Читать книгу Pop Tart - Kira Coplin - Страница 10

From the outside, Hollywood is a mass-market fantasy

factory…it is the creator of our collective imagination,

and perhaps the lasting record of what we are and

believe and dream.

–Charles Fleming

And turn the place inside out she did. With pillars of flame erupting from both sides of the stage, Brooke and her dancers kicked off the night, arousing yelps from a few unsuspecting preteens who stood a short distance from their parents. Tackling six songs in a row, stopping briefly for a costume change, the crowd watched breathlessly as Brooke morphed into a full-blown sex kitten with each onstage gyration. Her dancers writhed around her in unison as she strutted across the stage, whipping her body back and forth as if it were a weapon. Hair flying, she bumped, grinded, and crooned her way through the short set with ease. Watching her from afar–cool and composed, ignoring the mixed reactions of the crowd waiting anxiously for the Emerson Brothers–I could tell she was in her element.

When the Emersons finally took the stage, the teenaged squeals from the audience erupted into ear-splitting shrieks. A robotic voice announced each ‘brother’ one at a time:

‘Landon [poof!]…Nolan [poof!]…Jesse [poof!],’ each boy appeared in a dramatic burst of smoke and sparks. Channeling Michael Jackson, Jesse moonwalked the length of the stage, much to the delight of the girls in the audience. Clutching T-shirts, tote bags, and posters bearing his likeness, they went wild.

I’d left the T.V. on overnight by accident, and when the chatter of the morning news woke me, my ears were still ringing from the blasts of pyrotechnics from the night before. Still groggy, I slid out of bed to turn it off when the voice of the Albany newscaster caught my attention.

If you caught the concert last night at the new performing arts theater in Saratoga Springs, you may have seen her…

Cutting to shots of both Brooke and the Emersons from last night’s performance, a voiceover buzzed on while I darted down the hall to Brooke’s room:

Honing her musical chops, former beauty queen Brooke Parker landed in Saratoga Springs last night. Just eighteen years old, she’s the latest to join the Emerson Brothers on their national tour…

‘Brooke!’ I yelled. ‘You’re on T.V.!’

‘Huh?’ she said, sticking her head out of the bathroom door.

‘Look,’ I said, motioning to the footage taken at last night’s concert. Seeing herself on screen, her eyes widened with shock. Like an excited child, she popped up on her tiptoes and threw her fists up and down. Toothbrush dangling from the corner of her mouth, Brooke sprinted across the room.

But her debut music video, ‘Pillow Talk,’ released just hours before yesterday’s show, had some local parents concerned.

A clip of Brooke kneeling on satin sheets–feathers clinging to her toned, oiled body–flashed on the screen.

Brooke actually gasped, staring at me in a stunned silence before ripping the toothbrush from her mouth. She was noticeably shocked, and I immediately felt sorry for her. I was just as surprised to see the way her sexuality had been trumped up tenfold in the editing room; I even felt slightly ashamed that I might somehow be at fault for contributing to it. She was just a small-town girl excited to be shooting her first music video. How could she know it would turn out like this!? How was she supposed to know that the pervy director was taking zoom shots of her midriff? She was dancing her butt off.

Brooke gulped a mouthful of toothpaste so that she could speak; I nearly gagged. ‘I can’t believe we missed TRL yesterday!’

My jaw dropped. Concerned mothers all over upstate New York were eager to unload their two cents on local television. Brooke remained bafflingly unfazed during the series of public interviews, in which one woman called the video ‘repulsive,’ while another huffed on about the ‘pitiful, loathsome’ message it sent to young girls. At first, I figured that Brooke was simply trying to make light of it, and I nearly laughed out loud. That is, until she added, ‘Man, I hope someone Tivo’d it!’

‘This is no good,’ a voice grumbled. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed squarely over his chest, Steve narrowed his eyes at the T.V. The polar opposite of Brooke, Steve was more than just fazed by the news. But none of us, not even Steve, knew just how out-of-control things were about to get.

‘Pillow Talk’ was the talk of the town–every town. You couldn’t turn on the radio, pick up a newspaper, or turn on the television without hearing her name. She was suddenly linked to any of a bevy of issues up for discussion. Bible-belt parents and, apparently, anyone with an opinion anywhere somehow seemed to hold her singularly responsible for the moral decline in America. The buzz surrounding Brooke wasn’t all bad, however. Not only did ‘Pillow Talk’ soar to number one on M.T.V. overnight, but thanks to her ‘clever, Cleopatra-inspired bob,’ a new style icon was born. The direct result of my inexperience suddenly served as a model that was emulated by a slew of copycats all over America.

Despite the strict itinerary that required us to wait in the cold before loading onto the tour buses, I felt surprisingly refreshed. It was unusually sunny outside, which put me in good spirits and I couldn’t wait to get on the road. We were set to drive overnight, which would allow us to make it to Florida by the next afternoon. Just as I was admiring the way the rays of the sun danced along the snow-covered roofs of the quaint shops across the street, I noticed that everyone else seemed slightly cranky. Landon and Nolan weren’t speaking to each other, thanks to an argument over a video game earlier on. Already juggling the Emerson Brothers press, it was clear that Sasha hadn’t planned on Brooke’s profile rising anytime soon. The situation dampening her mood, she waited grumpily outside, complaining of back pains every so often as she leafed through a copy of Vogue with a frown on her face. Every few minutes or so, she’d look up in disgust and complain to anyone in earshot, ‘I’m too damn old for this shit.’ Up ahead I spotted David looking mildly annoyed as he paced back and forth outside the hotel with his cell phone to his ear.

‘We either need it fixed in a timely manner or we need a replacement. Otherwise we’ll be forced to cancel our remaining dates and I’m afraid that’s not an option for us.’ Listening as David negotiated with the tour bus company, my stomach turned. Missing from the convoy in front of the hotel was Brooke’s bus. Oh God, please fix this–I’m not ready to go home yet!

‘That doesn’t sound good,’ Hayley said wide-eyed as Steve zipped past us. He was already a wreck from the sudden media storm that had hit earlier that day–with every passing hour he had become increasingly stir crazy–even flipping through channels nearly gave him a heart attack–so he’d given up trying to watch completely. Now, pacing agitatedly and erupting in sporadic shouting fits directed at anyone within earshot, he looked as if he might explode.

‘Looks like you’re gonna need that chrysoprase today for sure.’ Hayley laughed quietly, studying the sour expressions on the faces around us.

‘You’re sure one is enough?’ I joked along.

Reaching into her pocket, Brooke pulled out the green stone, clasping it tight in her fingers. Turning to me, she hummed excitedly, ‘Let’s go!’

‘I don’t think we can…I mean, the bus could be here any minute,’ I hesitated.

‘Good luck, I’ll probably be back to Syracuse by the time it gets here. Repairs take forever,’ Hayley smirked. She reached into her patchwork purse, fishing out her keys. Turning toward Brooke, who looked on the verge of tears, she moaned loudly. ‘No crying…seriously.’ Nodding her head like a little girl, Brooke threw her arms around her friend without saying a word.

‘I promise to come visit you over the summer when school lets out,’ Hayley continued. ‘Wherever you might be! Okay?’ Brooke, still silent, nodded again. Spinning around, Hayley embraced me in what resembled a sort of bear hug, whispering in my ear, ‘Take good care of her. You seem to be the only sane one here…Calamity Jackie.’ Laughing, she made her way over to the adjacent parking lot before turning around to shout something at us. ‘Ankh! The store’s called Ankh…it’s pretty close by if you guys want to check it out.’

She knew Steve wouldn’t allow it–but Brooke remained adamant about sneaking off to go shopping–and she kept pestering me to go with her. I managed to keep her at bay for a little while and eventually she disappeared back inside the hotel, where a couple of the dancers–led by Jimmy, the one that always looked to me unusually muscular for his frame–had unrolled a mat to play Twister to pass the time. Sitting on a bench near the main entrance, I watched as Jimmy contorted his body in a painful position as he reached for one of the yellow dots with his right foot. Shaking my head, I returned to the ancient issue of Guitar–an iconic music magazine that I had collected and read religiously since I was a little girl–open on my lap.

Before I made it through the first sentence, T-Roc shouted his love to Brooke and sidled over to me. ‘Brooke! Girl, you blew the damn top off that place last night! Jackie, some show, huh? That girl’s got er’one in New York talkin’.’

‘Yeah.’ I smiled. ‘It’s pretty great.’

‘You gotta be worn out.’ T-Roc shook his shaved head, somehow sweating despite the chilly winter air. ‘Damn long drive ahead of us today. You hanging in there?’

I nodded, sighing, ‘This whole bus situation’s crazy. I think it’s starting to wear everyone a little thin.’ I looked toward Jesse–who was watching the dancers, limbs everywhere, contorting themselves every which way–his scowl growing more defined.

Following my glance, T-Roc shrugged. ‘Don’t you worry ‘bout them. Those boys are pros; they’re used to it. E’erbody’s staying strong–keeping busy. Haven’t had a chance to shut my damn eyes yet, but it’s all good.’

I smirked, appreciative of T-Roc’s unwavering optimism. Here was this tough, larger-than-life man you’d mistake for a thug until you spent twenty seconds in his glowing presence. A walking, talking, bodyguarding contradiction. Rocking back and forth on his heels, he stood contentedly, taking in the scene. I half expected him to start whistling.

‘How you holding up?’ David, freshly off the phone, asked as he stepped over to us.

‘Depends on what’s happening with the bus.’ Looking up at him I couldn’t help but grin even though I knew my livelihood hung on his ability to get us to the next show on time.

‘We’ve got some engine problems unfortunately. Our driver took it into a shop and it took forever for them to figure out what the problem was,’ David sighed. He looked messy and disheveled yet, unlike Steve, he was able to keep his cool–making him all the more attractive. ‘Anyway, they finally figured it out–bad fuel injectors. It’s in the service garage now but it’s going to take a few hours.’

‘So what does that mean for us?’ I asked as David looked down at the oversized publication in my hands.

‘Ric Craia?! No way, man.’ Grabbing the magazine from my hands, he studied it inquisitively. The image of a man in a vintage work shirt smiled up at him from the cover, with a wide grin beneath his drooping mustache that exaggerated the folds in his face. ‘1978? Where did you get this?’

‘My dad had this huge pile of old issues in our basement and I just kind of started collecting them…I don’t know, maybe it’s weird but I love reading them.’

‘You a big Craia fan?’ David smiled as he handed the magazine back to me.

‘I am actually,’ I said as my cheeks turned pink. Though not necessarily ‘hip,’ I’d loved the blues rocker since I was a child because my father had taught me all the lyrics to his hits from the mid-seventies.

‘Come on, no way.’ David laughed flirtatiously. ‘I didn’t know you were into the whole “blue-collar, plight of factory workers and truck drivers, modern day Romeo-and-Juliet-style tragedies set in New Jersey” thing.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with making music for the everyman.’ I laughed. ‘He was arguably the best songwriter and guitarist of his time–nothing but an acoustic guitar and a microphone–that’s impossible to beat today! No electric distortions, just plain old, good music.’

‘I hear he’s making a comeback…’ David said slyly. I rolled my eyes, now annoyed.

‘Don’t be a prick.’

‘I’m not kidding…’ David said shaking his head. ‘A friend of mine out of New York, another manager, reps him–he’s been looking for ways to revitalize his career for a while now. He may be a great songwriter, but my buddy’s handpicking these tunes by pop artists for him to reinterpret. Seriously, Craia is into it.’

‘The world could always use a little more Ric Craia in it,’ I said, ‘but it’ll be interesting to see what he makes of new pop music.’ I looked around, searching for something more intelligent to say, but I couldn’t, for some reason, and so I tried to change the subject. ‘Anyway, back to the bus…’ I said slowly. ‘Any idea how far this will set us back?’

‘Well, we’re going to rush like hell to meet everyone down there in time.’ He looked pained as he said this. ‘Usually, we’d all be on separate buses, but due to the circumstances we should probably ride down there with her together,’ he said, now flashing me a wry smile. ‘Good thing you brought yourself something to read…it’s going to be a while.’

Twister seemed to get the best of Brooke before long. Thinking fast, she kept confusing her left and right, but at least not hand and foot. She hunkered down in between David and me on the bench outside and called it quits.

Resuming her quest to sneak off in search of voodoo charms, she whined to David sweetly.

‘Can’t y’all get Steve off our backs for just a few minutes? Puh-lease?’

David inhaled, looked over his shoulders, then patted me on the shoulder as if putting me in charge. ‘I’ve got your back for at least twenty-five minutes.’ He grinned at her. ‘Get out of here before anyone sees you guys.’

As David walked away, T-Roc gave me a light nudge with his elbow. ‘Girl, I been watchin’ you two.’ He smiled. ‘Mmmhmmm.’

I cracked a smile, tucking Guitar back in my bag. ‘And what, exactly, have you seen?’ I didn’t think my little crush was that obvious.

‘I see th’ sparkle in those brown eyes of yours.’ He nudged me with a bulky elbow.

‘Looks like Brooke’s had enough Twister. We need to move on out while we have a shot.’

‘Want me to come along?’

‘Nah,’ I said, but little did I know, I’d completely underestimated Brooke’s rising star power. ‘I think we’ll be just fine, but thank you.’

A wave of patchouli incense stung my nostrils as we entered Ankh. The store was completely empty, save for an older woman, presumably the store’s owner. Perched at one of the tables in the makeshift ‘tea room,’ she smiled at us as we moved about. Brooke adored and was obsessed with absolutely everything in the store. She’d stop to make a fuss over one thing, saying, ‘This is the coolest ever! Oh my gawd–look, look…I have to get it!’ And two seconds later she’d be freaking out about whatever was sitting next to it. The storeowner, who must’ve known who she was, was getting a real kick out of her. I made a few laps around the store while Brooke loaded her arms with glittery candle-holders shaped like winged angels and fairy-shaped pewter pendants whose labels promised to spur creativity. On my fourth lap around the store, I was just starting to get antsy when I noticed something strange outside the store window. Three girls, no older than fifteen, were pressed up against the glass. The one on the right had a camera in her hand and every so often nudged one of the other girls as if they were daring each other to snap a photo. I told myself I was being paranoid. I’d just spent an entire day traveling with Brooke and no one had recognized her, and if they did, they certainly didn’t bother her. Even at the McDonald’s in the airport, teeming with the types of kids who went crazy for the Emerson Brothers, no one knew who she was. I looked back at the front window, certain that the girls had gone on their way by now. Instead, I was shocked to see that not only had two more of their girlfriends joined them, but that now all types of people had stopped. Squinting their eyes, they peered inside to see what all the fuss was about.

‘Hey Brooke,’ I said, suddenly worried. Growing up in Beverly Hills, I’d become accustomed to the flashing lights of the paparazzi. Never had I been on the other end of it. I watched as five became ten, and fifteen became a crowd. I knew it was time to get Brooke out of there. She was, well, oblivious and delightedly preoccupied.

‘These, you know, could only be created during the correct moon phases,’ the storeowner was telling Brooke, who was wide-eyed and hung on her every word.

‘Hey, sorry to cut this short, but we’ve got a problem,’ I said pointing to the front of the store.

‘Oh my goodness.’ The storeowner smiled; obviously pleased it was her store that was causing all the commotion. Watching as anxiety spread across Brooke’s face, she said, ‘Don’t worry girls. I’m going to lock this door up here in front–nice and tight. And when you feel ready to go–you can slip out the back unnoticed.’

‘Thanks,’ I told her. Turning back to Brooke, I said, ‘We should go. Soon.’ I motioned toward the back of the store, reaching out for her hand.

‘Wait!’ she cried out. ‘I really, really want to get some of this stuff.

‘All right, just hurry up,’ I told her, puzzling at the clutter of novelty charms, new age books, candles, and mythical figurines she’d set on top of the counter.

‘I forgot my money,’ she sighed, looking at the crowd, still clamoring for a glimpse of her. ‘I guess we won’t be able to come back, huh?’

‘Here,’ I said, throwing my credit card on the counter. With every item the storeowner rang up, I cringed, but the only thing I really cared about at that moment was getting back to the tour bus in one piece. Too much money and more anxiety later, Brooke’s new spiritual trinkets were bagged and we left out the back entrance.

Our footsteps echoed in the alley as we shuffled behind the rows of stores. We laughed under our breath, rehashing Brooke’s first real celebrity moment, and our casual ‘escape.’ But we had spoken too soon. Suddenly, we heard something up ahead that made us stop in our tracks.

‘Hey! Brooke! Hey!’ The voice belonged to a teenage girl. We knew she was just a kid, but from where she stood in the shadow-filled alley, the way she addressed Brooke, she appeared almost menacing. Her scream alerted others, who rushed around the corner. I looked over at Brooke–her arms weighted down with two large shopping bags. She looked totally helpless.

‘There she is!’ we heard someone yell amid the chattering voices. Erupting in spontaneous laughter, Brooke turned on her heel and began running down the alley. Following right behind her, I could hear footsteps chasing after us.

‘I can’t believe people are runnin’ after me!’ Brooke shrieked mid-gallop, still giggling, as if she didn’t know what else to do. Sprinting as fast as my legs could carry me, the wind roaring in my ears and my long, loose hair flying behind me in waves, I felt like the Beatles in the opening scene of A Hard Day’s Night. Overcome by a headlong rush, we raced down the alley. As we rounded a corner, up ahead we could still hear the voice of the girl who had first spotted Brooke in the alley. Her angry shout, fading in the distance, was the last thing we heard:

‘BITCH!’