Rock My World (31 page)

For the most part, Anya and Shawn lived a modest
existence, but this—the 15 by 20 foot spare room turned closet—was
Anya’s big splurge. The walls were lined in neat rectangles and cubes,
separating evening wear from
day wear
, heels from
flats, and a myriad of accessories. Off to one side, the closet opened up into
a large bathroom complete with a vanity and salon chair, water closet, and a
fully stocked wine fridge. Jenna spent countless hours in this closet as a
child, playing out every little girl’s dress-up fantasies.

“Voilà,
zhese
are straight from Bryant Park, as you requested. You
will be
ze
first to wear
zem
,”
he said, pointing to a chrome rack of garments, all in Anya’s size, all age
appropriate. He waved a hand over two more racks, eyes raised in glee. “
Zhese
… are for you!” He said to Jenna with the flourish of
a magician, his gaze quickly falling on Felicity.

She looked
thinner, slightly gaunt. It had been two weeks since Trey died, and grief had
taken its toll on her daughter. Jean-Pierre seemed to think otherwise, visibly
thrilled to be dressing a tall, thin, beautiful young woman.

“
Zhis
is for you,” he
said to Felicity. He reached for a pale aquamarine dress, with charcoal
ruching
that looked perfect for her. As soon as he pulled
it off the rack, Felicity burst into tears and fled.

Jenna
followed her down the hall to her room. “What’s the matter, Sweetie?”

“I was
supposed to go with Trey. He was going to be my date to the ceremony. I picked
it out because it matched his eyes.” Felicity sniffed. Jenna’s throat choked up
as she listened, wishing she’d known. Felicity lay on the bed, staring at the
wall.

“Oh,
Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I had no idea,” she rubbed Felicity’s back.

“’S okay,”
Felicity murmured.

“You know,
if you don’t want to go, we don’t have to. I’ll stay with you; take you to a
museum or anywhere you want. Just say the word.”

“No. I want
to go.” Felicity forced a smile. “But thanks for offering.”

“Okay, but
you wear anything you want. Sweats, even.” Jenna kissed the top of her head and
stood up. She paused in the doorway, then made her way back down the hall to
the closet.

“Everything
okay?” Anya asked.

“I think it
was just too much too soon,” Jenna said.
 
Anya nodded.

“
Zis
one will look fabulous
on you!” Jean-Pierre said.

Jenna welcomed the distraction. He held out a
delicate 1920’s inspired sheath dress, mid-thigh length, feathers lining the
hem, exactly what she would have picked out for herself.
 
She reached for it, but out of the
corner of her eye, another dress caught her attention.

Bold
, she thought,
but
I like it.
The black and white striped print
crissed
and crossed, bending and swirling at impossible angles, creating beauty from
chaos.

The dress
was short. Tight. Simple. It struck a perfect balance between strong and
feminine. She tried it on. There would be no lingering in the shadows in a
dress like this.

“Perfect!
Ooooh
, try
zhese
too!”
Jean-Pierre said, shoving an exquisite pair of shocking red open-toe booties at
her. She slid them on, twirling in front of the mirror like a five-year old
playing dress up. Jean-Pierre clapped. Jenna looked to Anya, whose brows furrowed
in a noncommittal look.

“It’s
different … ” Anya said.
Uh-oh, here we
go.
“But also kind of … perfect.”

“Really?”
Jenna beamed.

Jean-Pierre
and Anya nodded as she swirled back around, admiring herself in the mirror.
Suddenly, inspiration struck. She knew how to help Felicity.

“Mom, do you
still have that dress you wore to Dad’s first Grammy’s?” She asked, rummaging
the
evening wear
section of the closet. Anya reached
to Jenna’s left, and produced a black jumpsuit with sheer gold mesh across the
bust, leaving the impression of metallic skin.

“I thought
you liked the one you have on.”

“I do. It’s
not for me. Can Felicity wear this?”

“Yes, of
course. If she wants,” Anya said. “Do you really think she’d wear this awful
thing?”

“I’m not
sure. We’ll find out.” Jenna said, eyes twinkling.

Chapter
58

“Knock, knock. Can I come in?” Jenna danced from
foot to foot in the open doorway, unable to stand still. Felicity didn’t
respond, but her eyes flit over to Jenna’s general direction. Jenna held the
jumpsuit behind her back, crinkling in its plastic shell.

“What’s
that?” Felicity said, sitting up on the bed.

“I’ve been
thinking,” Jenna said. Felicity made a face that said “uh-oh,” but held her
tongue. “And I realized something.” Jenna sat down on the edge of the bed. “You
were right.” Now she had Felicity’s attention. “You have an incredible
opportunity, and even though I’m afraid of letting you go and letting you get
hurt, I realize I need to step back and trust you. I can’t stop you from
experiencing pain.” They both stiffened and Jenna took a moment to recover. “I
don’t want to stop you from becoming the fullest version of yourself. So,” she
said, holding the jumpsuit in front of her with a
Vanna
White flourish, “This is for you!”

“What is
it?” Felicity asked, scrunching her nose.

“It’s the
outfit your grandmother wore to the Grammys the first year Grandpa was
nominated, in 1970.”

“Really? She
wore that?” Awe and disgust intermingled on her face.

“Yep. And I
thought maybe you’d like to wear it when you announce your acting debut.”

“Really? I
can do the movie?” Felicity bounced up to her knees, throwing her arms around
her mom’s neck. Jenna nodded into Felicity’s shoulder.

“Thank you!”

“I’m proud
of you,” Jenna said, holding her at arm’s length so she could look her in the
eye.

“Thank you.”
A tear glistened in the corner of Felicity’s eye. “
Erm
,
do I have to wear this hideous outfit?” She asked.

Jenna let the suspense linger as long as she
could. “What, the golden granny disco look is so hot right now.”

They broke into a fit of laughter, collapsing on
the bed, delirious giggles overtaking them.

When their
manic burst was over, they lay on the bed, cheeks
aching,
chestnut and caramel hair splayed everywhere.

“Mom?”

“
Mmm
?”

“I’m glad
you’re back.”

“Me too.”

Jenna sat up
and scooted to the edge of the bed, carefully putting her feet over the trunk
at the foot of the bed. Something caught her eye, poking out of Felicity’s
messenger bag.

“What’s
this?”

“
Wha
-? Oh, that? Nothing.”

“It’s not
‘nothing’
, it’s a magazine.” Jenna slid it out, unrolling
it, and saw her husband’s (slightly) airbrushed face looking back at her.
Why don’t men have to meet the same
standards of beauty as women?
She shook her head and redirected her
attention to the article. Felicity squirmed beside her. Jenna read, her mouth
tightening.

“Where did
you get this? And when?”

“A girl at
school gave it to me a couple weeks ago.” Felicity said, not looking up.

“Who?” Jenna
demanded.

“Sadie.”

“Did you
read it?” Jenna asked, more worried than upset.

“No.”
Felicity responded, somewhat truthfully.

“Good.
Don’t.” Jenna said, holding the offending thing in a death grip.

Jealousy and
rage flooded her system like a drug. It was one thing for
Airika
and Alex to have caused
her
pain, but
this? Burdening Felicity with this added pain and worry pushed her over the
edge. There was no excuse not to have this situation under control.

Fuming, she
stormed out to her car, still parked in the driveway. She slammed the door shut
and dialed Alex’s number.

Chapter 59

No way, no how
.
Alex couldn’t believe his ears. Jackson Jones, his not-so-anonymous backer, and
Simon Walker, his long-time manager, sat together, calm as could be. He sat
opposite them in the white leather love seat in his hotel room, hands on his
knees, unsure if he should storm out, laugh, or cackle demonically.
They’re not serious,
he decided. He kept
a neutral face while they stared him down. Minutes passed.
Oh God, they’re waiting for a response.
Alex was a fox in a trap.
They knew it and he knew it.

He saw his
worst fears realized. The fine print he so pointedly ignored while signing the
too-good-to-be-true contract, magnified and highlighted his stupidity in bold.

He recalled mention of something about starring in
a motion picture, produced by his label’s parent company. He didn’t think
anything of it. Cross-promotion. Nothing wrong with that, he’d thought. In
fact, he’d harbored a secret fantasy of trying his hand at acting.
But not this way.
How did they phrase it?
Behind-the-scenes
art film with unrestricted access?
Translation: glorified porn.

Time slowed
as Jackson Jones explained that Alex had been filmed in his hotel rooms,
backstage at shows, during meetings, etc. And although the final climax scene
(pun intended) wasn’t what they’d hoped for (with
Airika
)
their female audience may prefer him ending up with his wife, anyway.

“Wait. What?
The behind-the-scenes DVD footage?
They’ve been
filming me in my room? Having sex with my wife?” Alex hadn’t asked all the
right questions, but surely his contract couldn’t justify filming with hidden
cameras. And they couldn’t use footage of him having sex without his
permission. Right? He could only imagine what (apparently legal) hidden cameras
had captured of his band mates’ escapades. Or, more horrifying, was what their
footage of he and Jenna, and he and
Airika
might be
edited to look like.

“Listen, mate … ” Simon started, an unusual
feeling taking hold of his innards, forcing him to explain
himself
.

Jackson
Jones went into damage control mode. He’d known Simon’s weakness for Alex all
along, and how to exploit it. Convenient to his endgame, guilt was not an emotion
with which he bothered.

“Alex. I
understand your hesitance,” Jackson Jones said, sounding the part of the
Russian porn mogul who watched too many American gangster movies. “I understand
your fears. I think, however, if you’ll let me, I can allay those fears. You’re
a reasonable man, no? I am a reasonable man too. Let us two reasonable men come
to a compromise.”

“What kind
of compromise?”

“The film
has been in production for six months on four continents. It follows the lives
of six people, shot docudrama style. Their love lives intertwine with their
careers, friends, and various activities. Think of it as a romantic comedy,
with a little more truth.”

“By truth,
you mean sex,” Alex said, memories of cameras following him throughout the
tour, on meet and greets, photo shoots, and onstage surfacing in his mind. He
couldn’t shake the images. That couldn’t have been what they were filming.
Someone would have told him.
 
Simon
would have told him.

Despite
their recent antagonism, Simon had always looked out for his best interests. Beneath
the gruff exterior, he was a good guy. Sure, they’d had their share of fights,
but they’d been together for so long. They were like family.

Alex’s denial halted as soon as he looked over at
his manager—hunched and tiny, as though the chair were swallowing him
whole. He looked … guilty. Simon’s bravado vaporized in the wake of this bomb
dropping.

It was a
sham.
The whole damn thing.
Alex had been betrayed.
The weight of the lie bore down on him, rendering him immobile.

“You have a
unique opportunity right now,” Jackson Jones continued, unfazed, “to join the
ranks of many of your musical peers, to appeal to a female base in a new way.
Most women prefer adult films with plot and character development. They love
reality television.
 
We can give
that to them.
A combination of reality TV, celebrity, and
sex.
Your sales will be through the roof, as they say. Just think of
your idols. How many were controversial figures?
 
Think about it. The Beatles had long
hair, Elvis swiveled his hips,
Madonna
groped herself
in lingerie in front of burning crosses. Alex Anders can show women what it’s
like to have sex with a rock star! And if it’s not with you, it will be with
the next up-and-coming rock star because the world is ready. People are hungry
for it. You have a chance to be great, Alex.”