Pop Princess (20 page)

Karl must have witnessed this type of scene before because he smiled under all that beard and mustache and turned up the volume. Then he said to me, “You never forget your first time.”

My Stealth Date with Freddy Porter

by Teen Girl Reporter in Cognito

It's not every day a girl gets asked out on
J-Pop
by Freddy Porter. In fact, there's only one girl in the world who can claim that honor right now and that girl is Wonder Blake. But I got the next best thing: a reservation at the booth right next to theirs to eavesdrop on their date.

I stare discreetly over my menu at the dream team couple as they approach the table next to mine. Every pair of eyes in the whole restaurant is checking them out too. Personally, if I was on a dream date like Wonder, walking into a posh restaurant on the arm of a signature black Prada suit-wearing, quadruple platinum-certified sex god, I would find a better outfit. Ever heard of a stylist, Wonder? Hire one! Wonder is dressed—how to put this delicately—like a nun. Her perky head of blond-streaked hair is pulled back into a severe bun. With her long black skirt and loose black blouse with the collar practically choking the top of her neck, there is no evidence of the curvy body and generous cleavage that keeps my fourteen-year-old brother's face pressed to the TV every time Wonder's “Bubble Gum Pop” video comes on TV, which as we all know happens about every two seconds now.

Freddy is congratulating Wonder on her song's debut at number eighteen on the pop charts its first week of release. Could he be any sweeter? She just mumbles, “Thanks,” like it's no big deal. Oh yeah, that happens to me every day, Wonder!

Plan: If I make myself choke on my asparagus right now, Freddy will jump to my rescue. He'll perform the Heimlich maneuver on my stomach, the asparagus will go flying right into Wonder's shocked face, and yippee, the pop princess is out for the night and Freddy's all mine. As extra thanks for saving him from one more minute of awkward first date conversation with a pop princess who apparently couldn't care less, Freddy leans over my prostrate body as I gasp for breath. Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation time . . .

The waiter comes for their orders. Freddy orders steaks for both of them, Wonder corrects him—she'll just have a salad, fat-free dressing on the side, and a Diet Coke. Oh, so she's one of
those
girls. I notice they both speak in thick Boston accents when they're together (I noticed the same thing when I saw Kayla and Wonder being interviewed together on TV)—must be something about being around your hometown crew that makes accents revert back in time. Freddy asks if Wonder plans to go to college—he thinks she's “wicked smaht.” Wonder gives him this look back like: What do you know about me?

Ouch!

Is it possible that the Girl Wonder who graces the cover of this month's issue of your fave teen mag here would rather be elsewhere? She keeps checking her cell phone for messages, keeps looking at her watch like she's got a much better date lined up. Gorgeous women in slinky dresses are passing by the table clearly looking for Freddy to notice them, but his eyes are all on her, like he's on a mission, and Girl Wonder keeps turning her head from him like he has bad breath!

Folks, this is like watching the
Titanic
go down.

I am not happy with Wonder. This is
my
stealth date and she is ruining it with her bad 'tude. I want her to ask Freddy if it's true a TV show is being developed for him, if we were on a deserted island together what CDs would he bring along for us to hear, I want Wonder to run her fingers through his blond locks so I can pretend her fingers are mine!

Their food arrives. Freddy lays into that steak like I wish he would lay into . . . never mind, mind outta the gutter. Wonder barely nibbles at her salad. At this point, they're barely talking, not after Freddy mentions a famous teen actress in Hollywood he used to date—
she
didn't mind enjoying a steak. Wonder glares at him. I give Wonder this: The girl gives good glare. “I heard about you and your club,” she says, and whatever she means (Club Med? club sandwich?), Freddy's face has gone a little red and they both say “NO!” when the waiter comes by asking if they'd like to see the dessert menu.

Then Girl Wonder pops some bitter humiliation on Freddy! She slips the waiter her credit card when Freddy is distracted by a beautiful girl in a barely there dress who I could swear I've seen thonging her way through I don't know how many music videos. Freddy, if your date insists on paying the check, that's payoff money, that's I-don't-want-to-owe-you-nothing-no-time, no-second-date, nada money.

Hey, Freddy, cheer up. I'm free next Friday! And Dad won't let me use the credit card, so it's all you, baby!

There is no such thing
as a bad day in the life of a pop princess. There can be days you are not happy, but never, ever show it. You've always got to be
on.
So what that I was in a nasty mood because I hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep after the barrage of appearances and interviews that had left my voice shot and my energy drained. So what that I was starving because of the 1,400-calorie-a-day carb-free diet of steamed veggies and grilled fish the nutritionist was demanding I stick to if I wanted to be the size-six girl my naturally size-eight body resisted but the record company demanded? The show must go on, folks. Do
not
stare longingly at the Cinnabon or Orange Julius counters in the distance.

I was at a shopping mall in New Hampshire, not far from Boston, waiting behind a curtain to perform “Bubble Gum Pop” to an audience of an estimated thousand screaming preteen girls and their parents. I peeked through a small hole in the curtain—had I really heard properly? A second-grade-sized girl was standing just on the other side of the curtain, singing to herself over and over, “
Wonder Blake Wonder Blake Wonder Blake,”
oblivious that the real Wonder Blake was standing right over her behind a curtain, somewhat weirded out by the girl's aimless song.

The emcee welcomed the crowd, then introduced me: “You know her from her song ‘Bubble Gum Pop,' which just hit number five this week. Everyone, please give it up for New England's own WONDER BLAKE!”

I burst out onto the platform, no longer shy about wearing the skin-clinging hot pants cut off just below the butt and the sequined bra top from the line of junior clothes I was promoting as part of the mall opening. I couldn't believe the decibel level of cheers and screams and cries of “Wonder! Wonder!” as I hit the stage. I scoped the audience, completely amazed by how many people were there to see me—just me, not Kayla. But I was immediately distracted by my audience scan because, holy shazam, was that Liam standing at the escalator on the second level of the mall in front of The Limited?

The recorded music came on and I went right into the dance routine, grateful I could lip-synch my way through the refrains of the song and just use my shot voice on the verse parts. I had a long way yet to go to reach Kayla level, with backup singers and dancers to carry the show when the star wasn't at her best. From the weeks of rehearsal for the tour, I had the routine down and was not intimidated about performing in front of an audience, which I'd done many times back when I was a B-Kid. So I easily went on autopilot through the performance as I checked out the lanky figure at the top of the escalator. That height! That snarl! It
was
Liam.

The music ended, and although I wasn't expected to perform another song, I asked the emcee, “Mind if I add something?” He nodded but shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the music console as if to say, What should we play? I shook my head: Nothing.

I sat down on the platform, my legs dangling over the edge, my go-go boots clanking against the backboard. I signed a few girls' Food Court napkins with one hand and with the other said into the microphone, “This song is for someone special in the audience.”

With what was left of my voice, I sang Billie Joe's line asking if his dear mother could hear him whining—the line that had awoken me when it was blasting from Liam's room at Kayla's house. A cappella and at a slow tempo that turned the punk song into a soulful ballad, I sang “Welcome to Paradise” by Green Day, smiling wide and looking up at Liam. His snarl turned into a very large, appreciative smirk. I only sang the first verse; I knew the remaining verses were too depressing and out-there for this audience of first to seventh graders. When I finished off the verse with the line about the wasteland called home, there was a moment of stunned silence from the audience. Liam came to the rescue, skipping down the escalator and shouting out “Whoo-hoo” to jump-start the applause. The audience's clapping was polite but also scattered, mostly from adults in the crowd who probably never imagined in their lifetimes that they'd witness a hot-pants/go-go-boots-outfitted pop princess turn a Green Day tune into a love song on the stage of a New Hampshire shopping mall.

I stood up to hand the microphone back to the emcee, who announced, “Er, thanks, Wonder! Wonder will be signing autographs in front of JC Penney in about fifteen minutes. Now I'd like to bring out New Hampshire's number one morning drive radio team—give it up for those crazy guys . . .”

I walked off the stage and back behind the curtain.

Tig: “Interesting, but what the hell was that?”

I said, “Because girls, they wanna have fun.”

Tig: “Don't do it again.”

The mall security team led me to a table where a long line had formed for autographs. I was uncomfortable being propped up as a role model for these kids; I was, after all, a half-naked high school dropout who just happened to have a hit song that was a Greatest Gainer for Radio Airplay on this week's Billboard Hot Singles chart—but that was just part of the job. I went into smiley-happy pop princess mode, signing CDs and posters and magazine covers and sneakers, taking pictures with one after another of the shorties with shy little voices saying “Bubble Gum Pop” was their totally favorite song, was Kayla my best friend, did I want to marry Freddy Porter?

After about the hundredth autograph, I looked up to see a basketball player-height Liam sandwiched among a uniformed soccer team of ten-year-old girls half his height and accessorized much better than he was. Liam held out a
Teen Girl
magazine cover with my face on it for me to sign. “So we're a full-on blonde now?” he said.

I tugged at a lock of my hair and looked at the platinum blond color. “Yeah,” I said. “The song moved up three places after I appeared on the morning breakfast shows with the new color.” I hated the new color, but it fit the new me, someone I didn't really know anymore, someone who performed on autopilot and starved herself because she was told to.

Liam said, deadpan, “Ah, your parents must be so proud.”

Tig came up behind me. “Keep the line moving,” he whispered in my ear. He gestured to Liam to join him behind me. I kept signing autographs as I eavesdropped on their conversation.

Liam told Tig he'd been on his way from Dartmouth down to a summer job on the Cape when he'd heard about the mall appearance on the radio and decided he had to check it out (Liam kicked the back of my chair when he said that). Tig told Liam we were heading back to Boston after the appearance to meet up with Kayla and Liam's dad, then sending me home for a few days' rest before the tour launched in Boston, did Liam need a ride? Liam had his own car. Well then, could Liam give Wonder a ride down to the Cape? Tig had ordered a car service for her from Boston but Wonder was tired, she would probably appreciate not having to stop in Boston and just going straight home. Sure, Liam said.

Score! Cancel the pop princess's bad mood.

Count on Liam to drive
a beat-up old VW bus from like 1970-something. I took one look at the orange sherbet-colored monstrosity in the parking lot and asked him, “So what, is this your compensation to yourself for being too young to have followed the Grateful Dead around back in the day?”

“Very funny,” Liam said. “It's a hand-me-down from my mom, who actually
did
follow the Dead around at some embarrassing point in her youth that we have agreed we should never discuss.”

He opened the passenger door and held out his hand for me to hold as I lifted myself into the seat. I tried to ignore the electricity that passed through my body as our hands touched, this extreme tingle that had me scamming the back of the bus and noticing it had been stripped of seats and had only a blanket laid across the back. New Hampshire to Devonport was just a couple hours' drive. I made a pact with my hormones that together we would fight the natural urge to hook up with Liam during our brief interlude.

Liam hopped into the driver's seat and turned on the ignition. The radio came on, playing “Bubble Gum Pop.” Liam banged his head on the steering wheel. “It's impossible to escape this song; it's everywhere! It's not even safe to turn on the radio anymore.” Maybe he noticed the downcast expression on my face, because he sighed and added, “The song is kind of a guilty pleasure.”

I didn't want to talk about the song or my career. Since I'd left Devonport half a year earlier, my career had consumed my life. Even if our car ride would only last a couple hours, I was psyched just to spend time with someone my own age who wasn't a professional performer, or an adult who only dealt with me on a business level and always expected me to behave like an adult.

I said, “Fuck the song. How the hell is your life?” Please, tell me anything about you, I wonder about you all the time. It's SO unfair, liking you so much more than you seem to like me. “Could we just drop the banter and get to know each other like normal people?”