Page 5 of Fa-La La-La Land
Not to be too dramatic about it, but I think my heart may be breaking.
“This wasn’t planned, Stella,” Georgia says, like she’s reading my mind. “We’re as surprised as you are that I’m pregnant.”
Zach takes her hand, unable to hide his smile when Georgia sayspregnant.
And how can I be disappointed when Georgia smiles back at him with so much joy on her face?
So, I pull them both into a giant hug. “Everything will be fine. The only way through life’s challenges is with a smile, right?”
That’s one of Granny Sparks’s favorite sayings. Not all her grandkids take it to heart, but Zach and I do.
I step back, feeling like I’m beaming as brightly as they are. Their obvious relief at my reaction makes me even happier, despite the knot of uncertainty in my chest.
We climb into our cars, and they drive away. I take some deep breaths, repeating what I’ve said to them until I believe it myself. Then I remember Rhys’s message and take out my phone to call him back. Dinner with him might not be a bad idea, especially since I need to build a client list right away.
Why not start with a mega rock star?
Before I can call him, I notice another voicemail and press play.
Hi! This is Hailey from VibeHouse Records, calling on behalf of Danny Pine. He’d like to discuss your working as Rhys James’s social media manager.
I yelp, then turn up the volume and play the message again.
I almost return the call before remembering Rhys’s message. Maybe he wasn’t calling to ask me out at all. I laugh at myself for even thinking that was a possibility. Honestly, I’m relieved it’s not.
Even if I hadn’t vowed not to fall in love before I’m thirty, I’m holding out for my dream guy, and that’s not Rhys James.
At least, not anymore.
Chapter Three
Rhys
Ireckon the reason I left a message for Stella that sounded like I was asking her out instead of wanting to talk business is because Iwouldlike to ask her out. But minus the first time we met, she’s made it clear she’s not interested in me beyond business. Tried to get to know her a bit better in Vegas. That was a no-go. The few times we texted over the past year, she only talked about how I could improve my socials, even when I tried to bring up other topics.
Women rarely want to talk business with me. They rarely want to talk at all.
And while I’d rather have a less business-y relationship with Stella, what I need at the moment is her social media expertise. I’ve needed her for a while now, but it took me going viral for all the wrong reasons to convince my manager and producer to take her on.
If I didn’t think I’d sound straight-up desperate, I’d call her again and explain what I meant in my first message when I said, “Calling to see if I can take you to dinner.”
Instead, I try to watch some pointless TV while checkingmy phone too often to see if Stella’s rung back. Fame’s made me impatient. I don’t make my own calls anymore, let alone wait for people to ring me back—women, in particular.
Truth is, that’s only part of why I’m on edge. I’ve been restless for a while now—long before I lost it on stage when the crowd started yellin’ for“Fa-La La-La Land.”I’d done it at a few shows ’cause it was on the set list, but for that show it wasn’t, and I didn’t want to sing it. Never do, really. But I was knackered, a bit sick, and ready to get home.
Even before the chanting, the vibe was off. From the second I stepped onstage, really. Fans had been hopin’ I’d add more stops to the tour, but I just didn’t have it in me. Then tickets started poppin’ up on resale sites for stupid money, and people actually paid it. They spent so much; they showed up expectin’ me to prove I was worth every cent.
The entire show was a mess. Too much pressure, not enough left in the tank. And then, during the encore, the chanting started.“Fa-La, Fa-La, Fa-La!”over and over, ringing in my already buzzing ears, like an alarm that wouldn’t shut down.
If I thought the fans would ever forgive me for ditchin’“Fa-La La-La Land”for good, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I hate that song—especially singin’ it when it’s nowhere near Christmas.
Things went pear-shaped fast. I tried to keep it polite, pretended I couldn’t hear ’em as I walked off. But then I lost my head completely. Went off while my mic was still live. Said a few words fans who’ve followed me sinceSurf City Highprobably didn’t think I had in me.
And of course, some wanker—actually, about a hundred of ’em—got it all on video. By the time I made it back to LA,Rhys Going Madmemes were everywhere.
I wind myself up again, thinking about that night and whether I made a proper drongo of myself in that message toStella. The thought won’t quit. I switch off the telly and wander into the main room, the silence heavy after all that noise in my head. I sit at the grand piano, facing the view of the ocean through the window. I let my fingers rest on the keys. The second I do, my pulse settles. The view helps. The water’s calm, steady, everything I’m not.
The music, though, will help even more. It always does.
