Stella Rising by Nancy Belgue

Author:Nancy Belgue
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781459825642
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2019-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Backstage was a blur of moving parts. The interview with the radio station had gone well, but it had jangled my nerves. Now everywhere I looked, people were running around as if they had the most important job in the world. I tried some deep breathing—in and out, in and out. Didn’t do much good.

Gordon spotted me from the door of Wilcox’s dressing room. “Stella, there you are. Wilcox wants to see you.”

Yes, that’s why I’m here, dude, I thought. Gordon seemed to be wired pretty tight.

Wilcox was sitting on the couch, long legs extended and crossed at the ankles. He strummed his guitar, that faraway look on his face. “Come. Sit,” he said. He nodded at Gordon. “Thanks, man.”

I perched on the edge of the couch. Wilcox played for a few more minutes in silence. Finally he spoke. “Good interview.”

“Oh! Thanks. I’m surprised you had time to listen.”

“Gordon recorded it. You sounded nervous. Which is endearing. Puts people on your side. Like an underdog.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I swallowed.

“All right then. Let’s run through this a few times.” He took my hand. He held it all the way to the stage. My palm was so greasy from nerves, it probably felt to him like he was holding a stick of butter. “Okay, remember your mark?” He pointed at the tape on the floor. I nodded. “Try to stay as close to that spot as you can for the whole song. Okay, from the top.”

The first run-through was a bit bumpy. We ended up doing it three more times. Each time felt better. By the end of the fourth, I knew it was going to be okay. Wilcox leaned his guitar against the stool and stood up. “Cool. I’ll see you later.”

I could have sworn he had been about to say something else. But then he was gone. I wondered if he even remembered talking about doing a duet together.

Gordon appeared from the wings. “Kid, that was great! You should think about getting an agent.” He slapped me on the back. “I can recommend a few people.”

A woman wearing an apron with pockets stuffed full of cosmetics called my name. “Let’s get you into hair and makeup.” She motioned for me to follow her. “My name’s Samantha,” she told me as she caked my face with foundation, outlined my eyes in black and spiked my hair. “You’ve got a great look. We just need to emphasize it for this size of venue.” The lighted mirror made me look like a ghost with black eyes.

There was a long table loaded with trays of fruit, cheese and bagels. I hadn’t eaten anything since the dry, day-old pumpkin scone that morning. I was starving, but my stomach was too knotted to eat. I tried more deep breathing, but all it did was make me cough. It was only an hour until showtime. I could tell by the change in sound that the doors had opened. People were piling in, and a weird kind of electricity filled the air.

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