Rock Bottom. Cate Masters

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СКАЧАТЬ This used to be my favorite song.” Years ago, but lately it stood out as one of the few she could still stand to listen to. No more.

      “Yeah, kinda kills it for me too.” Justin turned back to the computer, murmured something to Danny.

      When he blocked her view, she angled closer. “Are you using that video in the show?”

      Danny said, “Only a few seconds of it to splice into the opening collage.”

      At an off-key chord made worse by the out-of-synch keyboards and drums, Billie clenched her teeth. “Maybe Jet should work on tightening his sound instead of his abs.”

      Glancing back, Justin’s eyes rounded, his face blanked.

      Behind her the door slammed.

      Billie whirled. “Who was that?”

      Working the mouse, Danny said, “Jet must not have appreciated the joke.”

      Frozen, she wrestled with whether to go after him. He must be angry, and she couldn’t blame him. Still, if she waited, explaining would be more difficult. She pushed open the door, but the walkway was deserted.

      Justin laughed too emphatically. “Relax. I’m sure he’s heard that before.”

      “More than he’d like,” Danny deadpanned.

      She sighed, wondering how she might make up for the insult to Jet. “Does Jet normally come in while you’re working?”

      Justin shrugged. “Once in a while.”

      She wished she’d known that earlier. “Does he have any editorial control?”

      Danny maneuvered the mouse. “Nah, he just comes in to hang out mostly.”

      “He’s cool about it. Lets us do our work, no hassles.” Justin inclined his head. “I think he likes to get away from them.”

      “The contestants? Or his manager and assistant?”

      They exchanged knowing glances, and Justin said, “All of the above.”

      “It must be exhausting, having people glomming onto him every waking moment.” Filming his every move. Vying for his attention. Snatching little bits of him away, slowly. She no longer wondered how he’d lost himself, but wondered how he managed to retain any semblance of himself at all.

      Snickering, Justin fiddled with the boom mic. “If he hated attention, he wouldn’t have signed up for season two.” Bitterness edged his tone.

      Did Billie sound so acidic when her jaded side surfaced? “I’d better get back. Nice to meet you.”

      “See you soon,” Justin crooned.

      Back in the cottage, she drafted an initial blog post touching on Jet’s pathetic concert performance as well as sympathy for his unenviable position. Having fallen from the heady heights of success, now vampires surrounded him, though he had precious little blood to spare. The Jet of today might appear fit and robust, but his music was neither. Both, she wrote, lacked the vibrant soul from their humble beginnings.

      Re-reading it, she realized the post seemed overly harsh. Saving it as a draft on the blog site, she’d soften it later.

      Damn. If she’d known he’d snuck in the editing room, she’d have curbed her comments. He’d gone out of his way yesterday to tend to her needs. Still, the magazine paid her to air the truth as she saw it. No matter how nice, Jet couldn’t be an exception. If his band hadn’t been so great in the beginning, their performance might not have seemed so terrible by contrast. And if he hadn’t heard her say it here, he’d have read it elsewhere. No matter how much she wanted to, she could not hold back to spare his feelings.

      Still, she wanted the blog to be more than a dig. Jet could be a great musician if he’d focus on his craft instead of other nonsense. Like reality television. Dare she write that? Maybe it would get her sent home in a hurry… No, she wouldn’t taint her writing with any ulterior motive. If it inspired Jet, helped him realize his full potential, all the better.

      With that thought, her burden of guilt lightened. She’d corner him later and apologize.

      * * * *

      After two hours of lurking on the fringes of the camera’s view, Billie felt as persecuted as a soul in purgatory. And every bit as overheated. Even in the shade, her dark top and pants seemed to absorb sunlight. If the cameras weren’t rolling, she’d love to dive in the pool.

      Listening to the excited babble and chatter of the six contestants brought back torturous memories of high school: the girls’ bathroom where the popular ones debated boys, fashion and makeup. The gym locker where cheerleaders rapturously described dates with jocks. At least then she could walk away when it grew too nauseating. Now, she had to stay. Worse, she had to regurgitate their babble in some coherent way.

      Billie scanned the show’s outline. Today, the contestants officially met Jet, though he’d greeted them earlier inside. To put them at ease, Stu explained to Billie–off the record, of course. The public had no need to know, he said. Billie conceded. She’d pick her battles.

      When Jet finally put in an appearance just before three, Billie again flashed back to high school. Her stomach clenched, her senses pricked to alert at his every movement. She tensed, waiting for him to look her way, smile, speak to her.

      He strode in scowling, head ducked purposefully, as if he were on his way to somewhere else. Or wanted to be.

      One glance. As he approached the back patio, that’s all he gave her. One piercing glance. It burned into her, the second expanding into infinity, throwing all time out of synch.

      The producer swiveled at his approach, called, “Jet, good. Let’s run through some notes before we start.”

      Staring into hers, something deadened in Jet’s eyes, and then his frown intensified, his stride hastened.

      Despite the heat, she shuddered with the unexpected chill. If only everyone else would take a break, leave them alone long enough so she could explain her earlier comment. Above all else, she wanted Jet to view her as a professional. Her opinions didn’t play into her writing, but curbing her tongue wasn’t her strong suit.

      Still scowling, Jet scanned through the pages, the producer and Stu murmuring to him.

      The producer stepped out of the camera’s frame. “Ready?”

      “In a minute.” The pages fluttered as he flipped one, then another.

      “Something wrong?” Stu asked.

      “I can’t find anything about the gig.”

      His sharp tone silenced the tittering women, snapped everyone’s attention to him. Especially Billie’s.

      Only Stu seemed unaffected, and spoke with his usual snake oil smoothness. “It’s not in this outline.”

      “When will it be?” Jet spoke more softly, but sounded no less threatening.

      Riveted, Billie watched, hugging herself.

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