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CHAPTERSIX
Aurelia
I feelBenji’s eyes on me as I make the last few steps down the hotel corridor to my suite, hoping my parents aren’t around to notice I’m back a little early. But, the turn of a door handle, followed by a gush of air as it swings open forcefully, tells me I shouldn’t feel too optimistic.
“Aurelia, just the person.” I turn around to see my mother in her complimentary hotel robe and slippers, her wet hair swept back into a ponytail, her face slick and greasy with various expensive oils and creams. Makeup-free and stripped almost bare, there’s a glimmer of the woman she used to be five years ago, beforeBreak His Heartturned our lives upside down.
“Come in here. Your father needs to update you on a few things.”
I follow her voice, obediently. I know better than to object to the invitation—or command—and the inference that I’m biologically related to Chuck. She holds the door of their suite open as I walk inside, immediately spotting Chuck at the far end of the room, reclined in a chair, his head back and eyes closed as a massage therapist rubs his feet.
“Here,” Mom says, nodding to the sofa opposite Chuck and handing me a sheet of paper. “Your revised schedule for the month.”
I run my eyes over it, not expecting too many changes since the residency is set to take up almost every night for the next three and a half months. But the absence of the few empty dates—my days off—that previously existed makes me suddenly aware of my pulse. “What are these new shows?”
Chuck slowly raises his head before making a wafting motion with his hand which I interpret to mean he is dismissing the therapist. She assumes this too and gets to her feet, nods, and walks right out of the suite. It appalls me to think that type of gesture is a form of language she’s accustomed to.
“Private performances. Corporate. Your bread and butter.”
“But, I hardly have any days off,” I say, not quite believing what I’m seeing.
“Every day of this residency is a day off, Aurelia.” His voice is stern, his tone bored. “All time outside of the three hours you spend performing is time off. You think we don’t know what you do during the day? All that sunbathing, loitering around the resort, hanging out with thestaff?” He spits out the last point as though I’ve brought shame upon the family. I haven’t been hanging out with anyone. I’ve had the occasional conversation with Tawny, Alana and, of course, Isaac, but most of it has been work-related.
“I’ve been rehearsing every day,” I counter. “I’ve only had a couple hours off here and there.”And what does he know anyway? Does he have people spying on me?
“How many times do we have to tell you Aurelia? Young artists like you have a shelf life. It won’t be long before no one wants to buy your records anymore, or pay to watch you perform. You have to make hay while sun shines. There’s no such thing as time off in this business. This train you’re on might only run for two more years, tops. Then you’ll have as much time as you could ever need to take a break. Until then, you need to work every chance you get.”
“Chuck, I need some time off. Performing every night is going to be exhausting. The rehearsals alone are intense, I can’t do more than this. I have to focus on the residency, nothing else. I thought that’s what we’d agreed.”
“Nonsense, Aurelia. You are nineteen, not ninety. You can easily perform every night. It’s every little girl’s dream, this job, and you get to do it. Are you seriously telling me you would pass up the opportunity to perform again in front of more adoring fans, so you can sleep a few extra hours? Those are hours you’ll be paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for. What’s a couple of hours when you could use that money to buy houses for your two little sisters, or pay for their education, or—” he visibly squirms on his seat, “donate to that animal charity you never shut up about? You owe it to your family to do this. You owe it to your fans, to the people who work for you.”
I peer again at the sea of scheduled nights with no gaps for respite in between. “But, Chuck—"
“Will you stop calling your father that,” Mom snaps.
I glance up her and see genuine hurt in her features. “I’m sorry, Mom, it’s just, this is a business conversation… I find it easier—”
“Let her call me whatever the hell she likes, Charlotte,” he says, not taking his persistent eyes off me. “I am her manager and this is what she pays me for.”
Mom visibly glows at Chuck’s display of authority. It’s what she loves most about him. I used to hate the way she fawned over him like this, but now it’s not worth the energy.
“I need time off,” I plead.
“And you’ll get it,” he says, glaring. “Everyday.”
My shoulders drop, resigned.
“But everyevening,” he continues, “you work.”
“Who are these gigs for?” I ask, quietly. I’m not going to win this battle.
“One of the biggest energy companies on the East Coast. They’re holding a series of events for its employees and they’re paying a lot of money to have you perform at them. They are so keen, in fact, they are happy to work around your residency.”
“How generous,” I mutter.
“Indeed they are,” Chuck says, standing. This is how he ends conversations with me. He simply gets up and walks away. He knows I’m too polite to do the same, too highly trained to the etiquette of this business, too nervous of pissing off the fans, and possibly creating more stalkers. “To the tune of five-million dollars—one mil per show. Enough to give your sisters just a tiny sample of the life you have. You’ll do well to remember that when you’re performing for your adoring fans and hating every minute of it because you’re supposedly exhausted.” He turns away but I don’t miss the sneer on his face. I watch him walk to the bar, help himself to a scotch on the rocks, then saunter out to the balcony. My mom watches him too, before turning to face me.
“He just wants what’s best for you. What’s best for all of us.” Her voice is almost kind, a small hint of the mom she used to be. She was never the best but at least she used to care about my feelings. These days, she’s more concerned with whether her top L.A. hair stylist is going to be able to fly out to whichever glamorous locale I’m performing in.
