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blankdblank · 3 years

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Brother Dearest Pt 77

A morning of scheduling in a stop at Freckled Moose Publishing Company had them grinning widely as you mapped out dates for the planned four stops for signings when the book would be ready to be released in August. Sealing for them the firm back half of the two year contract they had once lucked out on that brought them more clients in their affiliation with you. Curiously at the end of the meeting you asked, “Just curious, if I ever wanted to put out a sort of History book could I call you, would that be possible for the company to publish?”

Excitedly the Editor asked, “You’re writing a History book?”

And the other asked, “History on what?”

“Well, I sort of have a notorious ancestor that I’ve been digging into. Found letters from Kings and even a few Popes who tried to sentence them to death,” widening their curious grins. “Granted it’s probably years away from being done.”

The head guy stated, “We would be beyond interested and honored to publish your book whenever it is ready. How’d you find out about your ancestor?”

“I got a letter from the King of Spain who had been researching them out of fun growing up and he saw a portrait in what he’d found and then saw pictures of me and King George and he had to write to me about it and I’ve been a bit hooked digging myself. They’re sort of turned into this legendary person who’s been all over the world through history, which is sort of odd and people may just shout that it’s got to be made up, but there’s official documents for it all.”

“Well we’ve certainly been lacking in our non fiction section of authors so whenever you are ready please do send us a draft or some hint of this intriguing thing.”

“We will,” you said and they showed you down so you could stop at the comic book studio next to hand over the next chunk of storylines that had the guys beaming at the direction you were leading the story from its latest cliff hanger.

“I think it was nice throwing them that bone,” Victor said that had James agree. “You can tell they were bound to try and offer another deal for something when this book was through.”

“At least I know now, they might be inclined to humor a History book from me which borders on a creature like Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster.”

“You are neither of those,” James said.

“I’m not tall enough, I know.” You said making the brothers chuckle and shake their heads.

“Well let’s feed your tiny mythical self, Darling.” James said helping you back into the car for the drive home again.

Mr Yarbrough’s stop in on Monday did little to calm your nerves at being expected at a new campus the following morning. Sleep somehow attained didn’t feel like it had lasted the full night and more like a sort of jump in time, while not tired all the same it was an odd feeling to have to get up again. Comfortably in a skirt and blouse with cardigan in hand from the house once you were fed and had nursed again snuggly into the car you sat chatting anxiously with James and Victor around you on their joint task to see you off to school pre stop into the comic studio again.

The excitement was palpable from the moment you exited the car with bag in hand to join the hundreds of students who had arrived on this first day of the summer classes that each one you got close to greeted you fondly. Aids in the halls helped to guide the way to where those who hadn’t taken tours were headed. One of whom excitedly guided you to the Art Wing where you found the first of your classes. One on the styles of art mediums and the deeper meanings and symbolism to each of them to further deepen not just your knowledge of pieces of art like the class you had taken but the reasoning behind them and how to recognize various styles. This class usually was paired with another, your next one where it would be continued lessons on the styles and according to the course description would be more of an advanced art class.

The first Professor however froze when he saw you and promptly nodded his head when he noticed you were looking his way as you entered and crossed the room to get to the stadium of seats. “Baroness Howlett, good morning.” His fingers fidgeting around the button on his vest atop his neatly pressed shirt on the man who reminded you a bit of a bird by the slant of his cheeks and chin to match his slim forehead.

“Good morning. Just Howlett is fine. No need to complicate things for another student to teach.”

“I can imagine you will never be just another student,” he said and then added, “As you wish. Mrs Howlett it is.”

“You won’t regret it,” you said and made your way to the second row of seating along the wall to keep out of the way from the other students who filed in, each stuck between their confusion on if they should choose a seat nearby the famous face amongst them or to keep their distance. All the same a cheery group of young ladies chose to settle a few seats away from you in your row who only lured more students to fill the rows in front and behind your chosen seat. Mainly slides and ample discussion upon each piece to get right into the kick of the lessons inside the notebook you had for the class ample notes were taken and eventually you were off to the next class.

A robed woman on the raised platform inside what seemed to be more of an art studio lit both by a wall with windows across the top third and the dangling light fixtures. All to make it the perfect setting for the 30 easels that a man you would take as one who prized himself on his artistic prowess huffed through hanging more large sketch pads on each easel. It wasn’t until the third one he hung up that you took notice of the names scrawled across the backs to name where you stood. And of course you as the shortest of the students who had entered and would enter in the very back you were settled in a stunning move for everyone but the smug Professor who at the snap of his fingers had the woman drop her robe.

“Pick a style of art and interpret what you see. You have an hour, impress me.” From the bar of the easel you lifted the box of Mongol brand colored pencils also with your name on a strip of tape to mark it as yours and opened the case to pull out a grey one.

Basic outlines in dots for the shape of the odd crab like couch that the model was draped across. A yellow set of dots lined the body’s end points before a light green was used to work on a few things behind the couch. For some reason you heard hour and wanted to have the hardest challenge possible so you aimed for pointillism. Not just for difficulty but also an excuse to not be too terribly detailed without aiming for something abstract like Picasso could have dreamed up.

Obviously not much was expected and when the professor who hadn’t so much as said hello just about fell down as you completed a series of smaller dots between larger dots to complete another chunk of the blurry yet clearer scene. It seemed he had already in his made up decision to be distant to each of his students to glance down his nose at their work so far continued on to the next easel in his lap through the room. This was his chosen method and this was just how it was going to go and when the class was through your piece and another had his focus linger as he switched the sketch pads for the next class wondering how the next time he saw you all would fare.

Anatomy and Physiology came next and another look of shock bled into an impressed question from this former Doctor of a Professor who heard you had repaired an artery with just a heated pin that had him agree to speak further on possible difficult cases you had faced in the war that cost him his left foot. While more technical and loaded with all male students to surround your seat up front at his suggestion for a clear line of sight at least he seemed pleased to have a fellow Army Medic to help boost up the usual lower end of his summer grading curve.

Communication came next and seemed a rather simple statistic laced course that was followed by another male centered course of Engineering. And while you were in a skirt the basic schematic sheets offered for you all as tests of intuition on what you could do in a long string of what could come for the rest of the few months you would be studying here with mention of actually constructing something for your exams.

From your last class you couldn’t help but grin at the thought of being able to return home again to your girls. So much so that when you saw James’ back you hastened a few steps to take hold of his suspender strap luring a smirk across his lips in a prompt turn to lower and kiss his bubbly wife no matter how many people could see the display of affection. “I take it you had a good morning?” Victor crooned in the midst of the lip lock and smiled at you when you broke apart to cuddle into James’ chest around your bag and notebooks.

“I did, be glad to get home though.” You said making them smile and guide you into the middle of the front bench seat to make the drive home when you shared your day and heard about the latest on their morning in the comic studio.

Wednesday tutoring was followed by on campus classes the following day to finish off the stretch of schooling for the week. All in all not a bad load to bear and one that could easily be laid onto a schedule to manage with ease. Your final hours leading into Friday however had Norma back at home and excited to take you on a family trip for the day to LA.

‘Scudda Hoo! Scudda Hay!’ words that were etched across the covers of magazines and newspapers alike with ample radio mentions. Amongst the hype of the latest Stark film in the works with one of the minor characters in this film word of your touching down with Norma had a sea of cameras there for an explosive amount of press for the film. Right away Norma’s smile was locked in place and she answered questions as best she could on the way to the waiting car and of those already camped outside the home rented for all of you on the beach.

Nice and quiet the moonlit beach had you on the back porch listening to the waves lap once the children had been put down to sleep. Random strolling couples and a few lone teens with telescopes were in your view stealing watch alone together under the rarely seen stars deeper in the cities. “Almost makes you wonder,” Eddie said joining you on the porch as Dawn and Norma started on the nightly facial routine you said you’d join in a moment a few minutes prior. “Just how much we’re missing out on down here with the tiny telescopes we have.”

“I think I’d settle on knowing what heartbeat I’m hearing out in the ocean.”

Eddie chuckled saying, “Probably a shark or a really old turtle.” He nodded his head to lure you inside saying, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up for a short nap then we have to get you ready for the premier and we can all head to the beach after.” Under his arm you were led back inside to wash your face and have Norma’s smile spread at the calming act for her to play specialist to your beauty regimen. Nerves however would have to be set aside as you all laid down with your adoring husbands for the nap to bring you closer to the premier.

Only you and Norma had seats so special care from the others came in help to get the pair of you ready to ease into the car that came to carry you there and back again for the premier. Dolled up to the nines in a wave of flashes you exited the car and stepped aside with hands smoothed down over the skirt of your dress for Norma’s exit after. Down along the carpet you strolled at her side ignoring the waft of your loose curls pulled back on one side the breeze kept blowing about your face and chest no matter how many times you brushed them back. A plot to keep you set apart even more from Norma on her big day who had her every curl secured in place in an elegant bun and while she did her bits of press you stood aside and happily mingled with the other members of the cast who had finished their turns.

Nerves however did not wane and with hold of her hand Norma’s confidence was bolstered enough to settle into your chosen seats for the opening speech from the Producer and Director that was followed by the start of the film. All through up to the minor line that she gave that had her grip tighten on your arm and remain so until the credits rolled and in the rise of the lights a brief after luncheon was called for. Compliments and talks from the heads of 20th Century about her next picture they had lined up for her to audition for once this assumed once off film Stark had wrangled them into allowing her to play a large part of had her a bit deflated when she returned to your side even against the peaceful grin on her face.

“You want me to punch them?” You asked making her giggle and loop her arms around yours again.

“They have another walk on bit for me in a musical comedy with the Marx Brothers they want me to audition for after we get back to New York.”

You nodded and said, “Well I’ll just have to keep writing stories for Stark so he can keep giving you things to sink your teeth into won’t I?” You teased widening her smile. And sweetly you patted your free hand on her arm, “They’ll learn Jeanie, nowhere near just another bombshell blonde they can bop around in the background. Audiences will be gnawing at the bone to get a better look at you. Just the beginning.”

“You are an amazing writer, truly, you should keep it up.”

“I just might, Howard’s last call just about had him asking for one, I can feel it. And with my wild dreams no telling what my head can come up with. Just as long as I don’t have to sing or play in the next one,” you said making her giggle again.

“You singing made that scene. You will see when it comes out.”

“As long as it helps with the press to get more in those seats to see my treasured younger sister,” you said making her giggle with you, “Then I will take a stroll across a scene in whatever film I can to help.”

Playfully her mood shifted and remained upbeat until back at the beach house the pair of you washed your faces and changed into two piece swim suits matching Dawn’s in complimenting bright colors to help carry the babies out to go and play. Across the sand towels were laid inside of a fitted sheet held out by your shoes with a large umbrella set up for the babies to be in the shade with the brothers. Just beside the towels Teddy giggled as you helped him build a sand kingdom with a moat of water Eddie brought from the ocean in a bucket to Norma and Dawn’s gleeful trip into the water.

A curious sound turned your head to the beach making you ask, “What is that?” James’ head turned as you asked, “Do you guys hear that?” And over the wind, the waves, distant chatter of photographers creeping in for pictures and giggles from your sisters in helping their daughters to their first steps into the ocean they too heard the odd sound of shifting sand.

Victor said, “Sounds like a cracking and scraping.”

“There are heart beats,” you said and shifted closer to the source of the sound with Eddie behind you.

“Couldn’t be sea turtles this time of day, could it?” Victor asked James who shrugged.

“It’s cool enough, almost sunset here in an hour.” He replied.

Teddy between you and his dad’s arms poked his head and gasped at the sudden sink of a small circle of sand. Gradual progress was made as you accepted hold of your camera from Victor who had been snapping pictures of the four at the water now on their way back when he called for them. Gasps sounded at the first head and in a gradual flurry of heads and front flipper arms that came into view the first of near to a hundred hatchlings filled the circle of sand around their entrance to this world. “Ooh, got you little guy,” James said in a reach down to bring out the one still in the hole who had gotten stuck on his back to join his siblings all focused on discovering their bearings. “There you go,” he said with a smile lowering it down after you snapped a picture of the duo.

A few random gulls were easily swayed by the bits of your picnic left over thrown a good distance and arms used to shoo them away from the tiny parade to the ocean ending in bittersweet cuddles at the somehow profound loss of these tiny newfound friends now out in the wide unexplainable ocean. Teddy broke the silence asking, “Where’s their Mommy and Daddy?”

Eddie said as he lifted his son in his arms, “They’re out there, Teddy Bear. Don’t you worry, they know where their babies are, bound to have tons of food to make up for the long crawl back to them.”

Victor said, “They lay the eggs on the beach so they’ll be nice and safe until time for them to hatch. Most of the time it happens at night, when it’s nice and cool and most of the birds are away at their nests.”

Eddie said, “Let’s finish up this city of yours, Teddy Bear.” Turning back while you stayed with Norma and Dawn and their girls at the water a few moments to James and Victor’s slip back to the shade across the towels.

James hummed sweetly, “Let’s get you girls back in the shade.” Not much longer you lounged with your head on James’ lap to play with your girls and under a spare towel leaned against his chest feed the three as Victor claimed his proud task of capturing more candid moments of his family then claimed a turn with his Petal in the water as Norma came to lay out beside you. Sure to rival the images that would be splashed over the pages of newspapers and magazines for weeks to come dissecting every moment of this trip and more especially for the newspapers that you couldn’t have possibly been pregnant with three children so recently without having had some sort of surgical procedure to get your figure back.

The remainder of your weekend allowed you to steal some time with Victor and his dark room and a private dinner alone with James as a sort of date night on your own after crowded and cramped traveling. Time together was one of his main concerns after having gotten you on your feet and the girls onto a schedule so that in the long run as they grew older and things grew more complicated when the trio were fully mobile and had the chance to let their free will grow. A day both aspired for and anxiety inducing for when they could drive you both apart to keep them contained and only let you find each other at the end of the day to collapse in a joint heap of exhaustion to recharge for the following day.

He had to make certain he wouldn’t let his love for the children you would gift him cloud his daily need to remind you just how deeply he loved and cherished you. He had faced those rough patches with his first wife and hoped to avoid that, knowing how it hurt his son and himself, that was unacceptable to allow to happen again. Not with you. Victor had made it clear there was no chance of this marriage breaking apart, he’d sooner face death than to repeat his former mistakes and hurt his family as he had in the past. And while a dinner alone on a blanket under the stars didn’t seem like much every shift closer to him and grip of his shirt and ample stolen kisses let him know it was amply desired from you as well.

Tests with Mr Yarbrough came again on Monday for History, Geography and Religion, which again you aced and after he was amused to hear from Teddy the swarm of turtle hatchlings you backed up with pictures to prove the encounter. Tuesday on campus again came with repeats of the news of turtles that a few relatives from America had mailed pictures of the hatch related part of your beach trip that had your family played as true nature lovers. Excitement had burst with news of the premier and each chance capable questions were asked about the cast members and famous people you had mingled with while there. And Wednesday brought the end of June with more tests at home from your tutor Mr Fenske for Economics, Government, Political Science, and Anthropology, all your major serious subjects with thicker exam packets that the results for the final two would have to be named for you at the following week’s tutoring session.

Thursday came with the final stop on campus that came with buzz from not just fellow students but your family as Sunday was your birthday. A day that began with a family birthday breakfast followed by a party with the whole town that showed up to your home proud to spend the after noon with their dear friends and admire the new girls added to your family. Girls who amongst the toddlers in your family and those of families in town were glad to have the change to increase of children to play with.

Sharp cries however cut short the tries to get an early night’s sleep and with Herc you tried to calm the elder three toddlers who squirmed and writhed in pain against your efforts while James and Victor were sent into a near tailspin of panic and needed to take a long walk outside.

“It’s chicken pox,” you echoed in their minds calming the duo enough to come back inside to find the trio slightly more relaxed after being given some medicine for their fevers and to help them sleep.

And when they entered Victor came over to take hold of his precious Petal from your hold as you answered another call from some of the parents in town to warn of their children who had caught the unfortunate bug. “Come here precious.” He said nestling her slumbering body into his chest to pepper the top of her head with kisses between muttered comments to her every irritated slumbering grumble.

Dawn in her path from the kitchen had a familiar set of pocket journals in hand, “I’ve added chicken pox to the bug books. The triplets are still symptom free?” She asked eyeing Elliot, Sarah and Erich feeding them with the bottles you had pumped in the cooling baths you had made for the sick three.

Erich answered, “No symptoms, sleeping soundly. Jaqi didn’t catch her pox until she was over a year.”

Sarah answered, “It’s from the milk, babies are safe if their mother’s have the antibodies already until they pass their first year.” A fact that calmed James and had him move in to kiss their heads and circle back to comfort Victor as Eddie swayed on his own feet keeping hold of Teddy as he nodded off to his own dose of medicine. Herc after another check of Marigold’s temperature from her armpit had him contently handing her over to Dawn again and accepting the books reading the marked down cases of colic or diarrhea up to the few shots available for infants and even Teddy’s teeth coming in to not miss a single illness of any severity.

“Unfortunately like the common cold our medicines don’t do much to dent this illness. However Erich was able to aid us with how Jaqi reacted to the illness so we have a good idea on how this could unfold. Compared to how mortals experience it fairly easily. There is a ten day window of no to few symptoms then the bumps arrive that baths and ointment can mend.”

Victor said, “I’m not sleeping for two weeks then.”

And you crossed the room to stroke his back, “We’re all here to watch the babies Kitty.”

Victor said, “You need to get some sleep. You calmed my Petal down, thank you.”

“It’s an unsettling wait, but it’s fairly easy to get over, we’ve got plenty of oats and baking soda for the baths and we can make fruit popsicles if they get some in their mouths like Gina’s boys did.”

He simply cuddled more around her and nodded his head to the side urging you to bed, a gesture you sighed and turned to reluctantly head to bed as your girls were being carried back to the nursery to get some sleep.

“Here you are my dear,” Edie said pouring your tea in the morning an hour after breakfast that had almost lulled you back to sleep in wait for your tutor. With a smile she watched you unfold from your uncomfortable ball in the armchair of your choice lined up perfectly in a stream of sunlight stating, “Rather a rough night. I shall aid in the baths when the bumps arrive, I apologize for missing the fevers, the most frightful part.”

You shook your head, “Around the Brocks I have seen more pox than I could have dreamed possible. If I couldn’t tell them apart I’d say one of them had caught it twice.” You said making her chuckle in your sip on the tea to help perk you up.

“At least you have tons of practice. In my own youth I was surrounded by ample children myself. Some mothers can be rather frightened with their first child, I was rather at home with Erik’s colic to his worst fits or growth.”

“James handled it rather well compared to what I assumed for the first big illness.”

“Your parents agree, the brothers did bear through the pain rather well. Victor did sleep, more proof there. A few more fevers and I do believe he will calm from his panics.”

After another sip you replied in a soft sigh, “I wish I could do more.”

“You are,” she answered luring your eyes to her. “You aid in mothering his daughter while her mother is away. He is not alone in fatherhood. That is a great comfort more than you realize I would wager.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to come with us?” You said widening her smile.

“My son is strong and shall be safe under your watch. No mother wishes to release their child upon adulthood, and I could wonder how difficult it should be when to release your trio.”

“It’s eighteen years away, I would say, though shockingly my husband has been in my life for six years already. Numbers cannot be a comfort there. Have to let go before I know it. I should probably try to not think about that too often. Might start to make me sad for no reason when I’m back in school and they keep growing while I’m away.”

“They are always growing, away or in front of your eyes. We shall bear it together. You guard my boy and I shall help to guard yours in the summers and winter breaks. My work keeps me rather busy while we are apart.”

Tutoring came rather easily and somehow free of yawns thanks to the tea and a few stolen snacks and let loose a bit of work time that in the library was free of visitors Erik jumped at the chance to claim the seat across from you. Back into his own borrowed textbooks from your courses he wished to sign up for this year he delved with a few questions asked and answered for him until the eventual dip of your head that had him chuckle and scoop you up to carry you to your room for a much needed nap until supper. Another feeding however woke you as your parents settled around you to hold the girls until the trio were nursed by you fully, both who smiled at each drowsy droop of your eyes in slow waking still from the nap then helped to get you up to take a few laps inside your wing to stir your body and mind.

The nap however did fuel a change between you and James, him who required an early trip to bed for his exhausted self that allowed you and Victor, with hold of his daughter still, to get the surprise cake for James ready. Still he refused to leave her to sleep alone and only let her go to steal brief naps in hold of Herc or one of your parents if James was not himself awake. “I am doing better,” Victor said turning your head as you mixed the cake batter to pour into the readied pan for it. “I am, thank you. Nora called earlier about in tears she’s missing it. Comforting her, calming her pain helped to show how much better it feels knowing you’re here for support. I didn’t take to the fever as terribly as I thought I would. Had a hunch I might need to break something, but Herc says Petal’s strong.”

“Just doesn’t seem fair at times,” you said parting his lips as you sniffled and poured the mix into the pan to keep distracted from crying, “Just because I’m here now, why she’s safe and why they weren’t. Why you had to lose two of your babies, why I could heal Teddy but I couldn’t help Ambrose when she lost one of her babies.”

That had him draw you into his chest and kiss your forehead closing his eyes to the tear he felt soak through his shirt when you hugged him as firmly as you could around his hold of his slumbering daughter. “None of that is on you. Herc says my babies are ready to come back to me,” your head tilted back to peer up at him and he nodded, “So if we do have another baby, they would be able to come back, in safer times. So don’t you cry over our past sufferings. Look forward with us. We have days of suffering through oatmeal baths to come yet.” He said making you shake your head and inch back to finish pouring the mixture into the pan you then added to the warmed up oven to bake.

“Funny, very funny. It’s like a lit fuse, now I’ll have to wait a year or more for our girls to catch it as well, no telling how many more babies Dawn would have had by then,” you said making him chuckle. “I would say Jeanie,”

“She has work, we are pacing ourselves on babies. Her figure is important to the company and she hoped to at least have Petal talking full sentences before we tried again without sleeves.”

“At least you have a plan,” you said moving to mix up the icing next. “I was on the pill and we used sleeves, still, triplets. And people say God has no sense of humor.” Making him chuckle. “Hopefully we can wait a few years at least, have me into my graduate courses a good way. Maybe just one that time, or twins if I’m destined to only have multiples, maybe this time I can work in a few pushes in labor.”

“There was nothing wrong about your labor. Two day standoff is nothing to shake a stick at and you know it. Most women would have begged to be knocked out or to be sliced open by the first dawn.”

“I know. I suppose, going against the grain is going to be painful. Missed moments, while I study or, write or, take pictures and work on our comics.”

“It takes a village. We will make time, the girls won’t be left wanting by you or anyone else. Promise,” he said and you nodded again, “You chase those dream degrees of yours and you could do anything, on any schedule. Could even work from home if you got the right deal going. Jimmy and me know, we missed time working on our degrees and licenses, and we got paid more for it and our babies were better taken care of while we had them. You have to lay down the foundation first, can’t just drop a bridge in the middle of the ocean, they don’t float very well.”

“I think I found the next quote for another throw pillow for your parlor,” you said making him smirk your way.

“Looking forward to it.” Cake with breakfast was a welcome surprise and sampled to be saved partly for lunch with you when you had returned home to spend the rest of his birthday exactly how he wished it with the women of his life. That company alone was the greatest gift he could have ever received and ever would.

Pt 78

All –

@sherala007, @mariannetora, @jesgisborne, @knitastically, @catthefearless, @theincaprincess, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000, @alishlieb,

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

X Marvel-Cast - @himoverflowers, @theincaprincess

Brother Dearest - @thorinanddwalinsdwarrowdam, @swoopswishsward

#James Howlett x oc #Victor Creed x Norma Jeane #Eddie Brock x OC #Venom #Edie and Erik Lehnsherr #Chicken Pox #Old Memories #Marvel #Surprise Birthday Cake

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tisthenightofthewitch · 5 years

Text

LAUGHING WITH THE DEVIL • GHOST PREPARES TO RIDE A PALE TOUR NAMED DEATH THROUGH SACRAMENTO

When I was a fourth grader, a friend of mine got me hooked on Iron Maiden’s Live After Death. Sure, there was a zombie looking dude on the cover that kind of creeped me out, I figured it was harmless fun. A cousin of mine found out I was listening to heavy metal and freaked out on me. She told me it was the devil’s music and I was going to go to hell or something for listening to it. I don’t really remember the whole thing because I was, like, 10 and it was the ‘80s, and she freaked me the fuck out. Turns out that traumatized me more than any Maiden song ever did. I thought about this while I was coming up with questions for the following interview with Tobias Forge, frontman for Swedish metal band Ghost, who has tapped into that whole satanic panic thing and ran with it. Heck, it’s even earned him a Grammy.

Ghost released its debut album (Opus Eponymous) in 2010, but no one even knew who was in the group—at least officially—until 2017. Forge, Ghost’s sole songwriter, had his identity revealed when former bandmates filed a lawsuit against him. The ex-band members claimed they were owed profits because Ghost was a collaboration, whereas Forge saw the band as a solo project with a rotating cast of players. After our interview, on Oct. 17, a Swedish court dismissed the lawsuit, ordering the ex-band members to pay Forge’s legal fees, according to Blabbermouth.net.

Prior to his legal battle, Forge was known as Papa Emeritus I, II and III, the skull-faced anti-popes who front Ghost’s band of Nameless Ghouls. For the band’s latest album, Prequelle, which was released April 2018, Forge has taken on the mantle of Cardinal Copia, who looks sort of like a demonic Tony Clifton. The album is loosely based on the Black Plague, which ravaged Europe during the mid-14th Century. The lead single from the album, “Rats,” is a driving, arena-sized rocker. Its corresponding music video is as whimsically choreographed as it is gory. These things may seem contradictory, but Forge probably wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your stage presence is pretty theatrical. Are rehearsals for your live show more akin to, say, those for a Broadway show, or do you focus primarily on the music? We tend to focus more on the music. I’m not a super-fan of rehearsing [laughs]. It’s hard to summon the spirit to appear when there’s no smoke machine on and when the lights are different. I tend to find those sort of rehearsals are more for muscle memory, in terms of just making sure I can sing a certain thing … Especially when you’re rehearsing a new set, because this time around we’re going to change up the set a little and at least try to play a few songs that we haven’t played before, and you always want to try that … More than often, there’s a reason for a song not being played, and it might just be that it doesn’t work out very well. It’s hard to play, and you never really get that vibe going. The placement of the song in the set is very important. Like, OK, we’re going to try this song after this one now and see if the energy is right. It’s a little bit more mathematical and in a sense more scientific, whereas once you do the first show, that’s when you go into the role a little bit more, and it gets a little bit more magical or whatever.

Is there a particular song that you’re looking forward to playing live for the first time? Oh … aaaahhhh … I don’t really want to give it away right now! There may be a song on the list right now that we end up not playing. Let’s put it this way, there are some songs from the new album that we haven’t played before, and also there are some songs that we’ve played in the past, and other songs that we haven’t played from previous albums that we are considering playing. But again, you need to play them together and try them out. The real test is trying them in front of an audience. There have been songs throughout our tours that I thought were going to be really good to play live, but then once you play it, it just does not fly because the crowd isn’t responding very well. It doesn’t mean that they start booing, but you notice that it goes down in intensity … or you see people lose their interest, or that’s when they all of a sudden go buy beers.

Does that take you out of character when you’re on stage? You have the music, which is awesome, but you also have the visual component that goes with it. Is that part of why the setlist is so important? Oh, absolutely. Sometimes, I guess people, especially nowadays, people have a tendency to watch live shows beforehand on YouTube, and some people want to know the setlist beforehand, which I strongly recommend people not to. There’s a reason for a setlist being the way it is. As much as I admire Bruce Springsteen for taking requests, basically, for us it does not work like that …

In my perfect world, I’m a little bit of a … what do you call it? I like comfort in the sense that preferably, I’d like to play the same set every night and get better at performing it that way, because you know how to distribute your energy so that by the last couple of songs, which are our most intense … You need to sort of sit on energy to make them explode.

It’s interesting to hear that you look for comfort in your live sets since you change your persona every album. Is that something that’s difficult to juggle—comfort versus not wanting to repeat yourself? When it comes to certain aspects, yes. When it comes to the live show, I think, let’s just say, most bands throughout rock history have found their form at some point. And then, after you’ve found that form, you don’t want to change too much. If that form has taken you to a certain plateau and that has given you a certain amount of success, that will be what people expect of you and that will be what you’re comfortable doing … However, what we do intend to change up, what will always change, more from a production point of view, is what we wear, what the stage looks like, effects and props and actors or whatever. One easy example of what I’m talking about that we should not do is that over the years, ever since Papa I became Papa II and onwards, there’s been a little vocal minority that felt that Papa I was menacing and evil, and they wanted that menacing evil to stay and any animation that went beyond that rigor mortis that he had was selling out or whatever. The thing is we can never return to that. That worked because we played 30 minutes in the dark, basically, with all fog on stage. That worked because you saw very little. But we can never go back to that because we’re playing big places now. We’re playing for two hours. You need animation. You need things to happen.

I watched the webisodes for the Prequelle album, and what struck me most about them was how funny they were. I liked that there was a sense of humor to them and not just all grim and foreboding. Is that something you enjoy playing with, too? I don’t want to say absurdity, but maybe the campiness that’s always been the backside of horror. Absolutely. I think campiness—for the lack of a nicer word for it—is very much in line with the trashier nature of the culture that is horror. I’m a big fan of kitsch. I’m a big fan of trash culture. For some reason, there’s a minority of people who tend to think that the devil and death metal and all that shouldn’t be in any way about humor. Even though, believe me, I truly admire and I really appreciate a good dose of serious, orthodox darkness as well, but for me, looking at it from a philosophical point of view, laughter and satire and comedy is very, very against establishment, church, conformity. For me, humor and comedic elements is, for one, very natural for me. I like things that are in one way or another comedic. But I think if there was an argument for the campiness overshadowing the seriousness that should be satanic metal, I definitely beg to differ. No, no, no, this is very blasphemous, because it’s about laughter. Laughter is the work of the devil. Remember The Name of the Rose? According to old ways of Christianity, laughter and comedy were definitely the work of the devil. I think this is in all aspects utterly blasphemous from that point of view. But, at the end of the day, I’m a big culture fan. I love kitsch and having fun and living my life and filling it with as many enriching things as possible. I think a lot of the things I find rewarding and pleasant in one way or another are represented in what I’m trying to do with Ghost.

Prequelle is sort of a modern re-telling of The Black Plague. How do you think that period of history relates to now? I’m talking from a Westerner living in a Western world perspective—we tend to talk about our contemporary time as being almost pre-apocalyptic. We tend to talk about the world as something that’s about to end. Of course, from an environmental point of view, maybe it is. I do not know, but maybe it is. But there are a lot of people on this earth who tend to persevere. We will probably do whatever it takes not to melt the ice, eventually … Maybe too late, but whatever. The thing is, the world has come to an end many, many times. In the 1340s and 1350s, people thought this was the end of the world. I’m sure that people in places other than the Western world are facing the end of the world. We all know that in Syria, millions of people were facing the end of their world. Looking in hindsight on The Black Plague in the 1300s, we know that it wasn’t. We had the 1400s, the 1500s … way further than anyone in the 1300s could ever imagine. I think especially now in modern days, we tend to pride ourselves in thinking, well, there’s nothing new to say, there’s nothing new to write. I think we overblow our significance and also the ultimate nature of the day that we’re living in. Who knows, maybe in 20 years, we’ll look back and say, “The 2010s, wow, I’m glad that’s over.” Like, look at a presidency. It’ll end after a few years. It’ll change. Things fucking change. They always do.

That’s an oddly hopeful message from the leader of a satanic metal band … It’s there to shine a light on the idea that things do change. Even though Prequelle on the surface is a record about death and dying, it’s actually a record about survival.

SubmergeMag.com

#Tobias Forge #Tobias Interview #The Band Ghost #Ghost Band #Cardinal Copia

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theonceoverthinker · 6 years

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OUAT 2X12 - In the Name of the Brother

Brother (Or sister, or any other sibling, real or metaphorical), can you spare the time...to read my latest review?

Great! Head below the cut!

Press Release Dr. Whale is tasked with mending Hook’s wounds and performing surgery on the stranger whose car crashed upon entering Storybrooke. But some of the townspeople fear that the stranger may have seen magic – which could expose their true identities to the world – and think that leaving him to die would be the best solution. Meanwhile, as Mr. Gold tries to reunite with a despondent Belle, Cora attempts to reunite with daughter Regina; and in the land that was, Victor desperately wants to prove to his disapproving father that he can, indeed, bring back the dead. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past This is one of the most visually appealing segments in the entire series. The World of Black and White is such a crazy concept, but it absolutely rocks. The style and the use of color make it so hard to forget and it really makes for a world that feels like none other, something that the other realms aren’t always able to do. And when Rumple appears, it’s such a contrast. Like, had this not been done so carefully, the mix of a technicolor Rumple in a world like this would’ve looked sloppy, but instead, it’s as every bit as magical as one could imagine or want it to be. I also like how the acknowledgment of this distinction is never too much of a distraction for the characters. Rumple (And his gold) definitely pops out from the rest of the crowd, but they never stop to think about that in terms of the schematics of their world. I’m glad about this because it doesn’t invite a feeling of distraction away from the story. Finally, let’s talk about music because the music here definitely delivers on the dark gothic atmosphere of the world, and it starts to blend with our world as Rumple shows up. As for the story itself, it’s pretty basic -- good, but basic. It’s essentially a darker “Aladdin” and a gentler Frankenstein story mixed in to one. And it’s cool! Really, it is! The unique take on Frankenstein is cool and having Rumple be what amounts to a jerk genie in it gives a fun spin. However, there’s not that much that’s worth touching upon apart from the style. Present So, the present segment finds itself pretty divided among our main cast and as mixed as the plotlines get, so are my impressions of them.

Emma and co don’t really have much of a story, per se, but act as passive reactants to everything else at play, and to be fair, that’s the most that could be expected of them in this scenario. I found that the debate over whether to let Greg live or not compelling enough, but thankfully not made to be such a big deal, especially when the main players generally don’t harm innocents. Still, it was nice to have Grumpy and Gold to list off the problems that Greg’s existence could present as something to think about (And to be fair, I guess it was something to do before the crazed Plot Hole Police arrived to badger A&E over for years, if they hadn’t already at this point).

Watching Regina and Cora interact is the most uncomfortable thing in the world, and I mean that in the best way possible. Cora, whether true in her love for Regina or not, still manages to squirm her way into Regina’s heart where she knows she’s unwelcome. It’s honestly sinister seeing her apologize for things that we know she doesn’t mean (Making Regina marry Leopold and framing her for Archie’s “death”), but eventually convince Regina regardless. And to Regina’s credit, Cora only gets him by plucking the nerve of her most recent dilemma: Earning Henry’s trust back. Seeing Regina cradling in Cora’s neck is so awful, like seeing a spider ensnare her prey.

Finally, what the hell brought on Whale’s bout into depression? I guess it was seeing the watch which reminded him of his brother, but he was clearly drinking before he got the watch, so what gives? Was is because he couldn’t get sent back to his realms a few episodes ago because that wasn’t even in the “Previously On” section? Like, I’m sorry, but we see Whale on the verge of committing suicide. That’s a serious topic to show, especially for the very real way that Whale attempts it. There needs to either be more of a focus on Whale’s present situation to get to that point. I will say, there is a redemption here by Ruby because her speech at least connects more to the past segment in how Whale can’t change the past, but can change the future. Insights - Stream of Consciousness -As a victim of a car crash, seeing that again wasn’t traumatic at all! *nervous shudder* -Killian, this is the exact worst time to be an instigator! What the hell?! -This is also the filming spot for my OTHER favorite blooper. I’ll give you a hint: Anyone down for some crushed nuts? -Credit to Emma and David for knowing exactly how to tame Rumple! Small moments like these give a nice amount of payoff for the respective dynamics! -”From the outside?” I feel like if this had happened during the last episode, I probably would’ve put that Peter Griffin meme here about matching the titles in the dialogue. -I love the opening title card here! I normally love them all, but the distinction of color is just magnificent here! -Whale, don’t drink on the job! -”That’s your cross to bear, I suppose.” Victor, making puns is my schtick! -”He’ll cool off.” Gerhardt, your dad wasn’t even mad. I’d say Victor was madder. -Emma’s coming into Killian’s hospital room all confident and I am so here for this! And looks like Killian agrees! -Killian sees he’s chained. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?” Killian is just getting the best lines here and I am also here for this! XD -”If I had to pick dead guy of the year? I’d pick you.” Give it a couple more seasons, Emma. -I love how Ruby knew there were 10,000 combos right off the top of her head! She’s so smart! -”A LinkedIn account.” Not only is this dude a loser, BUT he’s now spamming the few people that can stand him with invitations to certify that he knows PowerPoint! He’s a MONSTER, I tell you! -”And he tweets pictures of his food.” Greg, torturing Regina aside (Which is also pretty fucking horrendous), you are just the WORST person! -Leroy’s apparently a movie buff. Who knew? -”We need to tell Regina’s she’s been framed.” Yesss! Thank you, Snow! I’m not mad at anyone for not immediately thinking of her given the crisis, but I am happy that someone did (Actually, some two because of Snow and Ruby!). Also, it enriches their dynamics going forward! Also, credit to her for understanding the internal danger Cora poses to Regina! I’m seriously loving Snow this season! -”You better hope he dies.” I like the strength of the writing in this line. It’s the driving force for the morality that Emma and co are tasked with thinking about, however inactively, throughout the segment. -”It’s not murder if we let him succumb to his injuries.” “I’m pretty sure it is.” It totally is! Look, for all the moral conflict of this episode, it’s totally murder and I’m glad that the character framed as the one closer to the audience is the one aware of that. -Gee, did Disney buy Star Wars at around this time? I’ve no idea! -”Rumple Von Stiltskin.” Imagine if that’s actually how his name was structured! XD -”Are you a philanthropist?” “Well, I’ve been called worse.” Rumple’s also gotten great quips! -*Rumple sees box* ...August? “Hello, Rumple.” Ah! Cora! What a fakeout! -”The Crocodile snaps at the little bird.” I guess Killian’s vernacular grew on Cora throughout their time together. Now though, I want to know what animal Killian is. What animal is everyone?! -A moment of silence for the deleted Jello scene that never made it to air. A-woman. -Cora, do not smell Regina’s clothes! That is fucking creepy! -Disguising yourself as Henry? Cora, that is a new low! And your former low already bonked Hades’ blue head! -Cora, go away! You’ve been in Regina’s sights for all of a quarter of a second and you’ve already given Regina a panic attack! -I feel like the only reason Rumple held up that magnifying glass was so that the effects team could show off just how well they did his eyes. -Regina’s hiding spot is so beautiful! She has a gorgeous albino apple tree, christmas lights, jewels all around, and gorgeous wallpaper! Fuck the monarchy! Go into interior design! -”Determination.” Cora, shut up, you are not an Undertale character. ...Actually, you totally could pass as Chara. -”Emma and Henry and the two idiots.” I love how small, but still funny that line was. -Okay, so I totally want Ruby to just run on her own in my “Wacky Races” dream fic because holy shit! She’s fast! -I’m not sure if Gerhardt beating the crap out of his father for verbally assaulting Victor is the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen or the most heartwarming. -”It seems that science does too [have a price].” Bro, do you even physics?! -I’m not going to write down Ruby’s entire speech, but I do like the concept of looking at bright sides to Regina’s curse. It’s definitely not an admission that it was a good deed nor should it be, but in this isolated incident, it’s interesting to see Ruby and Whale commiserate over things. -Also, serious props to Ruby for cutting Whale’s self-hate monologue to get to the situation at hand. XD -”These carriages are strange.” I wonder if Cora was actually serious when she says this! XD I mean, cars are probably intimidating to those not familiar with them. -”It’s one of my most treasured possessions.” Awww! -It’s so freaky seeing Gerhardt moving around in his undead state. He’s like a gorilla in the way he moves his arms and legs and the way he cowers and sits. What a cool take on Frankenstein’s monster! Like that, more than anything would make me interested in a follow-up Frankenstein flashback. -I feel so bad for Snow as she’s being let down about not going into Greg’s room, but I can’t help but laugh. Like Snow, the fuck, bro? -”It’s a cup.” Am I the only one getting a sense of deja vu from “A Bug’s Life” here? XD -Greg, you sly dog! You, Killian, and Cora could bag Best Acting Awards until you die! -”I was texting.” ...While not my exact situation, this was too fucking real… -I love that globe and wish we saw more of it! On topic, everyone in Storybrooke should keep a private sampling of blood just for safekeeping at this point for identity purposes. -Awww! Poor Emma! Henry, just let her sleep! And then Gold comes in! The poor woman! -”If any harm comes to Belle while I’m gone, I’m killing all of you.” ...Was anyone in that room trying to hurt Belle? For the wham line it was supposed to be, it doesn’t come back in a meaningful way and it’s so oddly aimed. I guess this was written before Colin got hurt and maybe Killian was supposed to go after her again? Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Rumple’s Redemption - As much as my inner sense of empathy is judging Rumple, his decision to essentially say “fuck off” to the request to help Greg is pretty in-character. Not only is he dealing with the anger over losing Belle and essentially letting Killian get away with it without killing him (Which is in itself a pretty great stride that holds through from his decision in the previous episode), but yeah, for as much as I like Rumple and think that the writing does an excellent job of painting him as not a complete fucking monster, I put the word ‘complete’ in there for a reason. Rumple still has a long way to go until he reaches a point where he can care for someone whose outside of his tiny circle of love, and for whatever can be said about his relations to Emma and David, they’re not at a point where they’re strong enough where he’d give them that much concern. Regina’s Redemption - “I have to let you know. I had nothing to do with Archie.” I almost feel like I can leave it there, but nah. You deserve more! So, just as much as Regina wants Henry to be by her side regardless as for as much as her attempted redemption had hurt her thus far, Regina’s still committed to doing right by Henry, and that’s amazing! Furthermore, Regina shows that even if she didn’t accept her treatment when the accusations came around over Archie’s death, she does accept that given the circumstances, it was a reasonable assumption to make. Honestly, the entirity of Regina’s scenes with Cora speak of how far she’s come, as she stands against Cora’s points over why she framed Regina. Obviously, part of what made Regina go as evil as she did was Cora’s influence, and seeing her work so hard to not let Cora control her again was just so impressive! Hell, even gives Cora an understanding of what she wants if she’s to trust Cora again. Greg Mendell - We get our first (Okay, second) piece of Greg in this episode. Definitely a good actor and I like how there was this subversion of expectations in this episode (until the ending, of course) while still raising all of the needed points about him and his existence here for later in the season where they would apply. Favorite Dynamic Rumple and Cora - I like how we get to see that Cora’s menace doesn’t just stretch to Regina, but how exactly it stretches to Rumple. Rumple and Cora are on equal footing in a way that Rumple and Regina only came to be during the final two seasons of the show, and that comes across so clearly in just how he acts around her in their one scene together. She’s able to push him a bit and even prompts a deal where he has to hesitantly accept it, and that’s so rarely done, especially by an enemy. Just look at the worry in Rumple’s eye and that bit of trepidation, but he still manages to keep most of his cool. That is how Rumple responds to a real threat. It’s almost karmic retribution for not bothering with Greg (Or trying so hard to keep Cora out of Stroybrooke that she’d let Emma and Snow die), but I don’t know if I would go so far as to say that for certain. Still, their one scene both establishes so much of their dynamic and sets up the board for later. Writer Jane Espenson is back, and she did a decent job here. I like how she balanced the screentime of so much of our main and supporting cast. No one ever feels like they got the shaft and what they were given to do fits their story so well. In addition, I feel like the writing is done very well, particularly with Regina and Cora. The way Regina speaks is a great reflection of the work she’s done as she deflects Cora’s points hit by hit and only succumbs to a situation that was well set up. Jane is really good when it comes to writing Regina, as “We Are Both” was also hers and the depictions of both her past and present character were marvelous! Also, as a side note, she wrote Emma and Killian much better here. There’s clearly animosity, but a level of concern and even flirting off of Emma’s side that is actually allowed to show up for a hot second. Rating 8/10. Style is the name of the game here. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that the aesthetics weren’t impressive enough to bring the whole episode up a level. As for the other segments, they ranged in quality, but were more good than bad, though since Whale was the main segment, the shortcomings of that story stood out more. But thankfully, it wasn’t the only portion between the interesting broad strokes of the OUAT rendition of Frankenstein, the true horror story of seeing Cora take over Regina’s life again, and the small inner workings of Emma and co in the background as they react to all of this. Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Rumbelle - I noticed that just as the episode started, Rumple was calling Belle “Beautiful Belle” as the authorities were coming for her. That’s small, but pretty cute! And you just gotta feel for Rumple as he tries so desperately to make Belle remember him. While I’m not really sure if I like or dislike the failed TLK, the cup scene absolutely accomplishes what it sets out to do. Also, “do you have any spells to return memories?” Just look at Rumple here. He looks so nervous as he’s asking, as fragile as a young schoolboy! And he does that in front of CORA! That is adorable for Rumbelle! Captain Swan - Killian just gets hit by a freakin’ CAR and the first thing he says is, “Hey beautiful.” Killian, never change! ...Actually, yeah. You need to change a lot, but fortunately, you do! Hell, even Emma gives into the flirting a bit after a bit! Also, “everything else is still intact.” KIllian, could you be any more obvious?! Also also, Emma’s pretty keen on keeping an eye on Killian despite the fact that he’s handcuffed. Finally, Emma’s reaction to Rumple’s threat to kill Hook at the end of the episode...looks like she does care. Golden Heart - ”I’ve no reason to cheat you.” “Anymore.” Looks like we’ve got some angry exes! XD Also, notice how Rumple’s lingering juuuuuust a bit during that kiss! You dog! ()()()()()()()()() Finally! Another really good episode to talk about and get pumped over!! Thank you so much for reading and to the awesomesauce fine folks at @watchingfairytales for making like Frankenstein and bringing my creations to life! Bwahahahahha!

Any guesses on what will happen next time? I’ll give you a tiiiiiiiiny hint: It’s one of my favorites. See you then! Season 2 Tally (104/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (29/60) Jane Espenson (25/50) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (24/50) David Goodman (16/30) Robert Hull (16/30) Christine Boylan (7/30) Kalinda Vazquez (10/30) Daniel Thomsen (10/20)

Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 2x12 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat #basically every character in this episode is discussed

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umusicians · 3 years

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UM Interview: DALLAS

Toronto based singer songwriter DALLAS has proven that taking a leap of faith pays off.

Returning to Toronto after studying musical theatre in New York, the Toronto native put her broadway career on hold to pursue a career in music. Working with producer ATOM throughout the past few years, DALLAS has been able to hone her skills and create an image that is entirely her own. Resulting in music rooted in Pop music with accents and influences from the Alternative and R&B genres.

Amandah Opoku sat down with DALLAS to talk about her new single “NIGHTMARE”, working with producer ATOM, reinventing her brand/sound and more!

Amandah Opoku: Dallas, thank you for doing this interview today! Before we kick off please tell our readers about yourself and one random fact people do not know about you DALLAS: Ouu I like this! I’ll start off by saying I’ve been singing and writing my own songs since I was six. I’m 22 now so it’s been some time haha. Growing up I listened to all different genres of music (mostly Pop, Pop-Punk, Rock and Alternative) which inspired me to sort of form my own sound, something unlike anything out there currently. A super random fact that not everyone knows about me is that I’m actually allergic to the cold. People think I’m lying but its scientific name is “cold urticaria.” Probably not the best allergy to have when living in Canada.

AO: You left New York where you were studying Musical Theatre to return to Toronto to pursue a career in music. When did you discover that creating and releasing music was what you felt you were meant to do? DALLAS: Don't get me wrong, I loved living in New York. I learned from some of the best in broadway and left with an immense amount of knowledge in that realm. When I came back for the summer of 2017, I started working with ATOM, my current manager/producer & just knew the energy felt proper. Being in the studio, writing my own music and singing my own songs is where my heart wanted to be. So I put my broadway career on hold and have been grinding as a solo artist since.

AO: You’ve been working with producer ATOM for the past few years, how have they helped you find and shape your sound? How did he help you find your voice as an artist? DALLAS: ATOM has played a huge role in my career thus far. I genuinely can't imagine working with anyone else as closely as he and I do. We understand each other musically which is why the music continues to get better and better. We like to push the boundaries with all of my projects. At the beginning of 2019, ATOM and I decided I wouldn’t release any music and just take the year to build my catalogue and find my sound. I feel like a lot of managers and teammates in this industry wouldn’t normally allow something like this. It took a lot of patience and dedication but it really did allow me to find my voice and dabble in the world of production - what pleases my ear and what doesn’t. I trust him to always deliver something exceptional and he's never disappointed. I honestly don't think he could deliver something bad even if he tried. He cares so much about the music and that’s what I love about our dynamic the most.

AO: If you could describe your music in three words. What words would you choose and why? DALLAS: I’d describe my music as being powerful, deep and transcendent. My songs are my everything. ATOM and I will put hours and hours into building these final releases. We sometimes have had 10 different versions of one song because we both love to explore our options melodically, production wise and vocally. Songs can be approached in varying ways. I want all of my music to take you on a journey from start to finish. I love adding quirky & weird noises into the production of a song. I don’t want my music to ever sound mundane - I only want to keep levelling up.

AO: What do you want people to take away from your music? DALLAS: I want my music to open peoples minds - allow them to feel confidant and powerful. A lot of my unreleased songs are all about empowerment and just owning who you are and being a boss ass b*tch. I also really want people to take-in and appreciate the intricacy in the production within each song. The layers are truly never-ending. I get so pumped just thinking of all the music I have yet to share.

AO: If you had a chance to reinvent your image and sound, what genre of music would you choose? And how would you describe your new image? DALLAS: I feel like I already had that chance! Taking the year off in 2019 to just reinvent my brand and find a cohesive sound that includes all of my favourite genres is more than I could've asked for. Now, I’m mixing pop melodies with rock production and hard 808s. It’s great! The sound is always being reinvented, that’s what makes my music different.

AO: “Hooked on Your Love” was one of your first releases in 2017. How do you think you’ve grown as an artist since them? DALLAS: I still love that song you know. It’ll always hold a special place in my heart. I’ll actually go back every now and then and listen to how much I’ve grown even vocally. I think I’ve grown as a songwriter too since then. I talk about much deeper, more meaningful topics in my new music. The songs I’m making now are much more elevated in all aspects.

AO: As you continue to pursue a career in music, what have been some of the challenges you’ve faced? And how did you overcome then? DALLAS: As an independent artist, I would say one of the biggest challenges is meeting new people in the industry and having to decipher if I can trust them or not. I’m very particular with who I let in the room when I’m working & who I want as part of my team. I have a pretty good sense of judgment and a strong head on my shoulders, but it always stings a little when you find out someone you thought you could trust is really only in it for themselves. That’s why I keep my circle small.

AO: What is one piece of advice you received in your music career that has impacted you positively? DALLAS: The most impactful piece of advice I’ve gotten to date was actually what sparked the idea for me to take a year off and focus on finding my sound. Someone once told me “you can’t be every genre. You have to choose one and stick with it.” At the time, I was pretty affected by this and took it to heart. Looking back on that moment, I’m so grateful this person said that to me. It drove me to find cohesiveness between all genres and build a sound that’s only specific to me.

AO: This year you’ve released a number of singles, including “NIGHTMARE” which is your latest release. What was the writing and recording process like for “NIGHTMARE”? DALLAS: NIGHTMARE was one of the fastest songs I’ve ever written. We started off with a simple 4 chord progression and I just went off lyrically. I think what grasps the listeners the most is that powerful opening melody and how the production grows rhythmically to that hook. It’s a very fun and playful song, yet has so much anger and hurt in those lyrics. I wrote this over a year ago and it’s still one of my favourite songs.

AO: Did the writing and recording process for “NIGHTMARE” differ from any of your previous releases? If so, how? DALLAS: In contrast to some of my other songs (unreleased and released) NIGHTMARE might seem the most “simple” in terms of the production. In retrospect, we took almost that entire year and a half revisiting the song and changing parts in the production until we felt 100% about it. ATOM and I tend to do this often before a new release. We only want to put the best version of ourselves in every song.

AO: From the songs you’ve released to date, what song would you say really captures who you are as an artist? DALLAS: I would say NIGHTMARE or SUPERPOWERS hits closest to home. STRANGERS was one of my most vulnerable and honest songs about a moment in my life, but the other two really capture who I am as an artist/person in general.

AO: With “NIGHTMARE” out now, what can fans expect from you next? DALLAS: I’m already gearing up to release a new song, hopefully at the end of next month (December). Honestly, I just want to keep releasing more music, build that fan base and take over the world with my team!

AO: This year has been a year of adapting to change and our “new normal”. In the next 5 years what goals do you have set for yourself? DALLAS: I’m hoping that live shows come back soon, because I would love to start touring. In five years I really do see myself on the road with my band/team touring the world, my songs being #1 globally and building my brand even further into things like fashion and makeup etc. I have big plans for myself aha and I can’t wait to see them all unfold.

AO: Dallas, thank you for sitting down with me! Before we close this interview is there anything you want to say to your fans and our readers? DALLAS: Thank you for having me! And to the readers - thank you for taking the time to read this in the first place and getting to know me and my music a bit better. Every follow, share and listen means the world to me so please feel free to connect with me on Instagram @dallasrodin - peace n blessings to you all!

Connect with DALLAS on the following websites: https://www.dallasrodin.com/ https://www.facebook.com/officialdallasrodin/ https://www.instagram.com/dallasrodin/ https://twitter.com/dallasrodin/ https://soundcloud.com/dallasrodin

#Interviews #Amandah Opoku #Dallas #Dallas Rodin

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pyro-flug · 7 years

Note

Can I have a story about Black Hat having some kind of murderous periods when he lock himself in his room to protect the others? It just stuck in my head for quite a while ;p Sorry if I send too much requests ._. I just really like your writing

“Blackhat?” Flug called out through the empty halls of the mansion, waiting for a reply. He’d just managed to finish up his latest invention, a neutralizing net gun, and was anxious to show it to his boss as soon as possible. Twirling the weapon around in his hands as he walked, he tried to listen for any sign that Blackhat might be coming to find him. “Sir! I finished the net gun!”

Flug expected to hear an announcement on the mansions intercom system for him to go to Blackhat’s office at once or something, but instead it was eerily quiet. So he went to the office without prompt, and found it empty. He tried Blackhat’s personal chambers next, but the door swung open, unlocked, to reveal that it too did not house the eldritch.

“What in the world? Where could he be?” Flug asked the silent room.

The doctor wandered back to his lab in a daze of confusion. There, Flug sat down at his desk and counted down the minutes until he was summoned. He was so used to Blackhat popping in unannounced, or calling his to his office at odd times, that when 3 hours passed with no response, he began to worry. Leaping to his feet, the doctor decided that this called for some investigation before he went into full blown panic mode.

So he hastened down corridor after corridor, glancing about furtively in an attempt to find his boss. He took his net gun out of his lab coats pocket so he could twirl it again to help keep his nerves down. When he realized he’d searched the whole mansion without a sign of Blackhat, he began to tap his free hand against his hip anxiously.

“Hey, Flug!” Flug nearly shot the net gun at Dementia as he jumped into the air after she appeared out of nowhere behind him. “Jeez, man, you seem jumpier than usual,” she commented. “What’s up?”

“I can’t find Blackhat anywhere, Dem,” Flug hushed in a worried voice. The lizard girl tilted her head inquisitively.

“Huh, Blackhat’s gone AWOL? That’s not his usual style… did you search all the extra guest rooms?”

“No, I just kinda walked the halls and tried to listen for him…” Dementia smiled comfortingly and put a hand on Flug’s shoulder.

“Hey, don’t get too worked up, Flug. I’ll grab 5.0.5 and we’ll go search the guest bedrooms. You start on the far end of the house, and Fives and I will start at the front. If we don’t find him then we can freak out, ‘kay?” Flug took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. Then he nodded and headed for the back of the mansion again.

Seven empty rooms later Flug was becoming twitchy again. He had begun to imagine all the nasty scenarios that Blackhat may have gotten himself into, and he wanted to curl into a ball on the floor out of stress. Perhaps the eldritch had been kidnapped somehow and was being tortured, or maybe he was grievously injured somehow. The images of such situations had Flug struggling to maintain a steady breathing pattern.

“He’s fine,” Flug hissed at himself. “He’s probably just playing some sort of elaborate prank on us all so he can scare us out of our wits later.” Then the faint shriek of metal being torn startled the scientist from his thoughts. He listened closer, and heard it again, coming from somewhere farther down the hall.

Following the screeching noises, Flug found himself in a barren room with only bookshelves lining the walls. The scientist couldn’t ever recall being in this room, but the sound was emanating from somewhere behind the shelves, and so he entered cautiously.

“A secret door?” Flug chuckled to himself and began to pull the books off the shelf that the noise, what was now thumping, came through the loudest. When he found one that was stuck, he pulled back on it. Sure enough, the shelf swung inwards, and Flug stepped through the doorway.

He was in a plain white room, with a heavy duty looking door on the opposite end. The doctor’s nerves were back as he heard a low growling and screaming coming from inside. There wasn’t a window through, and his curiosity demanded that he find out what was on the other side of that door.

Flug approached, and found that there was an electronic pad embedded into the wall. In neon green letters, it read:

TIME LOCK COUNTDOWN: 3 HOURS

When he interacted with the interface, it flashed:

OVERLOCK KEY DETECTED: ARE YOU SURE YOU WISH TO PROCEED?

Before he could let himself choose otherwise, Flug pressed yes.

The door slowly creaked open on heavy metal hinges. Flug tried to peer through the slowly opening crack when

SLAM

Flug was thrown back out of the white room, and he landed on his back, skull smashing against the wooden floor with a sickening crack, He saw stars along with having the wind knocked out of him. The net gun, which he had forgotten he was holding, went flying out of his hand, and back towards the door. He tried to sit up, but was he was slammed back to prone by several black, clawed hands. Above him hovered an almost unrecognizable face had it not been for the top hat and monocle.

“B-B- Black Hat, Sir?” Flug stuttered out in fear. From between discolored fangs, a forked tongue flickered out like a snake’s. The monocle over where Blackhat’s left eye would have been was glowing with a soft red light; the eldritch’s other eye wasn’t even there, only smooth grey skin remained.

There were too many limbs pinning Flug to the floor for him to move, and too much weight on his chest for him to call for help. Suddenly, a hand above the eldritch’s head morphed into blade. Then it was coming down right at Flugs heart. Flug tried to scream, but all he could manage was a weak yelp, and then he squeezed him eyes shut.

There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh hard, and the weight was shifted on Flug. He opened his eyes to see the creature Blackhat had become reeling back, and Dementia finishing out a hard right hook.

“GET OFF MY FRIEND!” She yelled, and then took another swing; this time a left handed uppercut to the monster’s jaw. Flug could breath again as the arms holding him let go. The doctor scrambled to his feet, and then towards the door as the eldritch recovered and then focused on Dementia. Before she could get another swing in, she was wrapped up in too many hands, and choking and gasping for air as one closed around her throat. A vile grin was stretching the horrible things face impossibly wide.

THWIP!

A net flew through the air and entangled itself around the torso, and head of the Blackhat like abomination. It squealed in rage, and released Dementia from it’s painful grasp. She collapsed on the floor, rubbing at her neck and desperately pulling in oxygen at the same time that the creature’s body spasmed and shrunk. What was left in the net when the room settled, was an angry, snarling Blackhat in his usual form.

Dementia was still struggling to breath in more than short pulls when she joined Flug standing by the door with his neutralizing net gun in hand.

“Well I guess you invention works,” she rasped. Then she immediately doubled over in a coughing fit, blood spilling from her mouth in dripping lines.

5.0.5 had tended to Dementia cracked ribs and bruised up neck and was now helping Flug treat his concussion properly. Blackhat sat in a chair next to the doctor’s makeshift hospital bed, set up in the lab, quietly watching the bear like creature fix his scientist up.

“I’m sorry,” he stated softly, once Flug was laying back down, and 5.0.5 had gone to make some tea. “I didn’t mean to hurt either of you I just…”

“Sir, may I ask why you locked yourself in that room?” Flug inquired. Blackhat sighed and rubbed at his temples.

“Every month I have a period of about 12 hours where I become uncontrollably violent, and have a need to murder everything that steps across my path. So I lock myself away for the sake of protecting all of you, so I don’t kill you.”

“How come we’ve never noticed this before?”

“Well usually you aren’t trying to find me during my time, or you’re all asleep and I just take the night and am back by morning.”

“You should have told us about your problem, sir. We could help you-”

“How could you help me!” Blackhat snarled. “I almost killed both of you today, there is nothing you can do for me!”

“Well… we could at least offer you support, and not become so worried that we come looking for you and let you out!” For a moment, the two stared each other down, until Dementia broke the tension.

“Hey! We all could’ve, would’ve, should’ve, but we didn’t! So there’s no need to get so angry over things that we can’t change!” She yelled. Then she clutched at her ribs from the strain that had put on them. Taking a deep breath she concluded with, “So why don’t we just focus on the fact that we know now, and we can help in the future?”

After a few moments, both of the boys nodded, and by this time 5.0.5 had come back with some chamomile tea for the 4 of them. They drank in silence, and then Flug reached out and rested a hand on Blackhat’s.

“We’ll get through things together now,” he whispered. Blackhat just had to remember that he now had people that cared about him, and that he cared about as well. That was hard for him, but eventually, he’d get there. For now, he’d just squeeze Flug’s hand back and offer him a rare, soft smile.

“Thank you.”

My good good friend-o, don’t worry about “too many” requests! I love doing them for you, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get to this finally cause of being busy ;-;, but here you go! This was a fun concept to play with and I hope you enjoy!!

Also, have a rushed concept idea of the monster blackhat thing. I’ll proabably make something better later, but for now, have this.

#villainous #paperhat #sort of?#dr flug #black hat #dementia #my writing

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inkyardpress · 7 years

Text

Excerpt: When It’s Real by Erin Watt

HIM

“Please tell me every girl in there is of legal age.”

“Every girl in there is of legal age,” I dutifully repeat to my manager, Jim Tolson.

Truth is, I have no clue if everyone’s legal. When I came home last night from the studio, the party was already raging. I didn’t take the time to card anyone before grabbing a beer and chatting up some eager girls who proclaimed that they were so in love with my music that they sang it in their sleep. It sounded vaguely like an invitation, but I wasn’t interested. My buddy Luke took them off my hands and then I wandered around trying to figure out if I knew even a quarter of the people in my house.

I ended up counting seven, tops, that I actually recognized.

Jim presses his already thin lips together before taking a seat in the lounger across from me. There’s a girl passed out on it, so he’s forced to perch on the end. Jim once told me that the biggest hazard of working with a young rock star is the age of his groupies. Sitting this close to a bikini-clad teenager makes him visibly edgy.

“Keep that line in mind in case TMI asks you about it on the street today,” Jim warns.

“Noted.” Also noted? Avoid any celeb hot spots today. I have zero desire to be papped.

“How was the studio last night?”

I roll my eyes. As if Jim didn’t have the studio tech on the phone immediately after I left, replaying the track. “You know exactly how it was. Crappy. Worse than crappy. I think a barking Chihuahua could lay down better vocals than me right now.”

I lean back and stroke my throat. Nothing’s wrong with my vocal cords. Jim and I got that checked out with a doctor a few months ago. But the notes that were coming out yesterday lacked...something. All my music seems flat these days.

I haven’t recorded anything decent since my last album. I can’t pinpoint the problem. It could be the lyrics or the rhythm or the melody. It’s everything and nothing, and no amount of tweaking has helped me.

I run my fingers over the six strings of my Gibson, knowing my frustration must show on my face.

“Come on, let’s walk a little.” Jim dips his head toward the girl. She looks passed out, but she could be faking it.

With a sigh, I set the guitar on the cushion and rise to my feet.

“Didn’t know you liked walks on the beach, Jim. Should we start quoting poetry to each other before you propose?” I joke. But he’s probably right about putting some distance between us and the groupie. We don’t need some yappy fan talking about my music block to the tabloids. I give them enough to talk about already.

“Did you see the latest social media numbers?” He holds his phone up.

“Is that an actual question?”

We stop at the railing on my wraparound deck. I wish we could walk down to the beach, but it’s public, and the last time I tried setting foot on the sand in the back of my house, I came away with my swim trunks torn off and a bloody nose. That was three years ago. The tabloids turned it into a story about me getting into a fight with my ex and terrorizing young children.

“You’re losing followers at a rate of a thousand a week.”

“Sounds dire.” Sounds awesome, actually. Maybe I’ll finally be able take advantage of my beachfront property.

His perfectly unlined face, courtesy of some of the best Swiss knives money can buy, is marred by irritation. “This is serious, Oakley.”

“So what? Who cares if I lose followers?”

“Do you want to be taken seriously as an artist?”

This lecture again? I’ve heard it from Jim a million frickin’ times since he signed me when I was fourteen. “You know I do.”

“Then you have to shape up,” he huffs.

“Why?” What does shaping up have to do with making great music? If anything, maybe I need to be wilder, really stretch the limits of everything in life.

But...haven’t I done that already? I feel like I’ve drunk, smoked, ingested and experienced nearly everything the world has to offer in the past five years. Am I already the washed-up pop star before I hit my twenties?

A tinge of fear scrapes down my spine at the thought.

“Because your label is on the verge of dropping you,” Jim warns.

I practically clap like a child at this news. We’ve been at odds for months. “So let them.”

“How do you think you’re going to have your next album made? The studio’s already rejected your last two attempts. You want to experiment with your sound? Use poetry as lyrics? Write about things other than heartache and pretty girls who don’t love you back?”

I stare sullenly at the water.

He grabs my arm. “Pay attention, Oak.”

I give him a what the hell are you doing look, and he lets go of my arm. We both know I don’t like being touched.

“They aren’t going to let you cut the record you want if you keep alienating your audience.”

“Exactly,” I say smugly. “So why do I care if the label drops me?”

“Because labels exist to make money, and they won’t produce your next album unless it’s one they can actually market. If you want to win another Grammy, if you want to be taken seriously by your peers, then your only chance is to rehabilitate your image. You haven’t had a record out since you were seventeen. That was two years ago. It’s like a decade in the music business.”

“Adele released at nineteen and twenty-five.”

“You aren’t fuckin’ Adele.”

“I’m bigger,” I say, and it’s not a boast. We both know it’s true.

Since I released my first album at fourteen, I’ve had unreal success. Every album has gone double platinum, with my self-titled Ford reaching the rare Diamond. That year I did thirty international tour stops, all stadium tours, all sellouts. There are fewer than ten artists in the world who do stadium tours. Everyone else is relegated to arenas, auditoriums, halls and clubs.

“Were bigger,” Jim says bluntly. “In fact, you’re on the verge of being a has-been at nineteen.”

I tense up as he voices my earlier fear.

“Congratulations, kid. Twenty years from now, you’ll be sitting in a chair on Hollywood Squares and some kid will ask their mother, ‘who’s Oakley Ford?’ and the mom will say—”

“I get it,” I say tightly.

“No. You don’t get it. Your existence will have been so fleeting that even that parent will turn to her kid and say, ‘I have no idea who that is.’” Jim’s tone turns pleading. “Look, Oak, I want you to be successful with the music you want to make, but you have to work with me. The industry is run by a bunch of old white men who are high on coke and power. They love knocking you artists around. They get off on it. Don’t give them any more reason to decide that you’re the fall guy. You’re better than that. I believe in you, but you gotta start believing in yourself, too.”

“I do believe in myself.”

Does it sound as fake to Jim’s ears as it does to mine?

“Then act like it.”

Translation? Grow up.

I reach over and take the phone from his hand. The social media number beside my name is still in the eight digits. Millions of people follow me and eat up all the ridiculous things my PR team posts daily. My shoes. My hands. Man, the hands post got over a million likes and launched an equal number of fictional stories. Those girls have very vivid imaginations. Vivid, dirty imaginations.

“So what’s your suggestion?” I mutter.

Jim sighs with relief. “I have a plan. I want you to date someone.”

“No way. We already tried the girlfriend thing.”

During the launch of Ford, management hooked me up with April Showers. Yup, that’s her real name—I saw it on her driver’s license. April was an up-and-coming reality television star and we all thought she’d know the score. A fake relationship to keep both our names on magazine covers and headlining every gossip site on the web. Yes, there’d be hate from certain corners, but the nonstop media attention and speculation would drive our visibility through the roof. Our names would be on everyone’s lips from here to China and back again.

The press strategy worked like a charm. We couldn’t sneeze without someone taking our picture. We dominated celebrity gossip for six months, and the Ford tour was a smashing success. April sat in the front row of more fashion shows than I knew actually existed and went on to sign a huge two-year modeling contract with a major agency.

Everything was great until the end of the tour. What everyone, including me, had failed to recognize was that if they threw two teenagers together and told them to act like they were in love, stuff was going to happen. Stuff did happen. The only problem? April thought stuff would continue to happen after the tour was over. When I told her it wouldn’t, she wasn’t happy—and she had a big enough platform to tell the world exactly how unhappy she was.

“This won’t be another April thing,” Jim assures me. “We want to appeal to all the girls out there who dream of walking down the red carpet but think it’s out of reach. We don’t want a model or a star. We want your fans to think you’re attainable.”

Against my better judgment, I ask, “And how do we do that?”

“We conjure up a normal. She starts posting to you on your social media accounts. Flirting with you online. People see you interact. Then you invite her to a concert. You meet, fall in love and boom. Serious heartthrob status again.”

“My fans hated April,” I remind him.

“Some did, but millions loved her. Millions more will love you if you fall for an ordinary girl, because each and every one of those girls is going to think that she’s their stand-in.”

I clench my teeth. “No.”

If Jim was trying to think up a way to torture me, this is absolutely it, because I hate social media. I grew up having my baby steps photographed and sold to the highest bidder. For charity, my mom later claimed. The public gets a ton of me. I want to keep some parts of my life private, which is why I pay a couple of people a fortune so I don’t have to touch that stuff.

“If you do this...” Jim pauses enticingly. “King will produce your album.”

My head swivels around so fast that Jim jumps back in surprise. “You serious?”

Donovan King is the best producer in the country. He’s worked on everything from rap to country to rock albums, turning artists into legends. I once read an interview where he said he’d never work with a pop star and their soulless commercial music, no matter how much anyone paid him. Working with King is a dream of mine, but he’s turned down every overture I’ve ever made.

If he wasn’t interested in producing Ford, then why this latest album? Why now?

Jim grins. Well, as much as his plastic face allows him to smile. “Yes. He said if you were serious, then he’d be interested, but he needs a show of faith.”

“And a girlfriend is that show of faith?” I ask incredulously.

“Not a girlfriend. It’s what dating a nonfamous, ordinary girl signifies. That you’re down-to-earth, making music for the sake of music, not for the sake of money and fame.”

“I am down-to-earth,” I protest.

Jim responds with a snort. He jerks his thumb at the French doors behind us. “Tell me something—what’s the name of that girl who’s passed out in there?”

I try not to cringe. “I...don’t know,” I mumble.

“That’s what I thought.” He frowns now. “Do you want to know what Nicky Novak was photographed doing last night?”

My head is starting to spin. “What the hell does Novak have to do with anything?” Nicky Novak is a sixteen-year-old pop star I’ve never even met. His boy band just released their debut album, and apparently it’s topping the charts. The group is giving 1D a run for their money.

“Ask me what Novak was doing,” Jim prompts.

“Fine. Whatever. What was Novak doing?”

“Bowling.” My manager crosses his arms over his chest. “He got papped on a bowling date with his girlfriend—some girl he’s been dating since middle school.”

“Well, good for him.” I give another eye roll. “You want me to go bowling, is that it? You think that will convince King to work with me? Seeing me roll some gutter balls?” It’s hard to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“I just told you what I want,” Jim grumbles. “If you want King to produce your album, you need to show him you’re serious, that you’re ready to stop partying with girls whose names you don’t know and settle down with someone who will ground you.”

“I can tell him that.”

“He needs proof.”

My gaze shifts back to the ocean, and I stand there for a moment, watching the surf crash against the beach. This album I’ve been working on these past two years—no, the one I’m trying to work on and failing—suddenly feels as if it’s actually within my reach. A producer like King could help me move past this creative block and make the kind of music I’ve always wanted.

And all I have to do in return is date a normal? I guess I can do that. I mean, every artist has to make sacrifices for his art at one point in his life.

Right?

HER

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard what I want,” my sister objects.

“I don’t need to. You have that look in your eye.” I pull the bacon out of the microwave and dump four slices on each plate.

“What look?” Paisley checks her reflection on the back of the spoon I used to stir the eggs.

“The one that says I’m not going to like what you have to say.” I pause as I dish up the rest of the twins’ breakfast. “Or that I’m too young to understand.”

“Ha. Everyone knows you’re more together than most adults. I wish you were more impulsive, actually. It’d make this easier.”

“Breakfast is ready!” I shout.

The clatter of shoes on the staircase makes Paisley sigh. Our little brothers are incredibly loud, eat an incredible amount of food and are getting incredibly expensive. All I can say is, thank goodness for Paisley’s new job. We’re barely keeping our heads above water, even though Paisley has performed miracles with what little insurance money our parents left us. I’m adding to the family account with my waitressing job at Sharkey’s, but we don’t have much extra left over. Spencer and Shane insist that we don’t need to worry about college tuition for them because they plan on full-ride athletic scholarships. But unless it’s for competitive eating, I’m not going to count on it.

As the twins practically fall face-first into their breakfast, Paisley pours their milk and shoves a paper towel next to their plates. Hopefully they’ll use it instead of the kitchen towel. Again, I’m not holding my breath.

I drink my coffee-infused milk, watching my twelve-year-old brothers inhale the first of what will likely be their six meals of the day. As they grumble about the shortness of Christmas break, I think about how glorious it is that I haven’t had one class this year, unlike them.

“Vaughn,” Paisley says urgently. “I still need to talk to you.”

“I already told you no.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, fine. Talk.”

“Outside.” She jerks her head toward the back door.

“We’re not listening,” says Spencer.

Shane nods in agreement because that’s their shtick. Spencer talks and Shane backs up everything his brother says, even if he disagrees.

“Outside.” Paisley’s head jerk looks painful this time, so I take pity on her.

“Lead the way.”

The screen door slams shut behind us. I take another sip of my rapidly cooling drink as I watch Paisley search for words, which is worrisome because Paisley is never at a loss for words.

“Okay, so I want you to hear me out. Don’t say anything until the very end.”

“Did you drink one too many Red Bulls this morning?” I ask. We both know Paisley kind of has a caffeine addiction.

“Vaughn!”

“Okay. Okay.” I zip my lips shut. “Not another word.”

She rolls her eyes. “You do the lip-zipping after the last word, not before.”

“Details, shmetails. Now talk. I promise not to interrupt.”

She takes a deep breath. “Okay, so you know how they finally gave me my own cubicle, so I don’t have to share with that other assistant anymore?”

I nod. “They” are her bosses at Diamond Talent Management. Paisley’s official job title is Brand Coverage Assistant, but technically she’s a glorified gofer—she goes on coffee runs, makes a zillion photocopies and spends an insane amount of time scheduling meetings. I swear, the people she works for hold more meetings than the UN.

“Well, my cube has this little bulletin board on the wall. I’m allowed to put up pictures, so yesterday I brought in a few photos. You know, like the one of Mom and Dad that we love, where they’re kissing on the boardwalk? And one of the twins at baseball camp. And then I put up the one I took of you at the beach bonfire we had for your birthday last month.”

I have to fight the urge not to make a waving motion with my hand to tell her to speed up. Paisley takes forever to get to the point.

“Anyway, so get this! Jim Tolson is walking by my cube—”

“Who’s Jim Tolson?” I ask, breaking my vow of silence.

“He’s my boss’s brother. He manages some of the biggest musicians in the world.” Paisley is so excited her cheeks are flushed. “So he’s walking by, and he sees the picture of you on my bulletin board and asks if he could borrow it for a minute—”

“Ew! I do not like where this story is going.”

She shoots me a dirty look. “I’m not done. You promised to be quiet until I was done.”

I swallow a sigh. “Sorry.”

“So I’m, like, sure, go ahead, but just make sure to bring it back because that’s my favorite picture of my little sister. So he takes the photo and disappears into his brother’s office for a while. He’s got all these assistants in there and they’re all talking about your picture—”

Okay, now I really don’t like where this is heading.

“Something major is going down at the agency,” Paisley adds. “I have no idea what, because I’m a lowly assistant, but Mr. Tolson has been in and out, arguing with his brother all week, and they keep having these secret meetings in the conference room.”

I swear, if she doesn’t get to the point soon, I’m going to lose my mind.

“So at the end of the day, my boss—Leo—calls me into Jim’s office and they start asking me all these questions about you.” She must see my worried look, because she’s quick to reassure me. “Nothing too personal. Jim wanted to know how old you are, what your interests are, if you’ve ever been in trouble with the law—”

“Um, what?”

Paisley huffs in annoyance. “He just wants to make sure you’re not a criminal.”

Forget this vow of silence. I’m too confused to stick to it. “Why does this agent—”

“Manager,” she corrects.

“Manager...” I roll my eyes. “Why does this manager care so much about me? And you said he manages musicians—is he trying to sign me as a client or something? You told him I can’t carry a tune, right?”

“Oh, totally. That was one of his questions, if you had any ‘musical aspirations.’” She air-quotes that. “He was pretty happy when I told him you’re (a) not musical and (b) interested in becoming a teacher.”

“Is it a matchmaking thing then? Because, gross. How old is this dude?” I ask skeptically.

She waves a hand. “In his thirties, I think. And that’s not it.”

“Is there an it? Because I’m beginning to wonder.”

Paisley pauses for a beat. Then she blurts out her next words in one breath. “They want you to pretend to be Oakley Ford’s girlfriend this year.”

I spray the concrete steps with lukewarm coffee mixed with spit. “What?”

“I promise you it isn’t as bad as it sounds.”

She runs a hand through her ordinarily perfectly styled black bob, and I notice for the first time that her hair is sticking up on the sides. Paisley’s usually so polished, from the top of her shiny head to the tips of the flats that she buffs every night.

“Mr. Tolson thinks you’re perfect for the job,” she tells me. “He said you’re pretty but not in an over-the-top way. More like a natural, girl-next-door type. I described you as down-to-earth, and he thinks that will complement Oakley, because Oakley can be really intense sometimes—”

“Okay, let’s back up,” I cut in. “Are you talking about Oakley Ford, pop icon? Oakley Ford, the guy with so many girls’ names tattooed on his body he’s like a phone directory of former Victoria’s Secret models? Oakley Ford, who tried to depants a monk in Angkor Wat and nearly caused an international incident? That Oakley Ford?”

“Yeah, him.” She scrunches up her nose. “And he’s only got one tattoo of a woman’s name and it’s his mom’s.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Did he tell you that or did you make a personal inspection?”

Oakley’s nineteen and Paisley’s twenty-three, so I guess it could happen, but that’s kinda disgusting. Not because he’s younger, but because Paisley’s too awesome to be some celebrejerk’s castoff.

“Ew, Vaughn.”

“Look, if you’re serious, the answer is still no. In fact, there are so many reasons for me to say no that I don’t know if we have time for me to list them all. But here’s one—I don’t even like Oakley Ford.”

“You played his album on repeat for, like, three months.”

“When I was fifteen!” Oakley Ford was a phase. Like BFF necklaces and Hannah Montana. Plus, his antics got really unappealing. After the tenth or so picture of him making out with some random girl at a club, he got kind of slimy in my eyes.

Paisley runs her hand through her hair again. “I know this is your year off. And I want you to have that, I swear. But this thing isn’t going to take up very much of your time. An hour or two maybe every other day. A couple nights. A couple weekends. It’s the same as if you were waiting tables at Sharkey’s.”

“Um, aren’t you forgetting something?”

She blinks. “What?”

“I have a boyfriend!”

“W?”

“Yes, W.” For some reason, Paisley hates W. She says his name is stupid and that he’s stupid, but I love him anyway. William Wilkerson isn’t the greatest name to be saddled with, but that’s not his fault. It’s also why we call him W. “There have to be dozens of girls who want to pretend-date Oakley Ford. And why does he need a fake girlfriend anyway? He could probably walk down to the Four Seasons on Wilshire, point to the first girl that drove by and have her in a hotel room in five seconds flat.”

“That’s the whole problem.” She throws up her arms. “They tried the whole fake girlfriend thing with him before, but she fell for him and he broke her heart. I think half of the bad publicity the guy gets is because of her.”

“Are you talking about April Showers?” I gasp. “That was fake? Oh, man, I believed in ShOak. My childhood dreams are crushed.” I’m only half-kidding. Fifteen was a tough year for me, and not just because it was the year my parents died.

Paisley punches me in the shoulder. “You just said you didn’t like him.”

“Well, not after he cheated on April with that Brazilian swimsuit model.” I chew on the corner of my lip. “Fake, really?”

“Really.”

Hmmm. I might have to rethink my opinion of Oakley. Still, doesn’t mean I want to be the next fake girlfriend to be fake dumped and fake cheated on.

“So you’ll do it?”

I stare at her. “I make a couple hundred a night at Sharkey’s. You said before Christmas we were doing fine.” I narrow my eyes. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Last year I found Paisley crying at the dinner table at two in the morning. She admitted that Mom and Dad didn’t leave us in the greatest financial position. The insurance money kept us afloat at the beginning, but last summer she’d had to get a second mortgage to cover all the bills, and she was thinking of leaving college to get a job. Appalled, I sat down and made her go over everything with me, because she was a year away from graduating. I got my diploma early by taking summer courses, online ones to supplement my high school studies, and special permission from the school to take advanced classes. And then I found a job. Serving steak and iceberg lettuce wedges isn’t fancy, but it pays the bills.

Or so I thought.

“No. We’re fine. I mean...” She trails off.

“Then my answer is no.” I’ve never been interested in the other side of LA. It seems so artificial, and I do enough pretending as it is.

I have my hand on the screen door when Paisley drops her next bomb. “They’ll pay you twenty thousand a month.”

I spin around slowly, my mouth hanging open. “Are you effing kidding me?”

“Don’t swear,” she says automatically, but her eyes are bright with excitement. “And that’s for a full year of commitment.”

“That would...”

“Put the boys through college? Pay off both our mortgages? Make everything easier for us? Yes.”

I blow my overgrown bangs out of my face. This proposition is insane. I mean, who pays such an obscene amount of money to some random girl to pretend to be a pop star’s girlfriend for a year? Maybe that’s normal in the entertainment industry, but I grew up with parents who were elementary school teachers.

I suddenly wonder what Mom and Dad would say if they were alive to hear this crazy offer. Would they encourage me to do it, or tell me to run, run for my life? I honestly don’t know. They were all about exploring new opportunities, taking the road less traveled. It was one of my favorite things about them, and I miss my fun-loving, impulsive parents. I miss them a lot.

That said, their love of spontaneity is part of the reason why we’re hurting for money.

“An opportunity like this doesn’t come along every day, but you don’t have to say yes,” Paisley assures me. Her words say one thing; her strained tone says another.

“How long do I have to think about it?”

“Jim Tolson wants an answer tomorrow morning. And if it’s a yes, he wants you to come to the agency to meet with him and Oakley.”

Oakley. Oakley frickin’ Ford.

This is...nuts.

“Fine, I’ll think about it.” I let out a breath. “You’ll have my answer in the morning.”

Twenty thousand dollars a month, Vaughn...

Yeah. I’m pretty sure we both know what my answer is going to be.

HER

I said yes.

Because (1) It’s a lot of money. And (2) It’s a lot of money.

Guess that makes me a kinda sorta gold digger? I’m not sure if my situation fits the exact definition, but I can’t deny I feel like one as I follow Paisley into the elevator the next morning.

Diamond Talent Management is an entire building. Not just a couple of floors, but an entire glass-covered, needs-an-elevator-and-a-security-team building. The scowly but hot guards with the earpieces give me the willies, but Paisley walks by them with a wave. I copy the motion. I kind of wish I hadn’t had that second cup of coffee this morning. It’s sloshing around in my stomach like a tidal wave.

The elevators are a shiny brass, and there’s a guy in a suit whose only job appears to be spraying them constantly with cleaner and wiping them down. He’s got a jaw that would look good on the side of a mountain and a butt tight enough to rival any football player’s.

Paisley gets off on the sixth floor, which is emblazoned with Music Division in big gold letters on a dark wood backdrop. The receptionist is more beautiful than half the actresses on the tabloid covers. I try not to gawk at her perfectly outlined lips and wicked winged eyeliner.

“You’re staring,” Paisley mumbles under her breath as we pass the reception desk.

“I can’t help it. Does Diamond only hire people who could star in their own movies?”

“Looks aren’t everything,” she says airily, but I don’t believe her because clearly Diamond requires photo applications. Gotta be beautiful to work in show biz, I guess, even if you’re behind the scenes.

We’re ushered into a huge conference room, where I stop in my tracks. It’s full of people. At least ten of them.

I quickly scan the table, but I don’t recognize anyone, and the one person I would recognize—and who this meeting is about—isn’t even there.

A tall man with dark hair and plastic skin stands up from the head of the table. “Good morning, Vaughn. I’m Jim Tolson, Oakley’s manager. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I awkwardly shake the hand he extends. “Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Tolson.”

“Please, call me Jim. Have a seat. You, too, Paisley.”

As my sister and I settle in the chairs closest to his, he goes around and makes a bunch of introductions I can hardly keep up with.

“This is Claudia Hamilton, Oakley’s publicist, and her team.” He gestures to a redhead with huge boobs, then at the three people—two men and a woman—flanking her. Next, his hand moves toward three stone-faced men on the other side of the table. “Nigel Bahri and his associates. Oakley’s lawyers.”

Lawyers? I cast a panicky look at Paisley, who squeezes my hand under the table.

“And finally, this is my assistant Nina—” he nods at the petite blonde to his right “—and her assistants. Greg—” a nod to the African-American guy to his left “—and Max.” A nod to the slightly overweight guy next to Greg.

Jeez. His assistant has assistants?

Once the introductions are out of the way, Jim wastes no time getting down to business. “So, your sister has already provided you with some details about this arrangement, but before I tell you more, I have some questions for you.”

“Um. Okay. Hit me.” My voice sounds unusually loud in this massive conference room. The echo feels endless.

“Why don’t you start by telling us a little about yourself?” he suggests.

I’m not sure what he wants me to say. Does he expect me to recite my life story? Well, I was born in California. I live in El Segundo. My parents died in a car accident when I was fifteen.

Or maybe he wants trivia-type stuff? My favorite color is green. I’m scared of butterflies. I hate cats.

My confusion must show on my face, because Jim gives me a few prompts. “What are your interests? What do you aspire to do after high school?”

“Oh, I’m done with high school already,” I admit.

I don’t miss the way Paisley’s lips curl slightly at the reminder of W. Ugh. One of these days she’s going to have to suck it up and accept that I’m in love with the guy.

“Yeah, I have a boyfriend,” I reply awkwardly. “And actually, my Twitter and Instagram have lots of pictures of the two of us.”

Jim turns to Claudia, who falls silent. I can see the wheels in her bouncy head turning and turning.

“You’ll announce a breakup on your social media,” she decides. “We’ll spend two—no, three, weeks focusing on the split. First will be your despondent post announcing the end of the relationship, then we’ll document your grieving process, how you’re so upset and—”

“Listening to Oakley Ford’s albums on repeat,” one of the assistants finishes animatedly.

Claudia’s eyes light up. “Yes!” She claps her hands together. “Oakley’s music pulls you from the dark abyss of heartache.”

I almost gag.

“And that’s what inspires you to draw his face, which leads to our social media meet-cute.” She glances at Jim. “It still works.”

He looks pleased. “All right. What about Vaughn’s appearance? How do we feel about that?”

Everyone at the table swings their heads toward me. Their gazes pierce me, assessing me like I’m a specimen under a microscope. My cheeks heat up, and Paisley squeezes my hand again.

All of a sudden, the critiques start pouring in.

“The bangs are too long,” Claudia chirps. “We’ll trim them.”

“Hair itself needs a trim, too. And that shade of brown looks too fake.”

“It’s my real hair color!” I protest, but nobody’s listening to me.

“The honey-brown eyes are nice. I like the gold flecks. We’ll forgo colored contacts.”

“Shirt’s a little too baggy. Are your shirts always this baggy, Vaughn?”

“Isn’t normal what we are going for?” someone disagrees. “If we make her pretty, then the fans won’t be able to relate.”

I have never been more humiliated in my life.

“Oh, one last thing,” Claudia says suddenly. “Are you a virgin?”

Scratch that—it’s possible to be more embarrassed. There are a few coughs from other people at the table. Jim pretends the traffic in the hallway outside the room is fascinating, while the lawyers all stare stone-faced down the length of the table.

“Do I have to answer that?” I cast a dark look at my sister, who shakes her head.

“That can’t be important,” Paisley says to the man who’s more or less her boss.

Jim ignores her. Clearly this question is one he wants the answer to, as well.

I want to hug her for standing up for me. I’m pretty sure my cheeks are officially as red as Claudia’s hair.

“If you’re worried there’s some sort of sex scandal in Vaughn’s past, don’t be,” my sister assures the table. “Vaughn is the definition of good girl.”

I don’t know why, but Paisley’s view of me kind of stings. I mean, I know I’m not Miss Badass, but I’m not a Goody Two-shoes, either.

Claudia shrugs. “We’ll do a thorough background check, nonetheless.”

Background check? My sex status shows up in someone’s report? I’m about to burst in outrage when Jim steps in.

“All right, I think we can all agree that this arrangement shows promise.” He clasps both hands together and glances at the lawyer section of the table. “Nigel, why don’t you and the boys draft a rough contract and jot down any negotiation points you anticipate? Oakley will be here in an hour, so we can get into the finer details then.”

I frown. We’re all just supposed to wait around for an hour until His Majesty gets here? And now that I think about it, do I need a lawyer? I whisper the question to Paisley, who voices the question to her boss.

“The contract will be very straightforward,” Jim assures us. “Basically, it will state that you’ve agreed to enter into a service contract and that should you, at any time, no longer be able to perform your duties, the contract can be terminated. Any goods or monies received up to that time are yours to keep.”

I bite my lip. This is starting to feel exceptionally complicated. But I guess when twenty thousand dollars—a month!—is involved, I should have expected complicated.

“How about this?” Jim suggests. “Why don’t we sit down with Oakley and go over the contract details? Then you can read the agreement Nigel’s firm drafts, and then you can decide where we go from there.”

“Okay,” I answer, because that sounds very reasonable despite the ridiculousness of the situation.

Next to me, Paisley winks and gives me a not-very-subtle thumbs-up of encouragement. I shoot her a wan smile in return.

If I just remember why I’m doing this—so my brothers can go to college, so Paisley can stop worrying about how we’re going to pay the bills... If I can just keep focusing on all that, then maybe I’ll stop feeling like I’m going to throw up.

HER

I’m hungry and my stomach’s been announcing that fact for the last thirty minutes. Still, no one suggests we take a break for lunch, even though it’s close to noon and Oakley Ford still hasn’t appeared. It’s been two hours. Jim and the lawyers have left the room, but everyone else is glued to their chairs.

“Here’s a granola bar. And a Coke.” Paisley sets the snacks on the table in front of me.

“No wonder you like working here,” I joke. “The free lunches are so fancy.”

But since I’m starving, I shove half the bar in my mouth—at the exact same moment that Oakley Ford throws open the door.

Two burly guys with arms like tree trunks follow him inside. One plants himself next to the entrance while the other trails behind the singer. I barely notice Jim and the lawyers entering and closing the door, because I’m too busy staring at Oakley.

He’s taller than I thought he’d be. Everyone in Hollywood is short. Zac Efron is barely taller than my five-six. Same with Daniel Radcliffe. At six-four, Ansel Elgort is a veritable giant. Oakley looks to be Elgort-size, but with way more muscles.

He’s even hotter in person. It’s not the sandy-blond hair spiked up in the front and cut short in the back. Or his moss-green eyes. Or his chiseled jaw. He actually has an aura. You hear of things like that, but until you’ve experienced it in person, you don’t believe it exists.

But he has it.

Everyone in the room is responding. People are sitting up and straightening their clothes. I dimly register Paisley smoothing her perfect hair into place.

And I can’t look away.

Oakley’s jeans are low enough that the brand of underwear he’s wearing is visible as he reaches across the sideboard to grab a bottle of water. His arm muscles are defined enough to be noticeable, and I watch in fascination as the right biceps flexes when he twists the bottle cap off. Those muscles remind me of the shirtless spread he did for Vogue a couple of months ago. It was all over the web because the editorial spread had one shot of him in underwear only, and the size of his crotch got everyone speculating whether he stuffed a sock down his shorts.

I forget I’m eating my granola bar. I forget that I’m sitting at a table with a bunch of lawyers. I forget my own name.

“Sorry. Traffic,” he says before settling in the seat at the very end of the table. The bodyguard stands at his shoulder.

I find myself nodding, because LA does have horrible traffic. Of course this beautiful god wouldn’t make us mere mortals wait for him because he was doing something—is his hair wet? Did he just shower? Is it getting hot in the conference room?

This is Oakley Ford and I did listen to his album on repeat when I was fifteen. And fine, I might have harbored a teeny-tiny crush on him, which was why I was so upset when he cheated on his girlfriend. His fake girlfriend.

Which I’m going to be.

Fake.

I don’t like fake, but I’m good at it. Faking things, that is.

Paisley nudges me.

“What?” Then I realize I still have the stupid granola bar hanging out of my mouth.

A quick scan of the room reveals that everyone has noticed this. Claudia wears a worried expression. Jim is resigned. I don’t want to look at Oakley, but I do anyway. His face shows a cross between horror and fascination. The glance he throws his manager definitely says You’ve got to be kidding.

The only thing to do is act like I don’t care. I bite off the bar and start chewing. The health bar, never an appealing item to begin with, tastes like cardboard. Everyone watches me, and I chew even slower. Then I take a big swallow of Coke before wiping my mouth with the napkin that Paisley miraculously produces. I’m certain I’m redder than the receptionist’s lipstick, but I pretend that it’s no big deal. See how good I am at acting like everything is perfect?

“So this is her?” Oakley waves a hand in my general direction. I’ve heard him speak in interviews before, but his voice sounds even better in person. Deep and raspy and hypnotizing.

Jim hesitates and then looks down at his phone. Whatever he sees there stiffens his resolve. He sets the phone down. “Oakley Ford, this is Vaughn Bennett. Vaughn, Oakley.”

I start to rise and hold out my hand, but stop halfway out of my seat when Oakley leans back and clasps his hands behind his head.

Okay then.

Suddenly all my nervousness and embarrassment drain away. Relief settles in their place. I take another sip of my Coke. Surprise, surprise—Mr. Famous is a total jerk.

For a moment there, I felt like I was in danger of being sucked in by his magnetism. That I’d forget W, the money, April Showers, Brazilian supermodels and become caught up in his force field. But a guy who mocks me because I had the nerve to eat a granola bar while we all waited on his late ass? Who doesn’t have the courtesy to shake my hand?

There’s no way I’d ever fall for a guy like that.

I sneak a look at Paisley, who’s smiling slightly. She must have had the same concerns.

“So are we going to talk about terms? Like, what are my work hours?” I ask coolly, cradling the pop can between my hands.

“Work hours?” Claudia echoes, a tiny furrow appearing on her forehead.

“Yeah, since this is my job.”

She titters. “Not a job, more like a...”

“Role?” one of her assistants offers.

“Yes. A role in a long, romantic movie. And you’re the two leads.”

I feel actual bile rise up in my throat.

Oakley grumbles with impatience. “Let’s get on with it.”

Quickly, Claudia outlines our meet-cute with the drawing and the Twitter stuff. When she’s finished, Oakley yawns.

“Sure. Whatever. You’re going to handle it, right?”

“Well, not me, but Amy here will.” Claudia tips her head to the raven-haired woman on her right.

Amy holds up her phone in acknowledgment.

“Great.” He slaps his hands down on the table. “Then we’re done?”

Seriously? I waited over two hours and got only a granola bar and an extra serving of humiliation for this five-minute demonstration of how Oakley Ford isn’t even going to participate in this charade? Instead, I’ll be fake flirting with the assistant of one of his media people.

I turn to Paisley, who gives me a small, rueful shrug.

“No. We’re not done,” Jim barks from the other end of the table. The two of them exchange glares, but whatever power Jim holds over Oakley, it’s enough to get the young star to resettle into his chair.

“Let’s hear the rest of it.” He makes a tired gesture toward Claudia.

She picks up her notepad. “We’ll need the first date. We don’t think you should have any physical contact until after the third—” she looks at her assistants and then at Jim “—fourth date? I mean, we’re trying to sell this as a wholesome romance.”

Everyone starts throwing ideas out about when and how the touching will happen. Someone says he should kiss me on the forehead. Another suggests a hand on the small of my back. There’s another vote for hand-holding.

I’m still struggling with the concept of any touching when Paisley, the traitor, asks, “When did you and W start holding hands?”

Before I can answer, Oakley jumps in, snickering softly. “You dated a guy named W?”

“So what?” Wow. His first words to me are to make fun of my boyfriend’s name? It’s like Oakley’s trying to get me to dislike him.

“Sounds like a pretentious asshat.” He leans back in his leather chair and folds his arms across his chest. The action makes his biceps flex again.

I drag my eyes away. “Okay, Mr. I-Name-All-My-Albums-After-Me Ford.”

Someone at the end of the table gasps at my audacity, but Oakley’s unfazed by my insult. “Even Madonna has a full collection of letters in her name.”

“W is not pretentious.”

“If you say so.” He smirks.

“I do. He’s awesome. And sweet.”

“So why’d you break up with him?”

“I didn’t,” I say indignantly.

His brow creases. “So he broke up with you?” He sounds...confused. Like that doesn’t make sense to him.

“He hasn’t!”

Oakley shifts to Claudia. “So my down-to-earth, wholesome, normal girlfriend is a cheater?” He raises his eyebrows. “That’s gonna go over well.”

“Oh, you mean the fake breakup,” I say. For a minute there, I’d forgotten.

He looks like he wants to roll his eyes, but refrains.

“He’ll break up with her tomorrow. The sooner, the better. We’ll give it approximately two weeks after the breakup, and then she’ll Tweet you the drawing. Then there’ll be a series of dates, but no touching.” Claudia turns to me. “When did you have your first kiss?”

“Ever?” I realize it’s a stupid question, but my mind is stuck on the breaking up with W bit. I haven’t thought this whole thing through. I’ve been so focused on the money and how we’d be able to pay off the mortgage, pay for the twins’ college, allow Paisley to sleep better at night, that I hadn’t given any thought to the actual details of how this whole thing was going to work.

“Yeah, ever,” Oakley says, and this time he does roll his eyes.

These personal questions suck. “When was yours?” I counter, still focused on the W issue. Lately, he’s been pulling away. He says it’s my fault that I don’t act like an adult about our relationship because I’m still refusing to have sex with him.

“With tongue? I think I was eleven. It was with Donna Foster, the daughter of my dad’s side chick.”

My eyes grow wide. He French-kissed at eleven? I still thought boys had cooties at that age. Oakley would probably pee with laughter if he knew I was a virgin.

“You?” he prompts.

“Um...” Jeez, now I’m even more embarrassed, but for another reason. “Sixteen,” I mumble.

“How sweet. Just like the saying.”

I curl my fingers into fists. If Claudia’s team wasn’t sitting between the two of us, I might’ve reached over and smacked his smug smile off his smug face.

Paisley grips my hand, an unspoken gesture for me to get it together.

Even Claudia must sense that my patience is coming to an end. Hurriedly, she says, “Let’s do hand-holding on the third date and then a kiss on the fourth date. We’ll keep the first couple of dates under wraps, but leak the later ones to the paps.”

“Hold up, we’re going to kiss? I have a boyfriend,” I remind the room. “No one said there’d be kissing.”

“We’re gonna have a year-long relationship and we don’t kiss? Why don’t we just announce that it’s fake from the beginning?” Oakley mocks.

“But...but...” Yeah, I definitely didn’t think this through. I quickly turn to Paisley for help.

She grimaces. “They’re right. No one is going to believe that you and Oakley haven’t kissed. Not if you’re serious.” Her tone is apologetic, but her words don’t provide me any relief.

“You don’t expect me to...” I trail off, not able to bring myself to say the words out loud.

“Of course not,” Jim interjects briskly. “We’re not that kind of agency.”

He tries to play it off as a joke, but, um, they kind of are. They’re hiring this guy a girlfriend and they expect us to kiss.

How am I going to explain this to W? Sorry, babe, not willing to have sex with you yet, but I’m going to kiss another guy. In public.

That will go over well.

Claudia leans forward. “This is no different than if you were acting on a television show. Remember, you’re playing a part in a big love story.”

Her assurance doesn’t help, either. I may not know what I want in life. I may just be telling everyone I want to be a teacher because that’s easier than admitting I’m clueless about my future and that I’d rather hide as a waitress for the next five years. But I do know that the entertainment industry doesn’t interest me.

Paisley squeezes my hand again, probably to remind me why I’m doing this. By playing the role of a girlfriend, I get to lift the burden off my big sister’s shoulders and provide for my brothers. It’s not like I’m signing my entire life over. It’s just one year.

“What do I need to do?” I ask, feeling resigned.

“Just a few kisses, some hand-holding. It’s nothing, really.” Claudia waves her hand airily. “And it doesn’t need to be in the contract other than some general terms about physical contact when necessary.”

“Does any of this need to be in the contract?” Oakley sounds annoyed.

“I agree. If this ever got out, it would be terrible for Oak’s image,” Jim points out.

“The terms need to be specific so that the girl can be held to them,” one of the suits replies. Then he and Jim engage in some furious whispering until the lawyer presses his lips together in unhappy surrender. “Fine, it can be general, then. A general contract of employment.”

Once that’s decided, Claudia returns to her list. I wonder how long it is. I glance at the big white clock on the wall. It’s going on three hours and I’m exhausted.

“Let’s talk about her look again.”

“I’m not changing my look,” I mutter. “I like my look.”

I like my comfy skinny jeans, assortment of colorful T-shirts and the Vans that W and I doodled on during morning advisory last spring. The sneakers are filled with details marking our favorite dates. There’s a wizard’s wand along the left sole because we’re both Harry Potter fans. Then there’s the light post to signify the Urban Light display on Wilshire, where W kissed me for the first time. Where there was definitely tongue. His initials are on the back of one shoe and mine are on the other. He has a pair of them, too, but he doesn’t wear his. He says he doesn’t want to ruin them.

“You have a look?” Oakley raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, and it’s better than yours,” I retort, tired of his attitude. “Would it kill you to wear pants that actually fit around your waist? No one wants to see your underwear.”

“Baby, everyone wants to see my underwear. I get paid a hundred grand per pap pic.”

“Baby?” I scoff.

He leans forward, threading his surprisingly elegant fingers together. “Don’t like that one? Pick another, then. You’re my girlfriend,” he reminds me mockingly.

“So you’re into infants?”

“What?” He rears back. “No. Fine. How about—” he pretends to think and then snaps his fingers “—old lady?”

“Great.” I give him my fakest smile. “I’ll call you...dick cheese.”

“Vaughn, gross,” my sister interjects.

Oakley covers his mouth. I swear I see a smile. I wait for his response and I’m not disappointed. “I have no problem with that, crabby patty.”

“All right, that’s enough of that. None of this needs to be in the contract.” Oakley’s lawyer rattles his papers in agitation.

I turn back to Claudia. I’ve given in on the kissing. On the dates. On this made-for-the-media breakup with my boyfriend, but no way am I going to let them change my look. I’ve got to fight for something. “I thought you wanted a normal girl. I’m a normal girl. This is what some normal girls wear.”

When Claudia and Jim exchange a glance, I know I’ve won this one. They agree to keep my look...for now.

“But when we take pictures, at least let us do your makeup. You’ll want us to,” Claudia promises.

Um. That doesn’t sound ominous or anything.

The negotiation goes on. When will our first official picture be released? Where will the dates take place? Will I go to an awards show with him? How about fashion week in New York? How often should I be seen with him? Every day? Every other day?

Oh, and I would not get Oakley’s phone number. Like I care.

But I still find it weird, because what nineteen-year-old isn’t allowed to give his number to his own girlfriend? And how does he communicate with his friends? Wait—does he even have friends? Or are they all fake like me?

I peer at him from underneath my lashes and feel a pang of sympathy. Oh, brother. Am I actually starting to feel sorry for him? I think I might be.

But then my stomach growls and reminds me that we’re still mad. And unfed.

“You’ll text Amy or me if you want to get ahold of Oakley,” Claudia says.

“I feel like I need my own people. My people can text your people,” I joke.

No one laughs. Instead, Claudia looks like she’s seriously considering it, but then decides against it. “No, I think two nonteens Tweeting each other and commenting on Instagram would appear too contrived. And your voice, we want to preserve that. Whereas Amy has been running Oak’s page for a couple of years now.”

I have a voice?

“Whatever.” I’m exhausted and hungry. One granola bar wasn’t enough, and my stomach rumbles again to alert everyone to that fact.

“Is the granola bar all you’ve had today?” Oakley asks.

A burst of surprise jolts me. Out of all the people in this room, Oakley’s the one to ask? “I had breakfast, but I like to eat like a normal person.”

A faint smile touches his lips. “Jim, we need to eat.”

“Oh, sure.” Jim turns to Paisley. “Run and get us one of everything from the café across the street.”

I see a chance for fresh air and an escape. “I’ll go, too.” Not to mention that I don’t want to be here without Paisley.

“Oh, no, we’ll need you here,” Jim objects.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur to my sister. She doesn’t need to wait on me.

Paisley laughs. “It’s my job, silly. I’ll be right back.”

She trots out like she’s glad to be out of there, while I watch her exit and wish I could go with her.

On the other side of the table, Oakley leans back, crosses his arms again and looks smug, like he cured world hunger. “Well?” he prompts.

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Why? Paisley’s the one getting the food.”

“You wouldn’t be having lunch without me.”

I point to the clock. “I’ve been sitting in this conference room for five hours. Prisoners in maximum security receive better treatment. If it weren’t for you, I’d be lying on the beach rereading The Handmaid’s Tale and I would have eaten something. But sure, thank you for alerting your manager to send my sister to get me food.”

He doesn’t like my smart-ass response. “It’s too cold for the beach.”

“I never said I was going to swim.” I speak in the same tone I use when I tell my little brothers they’re acting like immature idiots.

“Why are you at the beach, then?”

I gape at him. “Why does anyone go to the beach? Because it’s awesome.”

“If you say so,” he responds, but the smugness he’s previously displayed is dialed down a watt as if my reasons for liking the beach are important...or even interesting. Or he might be confused about why I’d choose to go there rather than sit five feet away from his holy presence.

But I’m not going to tell him.

Instead, I drain the rest of my Coke, slam it on the table with more force than necessary and then sit back and refuse to say another word.

Is it childish?

Oh, yeah.

But it feels really, really good.

#When It's Real #erin watt #book excerpts #ya book #ya reads

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