Music Notes (34 page)

Suddenly, there’s no air left in this massive building. I’m unable to breathe around the golf ball sized lump firmly taking up residency in my throat. I fight the tears, blinking several times, so that I don’t ruin my dark, dramatic makeup. Beau takes his rough thumb and catches the tear that slips from the corner of my eye.

“Don’t cry, babe,” he whispers. “You’re worth everything to me.” His words slice through every ounce of pain I’ve carried for the last four years. Colton cheating on me. Colton dying before I had a chance to maim him for his deception. Working my ass off for tips that I use to raise my son. It all washes away with the tenderness of his words and the touch of his hand.

“Places everyone!”

Everyone rushes to get in place. Final checks of hair and makeup are given by backstage crew. It’s time.

Last call for throwing up!

I turn and look at Beau’s bright eyes, shining with something we’ve yet to specify. I see it as clearly as I feel it in my own heart. My heart has been telling me that I love him for a while now. I’ve just chosen to ignore that pesky organ because I didn’t think I was worthy of such a strong emotion. Not when the last time I loved a man, it was thrown back in my face, tainted and brimming with laughter.

“Your son is here. I’ve spent the last thirty minutes with him in the audience. He’s so fuckin’ excited to see ya tonight, sweetheart. I made sure Eli and your mom are sitting in the best place possible. They’ll be right behind me. So know that when you go on stage. Look at them or not, it’s up to you. I just didn’t want you to be blindsided and freeze.”

My heart stops beating. My son is here. Beau made sure Eli was here for the biggest two nights of my life. It takes every ounce of control I have not to blurt out my feelings for him right now, in front of the cast and crew. Instead, I give him a watery smile and pray that my love reflects in my eyes.

And when my eyes meet his, I see nothing but his love reflecting in the warm pools of his eyes too. I feel his strength and hear the magnitude of the words left unspoken. Apart, we were two people, lonely and searching for something more. Together, we are greatness. Together, we are one.

Note to self: Win or lose, as soon as this show ends, tell Beau how you feel!

Beau gives my hands one final squeeze before turning and heading towards the stage. I slowly make my way over to stage right and wait for my cue. Standing next to Ben and Jamal, I take a few deep breaths and wait for the show to begin.

*****

“Welcome to the final week of
Rising Star
. In just over twenty-four hours, we will be crowning a brand new
Rising Star
. We have three amazing hopefuls ready to perform for your votes one last time. We also have a star-studded show in store for you tonight and tomorrow. Without further ado, I present your four
Rising Star
coaches, Felix, JoJo, Sophia, and Beau!”

You can feel the rumble of the applause behind the massive curtain. Ben, Jamal, and I are positioned in a Jeep Wrangler, ready to perform choreography we’ve gruelingly worked on for the past forty-eight hours. It’s the first time a vehicle is being driven onto the stage during a performance on this network. Rumor has it that they pulled the plug on the idea before it even got off the ground, but after a few meetings and negotiations, the powers that be agreed to the large production. So now I sit in the back of the topless red Jeep Wrangler and wait for the cue to begin singing “Cruise” by Florida Georgia Line.

As soon as we get the cue that the stage is cleared, Ben starts the Jeep and puts it in drive. We wait for the signal, microphones already poised at our mouths and wait. And then the light appears. Five, Four, Three, Two…

“Baby, you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise…”

And with that, Ben drives us onto the stage. The crowd erupts and is immediately on their feet as Jamal sings from the passenger seat lines made famous by Nelly in the remix version of the hit song. I’m standing up in the back of the Jeep, hanging on to the roll bar as if my life depends on it. It has nothing to do with Ben’s driving–in reality he’s only driving about 20 feet onto the middle of the stage at five miles per hour–but has everything to do with my nerves. As I get ready to sing my next line and Ben comes around to help me down, after shutting off and exiting the vehicle, I finally feel the music pulse through me. It relaxes me in a strange way.

“It’d look a hell of a lot better with me up in it…”
I sing, the lyrics edited just a bit to fit me and the fact that I’m a woman singing as opposed to a man singing of a woman.

Together, our trio makes our way across the stage, each of us acknowledging the fans in the audience in our own way. For me, it’s zeroing in on the three-year-old little boy standing proudly in the audience behind Beau Tanner. I offer him the biggest smile I can manage while still singing the lyrics. Beau doesn’t miss the exchange either, turns around and makes a silly face at my son. If I wasn’t already head over heels in love with the goof, I would have completely fallen right then and there.

As I move and dance–yes, dance. Thank you choreographers–I can’t help but reminisce on the last eight weeks. The lights. The music. The stage. The judges. The other contestants. All of the hard work and commitment to the show comes down to this. It’s all about to end. Win or lose, there is no next week.

“Come on, girl. Get those windows down and cruise…”

“Ladies and gentlemen, your final three: Layne, Jamal, and Ben. We’ll be back with our first performer singing for your votes after this.” Becker smiles until he receives the signal that we’re off-air, and then we’re ushered off stage.

And now the real competition begins.

*****

I’m about to go on as the second performer of the night. The song Beau chose for me as my final number is perfect. Yep. I’ll be the first to admit, it’s the ideal selection for me. The black and blue dress I’m wearing is bulky and heavy against my body, primarily because I’m technically wearing two of them. My long brown hair is swept up in a tight French twist and my makeup flawless. I look exquisite in my black Jimmy Choo pumps. Every bit the pristine, perfect housewife I’m trying to resemble.

But that’s where the resemblance ends. I’m anything but perfect. There isn’t a flawless bone in my body. And if you don’t count my son, my greatest accomplishment is learning how to make homemade French toast without burning the house down.

“Layne, you’re up in one minute,” I hear from a young woman positioned by the stage and wearing a headset and a scowl.

Running through a few lines of the lyrics in my head, I prepare myself to take the stage. The whole world is about to see me perform for the last time for their votes. Knowing that Eli is in the audience, watching and waiting for me to perform, is enough cause to make me give this more than one hundred percent.

And then they’re cuing me to step up to stage left. Becker is on the stage giving a glowing introduction and showing highlights of my previous weeks on the competitive show. I can’t see the massive screen above the stage, but I can hear the laughter and the awes from the audience.

The lighting is subtle, but only for a moment. When I’m positioned center stage, the blinding lights flash and the familiar melody of Miranda Lambert’s “Mama’s Broken Heart” starts. I smile brightly at the first few rows of the audience since that’s as far as I can see and bring the mic to my mouth.

“I cut my bangs with some rusty kitchen scissors. I screamed his name ‘til the neighbors called the cops. I numbed the pain at the expense of my liver. Don’t know what I did next, all I know I couldn’t stop.”

I love this song. I love the lyrics, the sass, the drama. I especially love what is coming up. Part of being a performer, I’ve learned, is acting; being someone else for a short period of time. And this is the performance of a lifetime. I’m moving, I’m singing, I’m entertaining the audience to the best of my ability.

And here comes my favorite part…

“Powder your nose, paint your toes, line your lips and keep ‘em closed. Cross your legs, dot your I’s, don’t ever let them see you cry.”

The music drops off completely along with the lights. The massive room is bathed in pure darkness with the exception of minimal lighting at the stairs for safety. I spring into action, ripping off the top dress which was designed to breakaway easily. The second dress underneath is the exact same dress, yet this one is torn and tattered. I release the clip at the back of my head and my hair falls in a crazy mess of hairsprayed chaos. I kick off a single shoe, and toss it to the woman waiting just off to my left.

When the lights return–just a few short seconds later–I’m left unruly and disheveled on stage, just as the song reflects. My movements are choppy and hurried as I walk towards the edge of the stage, mic poised at my mouth to continue the song.

“Go and fix your makeup, well it’s just a break up. Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady. ‘Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together. Even when you fall apart, but this ain’t my mama’s broken heart.”

I stick the ending like a damn Olympic gymnast. The crowd doesn’t even wait for the music to fade. They are on their feet, cheering for me. Excitement and relief washes over me like a spring rain. I glance over and see Beau. There he is: the man I love. He’s standing at his chair with his arms raised high above his head in victory. My beaming smile surely matches the one I see on his gorgeous face.

Becker asks me questions, and I’ll be damned if I know what answers I give. I could have told him aliens invaded my body and I wouldn’t have realized it. My eyes remain locked on gray orbs of radiating excitement and pure love. I can feel it from twenty yards away.

And it’s the best feeling in the world.

Note to self: Sometimes you just have to let go and be free.

After spending last night following the broadcast with my mom and Eli, waking up with his little body next to mine was like a dream. When we go home to Chicago, I’m not sure I’ll be able to let him sleep in his own bed again. For now–or at least the next three nights–Eli will be snuggled securely against my body in my hotel room while mom sleeps in the second full-size bed in the room.

Today is the day.

The
Rising Star
Finale.

One show to determine my fate. The voting period is almost closed. The stage is almost set. One last performance–just for the fun of it.

I’m sitting down in the makeup chair, the tiny black spandex piece of material that they call a dress hidden beneath the cape. My leg is bouncing which only causes looks of annoyance to be thrown my way from Mary, my favorite makeup artist. The other artist, Sasha, preps her station beside me. I always cringe when I get the busty redhead with long manicured talons. Not only is her attitude snippy and she treats you like you’re a bother from the moment you sit in her chair, but she tends to go heavier on the black eyeliner than anyone without a streetwalker position listed on their resume wants to wear.

“Are you excited?” Mary asks as she brushes loose powder on my forehead.

“Are you kidding? I’m so excited, and I just can’t hide it,” I smart off, knowing that the petite blond will get a chuckle out of it. Mary is the queen of one-liners.

“You’ve got this in the bag, girl. I’ve been voting for you since week one on my smartphone,” Mary whispers and offers a wink through the mirror.

I’m just about the reply when the chair next to me moves and a new face appears in my peripheral vision. Holy. Shit. Nancy Wilson just sat down in the chair next to me.

“Hey! You must be Layne,” she says with a big smile.

Holy. Shit. Nancy Wilson just spoke to me. And she knows my name.

Note to self: Uhhhh…I got nothing. Holy! Shit!

“You are Layne, right?” Nancy says with a knowing smile. All the while I just gape at her like a freaking moron.

“Uh huh,” I finally choke out.
Smooth, Layne
.

“Well, Ann and I are super stoked to sing with you tonight. We’ve been rooting for you since the beginning,” she says casually as Eagle Talons starts working on her makeup.

“You have?”

“Sure have. We’re big fans of the show. We both actually cheered when you knocked Shawna out of the first round. I could tell right away that she was a crazy diva. But you? You’re more my style. You’ve got a natural talent that is pure and edgy. Your light will shine brightly if you let it, Layne. You need to just let go and be free. Let the music guide you and you can’t go wrong.”

Seriously, I have no words. All I can do is stare at Nancy freaking Wilson–my musical muse–and blink. My brain officially shuts down. I’m fangirling so hard right now, I’m afraid I won’t ever be able to speak again.

“Thank you,” I finally get past my dry throat.

“No, thank you for sending that girl packing not once, but twice,” she says with a wink before turning her attention back to the mirror. “Sorry we weren’t able to make it here sooner so we could practice for tonight. I know we’ll be rushed to run the song a few times before the broadcast starts, but I’m not worried. After you performed ‘Crazy On You’ a few weeks back, I knew that if anyone could pull off a quick rehearsal right before going on stage, it was you. And Beau says that ‘Barracuda’ is the perfect song for us to sing. I’m excited,” she adds.