Page 1 of Born To Be My Baby

1

Violet Slyk checked herself in the mirror. Sweeping her empty ring finger under her bottom lip to wipe a smudge of her red lipstick from her skin, she stepped back. When she started conducting interviews for television, she only cared about the interview, asking the good questions. But viewers who loved being especially critical, would email and even post on social media nasty comments about her hair, her makeup, her clothing, her posture. One terribly nasty reviewer wrote her producer at the time and said, "For God's sake, get her a makeup artist. Her fucking lipstick is crooked, and it's all I could focus on." That one hurt.

"Mom, it's time to go. The interview starts in ten minutes."

"I know, Mina. I know I told you I like to go into these interviews with little knowledge of the musician because it keeps me fresh, but tell me how old Sammy Fender is."

"He's fifty-two."

"Fifty-two." She mumbled. "And have they won any Grammys?"

"Not yet, but the way their latest album skyrocketed, I'll bet they will this year."

"Okay." She huffed out a deep breath. "You said he always wears hats and glasses on stage."

"Yes. But he's not for this interview. That's just for the stage."

"Okay."

Violet picked up her leather-bound notebook, where she had her neatly typed notes and questions for Mr. Sammy Fender.

She turned from her mirror and sauntered to the door of her room at the Hawthorne BnB. It was a nice place to stay, and she'd gotten lucky they had two rooms for her and Mina. The hotel where the class reunion was being held was full. She thought about hanging around the hotel for some fun. The class of 1989 was around her age. She'd have a lot in common with many of them, despite being from a different high school.

Mina followed her into the hallway, and they strode down to the sitting room on the main level.

She stopped at the door and let out a deep breath. She always got a bit nervous before interviewing musicians. Sometimes they were difficult and wouldn’t want to answer questions, or answer in vague terms. Those were the worst. And she'd had many of those. As a newbie reporter, it rattled her. Now, as a seasoned reporter, she had ways of moving on.

She stepped through the doorway and her eyes focused on a man with dark hair sitting in a chair. Gray streaks at his temples glimmered under the lights. A makeup artist was dabbing powder on his face and fawning over him. She simpered and giggled like she was twelve. Violet let her eyes roll, turned her head, and gave her daughter, who was also her producer, that look that said, "Oh gawd. Please spare me."

Mina smiled at her and nodded once. It was barely noticeable to the others in the room.

Her cameraman, Boon, nodded. "All set, Violet. Take your seat and I'll get the lighting situated."

"Okay."

She stepped over cords and tape to her seat, directly across from Sammy Fender. Right now, all she could see was the ass of the makeup girl still fawning over him.

"You barely need any makeup, Sammy. You're so handsome."

Violet glanced at her daughter, opened her mouth, and pointed her finger to it in the universal symbol of vomiting. Mina chuckled and stepped closer to Sammy and the simpering makeup queen.

"Thank you for your help," she politely dismissed.

The makeup girl stood and shrugged before turning her big cow eyes to Sammy. "It was so nice meeting you. I'll never wash my arm again." She held up her arm where Sammy's name was scribbled in black sharpie.

Violet closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. She held it for fifteen seconds and let it out. But when she opened her eyes, her heart nearly stopped beating. She stared into the eyes of the man who broke her heart twenty-five years ago and several things slammed into her chest at once.

He still made her heartbeat stutter.

He was still as handsome as she remembered, or maybe even more now that he'd grown into a full-grown man.

And she was nearly as pissed at him now as she'd been that day he told her he was leaving her behind to set out on his own.

2

One week before...

Sean West, aka Sammy Fender, woke in his own bed. It had been the first time in six months. He'd been touring and in a different bed most nights. As fantastic as the tour was, and it was everything he'd dreamed of, he was surprised at how he longed for home sometimes.

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