Page 39 of With Stars in Her Eyes
I downed the pills and rummaged in my bag for the tiny neurostimulator device to put on my head.
I grabbed the cold pack stashed in the small office fridge.
After flipping off the light, I lay down on the little couch and took a deep inhale. I was safe here. Sam’s office smelled like old brick, books, tea, and the lingering odor of tomatoes and onions from whatever she had warmed up to eat for lunch. The boredom was the worst part. I couldn’t listen to anything. I couldn’t read. The boredom meant nothing buoying me from sinking into bitter memories.
As I shut my eyes and covered my face with the cold pack, my mind drifted again back to that office in London on the day of the last session working onmyrecord.
The soundboard dials cast clawlike shadows on the other side of the room as the last few bars of a song played. I was half-reclined with my legs draped over the arm of the couch.
We had just finished the final listen before sending it off to mastering. I had made it through, but the pain made it impossible for me to tolerate the normally bright fluorescents or being vertical.
Demetrius sat on the floor in front of me, sipping his favorite beer.
God, I miss beer.The ability to get comfortably drunk was yet another thing the migraines had taken from me.
He crumpled his can in his fist and tossed it into a recycling bin. “Seriously though, you said you’d tell me if the headaches were getting worse. My father has a good friend who’s a neurologist in Harley Street. I’m sure he could fit you in before we fly out if you need—”
“Nah. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Luckily, he probably couldn’t see my gritted teeth in the dim light.
The lies rolled off the tongue so quickly I barely registered them. When I wasn’t wearing my drapey stage dresses, I hid my weight loss from the nausea under sweatshirts, so the band wouldn’t see. Demetrius noticed the changes, but he also trusted me enough to believe me when I was lying.
He twisted off a water bottle cap. “It’s going to be a hit. People are going to think I was hiding you in the back all these years.”
I poked him between the shoulder blades. “You mean they’re going to say it’s only good because you produced it.”
“You should come with me to do the late nights this round. Even if we save ‘Astrolabe’ for your first single later, it will be good to have you onstage with me for the lead-up.” His hands steepled over his knees. “People have already started asking questions about you. Richard says no one can keep their eyes off you when you play your solo onGolden Hour. It’ll be the same with this.”
“Richardhatesme, so I bet he said that more like ‘you need to put that blue-haired trollop in the back because she’s a distraction.’”
“You know Richard too well for me to bullshit you about it, I see. But I’m fairly sure he’s never called you a trollop.” He turnedthe record back to relisten to the bridge on the last track. “But I still think you should come.”
“Let’s see what they say in LA.”
His nod was an acceptance of my noncommittal answer. “So are you excited to be going home again?”
“LA isn’t home.” My tone was too harsh, and I tried to walk it back with a wobbly smile. “I think you know as well as anyone that I didn’t grow up having ahomehome. LA is basically the opposite.” An unexpected laugh escaped me in spite of all my worries about being in Los Angeles again. Maybe it was because I had finally recorded the songs about my years there, but I had begun to feel cleansed of something that had festered inside me for so many years.
“Imeantthe US, but point taken.” His voice assumed a dreamlike air. “Alas, maybe it’s better for birds not to be tethered… Starlings and Kestrels…Doves.”
I snatched the pillow from beneath my head and smacked him with it. “Oh, shut up.”
But Iwassmiling.
And not just in the memory.
I was smiling now while still in pain, lying on Sam’s office couch.
There were so many happy memories of that part of my life. Maybe… no matter how my career had ended… if it had really ended… maybe those memories of what it was didn’t have to feel bitter.
CHAPTER 12Thea
It was two o’clock on Tuesday, my typical lunch break time on days I had morning appointments. Cartoon anvils were yanking on my eyelids, but I forced myself to keep editing the photos from the family events this weekend. My sister’s friend’s bridal shower and my mom’s best friend’s step-granddaughter’s bat mitzvah were done. I just had the family vacation in April and then three more events to go before I was done with everything I had scheduled before putting my Blundstone-clad foot down about all the free photography services. Every time I slogged through editing repetitive posed scenes, I remembered why I hated this kind of photography. It was why I didn’t want photography to beworkat all.
The slapping thump of a pile of books landing on the counter behind me nearly made my half-somnolent ass fall off my stool.
A firm hand slid onto my arm. “Steady there.” Courtney’s green eyes met mine.
My breath caught in my chest. “Hi.”
