My Rock #3 (The Rock Star Romance Series - Book #3) (3 page)

I
didn’t pretend to ever know what went on in Tristan’s head, but at that moment,
everyone in the room could read the joy and the pride on his face. That comment
meant more to him
than any of the rest of them
. That
guy
was known
for his brutal honesty, he was a
successful producer that knew music, and if he said someone would be a star, it
was practically a guarantee. Tristan stood up a little straighter and taller as
he thanked him, and I wondered if the hope of a second chance doing what he so
obviously loved might be enough to make him re-think the way he’d been living
his life. He had only been a kid the last time around. Maybe he would realize
it was time to grow up on his own.

Tristan stuck around until the show was over that
night, flirting more with Brooke and actually getting to his feet and clapping
for her performance. It was the first time
I
’d seen
him show any interest in the other contestants at all.
I
knew it was all part of his flirtation with her, but she looked like it meant
the world to her. He left—alone, thank goodness—when it was over, without as
much as a glace in
my
direction.
I
wondered if he was finished with me for good.
I
looked
back over at Brooke, who was gathering her things to go, and I wondered if I
was a fool to care.
 

******

I
had chorus the next morning.
I
loved to sing. Since
I
was a little girl, my parents had both told me how good I
was and how I should go into the music business.
My
elementary school, middle school, and high school teachers said so as well. My
parents enrolled me in voice lessons and paid
for me
to have piano and violin lessons as well. They were always
my
biggest fans. Neither of them ever said they were disappointed in
me
for going into production instead of singing, although
maybe they were…just a little. That was the great thing about
my
parents: they were supportive of me no matter what, as
long as I was happy and healthy. They did what good parents were supposed to
do: they loved
me
, taught me, and encouraged me, and
then they’d set me free to do with it what I may.
I
couldn’t imagine the kind of parents that Molly said she’d read Tristan had. It
was no wonder he had issues.

My
problem with singing had always been with being the center of attention.
I
’d had this problem most of my life: I just wasn’t a girl
who liked to be in the spotlight. On the days
I
had to
give a speech in front of my public speaking class, I would get physically ill.
I
didn’t have a problem with groups of people, as long
as I wasn’t the singular one standing up in front of them. Chorus let
me
keep singing without having to be center stage. The
production thing gave
me
the chance to still be in on
making the music without having to be the one that was being judged.
 
It was the best of both worlds.
I
’d take my spot in the middle during chorus and sing my heart
out and then I’d set the stage for those people who thrived on the attention to
do what they loved as well.
 

I
walked into the music room about fifteen minutes early. There were only about
five students milling around.
I
said hello to a guy
named Steve and I started to go take my place when Miss Bitzah, our music
professor said, “Elly, can I see you for a moment?”

Miss Bitzah knew about
my
issues with stage fright. She was always trying to give
me
tips and advice on how to get over it. She also always gave
me
the lead in any of the female lead songs we did. It used to make
me
a nervous wreck, but she had been kind enough to arrange
us so that I could stay in my spot and my back-up was positioned mostly in
front of me.
I
still felt comfortable enough to manage
it that way. She was gently easing
me
more towards the
front, but she wasn’t sneaky about it at all; she’d told me her goal was to
relieve me of my silly concerns about being on stage. She told
me
at least once a week that it was a crime to keep a voice
like mine in the shadows.

When she called
me
over, my
stomach twisted in knots.
I
knew it wasn’t about what
we were singing at the Dean of Student’s retirement party the next week.
 
Miss Bitzah wasn’t pushy, but she was
relentless. Each time the university was putting on a musical production, we
had this talk. She tried to talk
me
into trying out
for every production, telling me which parts she thought would be perfect for
me.
I
kept saying no every time, and eventually she
would find someone else. She was persistent, however.

“Sure,”
I
said. What choice
did
I
have?
I
made my way up
to her podium and said, “Hi, Miss Bitzah, how are you today?”

“I am dandy,” she said. She always said that.
I
wondered if she’d ever not been dandy in her life. It was
possible. If you read her bio in the teachers and professors section of the
university website, you would get the impression that life for her had
definitely been dandy. She’d gone to UCSF and then she had transferred to
Julliard. After she graduated magna cum laude from there, she got a job
teaching music at Ohio State. She was there for a few years before she
was offered
the job at my college. She was very good at what
she did, and
I
for one was glad they’d wooed her away
from OSU.

“That’s good,”
I
said,
taking her at her word that she was dandy. “What can I do for you?”
I
asked her.

“It’s not what you can do for me,” she said in her
strong, Austrian accent. “It’s what you can do for yourself.” She handed
me
the flyer that I’d been expecting.
I
looked at it to be polite.
I
’d already seen them
hanging all throughout the campus. It was an advertisement for tryouts for the
universities rendition of
My Fair Lady
.

“Miss Bitzah, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your
confidence in me, because I really do. It’s just that
I
’ve
told you…I have this fear of performing in front of an audience…I don’t think I
could do it. I’d choke and ruin it for everyone else that worked so hard.”

“Oh
pish
posh.
You perform for an audience of forty every time you
come into this room. Your voice is center stage in every performance we do.
Last week when we performed in the student union, your voice was ninety-percent
of what your fellow students heard, and they loved it.
I
have people asking me all the time who my soprano is. Most importantly, you
have done it, Elly, and nothing bad has ever come of it, right? You just have
to learn a way to cope with the audience. We all do when we perform, in our own
way.”

I
sighed. “I know, but I’m stuck in the middle of all of the other people when I
perform with the chorus and it makes me feel more secure. If you take away all
of those people…”

She closed
my
hand over the
flyer and said, “If you take away all of those people, you could carry the
performance on your own. Will you please just think about it? You have such an
incredible talent. It would be such a waste not to share it.”

I
smiled at her. She was one of those people that, no matter how annoyed you
might be with her tactics, you at least knew that she truly had your best
interests at heart.
I
could never really get mad at
her. After all, she only wanted
me
to succeed.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,”
I
told her.
I
didn’t intend to.
I
knew what my limitations were, but I didn’t have the heart to refuse her
outright.

She clapped her hands together and said,
“Wonderful!” She acted
like
I’d made her whole day by
agreeing. That at least felt good. She tapped her podium then and said, “Take
your places, people; it’s almost time to begin!”

I
took my place where I was comfortable…in the middle. We were practicing for a
big party in the student union the next week. Another one of our professors was
retiring and we had agreed to perform. His wife had sent over several songs she
wanted us to sing, and we even got one from his son, who was also a music
teacher, but at a middle school. His son wanted us to perform
The Cat’s in the Cradle
. That song
always made
me
cry.

I
walked out of chorus that afternoon feeling better than I did walking in, as
usual. Singing did something to
my
soul; it made me
feel light and happy. On
my
drive home, I started
thinking about Tristan again.
I
knew he’d been to
rehab before.
I
didn’t know which ones he’d tried, but
I did know that the one I’d gone into when I was in trouble had done wonders
for me, and it also came highly recommended.
I
was
suddenly overcome with the idea that I had to at least try and help him.

We had been talking about the civil rights movement
the past week in
my
sociology class and we read some
things that Leroy Eldridge Cleaver, a Black Panther activist, had said during
the Civil Rights Movement. One of them was now an old saying that was often
misquoted. Cleaver had said, “There is no more neutrality in the world. You
either have to be part of the solution, or you're going to be part of the
problem.”
I
had to try, and if it pissed Tristan off
and he refused to let me help, then so be it.
I
would
at least know then that I did all I could.

I
drove out to the rehab facility I had stayed at when I was going through my
problems. It was in Orange County and it was a nice place. It was expensive,
too.
My
parent’s had paid for me to go.
I
didn’t have any idea what Tristan’s situation was
financially, or if he had insurance or not.
I
picked
up an application and brochure anyways.
I
planned to
take it over and give it to him and let the chips fall where they may.

CHAPTER
FOUR

TRISTAN

It was time to endure another results show.
I
wasn’t worried that week; the judges and everyone else
there left no doubt in my mind that my song was as good as I thought it was.
I
smoked a little weed before I went down to the studio,
just to take the edge off.
I
’d bought some new
clothes; I was wearing a white open collar shirt and black jeans.
I
got my hair trimmed again, and I had to admit that I
looked pretty damn good.
I
think that thought was
confirmed by Brooke and her friend’s face when I walked in.

Elly was doing her best to ignore
me
,
but that was okay.
I
had Brooke on the line and, good
piece of ass or not, I had finally convinced myself that Elly was just too much
trouble. She worried too much about everything: the show finding out we were
sleeping together, finding a pipe and a bong at
my
place…I didn’t want trouble or drama or some chick telling me what to do. If
she couldn’t chill out and lighten up, that was her problem.
I
wanted sex, and I was positive that as soon as she didn’t have a show to
practice for the next night, Brooke intended to give me exactly what I wanted.
My
mouth was almost watering just thinking about it.

We all took our seats on the stage,
I
sat next to Brooke and that was the first time I actually
saw Elly look at me. Brooke was whispering something in
my
ear about one of the other contestants and I could see Elly looking right at
us. When she saw that
I
noticed, she turned her head
quickly, but I knew she hated life right then. She’d screwed up and walked out.
I
could see in her eyes that she regretted it.

The host did his annoying thing again, as usual, and
as each person
was called
to either stay or go, they
again showed their performance from the previous night up on the big screen.
I
actually paid attention. We were getting closer to the end
and
I
was finally interested in the competition. Some
of my fellow contestants were decent singers, and a handful of them left me
wondering how the hell they’d made it this far. Two of the seats in the bottom
were already filled
when the emcee called Brooke’s name. He
showed a clip of her performance and two of the judges saying they loved it and
the third one telling her it
was
‘a little pitchy.’
Then he said, “Brooke, I’m sorry…but you’re
gonna
have to do this all again next week. You made it into the next round!”