Page 8 of Ticket to the Stars: Part One

Turned out, I’d get paid a base salary just by being a part of the band. Once we recorded an album, I’d get a stipend from that, along with a fraction of the profits of every song or CD sold. Same with touring, merch sales, and all that. Even the base salary was enough that, if I sent half of it home, meant my mom wouldn’t have to work her night job.

She could quit it and spend time with Cleo. She could relax and read a book or something. I didn’t know. Whatever moms did when they weren’t working constantly.

I’d started out angry and embarrassed that Cleo had taped me while I was singing in my room—but now… now I was excited, maybe even a little grateful for the stinker. This really was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I couldn’t pass it up.

Even if it meant I had to lie to Alexa about it and forgo college for a while.

So, at one AM, with Cleo fast asleep on the couch and my mom sitting across from me at the kitchen table, I signed the contract and my NDA, while my mom did hers and Cleo’s, making it official.

I was no longer Maggie Stiefer. I was, simply, Angel.

That was going to take some getting used to.

“What am I going to tell Alexa?” I asked once all the papers were signed. I knew I would have to lie to her, but what could I tell her that wouldn’t invoke a thousand and one questions? She didn’t get into Black Sacrament; she was more of a country girl. Though Cleo was their biggest fan, I knew some of their stuff from association with my little sister.

But I didn’t know them, and I couldn’t forget that, soon enough, I’d be seeing an awful lot of them. I’d be far, far away from the world I knew, from all of the people I knew, thrust into the spotlight as Angel.

“I don’t know, honey,” Mom said, and she reached across the table to grasp my hand and squeeze it gently. “The NDA was all about not telling anyone you’re Angel. It didn’t say anything about not telling your best friend about signing it in the first place.”

“So, what? Tell her that I signed an NDA, but that I can’t tell her what that NDA was for?” Honestly, I wasn’t even sure Alexa would buy that. She was nosy, and she’d never let me hear the end of it once she found out I wasn’t going to be rooming with her this fall after all.

Mom shrugged. “I think it’s all you can do. Your hands are tied, so to speak. Maybe, once some time goes by, you can talk to Ramona and see about telling Alexa the truth.”

Yeah, I could do that. Still, I felt bad about skipping out on college with Alexa. Even if I went to school after my stint with Black Sacrament, Alexa and I wouldn’t be in the same grade anymore. She’d have made other friends while I was away. Things would never go back to the way they were, and that hurt.

But… I guess that was the point. We were eighteen, adults now. Life was all about changing, never static, never stationary.

To change the subject off Alexa and what I’d tell her, I said, “I’m going to send money home. You can quit your stocking job and spend time with Cleo.” Let’s be honest. Leaving Cleo here, unsupervised, was a bad, bad idea.

“Oh, honey, I don’t want you to do that. Save the money for yourself and your future,” Mom said. “This is your opportunity. I’ll handle everything here. I’ll see if I can switch up my hours at the diner a little, and ask Bob if I can start stocking shelves in the early morning.” She let go of my hand, waving hers through the air, as if none of the details truly mattered. “I’ll handle it. I want you to make the most of this opportunity, Mags.”

An opportunity. That’s how I had to look at this. I might not love Black Sacrament’s music, but I had to go into this with an open mind. If I could make this work, there was no telling where I could go after.

But I think I might still send some money home, even though my mom said not to.

Mom and I helped Cleo get to bed, and then wandered our separate ways to our own rooms. I fell face-first onto my bed in the darkness, knowing I wouldn’t sleep a wink. My mind wouldn’t shut off.

So, to make the most of my time, I decided to look up Black Sacrament and its members. Only three members, though there used to be four: Bishop, Deacon, and Priest. Pope was the fourth, but there was a bit of a scandal involving him, a drunken, possibly drug-fueled rant, and a group of women videotaping him.

I watched the tape. The things he said, the names he called those women who only wanted a photograph with him—he was still dressed up like he’d just gotten off stage—weren’t things I’d ever say aloud.

Oof. Ouch. Suddenly bringing me into the fold made sense. I was a nobody, but they could parade me around as their precious angel and try to overcome the shadow Pope’s actions had placed over the band.

Most of the articles I found were about Pope and what he did. The only things I could find on the others were pictures of them on stage or meeting fans—they all wore black and covered most of their faces with masks. What parts weren’t covered by masks had black body paint—save for the upside-down white cross on one of the guitarist’s mouth and neck. There was not a single picture of any of them out of character. It was like any time they went out in public, they had to act and dress like their stage selves.

Was that what I’d have to do? Wear all black, paint every inch of my body, and sing with a mask on, like Pope did? Not looking forward to any of it, honestly.

I couldn’t tell how old Priest, Bishop, and Deacon were. It was impossible to tell with the masks on their faces and paint everywhere else. Seriously—not an inch of their natural skin showed in any picture I found. They looked good though, even with all the black.

It was a good thing I wasn’t into guys who could play instruments. Guitarists might make other girls weak at the knees and swoon, but not me. Just because a guy could play the guitar or the drums or even sing didn’t make him automatically sexy.

Plus, from what I heard—and that was based on movies and TV shows—rockers were into some weird crap. Not just drugs and alcohol, but weird sex stuff. No thanks to any of that. Not falling for them would be easy-peasy.

Sometime around three in the morning, I was finally able to doze off. Morning came all too quickly, shedding light into my room and forcing me to start the day. I rolled over to find my bedroom door wide open and my sister head-deep in my closet, pulling out clothes and throwing them onto the floor in the middle of the room.

“What are you doing?” I asked with a yawn, slow to sit up to see the total mayhem she made. That was Cleo. Chaos incarnate. Precocious and rambunctious. She was lucky she was my sister and I basically was forced to love her.

“I’m helping you pack,” she said.

---