That seemed to have changed.
There were pictures from last night’s show, posted by squealing women—I assumed—who raved about my hair and my hands and even my assortment of chunky silver rings as I cupped the mic. I lifted my other hand, wondering what could possibly be so interesting about those. Most were cheap finds from street stalls and paid for with money meant for that night’s supper.
Sabrina’s voice echoed in my head. All those things she wanted to change. Improvements in my look intended to make the crowd crazy.
Was she right?
If they were this interested in me when I’d paid so little attention to my overall appearance, what would they do if I ditched the shoelace ponytail and wore tighter pants and shirts that showed I actually had muscles?
Not that my looks were why I’d gotten into singing. But
a bloke needed every possible advantage. It appeared I had a few I hadn’t been making full use of quite yet.
Simon definitely did. Mr. Model. So why shouldn’t I? It wasn’t selling out to make the package as appealing as possible.
Keep telling yourself that, buddy.
I read through a few of the comments and clicked on a video clip from last night’s show. It was of me and Zoe, and she was glaring at me. It was ridiculously hot. Shouldn’t have been. But even on a beach surrounded by miles of suntanned California blonds, the only one I had eyes for was the one I could barely see on my screen.
Rubbing my eyes, I clicked off. I could look at all those later when I was indoors. Preferably with a drink in hand.
My heart was racing. So fast that my head didn’t seem quite tethered to my body. My feet were planted on the pavement but it felt as if it was shifting underneath me.
Everything was changing. Small little ripples at first that would become seismic undercurrents.
I hoped.
After ducking my head to try to avoid the angry fireball, I clicked on the last of Sabrina’s voicemails. I hadn’t listened to any of them. I’d figured she was just giving me more of the company spiel, maybe mixed in with a few suggestions about dick-enhancing briefs or a new hair gel.
Instead, she was talking show dates and capitalizing on the building YouTube phenomenon and saying she was prepared to get contracts ready.
I shook my head to clear it. This wasn’t possible. She hadn’t even liked my show that much. But because a few teenagers—or maybe more than a few—had gotten wet knickers over my dollar-bin ring finds, she was ready to pony up with some cash?
Swallowing hard, I listened again, then quickly returned her call and left a voicemail of my own. I was in. And I wasn’t going to waste time imagining all the things I could buy if I actually got the frigging signing bonus she mentioned.
All I cared about was that it would buy me some time with Simon. Hopefully, it might get Jerry off my back so I could maybe even enjoy a few minutes of this. Everything I’d worked for, unfolding in my lap like a goddamn accordion.
And at the periphery of my thoughts was Zoe, snapping the moments in the camera I’d stolen.
I started walking, quicker than before. I stepped up to the soft pretzel vendor and paid with crumpled ones from my wallet. To say I was running on fumes was an understatement. But this would fill the hole until I could get my hands on some of Donovan Lewis’s cash.
Most of the money would go to Jerry. I’d just keep a little aside for motel rent and for a nice big juicy steak and a bottle of Jim Beam. Or two, for emergencies.
Like my entire life.
I ate the pretzel in record time and wandered over to sit with some spectators watching the skateboarders. I’d taken a turn or two on one, once upon a time. I wondered if just anyone could join in. Maybe I’d buy a board with my newfound money. I needed a physical outlet to burn off some energy, and no one would be able to recognize me—assuming that became an issue—if I tucked up my hair under a cap and wore oversized sunglasses and whizzed past them on a board.
Fuck, I needed shades. And I needed to search for Zoe, if she was even still here. This was the right general area, but the beach was huge. People swarmed in every direction.
I rose, about to abandon my seat and search for a sunglasses stall. Surely there had to be one here.
Then came a scream, muffled, indistinct.
My head whipped around and I sought the source. How had I even heard it in the chaos of rolling wheels and shouts from the crowd? But that single panicked sound had cut through the noise as cleanly as a blade.
I shaded my eyes and zeroed in on a woman being hassled by a guy with long hair and shorts that came to his knees. A skateboarder or that ilk. He was standing too close. She put both hands against his chest to shove him and he grabbed her upper arm, causing her to twist and her pale hair to shimmer in the sun.
The ends dipped in purple.