AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Giselle
The sun was already beating down on the red terra-cotta roof of Giselle’s house in Silver Lake. It was still early, but the residential street was surprisingly awake. There were the health nuts uniformed for a hike, on their way up the canyon to catch a scenic view and burn some calories. Kids rode their bikes down the winding streets and played basketball in each other’s driveways. The sprawling green dog park was filled with happy yips and playful barks, plus the laughter and chatter of the dog owners standing around. Youths on skateboards pushed their way up the steeper residential roads, only to whirl down the descent at top speed, the wind rushing through their hair. Gaggles of post-Friday night revelers ventured out into the morning light in search of a nourishing, soul-restoring brunch. One such group wandered past, laughing loudly about how hungover they were from the wild night before. Most likely tourists taking a brisk walk from their rental down to the restaurant a few blocks over.
Giselle was on the second floor, perched on the sectional couch by the wide window. She peered down at the tourists with an almost wistful look on her face.
She had thought about going out last night, too. After the day she’d had, who could blame her? It seemed inevitable she would end up in some exclusive bar, drinking pricey cocktails and alternating between rejecting or briefly entertaining the men who came up to flirt with her. Whether she coldly turned away or pretended to be interested was almost up to chance. Giselle wasn’t actually ever interested in the guys who fawned over her in bars. Even the ones who didn’t know who she was, who were movie star-handsome, were still pretty dull in Giselle’s eyes. Nobody could keep up with her. They might sometimes entertain her for an evening, but she always made sure to go home alone.
And home alone was where she’d ended up last night once she realized her mood was too low to even consider being social at a bar. She needed to lick her wounds in private.
Currently, Giselle sat bundled up on the cushy white couch, wrapped in a thick duvet with her messy black ponytail spilling out the side. She was surrounded by evidence of her nearly sleepless night: snack wrappers, half-empty bottle of malbec, mechanical pencils, a notebook filled with frantically scribbled lines of what looked like poetry. Resting on the coffee table amid a messy stack of sheet music was a Gibson guitar in a shimmery iridescent black that caught the light through the window. The television mounted on the wall was on, displaying some show Giselle had no clue about with the volume muted. But on a record player just on the other side of the sectional spun an album she knew better than the back of her hand.
It was Tortured Hearts’ sophomore album, which had come out the year before to great critical acclaim and success. Giselle had been listening to her own music pretty much all night long, in between dozing off. But it wasn’t pure ego that led her to play her old songs on repeat; she was searching for errors. She was scanning for any reason why Bruce would jump to hiring new writers to help with the next album. As far as she could tell, the songs were technically perfect. Matt and Jimmy were absolute pros who never missed a beat or chord. Giselle’s vocals were a force to be reckoned with, her delivery both vulnerable and powerful at the same time. Her vibrato was excellent. She glided like a swan from note to note, effortlessly.
The lyrics, the vast majority of which came directly from Giselle’s own soul, were just as strong to her as always. Who cared if her music appealed more to teens and younger adults? At twenty-two, she was practically one of them.
“Ugh,” she groaned, burrowing deeper into her blanket burrito as she replayed the Hot House meeting in her head for the millionth time.
Her mind swirled with confusing, painful thoughts. She was usually unflappable. She could brush off anything and move on. Part of her persona involved looking resilient, at least on the outside, and she leaned into it, hard. She had spent a long time building up that stony, impenetrable fortress around her heart, hiding the squishy parts from the world. But yesterday’s meeting had definitely shaken her confidence.
For the first time in a while, she felt anxiety about her own career trajectory. That was scary because Giselle had pretty much known she wanted to do exactly this since she was a young teenager. Her dreams had never wavered, and now she was living them out. But only so long as her music was successful. Jimmy and Matt were practically perfect, but they all knew the heart and soul of Tortured Hearts was Giselle. She sang the words that struck a chord in a voice that thrilled the ears. Her stage presence was on fire. Even in recorded sessions, the listener could still sense Giselle’s powerful demeanor, her distinctive personality.
She had poured her essence into this band. Believed in it. Stoked its fire. And now, Bruce wanted these two strangers to barge in and take over. Giselle felt the betrayal like a hot poker through the chest. She was angry with Bruce for ambushing her and dumping this new information as though she was supposed to take it sitting down. She was mad at Jimmy and Matt for going along with it, even if it wasn’t their idea. She was disappointed in herself for not seeing this coming, for walking right into a trap.
More than anything, she was furious with these new writers: Asher and Blaze.
How dare they come waltzing in, looking like the answers to her most sensual questions, only to totally wreck her world? She could still remember, with a twine of hot embarrassment, the way she felt when she first saw them. Asher, tall and lean-muscled, his dark blond hair thick and romantic as it fell around his angular, bespectacled face. Blazer with his pirate swagger, piercing blue eyes, leather jacket, and long black hair. They were opposites, but equally striking to look at. Giselle had tingled when Asher used that softly commanding tone of his. Through her anger, she felt her core ache when Blaze shouted at her. As though there was a sexual undercurrent running through the entire scene.
“What is wrong with me?” she muttered.
Surely, she didn’t get some sick pleasure out of all this, right?
Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz.
“Oh, what now?” Giselle sighed as she flopped over to grab her phone.
She expected another call from Bruce, Jimmy, or Matt. They had alternated calling her about a zillion times after the meeting. She had ignored every single one.
Around one in the morning, she had taken to tipsy-posting on her Tweetle account. With a glass of malbec in one hand and the other on the keyboard, she had gone on a public, but extremely vague rant about her feelings. Luckily, even under the influence of wine, she managed to keep everyone’s name out of the mud. Nobody except for those actually in the meeting could have deciphered the context of her posts, but she was sure Bruce would still have something to say about it.
So when she saw that it wasn’t a phone call from Bruce, but a video call from her cousin Gemma, she lit up and hastily answered. She grinned as she propped the phone up on the coffee table. Her cousins Gentry and Gemma appeared on the rectangular screen, sitting shoulder to shoulder on a familiar floral sofa she recognized as the one in their parents’ living room. The girls waved ecstatically at Giselle.
“Hey, cuz!” Gentry greeted. “Nice hair.”
“Thanks. It takes a lot of work to look this bad,” Giselle replied without missing a beat.
“Hi!” Gemma said, soft as always.
“Hey Gem! Miss World-Traveler.”
“I did just come back from a recital in Sydney,” she admitted bashfully.
“As in Australia? Damn, girl. You’re gonna run out of passport pages any day now.” Then, she added, “Are y’all at Aunt Nancy’s house?”
“Yep. Home sweet home. Ginger would be here too, but the OBGYN said she has to do the whole bed rest thing for the next few months,” said Gentry. “I’m in town to see her for a few days before I have my next gig back in Miami. Linc is here with me, but Seth had to stay home for a work thing. You wouldn’t believe the hilarious texts I’m getting from him.”
“And you both know Seb and Hans won’t go anywhere without me. They’re out back, helping Dad with yard work,” Gemma beamed proudly.
“More like they’re doing the yard work and Dad is sipping an Arnold Palmer and falling asleep in a lawn chair. So really, everyone is happy,” Gentry laughed.
