Page 20 of Fa-La La-La Land
The version of me Danny built all those years ago is easier to like than the real one—and maybe that’s the problem.
The two weeks in Brisbane are not only what Dad needs, but what I need too. We see family and old mates. We sit on the beach. I surf. We do all the things that used to be normal before I moved to the States forSurf City High. The time away gives me space to think—and to make the call that’s been obvious all along.
I’ve got to get back with the program and be the only Rhys James I’ve ever been. At least on stage. That’s what people want—the Rhys in loud costumes who’s goofy and endearing, not the Rhys who feels anything deeper than what a bouncy beat can carry. Fans don’t want acoustic guitar-playing Rhys singing about the day after Christmas when the magic’s over and the decorations come down.
The song I write for Winter Lights can’t be that. It needs Christmas Eve energy, when you’re a kid too excited to sleep.
I started as an actor, so I’ll keep acting on stage. And I do love performing. I wish I had more say in what and how I perform, but most musicians would give anything for my career. Instead of wishing it looked different, I’m going to be grateful.
Off stage, though, I am who I am—a bloke who’s happy at home with his parents, playing the piano and board games, reading epic fantasy, or watching the footy with his mates. I’ve been to the hottest parties in LA, attended all the award shows. They’re full of people congratulating themselves and trying to one-up each other. They’re dull.
So if people—one in particular—find me dull, I can live with that. She’s not the girl for me. She’s my social media strategist, and that’s it—the girl whose job is to make people believe I’m the same offstage as I am on. If that means Stella’s got to finesse some of the video she takes of me, so be it. I can play a part on stage, but at home I’ve got to be myself.
With that settled, I decide it’s time for a proper chat with Stella about her plans for my socials. She needs to know that if she wants footage of the onstage version of me, it’ll have to be scripted. Filming me around the clock at home won’t get her that Rhys—if he’s who she’s after.
The night Mum, Dad, and I get back to LA, I’m wrecked from the flight. Sorting things with Stella can wait ’til tomorrow. But as I help Mum settle Dad in, my eyes keep drifting toward the pool house, even though I can’t see it from their room. My thoughts keep drifting to Stella too—whether she’s unpacked, whether she needs a hand.
That’s the excuse I use to tell myself it’s fine to pop over. And if the talk drifts to my socials, maybe I’ll sound less combative if I’m being helpful while I say what I won’t do. This itch to see her has nothing to do with wanting another look ather eyes. Or her smile. Maybe that little dimple at her collarbone.
I slide open the back door, and the first thing I notice is twinkling lights glowing through the gauzy curtain of the pool house window. They’re in a triangle—almost like a Christmas tree. It’s only the first week of October. Halloween would make more sense, if that’s your thing.
On my way around the pool, I spot what looks like a full-sized pine behind the curtain. And there’s a wreath on the door—tasteful, not the plasticky red-and-green kind, but definitely Christmas.
The biggest shock, though, is the song Stella’s blasting: “Fa-La La-La Land,” my eighteen-year-old voice hitting every high note of the song I can’t stand.
The music hits like a punch. Stella knows how I feel about that song. I told her. And she’s playing it loud enough I couldn’t miss it if I tried.
My temper spikes. I turn to head back inside, then remember:Know your worth.Stella should want to keep me happy as much as Danny should, especially after her bull-and-heifer speech. If I don’t say something, I’m letting her walk all over me the same way she says Danny does.
I knock hard—mainly so she can hear me over the music. I keep my voice steady. Yelling’s not my style, and I’m not keen to prove her right about me being a grump…though boring isn’t an upgrade.
The door swings open. She’s in cut-off shorts and a baggy sweater with a giant reindeer hanging off one shoulder. My eyes drop to the big furry boots.
“Oh, Rhys!” She taps her phone, and the music cuts.
“I told you how I feel about that song,” I say—too loud—trying not to stare at her collarbone. But when I meet her darkeyes, wide with surprise and concern, the heat drains away. What’s left is just…hurt.
“I know. I’m so sorry.” She opens the door wider and waves me in. “I didn’t think you would be back until much later tonight. ‘Fa-La’ is always the first song I play during the Christmas season. I figured I’d get it all out of my system while you were gone, then not listen to it again.”
“Hmph. I’d like to never listen to it again.”
Her mouth tips into an apologetic smile. “I know you hate it, but the truth is…” She practically vibrates trying to hold it in. “I love that song so much! It’s the perfect happy start to Christmas.”
She bubbles over like a shaken soda, but I’m barely tracking the words. The room steals my attention. The studio looks completely different from what I imagined.
Nearly every flat surface has a Christmas…something. Santa pillows on the sofa. Santa figurines on the tables. Santa prints on the walls. Even Christmas tea towels in the kitchen.
In two weeks, Santa’s workshop has relocated from the North Pole to Malibu.
“You took a bit of a turn with the décor since the last time we talked,” I say slowly, still taking in the rosy-cheeked Santas and the lights.
Stella follows my gaze and gives a nervous giggle. “The Santa stuff is all temporary. I’ll put it away after Christmas.”
“I didn’t realize the Christmas season started in October.”
“If you don’t really celebrate the holiday, it doesn’t. But for everyone else, it starts October first. I’m a week late getting my decorations up.” She clomps across the room in those boots, lifts a plastic bin, and brings it to me. “You wanna help?”
“There’s more?” I stare into the box—baubles, snowflakes, a mess of trinkets in bubble wrap. “You just skip over Halloween and Thanksgiving?”
