see inside. Hear him play. An image floated into her mind of Jet serenading her, and her alone. One of his songs sounded from near the house, so she followed it to the back of the pool house. One of the two guys from the previous day–the tall, wiry guy, kinda cute, she’d noted yesterday–entered the equipment-loaded workroom, and the door closed, muting the music.
“Ms. Prescott.” Arms pumping, Stu Gilbert walked her way. “I’m glad I caught up with you.”
“Hi, Mr. Gilbert.” Thank goodness she’d worn sunglasses. The lime shirt he wore glowed in the sun like neon.
“Call me Stu.”
His heavy-lidded gaze and ever-present grin grated her nerves. “Stu. I wondered if I might be able to get a look inside the editing room.”
“Great idea. They’re pre-editing the show now. Come in. I’ll introduce you.”
“Pre-editing?” What the hell could that mean? Hopefully repeating his lingo would entice an explanation.
She followed him inside. The cabana appeared deceptively smaller from the outside. Half had been partitioned off to allow an impromptu editing room complete with extra-wide flat screen monitors connected to the Macintosh computer.
“Danny, Justin, meet Billie Prescott. She’s on board to follow the episodes for Strung Out.”
The two men glanced back, mumbled hello. Justin’s glance lingered longer, his brow arched as his gaze lowered.
Stu ran through the projected schedule for the day, then touched Billie’s arm. “You do understand how critical it is for you to stay behind the cameras’ line of vision, correct?”
“Oh yes–”
“Because I reviewed it repeatedly with Everett, and he assured me you’d be on board.”
Affecting a serious expression, she nodded. “Completely.”
As if she hadn’t spoken, Stu continued. “Because Justin and Danny work very hard at shooting from the best possible angle and…”
Tuning him out, Billie folded her arms and struggled to keep her face a mask of seriousness as he droned on about maintaining the integrity of the videography.
Integrity! As if Rock Bottom might win an award of excellence.
“These two only get one chance at a shot–isn’t that right, boys?” He winked at the cameramen.
The two grunted in bored acknowledgment.
Stu clasped his hands. “Wonderful. The girls are changing into their bikinis now.”
The swimsuit competition? Billie fought to keep a straight face. “Their bikinis?”
“Yes, they’ll be poolside when Jet arrives at two thirty.”
His gaze wandered across her as if in comparison, and she stifled a shudder.
“Great photo op.” Justin glanced back with a grin.
At Stu’s throaty chuckling, Billie clenched her teeth.
After reminding them everything needed to be in place well in advance of two thirty, Stu exited.
The video onscreen caught Billie’s attention. Jet and his band on some outdoor stage. “What’s this?”
Danny’s nasal reply came through the fist propped against his chin. “One of Jet’s concerts a few years ago.”
Before the show began then. “Where?”
Justin shrugged. “Lollapalooza? Farm Aid? Some days-long event.” He winced at an off note, his puckered lips exaggerated for effect.
The camera panned to the audience–a huge crowd, but every woman was riveted to the stage. Jet played with little effort. Very little. If ever she’d seen a rote performance, she viewed one now. The women in the audience didn’t seem to mind.
Danny increased the volume so they might have been in the audience themselves.
“Ugh. This used to be my favorite song.” Years ago, but lately it stood out as one of the few she could still stand to listen to. No more.
“Yeah, kinda kills it for me too.” Justin turned back to the computer, murmured something to Danny.
When he blocked her view, she angled closer. “Are you using that video in the show?”
Danny said, “Only a few seconds of it to splice into the opening collage.”
At an off-key chord made worse by the out-of-synch keyboards and drums, Billie clenched her teeth. “Maybe Jet should work on tightening his sound instead of his abs.”
Glancing back, Justin’s eyes rounded, his face blanked.
Behind her the door slammed.
Billie whirled. “Who was that?”
Working the mouse, Danny said, “Jet must not have appreciated the joke.”
Frozen, she wrestled with whether to go after him. He must be angry, and she couldn’t blame him. Still, if she waited, explaining would be more difficult. She pushed open the door, but the walkway was deserted.
Justin laughed too emphatically. “Relax. I’m sure he’s heard that before.”
“More than he’d like,” Danny deadpanned.
She sighed, wondering how she might make up for the insult to Jet. “Does Jet normally come in while you’re working?”
Justin shrugged. “Once in a while.”
She wished she’d known that earlier. “Does he have any editorial control?”
Danny maneuvered the mouse. “Nah, he just comes in to hang out mostly.”
“He’s cool about it. Lets us do our work, no hassles.” Justin inclined his head. “I think he likes to get away from them.”
“The contestants? Or his manager and assistant?”
They exchanged knowing glances, and Justin said, “All of the above.”
“It must be exhausting, having people glomming onto him every waking moment.” Filming his every move. Vying for his attention. Snatching little bits of him away, slowly. She no longer wondered how he’d lost himself, but wondered how he managed to retain any semblance of himself at all.
Snickering, Justin fiddled with the boom mic. “If he hated attention, he wouldn’t have signed up for season two.” Bitterness edged his tone.
Did Billie sound so acidic when her jaded side surfaced? “I’d better get back. Nice to meet you.”
“See you soon,” Justin crooned.
Back in the cottage, she drafted an initial blog post touching on Jet’s pathetic concert performance as well as sympathy for his unenviable position. Having fallen from the heady heights of success, now vampires surrounded him, though he had precious little blood to spare. The Jet of today might appear fit and robust, but his music was neither. Both, she wrote, lacked the vibrant soul from their humble beginnings.
Re-reading it, she realized the post seemed overly harsh. Saving it as a draft on the blog site, she’d soften it later.
Damn. If she’d known he’d snuck in the editing room, she’d have curbed her comments. He’d gone out of his way yesterday to tend to her needs. Still, the magazine paid her to air the truth as she saw it. No matter how nice, Jet couldn’t be an exception. If his band hadn’t been so great in the beginning, their performance might not have seemed so terrible by contrast. And if he hadn’t heard her say it here, he’d have read it elsewhere. No matter how much she wanted to, she could not hold back to spare his feelings.
Still, she wanted the blog to be more than a dig. Jet could be a great musician if he’d focus on his craft instead of other