I just can’t live like this anymore.
I look at the pictures and marvel at her talent, and pray like a mother fucker that Hetal’s plan works.
Serious Voodoo
CARTER
“Oh my God, I can’t believe how excited I am.” Nadia’s exultant voice cuts through the comfortable silence in the car.
“Well, we can. You’ve told us every five minutes since you got in the car,” I say in a dry, annoyed voice.
“Easy man, you’re killing her vibe,” Ryan says.
It turns out that Ryan was actually very interested in Nadia. They have been inseparable since that evening at Dean’s.
I’m starting to see how wrong it was to judge them opposites because of their strikingly different senses of style. She’s a total glamazon - never without a splash of sequins somewhere on her body. He’s a southern gentleman who lives in chinos and dress shirts. Dressing up for him means donning one of his wackier bow ties and suspenders on top of his chinos and dress shirts.
It’s almost comical when they’re side by side. But there’s nothing funny about how well they fit. They are the two sides of the same coin. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her. She’s never been calmer or happier. And he smiles a lot more now than he did when I first met him.
“Hey, how you doing, brother?” Ryan asks me in his quiet, deep voice that reminds me of a river moving over stones.
“I’m fine, why?”
“Because you’re not excited,” Nadia answers for him.
“Maybe because you won’t stop talking. And why would I be excited?” I tug my collar, and wonder if I put on an old shirt. My neck size has gone up this year and this shirt feels too tight.
“Because, she’s going to be there tonight. That Instagram artist,” Nadia elaborates.
She shoves her phone in my face. “You remember the portrait Hetal brought to the party?” She waves the phone with a picture of a colorful flier printed on it.
“Yeah, I remember,” I glance down at her phone and nod, as nonchalantly as I can even as my heart drums in my chest.
“Are you okay? You look a little green,” she whispers and puts a hand over mine. I look down to find her blue eyes full of worry as they roam my face.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry…I’m nervous. Nominations are coming soon.”
Understanding dawns on her face and I’m relieved when she takes the bait and pulls us away from the conversation about tonight.
“Oh yeah, of course you are. But you have to know that you’re going to get nominated. In several categories, too,” she grins excitedly. She tucks an arm through mine, scooting closer to me to comfort me while our car crawls uptown in rush hour traffic.
I don’t need comfort, I need a fucking drink.
I take a deep breath and she pats my thigh absently.
“She’s right, C. You’re a shoo-in. And tonight’s going to be easy. You won’t do any press on the carpet and there’s just two quick interviews after the event.” Dean says as he hangs up his phone and slips it into his suit pocket.
He’s sitting next to Ryan on the other side of the car and I’m grateful for the dark’s camouflage. It’s let me hide the anxiety that’s got a white knuckled grip on me right now.
Dean has a sixth sense about everything, but he’s wrong thinking it’s the awards that have me tied in knots.
Not that I shouldn’t be nervous. And ordinarily, I might be.
Last year, I co-wrote a song for the score of a movie called Throw Away The Key. It was based on a book written by Lucia Vega-Carras. That film is expected to clean up during the award season, and it’s already won several top prizes at the major film festivals this year.
I got the gig on a lark. Dave is close friends with the studio head, Reece Carras. Lucia Vega is his wife and even though this was a smaller budget film for the studio, he wanted the music to be original, both fresh and ageless.
Dave threw my name into the hat and Reece hired me and gave me free license to create something that matched the gritty, honest, deeply emotional story told in the film.
I brought my band into the studio to record it.
The song, Live Free, is some of the best music I’ve ever written and the response has been mind-blowing.
It’s been nominated for as many awards as the movie. It won an MTV Music award for Best Song from a Movie this summer.
Jenn, my publicist, wanted me to walk the red carpet, but the limelight holds very little appeal for me. Also, I didn’t think we would win.
I knew the song was amazing, but to win an award that Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, Bryan Adams and fucking Aerosmith have also won - seemed completely out the realm of possibility.
I didn’t want to be one of those people caught by the camera scowling when someone else’s name was called. I stayed in New York and was in my studio working when the call came that I’d won.
I’m on the edge of the kind of fame and recognition most artists dream of.
But tonight, all of that fades into background noise to the riot of nerves this evening has induced.
I’m about to see the woman I love again for the first time since we found out we couldn’t be together.
And I’m afraid of what I’ll do.
What if she’s with someone?
What if she doesn’t want to see me?
“I heard she’s been nominated for the Visionary Hero award by Vogue Magazine. Her star is on the rise, and no one even knows who she is. I need her publicist. That’s some serious voodoo.”
“She’s a darling now, but it won’t last long,” Dean chimes in.
“Why not?” I ask, and my tone is sharper than I intended. But, the certainty of his answer, when he doesn’t even know her personally is irksome and shallow. And Dean Orleans is neither of those things.
“Because, she’s been put on an impossible pedestal. They’ve attributed her with all sorts of superhuman levels of wisdom and foresight. Once they know she’s just an average human, they’ll enjoy tearing her apart more than they enjoyed helping make her famous.”
I snort in disgust at how wrong how he is.
“She’s not even close to average. And she’ll eat the tabloids for lunch, she’s dealt with worse than them,” I say absently, as I stare out of the window at neon white and red light of the sea of metal and rubber we’re moving up Central Park West.
The car is dark, lit only by the lights that comes in from the outside. We’re all cast in shadow. But even through all of that, I can feel the energy in the car change. I can feel all three of my fellow passengers tense.
“What?” I ask, my neck prickling with worry.
“Do you know her?” Nadia is the first to speak.
I stiffen and replay what I just said and realize I nearly gave myself, and her, away.
I can feel the weight of their expectant gazes on me and I know that I said can’t be unheard. So, I tell them the truth.
“Yeah, I know who it is. At least… I think I do. Her art is distinctive, I’m pretty sure it’s the same person,” I tell them as nonchalantly as I can.
“Oh my God, you know her and you didn’t say anything. You know I’m obsessed with her Carter,” Nadia, shrieks and shoves me playfully and then, claps her hands together.