Chapter 12
"Hollywood is a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul." - Marilyn Monroe
Emily smoothed down the panels of her dress as she looked in the mirror, turning from side to side to ensure it looked good from each angle, watching as the handsewn sequins and beads shimmered in the hotel room's low light. Spencer's money came in handy sometimes, like when she needed this dress so she could accompany the band- and Paige- to an important party.
A week ago, she had been on a conference call with Spencer, Hanna, and Aria. After news of the band's brush with a mob scene began to trickle out, Spencer called the producer of Eastside Records, one of the largest labels in the country. He had already offered them a deal, but their agency refused it because it wouldn't allow the band a percentage of the profits, instead providing them with a stipend that Spencer thought was an insult. She believed Serendipity was worth much more, and she had wisely waited for an opportunity to prove it. And this was it. Now the producer wanted to fly the band down to Hollywood on his private jet so they could attend a "soiree" he was throwing before he agreed to the new terms Spencer proposed.
Hanna was practically bursting with excitement, and Emily could picture her bright grin while her hands flailed wildly as she spoke. "Man, Em, I so wish I was there. You're so lucky!"
"Paige cannot take some bimbo to this party. Make sure she doesn't." Spencer interjected, putting a damper on Emily's own excitement.
Emily blew out a breath, her stomach sinking. "We were just starting to get along." It was true. Paige was actually talking to her, and she wasn't looking at Emily with the same derision. Just yesterday they went to lunch together and discussed how Paige could get what she wanted- crowd participation- and how Emily could get what she wanted- protection for Paige- and they'd actually agreed to a plan of action without Paige becoming sullen. "Why do I always have to be the bad guy?" she lamented.
"Because when you do it, you somehow come out looking like the good guy."
She really sucked at telling Spencer no. "Okay."
"Em, just tell her you'll be her date. She'd be crazy not to want to be seen with you. Then you don't have to tell her not to invite anyone else." Aria's gentle voice provided a solution, but Emily wasn't sure Paige liked her quite that much.
"I don't think-"
Hanna squealed, "You get to buy a designer dress! Let's talk about who you're gonna wear…"
Now here Emily was, in this Mark Zunino gown, the limo on its way, and she was a jangle of nerves. A record deal was within reach, and yet Paige had been quiet when Emily sat them all down and talked about this party and what it meant for their careers. It wasn't that Paige said anything negative in regard to the terms of the contract- she seemed to like that part. It was her stoicism when Emily had mentioned going as her date, as if Emily was somehow meting out a punishment and Paige was forced to bear it silently, that was rattling Emily's composure now. Even on the plane that took them to Hollywood earlier that day, as everyone else oohed and aahed at the swanky interior, Paige had barely said a word, electing to sit in a corner and drink from a whiskey-filled tumbler.
Emily's teeth worried at her lip as she waited in the hotel suite she was staying in for the night. Would Paige be drunk and surly as she had been the first few weeks? Or would she be the Paige of late?
A knock at her door pulled her out of her musings at the mirror, and she walked quickly to answer it.
When Emily answered, Paige cursed internally. Fuck, how am I supposed to be good when she looks like that?
Emily was standing with one hand on the door, an off white halter dress hugging her body, its beading catching the light behind her, seemingly enveloping her in the sparkle of a just-cast magical incantation, and Paige was well and truly spellbound by the effect.
When Emily explained the producer's party, Paige understood that they were finally going to jump off the ledge the band had been trekking to, and then looking over, for three years. She couldn't help but be impressed. Emily and the HMF agency had really made things happen quickly, had capitalized on every opportunity, and now the band had one final show to put on, and while she wasn't singing, Paige knew she was expected to perform. That was fine. She could do that.
Then Emily told her she would be going with her as her date. That was not fine. She'd already gotten too friendly with her manager- was already being manipulated by her. To her chagrin, Emily had actually gotten her to agree to bring guards with her when she walked into the crowd, and all that had taken was a glance, a sweet little shrug, and the sound of concern in Emily's voice. Paige decided a little distance would help. Except here I am at her door, and she's wearing that dress.
"I realized I was right down the hall from you. I figured we could walk down together. Isn't that what dates do?" She leaned on the outside door frame, hands in the pockets of the black leather gasoline jacket she wore over a pair of similarly colored leather pants and boots, hair down and wild, looking like an oiled whip propped against the wall. "You did tell me you were going as my date because- apparently- I can't be trusted to get one on my own."
"Paige, I didn't mean to imply anything. It just made sense. This way, neither of us had to find a date."
"It's fine," Paige said, looking down and waving Emily quiet. "Are you ready?"
"Yeah, let me just get my clutch." Paige stayed out in the hall while Emily disappeared inside for a moment before coming back to the door.
"You look good." Paige said simply.
Emily gave a small smile. "Thanks. Don't put yourself out with compliments."
Paige chuckled, "Sorry. I'm not the one who writes our songs."
Emily absently took Paige's arm as they walked to the elevator, feeling the leather under her fingers that was already warmed from Paige's body heat. When they reached the limo downstairs, Carson and Julie, donned in a suit and red strapless dress respectively, were already in it.
As the pair ducked into the limo, Julie whistled and Carson said quietly from his corner, "Paige, you look like a night robbed of all its stars, and Emily, you look like you've stolen them."
Paige raised her eyebrow at a stunned Emily, "See why he's our song writer?"
The black limosine slunk into a space in the circular driveway of a house in the Hollywood hillside. The lights illuminating the house through the glass walls lit the yard around the massive structure, as if it were a lighthouse beacon warning ships of imminent danger.
Craig and Carrie were the last to join the rest of the band in the long car, and they were the first to exit, Craig taking his girlfriend's hand as she climbed out in her sky blue dress. Next were Carson and Julie, and then Paige stepped out, turning to help Emily out of the car. As Paige looked down and Emily looked up when their hands touched, warning bells clanged in Paige's ears. I need a distraction, Paige thought instantly.
With Emily on her arm once again, Paige led the group inside the house. They had barely crossed the threshold when a short rotund man waddled over to them. "You're here! Welcome to my home. I'm David Myers," He turned toward Paige, "and you must be Paige McCullers. Yes. Yes. I can see what all the fuss is about. And who is this beauty on your arm?"
Paige was a little taken aback at the attention, "This is our manager, Emily Fields."
David clapped his hands loudly, "Oh good! Then she won't mind if I whisk you away for a bit. Won't you dear?"
Emily stepped away and gestured with open hands, "Be my guest."
"Good. Good. I'll send my wife over to take you around to make introductions. She just loves your band."
Later in the night, Emily was standing on a third floor balcony, enjoying the breeze as it moved the night air around her and lifted her long loose tresses. David Myers' wife, a thoroughly plastic and yet kind woman, had taken the band members through the house, making introductions and small talk with a number of celebrities on the way. Emily had seen glimpses of Paige throughout the night, but she was always surrounded by people, and David corralled her like she was a prized bull to be strutted and shown off. She hoped Paige was okay.
Lost in the solitude and silence for a time, Emily suddenly heard footsteps behind her and turned to see the singer prowling over to her with one glass of clear liquid and another of amber liquor, and when Paige sidled up next to her at the railing, she could smell leather and whiskey and the unique spicy fragrance that she had come to associate with Paige.
"Gin and tonic," Paige said as she handed the glass to Emily.
Emily smiled appreciatively and took the drink. "How are you holding up?"
"Fine. I came up here to get a moment of peace and see you beat me to it." Paige looked out over the valley, taking in the lights scattered everywhere. "It's like looking inside a chest of glittering gold, isn't it?"
"Mmmm hmmm. It's really beautiful."
"I wonder," Paige began, "what will happen once we make it? Will I feel any less alone?"
Surprised, Emily turned to her and was struck once again with the sadness in the singer. Emily was beginning to understand the torment and isolation heaped upon Paige as their star, and she bore its weight for people who had so thoroughly betrayed her. No wonder Paige lashed out as she often did.
It made Emily's heart hurt, and she reached up to touch her palm against Paige's warm cheek. "Paige," she whispered.
"There you are!"
She dropped her hand at the loud voice behind her, both of them turning to see David Myers ambling over, a blonde bombshell on his arm. "I've been looking all over for you. I want you to meet Sierra. She's a huge fan of yours."
Paige put out her hand, and Sierra took it in both of hers, "I've been obsessed with your band ever since I saw that YouTube video. You made that song so hot."
Paige raised her eyebrows and downed the rest of her drink. Definitely too close to Emily, Paige thought. And here's the lucky distraction I need. "There's a lot of other things I can make hot," she quipped and took the girl by the waist as she led her away into the house.
David gave Emily a shrug and followed their path back into the house.
"Playing wingman tonight?"
Emily moved her gaze from the producer's retreating form toward Carrie, who was walking along the edge of the balcony, running her hand over the rail as she did so.
"Excuse me?"
"Paige. She's in rare form. When she's in a good mood like this, she's always looking for the next blonde stand-in to sleep with. I thought for a while she was after you, but it seems I was wrong." Carrie stopped and looked at Emily. "You, on the other hand, I'm not sure what you're after."
Emily bristled. "I'm not after anything."
Carrie laughed humorlessly. "Is that what you were talking about so intimately?"
Emily closed her mouth firmly, refusing to rise to the challenge. "You're wrong, Carrie. I'm their manager. They are my job. Paige is my job."
"Better tell her that before she thinks you actually like her."
Emily couldn't stop herself, "I'm not you. I would never intentionally do anything to hurt her."
Carrie's eyes sparked, "You don't know what you're talking about."
Dammit, what terrible luck had gotten her into this? She needed to extricate herself immediately before things escalated further. "You're right. I don't. Your jealousy is misplaced, though. Excuse me." With that, she turned away and walked back into the house, her own words stinging her eyes.
No, Paige wasn't just her job.
