The Bad Boys of Summer Anthology(132)

Taryn



“Considering my daughter just became the youngest recipient of the most coveted award in the music industry, I think you can do a little better than that…” I sigh and tune my mother out, trying to enjoy the calm before the impending storm. We hadn’t even stepped into the limo when the first call came in, and I’ve lost count how many different people she’s spoken to in the past fifteen minutes. I know I should be grateful, but I can’t help but feel a little disappointed that she couldn’t just wait and take care of this tomorrow. Then again, she would most likely just harp about the award that I didn’t win or tell me that my hair is out of place so I’m probably better off this way.

I hear the ringing of my phone from within my clutch, and as I pull it out to see who it is, I smile genuinely for the first time all day.

“Hey, Dad,” I answer.

“Congratulations, sweetheart. You deserve to win after all the hard work you’ve put in over the years. I couldn’t be prouder,” he says with his familiar Texas twang.

“Thanks, Dad. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“I’m sure you’ve got a whole heck of a lot to do tonight. Is Savannah with you?” He stopped referring to her as my mother years ago, and since she’s always preferred her role as my manager, I probably should too.

“Yeah,” I respond, checking to see that she’s still occupied. I wouldn’t hear the end of it if she knew my father was on the phone. “She’s here.”

“Well, I’ll let ya go but just know that Scooby and I miss you.” The gentleness in his voice makes me wish I was there instead of here.

“Oh, give him a kiss for me. And…I miss you too,” I stutter slightly, trying to focus on thoughts of losing myself on a ride with Scooby so I don’t mess up my eye makeup.

“Remember, honey. Try to remain grounded and appreciative. When you start becoming full of yourself, you usually end up burying yourself,” he wisely advises me. He’s never steered me wrong before.

“I will, Dad, talk to you soon,” I say before hanging up. I lean back in the plush leather seat, happy to have a moment to myself just to think.

And that ceremony definitely gave me a lot to think about. Winning there at the end was so unexpected and thrilling that I don’t even remember what I said or who I thanked. It must not have been too bad or else I would’ve gotten hell about it by now.

I still can’t believe I lost that one award to a rapper. And what was with his speech anyway? He started off just the way I’d expected him to, and then there at the end he sounded sincere and surprisingly humble, which I did not expect. Especially after his little southern-style in-your-face. And that part about his parents…he just won a Grammy award, why wouldn’t they be proud of him? Oh, and wh—?

“Taryn!” My mom’s shrill voice abruptly yanks me out of my thoughts, which have clearly gone on a pointless tangent. I see the line of limos and realize that we’ve pulled up to the first after-party of the evening. Bony fingers grab my chin and force my head in the direction of my pinched-faced mother, who already has the blood red lipstick poised for the kill.

“I need you to focus on tonight’s schedule,” she says while re-applying color to my lips. “We have thirty minutes at each event, which is just long enough for you to smile, pose for the photographers, and shake hands with whoever I tell you to. Don’t leave my side and don’t deviate from the plan. Got it?”

“What if I need to go to the bathroom?” I ask because I really and truly do.

“Not part of the plan,” she says in all seriousness. Before I can argue any further, the door opens and my mother steps out.

Following her out of the sleek, black limo, I paste on my best smile and wave to the crowd. I make my way down the roped-off red carpet to the front doors, which are currently being held open by two huge bouncers. After grasping hands with a few fans lining the walkway, I am steered inside the Billboard Hits party, where the music from the live band is blaring and people are mingling. A sigh escapes my lips as I recall that I have five of these to attend tonight.

My mom grabs my elbow and leads me into the room. A few artists immediately approach, congratulating me on my win, and I keep the smile on as I thank them. When a waiter offers a tray filled with champagne flutes, I eagerly accept one but I don’t even get a full sip down before my mother snatches the drink out of my hand, placing it on a nearby table. She gives me a look that clearly says she hasn’t forgotten the one night that the media captured pictures of me stumbling out of a nightclub—forget the fact that it was my twenty-first birthday.

We continue to make the rounds but not for long since, according to my mother, there aren’t too many people here I need to impress. After working our way through three more after-parties in rapid succession, we finally head to the one hosted by my label, Backlash Records. All I want to do is shake hands, thank everyone who did their part, and then sneak out the back door. My feet are killing me and my bed has been calling my name for the past two hours. But I’ve been around long enough to know that is not going to happen.

The limo driver opens my door and just as I’m about to swing my legs out, I catch a glimpse of the guy who snaked my award. He and his entourage are working the carpet, though instead of keeping their distance from the masses who are screaming at them, they’re actually hugging and kissing everyone they come in contact with. You have got to be kidding me. “Ridiculous,” my mom says, distaste evident in her voice. “Couldn’t they have more class?”

Ignoring her, I continue to carefully exit the vehicle and soon the crowd collectively starts to call out my name. After waving, I start my walk and can’t help but notice when he stops just outside the doors and turns around…probably disappointed the crowd is no longer all about him. I happily sign a few autographs, all the while feeling his gaze on me. I continue greeting fans, waiting for him to make his way inside. “That’s enough,” my mom tells a young girl, who is eagerly holding a pen and paper out to me. Shooing my mom’s hand away, I smile and sign anyway before handing it back to the girl. Her ecstatic yelling and jumping is enough to make me giggle.

My mom, not willing to take any chance of me disobeying her again, firmly grips my elbow and leads me down the carpeted walkway. My laughter quickly quiets and my smile turns down when I spot him still standing there, staring directly at me. Other than a massive bodyguard at his side, no one from his group is around. Those mesmerizing blue eyes bore into me the closer I get. Swallowing hard, I will my heart to calm down before I reach him.

He places his hand on the door handle and opens it for me. I quietly thank him and enter with my mom following close behind. When the doors shut, he comes alongside me, saying, “I just wanted to congratulate you on the award.” He holds his hand out for me to shake and placing mine in his, I’m amazed once again at how soft his hand feels. I guess if I wasn’t plucking guitar strings all day, that’s how mine would feel too. Without warning, he pulls me into him and his lips brush against my cheek as he whispers, “But it should have been mine.” With a chuckle, he walks away, once again leaving before I have a chance to respond.

I am immediately enveloped by a throng of people in what is by far the largest party of the night. From what I can see, all of Backlash’s artists are present and accounted for. Everyone knows you have to thank the mouth that feeds you if you want to remain on top.

Just as I’m returning from a quick trip to the bathroom, I’m grabbed from behind. “There’s my number one girl,” a familiar voice shouts, spinning me around.

When I see Regina, a fellow artist and good friend, we exchange hugs like we haven’t seen each other in years. Gina and I met at a party similar to this one when I first arrived in Los Angeles. She stepped in during one of my mom’s tirades, pulled me to the dance floor, and we’ve been friends ever since. It helps that she sings R&B and my focus has been country, so we haven’t really been in competition with one another.

“Your performance was amazing tonight,” I tell her truthfully and she gives me a crooked smile. “The audience loved you.”

“Nothing new there,” she answers cockily. “But you, my friend, took home the top award. You should be drinking champagne from the bottle and shaking that little bitty white booty. You are way too put together for this being your last party of the night and I intend to change that.” Her eyes start to roam around the room. “Where is she? I know she’s here somewhere.”

“You know her...she’s making the rounds,” I tell Gina and she rolls her eyes, hooking her arm through mine. Our first encounter might have cemented our friendship, but it also ensured that there will never be any love lost between Regina and my mom.

“Well, what she doesn’t know won’t kill her…unfortunately,” she says with a wink. “Now come on.” Regina guides me toward the bar, where we grab a bottle of champagne and two glasses before making our way to a circular booth. Once we’re situated with drinks in hand, I look to see who is on the dance floor. Several of my band members are out there, including Ryder. They motion for me to join them but I shake my head and hold up my glass of champagne, which seems to appease them. Judging by the way they’re dancing, I don’t think they’ll remember to ask again and I doubt they’ll recall anything from tonight.