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Emily, the more subdued of the duo even with our first meeting occurring while she was so heavily intoxicated she could barely stand, backs her campaign. “And this will be the last time we’ll see you in person for weeks.”
Since freshman year, I assisted my older sister Petra with a designated driver program that offered safe, alternative rides home to intoxicated partygoers in our hometown. Emily and Jenni were our first clients. They were attending a frat party similar to the one our eldest sister, Colette, attended the week before her eighteenth birthday.
It was the event that saw “Forever seventeen” engraved on her headstone.
I shake off the negative thoughts entering my head when I realize Emily and Jenni are awaiting my reply. They’ve subdued a lot from the raucous fifteen-year-olds I assisted up the stairs of Jenni’s stately family home.
Love does that to you. It can change you in a way you’d never imagine.
It can even alter lyrics.
With Noah, Emily’s now husband, writing a majority of Rise Up’s—the world-famous band Jenni’s husband, Nick, plays lead guitar for—lyrics, they went from a grunge metal group to a pop-rock, indie soul sensation in under two years.
Emily’s inclusion in Noah’s life immensely improved his songwriting abilities, but that isn’t something I can capitalize off as well. I signed with a label not responsible for Rise Up’s almost five-year reign at the top of the charts because I don’t want to be accused of coattail riding on their success more than I have been.
The task is mammoth since one of their own discovered me.
I’ve tinkered with songwriting for years, often carrying a notepad with me to jot down compositions that come to me at random times, but I gave no true thought to singing the lyrics until Marcus requested assistance during an impromptu recording session.
Although Rise Up is signed with Destiny Records, Marcus produces most of their albums. He has talent by the bucket loads, and his musical abilities are far more reaching than the bassist position their fans believe is his sole talent.
When he asked me to check the acoustics of a recording studio contractors built in the basement of Emily and Noah’s home, I was clueless about what he required. I thought he wanted me to speak the lines on the music sheet before me, so you can picture my shock when he asked me to sing the lyrics instead.
I wanted to die a thousand deaths when the opening of a now chart-topping hit came out super squeaky, but after a handful of encouraging words and a shimmy of my shoulders to loosen up the nerves, the following few lines were more polished.
“I knew it,” Marcus murmured that humid summer morning after a handful more lines. “I could feel it in my bones like when I bumped into Noah at a music store.” He joined me in the sound booth, his grin brighter than the stage-inspired lights above us. “Why are you hiding such talent?”
“Are we really having this conversation?” I asked, well aware I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.
Marcus and I had met a couple of years earlier. We were the only singles left in the group of friends, so naturally everyone thought we were a match made in heaven.
They couldn’t have been more wrong.
Don’t misconstrue what I’m saying. Marcus is a great guy who is also incredibly handsome. There’s just no spark between us. We were instant friends, but it will never amount to more than that. Marcus knows it, and so do I.
We can talk for hours about everything and anything, though, and it was during one of those conversations Marcus let slip that he is an all-rounder. He encouraged me to consider more than a career as a songwriter by forcing himself to do the same. He co-produced Rise Up’s second album while assisting me in creating a demo EP.
Nothing came from his dedication until around a year ago. Somehow, my demo CD landed on the desk of an up-and-coming music executive. He liked what he heard, scheduled an interview, and the rest of the story is my slow and scary claim for fame.
The route wouldn’t be as painful if I’d take Marcus up on his numerous offers of a personal introduction with Rise Up’s manager, Cormack McGregor, but I’m already slandered in the media for my friendship with Emily, Jenni, and Marcus. I don’t need more campaigns smearing my family name.
The paps continually make out it is impossible to be single, happy, and friendly. Almost every article starts with the same headline: “Watch Your Men, Ladies. The Single Friend Is in Town.”
Thankfully, Emily and Jenni know the gossip is nothing more than manufactured lies to sell magazines. They encourage my friendship with the Rise Up band members, and although they voice caution about my wish to find my own path to success—since they’ve seen firsthand the bad side of show business their first two years in the industry—they also understand it.
They’ve been endeavoring to do the same even while paired with rock star partners. Jenni is making a name for herself in the fashion industry with world-class designs, and Emily is being scouted by agencies across the globe who want her to be the publicist for their superstar clients.
Their knowledge of the entertainment industry has been invaluable over the past five-plus years, but since I don’t want my career handed to me via association instead of hard work, I pulled back on public engagements with the band, slapped an alias onto any feelers I sent out, then continued writing songs while finalizing my studies.
With the royalties of a handful of the songs I co-wrote with Noah still earning even now, I can’t say I’m a struggling artist, but it will be nice once the endless hours I’ve put in the past twelve months pay off.
I’ve been working nonstop on an album due to be released at the end of this month, and the press junket Knox Records organized will squeeze every available minute I have over the next three weeks.
I’m exhausted just thinking about my upcoming schedule, and it has me looking at my bed as if it is four in the morning instead of the afternoon.
“Knox said I should spend the evening resting.”
Jenni rolls her eyes before drifting them to me. “Because he can’t be here to watch your every move.” When my lips twitch, she arches a strawberry-blonde brow. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been around enough the past week to notice how possessive he is of you. He gives Isaac a run for his money.” Isaac is her brother-in-law who takes her personal security so seriously that even when she isn’t clinging to the side of her famous husband, a bodyguard shadows her every move. “And he’s the most possessive man I know.”
