearly passed out as his scent went from zero to a hundred in two seconds. How was it possible that this man couldn’t smell himself?

“Let’s talk about the Super Bowl,” Pit Stains said, after referring to a notecard in his hand.

“Yeah,” Yoshi replied. “I’m excited about that.”

“A lot of negativity flying your way though. Lot of naysayers. People are saying you’re too new. It’s too soon. You don’t have the experience to pull it off.”

“You know what, Pit Sta—” Yoshi stopped himself, realizing he’d been on the verge of calling him by the nickname he didn’t know he had. He racked his brain for this smelly bastard’s real name, but came up short. “You know what… I don’t pay attention to negativity. I can’t. If I took to heart every ugly, negative thing people said about me, I wouldn’t get any sleep at night.”

“So, I take it you don’t Google yourself?” Salami Breath asked.

Yoshi’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not. Are you kidding me? People say terrible things, man. Google myself? I’d put a bullet in my head before the day was out.”

Gus’s head was back in his hands. It made Yoshi’s heart sing.

Pit Stains and Salami Breath laughed boisterously.

“Well, Yoshi, the Super Bowl is a lot of pressure, but you’ve more than proven that you do well under pressure. They said the second album couldn’t possibly do as well as the first, and look at you…”

“Look at me,” Yoshi said, holding his hands out and smiling widely at Gus, who glared in return.

“Straight to number one.” Salami Breath laughed. “You didn’t even try. The reviews flying in are glowing, and with good reason.”

“Like I said.” Yoshi met Gus’s eyes. “It’s lonely up here at the top.”

They howled with laughter again, and then Pit Stains shoved Yoshi as if they were old friends before offering his hand. “Well, Yoshi, it looks like we’re out of time.”

Thank
God.
“Already, man? That was too fast.” Yoshi shook his hand, noting how clammy it was.

He turned to Salami Breath and shook his hand as well.

One interview down.

Five trillion to go.

--

“I found Aria. She’s living in Shaun Green’s old apartment in Manhattan. Subletting it since Shaun and Adam live together now.”

Yoshi met Gus’s eyes in the dressing room’s vanity mirror. He didn’t miss the way Becky paused in the middle of doing his makeup. Surely she was waiting for the meltdown that often followed the sound of Aria’s name leaving
anyone’s
mouth on the tour. In the five months the show had been going on without her, Yoshi’s crew had quickly learned that her name was completely off-limits.

But that time, Yoshi remained silent, just watching Gus in the reflection.

Gus held up a piece of paper. “I wrote down her address—”

“Why would I want her address?” Yoshi interrupted.

Becky pressed her lips together.

Gus sighed. “Well, a few months ago, you would’ve done anything for this address.”

“Right. A few months ago. A few months ago, that information might’ve meant something to me. But I’m done looking for people who don’t want to be found. I’m done chasing people who don’t want to be caught. She abandoned me. Fuck her. And fuck him too,” Yoshi said, pointing in the mirror at Gus.

Gus didn’t have to ask who ‘him’ was. His jaw tightened as he thought of Yoshi’s father, who he’d met five months earlier. Who’d refused an all-expenses paid vacation to meet the son he’d given up so many years ago. Still unable to wrap his mind around it, Gus shook his head, as if trying to get the thought out of his mind.

Yoshi shifted in his seat, huffing through his nostrils. “Did you pay him yet?”

Gus nodded. “Yeah. He handed over all the videos. You won’t be surprised by another one again. Except for the ones he’s already sold.”

“How much did he ask for?”

“Common, Yosh….”

“How much?”

Gus sighed. “Five hundred thousand.”

Yoshi let that sink in. He’d told Gus that no number was too high. To just write the check. To do whatever he needed to do to get Yoshi’s childhood videos out of his father’s hands. After being surprised by the videos during one talk show too many, he’d had enough. The dark place they took him had finally become intolerable.

“So that’s what I’m worth to him, huh?” Yoshi chuckled. “If only he’d been smart enough to meet me face-to-face, I’d have given him a lot more. I suppose pretending to be a father would’ve been too much work, though. Much easier to just take the money and run.”

Now both Gus and Becky were tight-lipped. The air in the room was taut too, and narrowing more by the second.

“Fuck him, Yosh. He’s not worth it.” Gus lifted the paper he still clutched in his hand. “But, and I know you hate this, but I’m still of the opinion that this is a huge misunderstanding with Aria.” He spoke hurriedly. “And I know you asked me to stop looking for her. I know you say you don’t give a shit, but… It’s just way too strange. I saw the connection you two had. For her to just up and leave—”

“Gus,” Yoshi barked, holding his hands out and looking up at Gus from under his eyelids. “I have a show in less than half an hour. I have to be
on
for twenty thousand people in less than half an hour. Even if I were interested in that address, I’m in Australia for the next three weeks. Trapped on this godforsaken tour, under this fucking contract, for another six months, so
please
stop tearing me down. Please stop saying her fucking name to me.”

“Okay, you’re right, I’m sorry.” Gus held his hands up, meaning his words. The last time he’d discussed Aria with Yoshi right before the show, Yoshi had a meltdown onstage. One of the fans in the first row had managed to reach out and touch his ankle, and something in Yoshi had broken apart. He’d berated the girl, accused her of treating him like an animal in a zoo, and then walked offstage completely. It had made every paper. His PR team had lost weeks of sleep cleaning that mess up.

With a sigh, Gus approached the table and pressed the paper in his hand on top, apologizing again. He left it on the table before taking a small step back.

Yoshi stared down at the paper, and the address written on top of it, before lifting his gaze to Gus again, but he didn’t say anything.

Without another word, Gus turned on his heel and left the room.

Gus felt Yoshi’s eyes burning a hole in his back, watching him go, and he knew, without looking, that Yoshi had already pocketed the paper.

19

“Yoshi, it’s sloppy. I need you to give a shit about what you’re doing. I need you to try harder. It’s sloppy, and you know it.”

Hands stuck on his hips, chest heaving and feeling on the verge of death, Yoshi waited until his choreographer, Wade, had turned away from the mirrored wall of the dance studio to flip him the bird. He kept his middle finger up, letting it burn into Wade’s back during his journey to the corner of studio, where he bent down to riffle through his bag.

Behind Yoshi, the dancers he’d handpicked to join him on stage for his Super Bowl performance sniggered, promoting Wade to shoot him a look over his shoulder.

Yoshi dropped the vile finger in a flash, straightening.

“Let’s take five,” Wade said, pointing to Yoshi after swiping a water bottle up from his bag. “When I get back, we’re going to do it again, and again, and
again
, until it’s fucking perfect.”

Yoshi’s glare followed Wade all the way to the doors of the studio.

He mumbled apologies to his backup dancers, who clapped supportive hands on his shoulders as they made their way out of the room for their short break.

“I’m not a dancer, guys. I’m sorry.”

Each of his backup dancers had different words of encouragement, and Yoshi waited until he’d spoken to each one before making his way to the back of the studio.

Carmen smiled up at him from where she leaned on the exposed brick of the opposite wall, and he couldn’t help but smile back. He ran his hand down the back of his hair, which he’d recently dyed back to its original black.

“Are you
sure
a dance break is a good idea for this performance?” Carmen teased, her jean-clad knees pulled up to her chest.

Yoshi bent down to his duffle bag, which sat next to her, and grabbed his water bottle. He took his time chugging it down, still heaving from his busy afternoon.

He gasped in a breath after emptying the bottle. “Everyone is giving me shit about how I can’t pull off this show. How I don’t have the catalogue. My songs are too slow. Too lovey-dovey. Everyone is going to tune in expecting one thing, and I’m going to make damn sure I shut them up by giving them the exact opposite. They might doubt my greatness, but I never will. They don’t know it now, but I know it now. And after the Super Bowl, they’ll finally know it too.”

“You’re not great. You’re better than great.”

He bent down and shuffled through his bag again.

“You’re exquisite.” Her voice was lowered.

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, Yoshi could hear it in her voice when her smile grew softer, more gentle, warming his jaw as she burned it with her eyes.

He pulled an envelope out of his bag and met her gaze.

Her eyes fell to it and her smile vanished, changing the entire composition of her face as he held it out to her.

“Wade is on a rampage,” he said. “I can see it in his sadistic eyes that he’s not going to set me free until late tonight.” He shook the envelope when she didn’t take it. “Can you do me a favor and make sure this gets to the post office?”

Carmen rolled her eyes and snatched the letter. “Still writing letters she’ll never respond to? A month ago, you were cursing her name to the high heavens. You swore having her address didn’t mean shit to you. Now you’re writing a new letter every other day? None of which she’s bothered to respond to? A woman who changed her number on you? Are you
this
pussy whipped?”

Yoshi let his head fall, jamming his eyes shut when he heard the door of the studio creaking open as Wade re-entered.

“Yoshi, get your lazy ass back in formation! Let’s go!”

“Carmen. Will you please just make sure it gets sent?”

Her eyes fell to the necklace around his neck, and the lime-green string that swung from it.

With a scoff, she lifted the letter in the air before letting it plop back down into her lap. “Sure.”

“Thank you.” Yoshi raised his eyebrows, pointing to her as he moved back towards Wade and the dancers. “You’re a great friend.”

Carmen watched him go, her lip curled so high it’d give Elvis a run for his money.

--

Carmen didn’t even make it to her car. Stopping in mid-stride in the middle of the dance studio’s parking lot, she gazed down at the letter in her hand. She clutched it tight, noting it was twice as thick as the ones he’d written before. It took everything in her not to rip it in half. Tears fell from her eyes and wet the paper, leaving random dots of moisture.

Sniffling, she ripped open the envelope and retrieved the papers inside, unfolding them with trembling hands. Behind her, she heard Yoshi’s new single pounding the walls of the studio, wafting through the closed doors and thick walls, surrounding her in the lot.

Of course, it was a song about
her.

They all were. The angry songs. The sad songs. The joyful songs.

All of them. All of them were about Aria.

Carmen cringed at the letter in her hands. Four pages. He’d written this bitch a four-page letter.

She wondered what would be enough. It hadn’t been enough to ignore every text message he sent. It hadn’t been enough to send a text saying his contact was unwelcome. It hadn’t been enough to be away from her for six months. It hadn’t even been enough to change the number completely. The day he’d called ‘Aria’ and was met with a disconnection notice, the heartbreak on his face had been poignant.

But it still hadn’t been enough.

The rejection hadn’t been enough.

The anger hadn’t been enough.

Carmen wondered if it even existed. The breaking point. The point of enough
.
She wondered if Yoshi would
ever
get over Aria. If it were even possible.

Her tears stained the first page as she read his jumbled handwriting. She only made it past the first line before she’d torn all four pages in half with a strangled grunt.

Then she ripped it in half again. And again. She ripped and ripped, even as she felt paper cuts digging into her skin, until the letter was reduced to paper confetti.

She tossed it into the air with a scream, watching the hundreds of shreds disperse into the afternoon air, each bobbing and floating down a different, scattered journey on their way to the asphalt at her feet.

After every piece hit the ground, she looked down at her hands. Strings of red dashed through her palms, with tiny dots of blood peeking out from every paper cut.

She cursed the sight.

Usually, she just burned the letters, but she’d wanted the satisfaction of tearing it to shreds. Needed it. She’d
needed
to feel it being destroyed by her own fingers.

It hadn’t been worth it, and as the cuts she’d created slowly began to make themselves known, sending dull throbs of pain through her hands, she decided on fire from now on.

She’d kill every letter he wrote with fire, until the undying flame he had for Aria finally burned out for good.

--

Shaun’s legs swung from where she sat on top of the bathroom counter at The Rum River. The college bar was in full swing on the other side of the bathroom door, the opening act’s final song seeping under the doorframe as she swiped through her Instagram feed. Her smile grew brighter each second.

Aria paused in the middle of applying her eyeliner under the mirror’s bright lights, cutting a look at Shaun.

Aria squinted an eye when Shaun sniggered, going back to the mirror. She was next on the set list that night, so she hurried to finish her makeup.

“What are you snickering about over there?” Aria asked, picking up the bedazzled eye patch she’d laid next to her purse.

Shaun gave her a quick glance, then went back to the phone. “The
Yaria
and
Yarmen
fans are at war again.”

“Oh, Lord,” Aria mumbled, pulling her eye patch over her eye. “I thought we agreed we were done trolling those
tags. They’re insane.”

“They’re hilarious is what they are,” Shaun said. “Who needs cable when you’ve got a timeline full of teenagers obsessed with relationships they know nothing about?”

“What are they at each other’s necks about this time?”

“The
Yaria
fans took footage from the night of the Grammys and freeze-framed you mouthing ‘I love you’ back to Yoshi. The camera was focused on Carmen, so it only got half of your face for a fraction of a second, but they caught it. They’ve figured out that Yoshi was talking to you and not Carmen. The
Yarmen
shippers saw the
Yaria
shippers celebrating, and now they’re insisting that he was talking to Carmen, because he used the word ‘beau.’
Yaria
fans can’t figure out how ‘beau’ applies to you, they just know it does.
Yarmen
fans think they’re obsessed and delusional.”

“How ironic.”

“Exactly.” Shaun laughed. “It never ceases to amaze me how observant these kids are. They are so on the money it makes me wonder if one of them doesn’t work in Yoshi’s camp.”

“Yeah, well, that would make sense if they were actually right, but they’re not,” Aria said. “A man who hasn’t made any attempt to speak to me for this long doesn’t love me. He never has. Not in a real way.”

Aria waited for Shaun to wax on about how strange Yoshi’s about-face was—the way she always did.

She didn’t disappoint. “The
Yaria
fans also noticed that green string Yoshi wears around his neck. The green string that has been hanging from his neck for the last six months. The green string that used to live on
your
left ring finger?” When Shaun saw the look in Aria’s eyes, she shrugged. “It’s just weird, Aria. It’s doesn’t make any sense. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I texted him saying I wanted to work it out, and he texts me saying he doesn’t love me anymore. I then proceed to call him, every single day, for an entire month, and don’t get a single call back. I extended olive branch after olive branch for an entire month, Shaun, but still have to see him and Carmen on the cover of every magazine in the grocery store. Every entertainment channel on my television. And somehow, you’re still telling yourself it doesn’t make sense? It makes perfect sense. He has made himself perfectly clear—he doesn’t have any feelings for me anymore. Maybe he never did. Maybe I was always a placeholder until he was famous enough to land the kind of woman he really wanted.”

Shaun went to refute. “But what about—”

“I just want to get over him,” Aria jumped in, begging Shaun with her eyes. “It’s been half a year, and I just want to move on, Shaun. Please. Will you let me do that? Will you let me at least try?”

Shaun sighed, resuming swinging her legs and changing the subject. “What songs are you singing tonight?”

Aria stared at herself in the mirror. A few moments passed, then she tore the eye patch off her eye, pulling it over her head. She balled it in a fist, squeezed it, and then turned to the trashcan bolted to the wall, throwing it in.

“Just one song tonight. A new one,” Aria answered, staring at her blue and brown eyes in the mirror. She’d never gone on stage without her patch on.

Shaun turned to admire Aria’s eyes in the reflection. “Have I heard it yet?”

“No one has.” Aria played her fingers together. “Remember that song Adam helped me out with? That day he let me tag along with him to the studio?”

Shaun nodded.

“That’s the one. We just finished perfecting it. Well,
he
finished perfecting it. It was a good song, but he made it great.”

“He has a tendency to do that.” Shaun winked. “Is it an angry song or a happy song?”

“Angry. Super angry.” Aria met her gaze. “Like homicidally angry. Adam offered to buy it from me—hundred grand—but it’s too personal to me. I couldn’t part with it.”

Shaun smiled gently at her. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

Aria took one last look at her reflection, fluffing her curls and freshening her lipstick, before she met Shaun’s eyes, smiled, and nodded towards the bathroom door.

“Here we go,” she said before swinging the door open.

They broke away from each other once they stepped into the smoky bar.

Red spotlights gave The Rum River its signature hue, bouncing off the exposed brick and setting the stage for the live music that pounded off the walls every night. As usual, the River was packed. Every round table was filled to the hilt with locals and well-informed tourists.

As Aria took the stage, a few claps and whoops rang out from the regulars who were familiar with her, prompting curious looks from the patrons who didn’t.

She noticed her stomach no longer did cartwheels when she found herself faced with those unfamiliar, but curious eyes. She no longer wondered how she would react if they didn’t like her.  She no longer worried that her voice would give out on her.  It had been months since she’d last lost control of it, so even after switching medications, the fear was still there.  She was sure it always would be.