Page 2 of With Stars in Her Eyes
Theymeaning the currently applauding and cheering crowd. My “take-wing,” as Demetrius called it, began during the last leg of our European tour. Halfway through the shows, he had me at the front with him performing the songs from the Trikes album that featured my voice and cello the most. Although I had a cowriting credit under the name Kestrel on the last few albums, I had never officially joined the band. But lately fans had been recognizing me and begging me to sign CDs and posters more frequently. It was all going according to Demetrius’s plan. My album would launch his side career as a producer while we all waited to see if the Violet Trikes would finally win any Grammy awards after five years of multiple nominations, but always getting snubbed in every category.
After I finished getting ready, I followed the rest of the band down the hallway. Demetrius stopped me on the way and lowered his voice so only I could hear it.
“Richard says you’re avoiding him.” A statement, not a question.
“Because Richard kept trying to tell me something about ‘trending’ and what they were saying online about the songs we played in Europe and what it means for my album, and I—”
“Don’t want to know right now. Yes, but…” Seeing the attention from others settle on us, Demetrius pulled me over to an isolated spot in the wings. “Iknowyou don’t, but I think we need to talk about a few things before you go to Kansas. The label execs scheduled a meeting with us tomorrow—”
“No. No. No. I can’t because I fly out at—”
“It’s a seven-thirty meeting, so itwon’tmess with your flight to Kansas. They scheduled it aroundyouritinerary.” He raised an eyebrow.
“Oh…”
While we toured Asia, fans had started posting videos of meonline. Buzz grew, fueled by strategically leaked snippets of the songs I performed in clubs on nights when not performing with the Violet Trikes. Demetrius had waited patiently until the label was practically salivating for my album. Then he revealed it was already done, and they committed to throwing their marketing money behind it.
And now they were scheduling meetings aroundmyschedule.
“So, I’ll tell them you’ll be there?”
I exhaled. “But I already signed the contract. What are they going to want me to—?”
“I think they just want to iron out some—Hey…”Demetrius’s expression flickered to concern, almost fear. “Are your eyes okay?”
Shit.
“Totally normal. Why?”
“I… I don’t know. Probably just the lighting in here. You’re sure you’re fine?Physically, I mean? You’re sure about not wearing the glasses tonight? I know the label had some strong opinions about them since they’re filming tonight, but—”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Some strong opinions”was a tame way of describing the argument between the band manager and label rep who had cornered me about the dark glasses I always wore while performing. It hadn’t helped that when they had asked me to let them test the reflectivity, my pill case had fallen out of my bag and made it look like I was carrying a mobile pharmacy.
The pill explosion was why I gave in about the glasses. Exactly zero of the pills were the “fun kind” more often stereotypically used by musicians, but I didn’t want to have to explain them.
Iwouldbe fine without the glasses. Sure, stress made the migraines worse and tonight I would be using new in-ear monitors that also seemed to make my migraines worse while singing a song I had been working on for a long time and instilled with actual blood, sweat, and tears, and launching an entire new phaseof my career—oh my god, I needed to stop thinking right the hell now.
Because it would be fine.
I grabbed my water bottle and guzzled half of it. When I bent to do the normal checks of my electric cello and bow, the ripples of queasiness crested into a tidal wave. When no one was watching, I stooped to get an anti-nausea medication from my bag. After the bitter tablet dissolved under my tongue, I downed the rest of my water.
As the opener ended a fan-favorite song, the crowd erupted with the loudest cheers and applause yet. If everything went according to plan, they would be cheering like that for me soon. When the Violet Trikes’ US tour began at the end of the summer, I would be the official opener, playing my own music with my own band. The first single would premiere in a few weeks. Demetrius was featured on the track, so it was the perfect song to launch.
I had wanted to wait until closer to the tour to announce the full album, but the label execs insisted we announce my upcoming album release date at “home.” I had almost laughed in the meeting when they used that word. Home? I might have been born in Los Angeles and lived my worst adult years there in my early twenties, but itwasn’thome.
Given how close I was to my dreams coming true, I didn’t argue the point.
An electric sensation zapped through the fingers of my right hand. Maybe they had fallen asleep because of my tight grip on my bow. Had my anxiety pushed me into this feeling of impending doom?
As I shook out my hand, my head pulsed. The world tilted.
A new tingling began at the side of my neck.
Tonight was about reclaiming my career on my own terms.
I could do this.
