:Disclaimer:I do not own, nor am I affiliated with Instant Star. The title "Same Old Song and Dance", I got from an Aerosmith song. No infringement intended.
"Same Old Song and Dance"
Thud, thud, thud. The noise rouses me and I sit up, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. Turning to the widow, I see small pebbles being thrown at the glass, bouncing off, making the soft thuds. A smile creeps onto my face as I suddenly realize what today is—it's Saturday and not just any Saturday, I'll have you know, but the Saturday that I, Jude Harrison, play the rock concert I've always dreamed of right here in Toronto.
"Never let it be said that you're not subtle, Jamie," I say, leaning out the window, beaming down at him. He's wearing a stupid hat, but it's a stupid hat I picked up for him while on the road, so it's all cool.
"I try," he replies, smiling up at me all cute like.
I missed him while I was away. I truly did, but something, something's just not right anymore, and I don't know what it is. I can't exactly tell him this, though.
Does my nose deceive me or do I smell blueberry pancakes? I follow my nose down into the kitchen where Mom is cooking just what I suspected. They smell yummy. I smile at her, "did I ever tell you how much I miss your cooking, Mom?"
"Only every day since you got home, honey," she told me, smiling sweetly.
Jamie came in, sniffing up into the air like my dog regularly does, and a grin spread onto his face. "Pancakes?"
"Blueberry," I reply.
Now, nothing can taint this moment, nothing but her. She came down the stairs with her bleach blonde hair a mess, her pajamas rumpled, and her night mask askew. If only he could see her like that. I laugh at my own bitter thoughts. Should I worry about myself?
"Jamie, take off the hat," she says, her voice tired and no nonsense.
"Sadie, did you take your antihistamines this morning?" I shoot.
"What are you talking about?"
"I just think you need something to treat that bitch of your's."
Well done, me. I can pat myself on the back for that one.
"Jude, language," Mom hisses, serving pancakes onto the plates for everyone."And Sadie, what's wrong with you? Jamie is company."
"Jet lag, Mom," the monster replies, yawning madly.
Sadie had returned from Italy grumpy last night. Mom, Dad, and I were greeted oh so sweetly by her. It was rather disturbing, actually. She looked like a zombie, mumbled at the airport, and then, once in the car, all she did was complain. It made me want to take my headphones and shove them up her nose, which I almost did, were it not for the fact that I really like them very much, the headphones, I mean.
"I think I'm going back to bed," Sadie yawned. "I haven't an appetite."
Little Miss Priss isn't hungry? What is wrong with her?
"Sadie, your sister's concert is this afternoon in the park." Mom tries, "don't you think you should stay up and get ready to go to it?"
"No," Sadie shook her head. She pulled her night mask back over her eyes and felt her way up the stairs, bumping into things.
"Jude, do you know what's wrong with Sadie?"
"Mom, I haven't known what's wrong with Sadie for several months now." Did I sound bitter? Good.
By this time, I'm shoveling into my pancakes, as I try to think of Sadie as little as possible. While on the road, I had a lot of time not to think about Sadie, or him. Good times, amigo.
I tried to make breakfast stretch out as long as possible, you know? I took two minutes buttering my toast alone, I asked for refills on my orange juice twice, and I had seconds on pancakes. Yes, I did feel like crap when I was finished, but it was a good sort of crap.
"About time to get going, Judester?" Jamie asks, looking at his watch. "It's eleven o'clock."
"I was supposed to be there at ten," I reply, smiling. My mission was accomplished.
My rationale tells me that if I try to procrastinate as long as possible, it means I'll have to see him as little as possible at the show. See? I know what I'm doing...in theory.
Jamie drives me to the show; on the way, we pick up Kat, who finally returned from New York. Her internship went well and now she's even more trendy than she already was, but on the plus side, she's come back with loads of ideas for my wardrobe.
Driving up to the park, we can see the big stage being sat up. It's the sort of stage I've always dreamed of playing at. I cannot help but smile, eagerly anticipating the moment when I'm up there, singing my heart out to "24 Hours".
Darius is waiting for me on the side of the stage. He's talking on his cell phone, his left hand waving madly in the air, articulating whatever his words cannot say to a person who cannot see him. The scene makes me smile.
When he sees me, Darius isn't smiling. He hangs up on whoever was on the phone with him and he walks over to the passenger seat of Jamie's car, looking down at me, scowling even. He thinks he's tough; I'm tougher.
I roll down the window, humoring him.
"Jude, do you know what time it is?" he asks.
Yes, I know what time it is, Darius. That's why I'm here right now.
"Uh, yeah," I reply.
"I didn't know I had a diva on my hands," he replies dryly. "Get out of the car, Jude. We need to do a sound check on you."
Rolling my eyes, I get out of the car, and allow Darius to drag me by the wrist like a toddler to the stage. I'm handed my guitar, and a mic is placed on me. I'm thrust onto stage where Spiederman and the band are waiting on me. We begin to play and I lose myself in the music, my eyes, being hardly open as I play. We were playing "Criminal".
No sooner than I began, I'm pulled off the stage by the wardrobe lady and clothes are thrown at me, as I'm shoved into my "dressing room". Hair and make up take two hours. Two hours well spent, I might add, because they took me from Just-Woke-Up-Jude to Glammed-Up-Jude. I'm a fan of glam rock, sue me.
My concert begins at three and a local band called "Downtown Sasquatch" opens for me. They're pretty cool, from what I can hear of them, but it's hard to hear, being back stage with a thousand people buzzing around me like worker bees.
Pretty soon, I get a "your on, Jude," from one of the workers and SME and I troop onto stage as the curtains are down.
I get my start-of-the-show jitters as the curtain slowly rises and smoke fills up the air in front of me. Speed and the guys begin to play and so do I, strumming the chords on my guitar. I begin to sing "24 Hours".
When the smoke clears, I see that there are very few people in the audience, only about twenty, when I'm told the venue was expecting about five hundred people. I keep my face unreadable as I sing, but on the inside, I'm plagued. My concert hardly sold any tickets. What was up with that? During my solo, I chance a glance back at the guys and they are just as confused as me.
What is going on?
After the concert was over, the curtains went down and I march back stage, going to find Darius.
"Mind explaining the lack of audience, Darius?" I asked, raising my eyebrow. He was supposed to be my manager; he's supposed to be watching out for me.
"It's very simple, Jude," he said, looking me dead in the eyes, "you've lost your hometown audience. We're trying to rectify that."
"You can't be serious," I protest, looking from him to everyone else in the room.
Someone I expected to see sooner walks out of the shadows where I can properly see his face. It's Tommy.
"He is serious, Jude."
"And that's why we're getting you back to the studio, pronto, Jude," Darius said.
Back to the studio means only one thing. It means: back to Tommy, which means, back to drama. Oh, goody.
I hadn't been to G Major since June and when I get back, things have changed, and when I say changed, I mean they are so not the same anymore. Georgia and E.J. are gone. Darius bought the label from Georgia, got rid of her, and E.J. He says it's just business, but my keen rock star senses tell me that something is rotten at G Major Records. Furthermore, I don't even know why Darius wants G Major. His own label is more popular. I happen to think he's just being spiteful.
Tommy won't say anything against Darius.
"What is wrong with you?" I ask as he drives me to the studio the next day. "Normally you're pretty gun-ho about speaking out against Darius."
"The less you know about this, the better."
"I would've thought that with all that's happened between us, you wouldn't treat me like a child, Tommy. But, you know me, I'm wrong eighty per cent of the time."
"That's not it, Jude," he said. "It's just complicated."
"So, I'm stupid?"
"No, but you're hostile. Calm down, take a deep breath, and actually listen," he said this so loudly, I just wanted to hit him. I really did and I'm not a hitter. "We have got a job to do and it is very important that we do it. There can't be any slacking off on our part, not now."
I roll my eyes and shake my head as he drives at dangerous speeds towards the studio.
"So, how about this: I thought that you were right, but it wasn't meant to be, what you did last night, unwillingly, you set me free," I sing.
"I don't like it," Tommy says, standing up, rubbing his face, stressed.
We're thinking up lyrics to my new single, but we can't agree with each other. I'm right though. Whatever it is, I'm right. Tommy's wrong. I like that dynamic.
He makes me want to scream. Seriously, he makes me want to scream. He makes me want to yell real loud. I'm so frustrated. I need coffee. The goffer brought me coffee, it tastes like dirt though. I can't stand to drink it. I actually had him take it back.
See, this is what Tommy does to me. He makes me be rude to innocent goffers. I'm not normally a rude person, either.
"Okay, how about this: you think you're right, but you never really are, say good night, you've left me scarred," I suggest. I sing it with anger. He's pissed me off.
"Are all of your songs about me!" he asks, and very angrily, I might add. I think I've struck a nerve, yay!
"Not all of them," I shoot back at him, standing up. My face is probably red; I could care less.
"You're actually admitting it?"
"Well, less face it, you're very inspirational!"
He throws down his pencil and says, "whatever I've done, just get it out your system. Scream about it. Right here, right now. We can't work if you're mad at me."
"You just want me to get this out of my system?" I ask, appalled. That was a really appalling comment. "You want me to get you going out with my sister behind my back out of my system, since betrayal is so easy to get over."
"I wasn't betraying you, Jude."
"Yes, you were!" Oh, God. I'm crying now.
"You don't own me, Jude." He says through gritted teeth. I really have struck a nerve.
"I never said I did!"
"Good!"
"Okay!" Where was he going with that anyway?
The door opens.
"What's going on in here?" It's Darius. He walks in and folds his arms. He looks almost tough.
"Nothing," Tommy says.
I try to quit crying. It's so embarrassing. Crying in front of Darius is embarrassing. Whatever cred I had with him has gone out the window now.
"Are you sure? Because there seems to be a problem here." He's stern. How very him of him.
"It's fine," I say, making my voice sound as even as possible. God, how embarrassing is this?
"I want to see something on my desk by six tonight." I don't think Darius even cares, not really. He just cares about the money I bring in.
Tommy nods silently and I don't do anything. I just stare at the ground, trying to play it cool, but who am I kidding? I am so far from cool right now.
Darius exits, leaving me and Tommy alone. That's probably not the best idea.
"How about we just work on the melody right now?" Tommy asks quietly, breaking the ear-splitting silence.
I pick up my electric guitar and play the most angry tune that can flow through my fingers. I've been kick-started, my fire has been fueled. There's no way Tommy is coming out of this session feeling good.
My solos speak volumes of anger. I'm glad.
We work out the notes, he writes them down and he finally says, "I like it."
"I'm happy we can agree on something." I say, setting the guitar back down.
I fall into a chair, feeling drained, feeling dead. I wish today would've gone better. Tommy just has to get to me, it seems like.
"Have you talked to Sadie recently?" he asks. I wonder where this comes from. Probably from a place I don't want to go...
"Not since yesterday morning, why?"
"No reason."
"Oh, come off it, Tommy. There's a reason. There's always a reason, so rather than finding out later rather than sooner, just tell me now."
"She broke up with me."
The words took a while to sink in. "She..."
"Broke up with me, yeah."
"Why?"
"I don't know," he shook his head sadly.
This is about all I can take. I need to get out. "I'm sorry, Tommy."
I make an excuse to get out, something about having a cake in the oven at home. That worried him, since I'd been there for a few hours, so he wasn't offended about me skipping out.
I go to Kat's house and I cry. She doesn't ask why, she doesn't need to know, and after everything we've been through, she's still there for me. That is the true test of friendship.