Page 8 of Before the Encore

Her hands still ached with the muscle response to call her mum after a bad day. She used to know what to say to calm Bonnie’s racing thoughts. But even if the time difference wasn’t an excuse, Bonnie couldn’t bear to pick up the phone.

She thought about texting her childhood best friend, Katy, too. But she’d not been sleeping well since her youngest, Lyra, had struggled to get into a schedule. Deciding she didn’t want to risk waking her, she forced herself to eat instead.

Today had to go well. If this album was a flop, she could kiss this view—and her career—goodbye. Despite everything, she’d always had music. She wouldn’t lose that too.

The knots tightened in her stomach again. One wrong move from Madison could ruin everything she’d built. Why had she agreed to it? She should’ve stood up for herself. Bailey could be stubborn, but he wasn’t unreasonable. Bonnie should’ve said more. Her mum would’ve told her to.

Not helping.

She set her plate to the side, the glimmer of the pool refracting in her eyes. Maybe a quick swim could burn off some nervous energy.

No. Stick to the plan.

Bonnie’s routine never failed her.

Like clockwork, her phone buzzed again, prompting her to get showered. She swallowed a yawn with the back of her hand. A well-rested brain meant a more creative and productive mind—she couldn’t compromise on her eight hours—but despite her best efforts, worries about today kept her tossing and turning last night.

She sighed and closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her skin for a moment. I am grateful. I am open. I trust in the universe.

But as she padded back inside, she couldn’t squash the swell of anxiety in her belly, like something was about to snap, shifting the rails, and she was a complicit passenger.

* * *

Bonnie pressed back into the cushioned leather, her gaze fixed out of the window. Light poured through the large sunroof, a welcome ocean breeze from the open window tickling the hair around her neck. She breathed in the salty smell, mixed with the mint chewing gum her chauffeur, Minnie, favoured.

She plucked her smoothie from the holder to her left—originally designed to hold champagne goblets, but Bonnie got more use from it this way—and sipped. The nutrient rich drink, packed with tons of protein, soothed her vocal cords and tasted delicious.

These things mattered. It was another step for setting herself up for success.

Palm trees stood proud as they neared the Santa Monica pier, green blades still against the clear blue sky. People already busied the pavements, red-faced joggers and tourists with cameras looped around their necks. It had been a long time since Bonnie had ventured out to the pier. Places so open and public unnerved her.

Years ago, long before the fame, her mum had taken her there. It was part of a business trip, but she’d managed to sneak Bonnie along. She ate her first—and last—corn dog, and they shared a bag of blue candyfloss before riding the Ferris wheel. The memory faded at the edges like an old photograph, but the joy lingered: the warmth of her mum’s hand, the steady lull of the sea, everything new and exciting. A world full of possibilities, before she knew the weight of what it would bring.

At least now she could observe the pier peacefully through blackout windows.

As the car turned away from the beach and towards The Village, excitement flickered underneath the nerves. Recording at a world-famous studio with an award-winning producer like Evan Danso always had that effect. The reality that Bonnie would sing in the same place as iconic artists like Lady Gaga and Fleetwood Mac still floored her. In this business, there was always someone bigger to make her feel like a small fish flopping out of its depth.

She wondered if Lipstick Fever felt the same.

Did Madison Moore even get nervous?

The seafront disappeared into endless grey buildings, the car loud with the hum of morning traffic through the open window. They slowed at a red light, and Bonnie did a double take at a frustratingly familiar woman outside the 7-Eleven.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Minnie, can you pull over, please?”

Her driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror but didn’t comment. She did as she was told.

Bonnie rolled her window down. “Madison! What are you doing?”

The car slowed, but Madison didn’t acknowledge it. Her hands were occupied with a bag of blue Takis. Bonnie shouted her name again and got the same non-response.

With a huff, Bonnie threw on her sunglasses and baseball cap and flung open the door. “Madison! Hello?” She stomped over to her, avoiding the flow of pedestrians. “What are you doing?”

Madison finally turned her way, blue eyes contrasting her dark attire, and pulled an earphone free from her ear. “Yeah?”

“Yeah?” Her neck prickled. “We’re supposed to be at the studio in fifteen minutes. Why are you standing here alone in the street? Where are the others?”