Love Songs & Other Lies(73)
“Here I am,” I mutter, taking a seat in the lounge area. It’s identical to our bus, except in place of our small coffee table, there’s a large fold-down one that blocks the aisle and turns the front of the bus into a pseudo–conference room. There are papers spread across the table. They look like printouts of internet articles, and they’re slashed with yellow streaks of highlighter and adorned with pink and green sticky notes.
“What is all of this?” I take a seat at the table next to Priya, and slide one of the papers closer to me with the tip of my finger. When I see the title of the article, I can’t breathe.
Overnight House Fire Kills Two
I run my fingers over the rest of the papers, pulling each one aside, and they’re all the same. There are pictures of the house, the twin headshots of Cam’s mother and father, the school photos of Cam and Sienna. I knew they wanted to feature Cam’s past, but this isn’t what I had imagined. I didn’t think about all of the details being laid out for the American public. Or maybe I had been so mad, I just didn’t want to think about it.
“I’ve got footage from the girlfriend,” Kaley says, smiling proudly. “James emailed the raw footage this morning.”
“Girlfriend?” I’m confused about what they’re talking about.
“Sienna Walsh,” Kaley says, sneering at me like I’m stupid for not knowing the answer. Sienna. Of course.
I give Kaley a tight smile. “Ex-girlfriend.”
I can’t believe she’d do an interview against Cam’s wishes. But why wouldn’t she? Why would she assume that cameramen would show up and it wouldn’t be approved by Cam? He’s on national television; of course she’d think he had approved this.
“Why are you doing this?” I don’t think it through before the words tumble out of my mouth and roll around on the table like a handful of loose marbles.
Jenn looks up from the pile of papers in her hands. “I assume you saw the last performance.” It’s not a question. “It was their first time in the bottom three. They could have been cut. We need to drum up support, give them a boost.”
Kaley holds her laptop up for us all to see. “There’s a dicey-looking mug shot of Gary we can leak,” she says. “It’s from years ago, but you can tell it’s him.” Gary is the oldest performer in the competition. He’s in his late fifties with peppered hair. He’s not half bad looking for an old guy, and he’s been a fan favorite from the start.
Jenn is still looking at the pile of papers. “Do it.”
“But if Future X isn’t who the fans want—” I don’t know why they’re doing this. I can’t understand why they give a shit if it’s Your Future X who wins, or Caustic Underground, or Gary and his Merry Band of Old Guys (also known as Broken Sparrow).
“The fans don’t know what’s best for them,” Jenn says. “Sure, they love the band with the quirky sound now. Or the band of fifty-year-old accountants and financial advisors making a comeback. But six months from now, when their album drops? Fans won’t care. That loyalty goes out the window when they have to put their money where their mouth is.” She taps one fingernail roughly on the table, like she’s testing the shiny black lacquer. Tap. Tap. Tap. “Marketing. That’s what sells albums. Catchy lyrics, pretty faces.” She looks at me apologetically. “Don’t get me wrong, your band makes amazing music.”
Not my band.
“They should be the ones to win this,” Jenn says. “We just need to make sure America makes the right choice.” Tap. Tap. Tap. “This isn’t personal, this is just how it works. A high school love story … a love triangle … it’s not what we want to do, Vee, it’s just the business we’re in.” Tap. Tap. Tap. “Don’t you want your friends to win? That’s all we’re trying to do here.”
I nod. “When?” The next show is three days from now in Cincinnati.
“We need some time,” Jenn says. “We’ll run a special segment before next week’s show in Chicago.”
I cringe at the thought of this train wreck happening so close to home. “And what if there’s another way to create buzz?”
Jenn doesn’t look at me. “There’s not.”
“But if there was?”
“Like I said, I don’t care what does it. If you can somehow prove that Reese is the modern-day Mother Teresa, I’d be more than happy to run with that story.” She smiles and straightens her jacket before standing. “I’d be shocked. But I’d do it.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Prepare him.” Her face is sympathetic. “It’s going to come out eventually. Make him see it’s better this way. He can make the most of it and get something good out of all that pain and suffering.”
Something good. I can’t believe she just said it. I nod, and excuse myself, because she’s right about one thing; I do need to prepare Cam. I know what I have to do, and I’m going to need a lot of help to make it happen. I pull out my phone. Luckily, I know 1.5 million people who will be happy to help me, and all it takes is one posting:
SURPRISE LIVE SHOW FRIDAY IN CINCINNATI. VENUE ANNOUNCED AT 6:30.
CAM