A lot of changes ahead for our characters. Gird your loins.
Thank you, as always, to Di, Paige, Aileen and Lizzie. Girl powah.
Blackbird
Chapter 8
. . . . .
The comfortable motel room where Bella and Edward had experienced such joy and passion was small, but with the addition of her mother, it became too small.
Bella could tell her mother was uneasy with Edward in the room, that she didn't know how to act around him. Her mother also didn't like big dogs. While Jake was well-behaved and didn't bark or jump on people, she still eyed him warily. Her mouth and eyes were tense, and she didn't know where to look. She sat in one of the chairs at the bistro table, then immediately stood again and began wringing her hands.
Bella crossed her arms and sighed. Watching her mother squirm was tiresome, but part of her enjoyed it, because it was punishment for the part she'd played in Bella's breakdown. Maybe it was even part of the reason why her mother seemed so ill at ease. Bella was sure she'd realized by now that the fallout had little to do with Bella's actions on the stage that night.
"Did you follow the paps, or did you bring them here?" Edward demanded in a sharp tone, and Bella's eyes flew wide.
Her mother's hands rose to her chest defensively. "The motel's name is a hashtag on the clip," she answered faintly, obviously taken aback by the question.
"Fuck," Edward said succinctly, and raked his fingers through his hair. Although part of him was glad Renee hadn't betrayed Bella, he also disliked Renee's hold over her. It would have been easier, at least to help direct Bella's anger, if she had brought the paps.
"What are we going to do?" Renee asked Bella, making her eyebrow rise.
Her mother was definitely out of sorts, because she had never asked such a thing before. She'd always known exactly what to do, and when to do it. Opposing opinions, anything that might derail her plan or idea, were avoided or ignored. And that included Bella's thoughts on anything. So, the fact that she was asking for Bella's opinion now, revealed how lost she truly was.
Bella tried not to gloat as she reached out for Edward's arm, then moved her hand down to clasp his. "Can I have a few minutes alone with her?" she asked.
His answering look was dark and skeptical. "There's nothing she can say to you that she can't say to both of us," he began loud enough for her mother to hear. He even gave her mother a hard glance. "But yes, I'll give you some time. Half an hour, OK?"
They kissed deeply, uncaring that her mother was there, deliberately flaunting their relationship. Her mother had to learn to accept that Edward was part of her life. He wasn't going anywhere, so she'd better get used to the idea of him.
After Edward and Jake left, Bella moved over to the bed and curled a leg under her butt. Sitting at the table would have been too conciliatory. Resentful and a bit fearful about why her mother was really there, she bit at her thumbnail, studying the beach outside the window. Bella felt split into two: the obedient girl who'd always given way to her mother, and the woman who was still learning how to find her own way.
Surprising her, her mother came to sit on the bed beside her. "You look happy," she ventured, probing.
Bella snorted. "You think? No one here to tell me how to look, or what to do, or to call me names. Go figure."
Her mother inhaled deeply, her features pinched, then she pulled her iPad out of her purse. "Look, I know I haven't always been fair to you. I'm sorry, but you have to know that I always had your best interests in mind."
Anger made Bella go stiff. "I'm not sure you know what those are," she snapped.
"Maybe," her mother admitted, but the comment was dismissive because she was fiddling with her iPad.
Frustration tightened Bella's throat, and her shoulders sagged. Her mother couldn't give Bella her undivided attention even now? Obviously, she didn't care how upset Bella was, but it was par for the course. Her mother's personality had always eclipsed hers, and she didn't have the first clue how to fight it. Especially since her mother seemed so utterly unfazed now.
What was she even looking for? Bella's latest popularity stats on Twitter? Her mother was great at multitasking, but this kind of inattention while they were supposed to be talking was insane, even for her. Had she missed the part where Bella hadn't returned any of her frantic phone calls, or responded to any of her texts? Was Renee being insensitive on purpose?
"Here," her mother said, then set the iPad down on the bed between them. On it, Bella's performance at the cantina was playing. Of course, it wasn't Bella herself who was important right now; it was her clip.
With a critical eye, Bella studied the girl at the microphone. From the angle it was shot, it looked like the barman had taken it, and had done a damn good job, too. She saw the tears on her cheeks, and could clearly hear the agony in her voice. As she watched herself sing, as she realized how enthralling the performance actually was, Bella relaxed a little. The remembered power and freedom of singing something her way filled her with a sense of pleasure and validation.
"Blackbird was the first song you ever sang," her mother said softly, as if she was deep in thought.
It wasn't a good memory for Bella, though. "I know. My first talent contest," she answered dryly.
"No," her mother said matter-of-factly. "When you were seven months old, we were living in this awful hovel of an apartment. There was a hole in the door, and the air conditioning never worked right."
Bella turned her way as she spoke, seeing the faraway look in her eyes. It was an unexpected glimpse into her past; her mother didn't often speak about it because she hated it. Also, because when it came right down to it, Renee Swan was a very private person.
"I was making you breakfast, and you were lying on the floor behind me screaming. Blackbird came on the radio and I turned it up."
Bella gritted her teeth and scowled at her.
"I wasn't trying to drown you out," her mother added quickly. "The words were just . . . how I felt at the time. I was seventeen when I had you, Bella, and my mom and dad wanted no part of you. Or of me, anymore. And your father didn't give a shit about us, either. So there I was, exactly where they all said I'd be, because I'd decided to have you, to keep you. Then, Blackbird came on the radio," she said and smiled, and Bella was shocked to see tears in her eyes.
"You started singing. Not the words, but the melody. Clear as day. I was so shocked I started laughing. And that made you laugh, and then we were both laughing."
After a moment, she turned to face Bella, and her expression was one of fierce entreaty. "Right then, it felt like you and me against the world. It still feels like that."
Bella looked away. It had never felt like that to her. The way she remembered it was more like her mother always shoving her face first into a crowd. Being recognized, being famous and successful, had never been Bella's idea of fun. It had seemed like a kind of torture, always having to practice singing, or to go on talent auditions. She'd never had enough time to just play or be, and she'd felt alone and ignored because of it.
"Let's go back and finish it, Bells. We can't give up. Not after everything we've been through."
Bella made a face as her mother revealed her agenda. Oh, she was good, using a past memory to get Bella to do something now. Renee should have been a lawyer. She was good at persuasion, and even better at arguing. But had she forgotten that Brave Records had canceled their contract?
"I don't have a deal," Bella said pointedly. "I'm a goddamn cliché, remember?"
Unrepentant, the barb missing its target entirely, her mother shook her head. "Not anymore," she said and tapped the iPad. "That clip's got 600,000 hits so far."
Bella's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"
Her mother's expression was smug. "And, Laurent called me. I let it go to voicemail. Turns out they still want to release the album after all."
The label had thrown her away like yesterday's garbage, but now they wanted her back? Bella's shock grew into a sense of excitement, followed by profound relief. It was proof that Brave Records liked what she'd sung more than they hated Saturday night's performance. It meant that maybe she could start to do things her way, that she didn't have to look and act like a sex plaything just to be successful.
Emotion began pushing against her chest, and Bella released it with laughter. A few days ago, she'd been at her lowest, believing her career was over, feeling as if nothing was within reach. Now, it seemed as if all the heartache had been building up to break her, just so she could sing that song by chance in a remote Mexican cantina. It defied logic. It didn't seem possible, but it was.
As she sat there on the bed laughing, another string of lyrics came to her mind.
As I fall without my wings, oh, how the blackbird will sing . . .
Over the next few minutes, Bella and her mother bonded over the only thing they had in common lately: the album. Only two songs featured her with Kid Culprit, and they were two she'd never sing again. But the rest of the album was all her.
Oh, God, she needed to finish the blackbird song, needed to get it on the album before it was released.
"We'll make it happen," her mother told her as the door opened and Edward returned.
Barely hiding a grimace, her mother pushed up from the bed with a heavy sigh. "I'll wait for you outside. The car's just down the street," she said.
The limo, she means. Because she doesn't drive anywhere.
Bella's heart jumped into her throat. "I'm not ready to leave yet," she told her mother.
"Bella, we've got a meeting with the label tomorrow morning," her mother pressed. "You can't miss it. Not this one."
Tears filled her eyes.
Timing. It was always timing that seemed to ruin everything—this time, her vacation with Edward. Oh, what she would give to have another couple of days with him.
Slouching, she nodded and blinked away the tears. Now wasn't the time to fall apart, not when she stood to gain what she'd been working for finally.
Bella didn't raise her gaze until after her mother had left. When she did, and she saw Edward's torn, hurt expression, it took everything inside her not to cry. That she was hurting him sent waves of pain through her chest, but what was she supposed to do?
"I needed a pause button," she began carefully. "That's what you did. You put my life on pause." That wasn't all he'd done, she knew . . . "But we can't hide here forever."
Edward's face went carefully blank. "I guess I was just drinking some happily ever after bullshit."
Stung, heart plummeting, she stood from the bed and went to him. "We can still have happily ever after."
"Yeah? When?" he asked, flinching back from her and raising a hand to his hair. The wind had blown it out of its customary side part, making him look rakish. "Because obviously nothing has changed. You're still a slave for your mother, for the label."
Bella swallowed a gasp. How could he say that? She was no one's slave! And she already felt as different on the inside as she looked on the outside. He was so good at seeing the real her. How could he not see her now?
"Everything's different," she insisted. "I feel like I can finally do things the right way. My way."
His beautiful eyes were clouded. "What about your mom? After everything that's happened, I can't believe you're going back with her now."
She wasn't going back with her mother; she was going back with her manager. It was what Bella was used to. But, now that they knew how popular her version of Blackbird was, her manager would go to bat for Bella's real dream: to sing what she wanted to sing.
Bella caught his hand in hers. "I'm listening to my manager, that's all. This is my career, Edward. And she gets it now, too."
"Really?" He didn't look convinced. "Does she know about your box of lyrics?"
She didn't have to answer; he saw it in her face. Her box of lyrics was personal, not something she'd ever share on a whim. And especially not with her mother, whose sentimentality could be measured by the thimbleful.
"I give it a week," Edward said quietly. "You'll be back in a weave, head down, ass up."
Bella released his hand in shock and anger. "I appreciate your honesty, Officer."
The anger covered the hurt that he didn't seem to believe in her anymore.
"Shit, Bella, I'm trying to help you!"
"Help me what?" she cried. "I'm fine now! Stop trying to be the damn hero all the time!"
Which made him flinch, and Bella wished she could take back the words. She loved that he was her hero, that he was a hero, and she didn't want to change that. But she also didn't need help; she was better already. Couldn't he see that?
She took a breath, struggling to pull herself together, then stepped close to take both his hands in hers. "Edward, I've been working for this my entire life. What else am I supposed to do? I have to go," she whispered with a catch in her voice. "Come with me. Please, I want you to be a part of it."
His eyes were on their hands, and his face was still stiff. Seeing him that way hurt, and her throat grew tight. She didn't understand what was going on. Why was it all falling apart?
"We need each other," she said, and his gaze rose to hers.
It was too empty, though, his eyes were too empty, so she tried to let him see what she was feeling. She tried to bare her soul with her eyes.
Please see me, Edward.
His thumbs swept across the back of her hands once, then he released her.
"You don't need me," he said, and his tone was flat and utterly without character. "And I'm good."
Bella felt a sensation of falling through water, as if she was being sunk by an anvil. He'd just completely and cleanly shut down, then shut her down. There was nowhere else to go. He was giving up on her. And giving up on them.
She turned before he could see the tears; she'd cried enough in front of him.
But it didn't stop the yearning to want to beg him, to fall to her knees and make him see her, to try to make him change his mind. His touch had often been enough to take away the pain, and the thought of going on without it, without him, was terrifying.
He'd never promised her anything, but Bella didn't think it had been necessary. She'd been prepared to build her world around him, and thought that it had been the same for him. Hadn't the way they were together been everything? Was it all just a dream?
As she grabbed her purse and duffle bag, she waited for him to say he'd made a mistake. When she stepped into her shoes, she hoped he'd come to her. With every move she made that brought her closer to the door of the little motel room, she prayed for his touch.
Don't let me leave this way.
But he did, and she did.
. . .
Edward paced outside the police department's building with impatience as he waited for Rosalie.
It felt as if he was angry at the world lately.
Bella going back to her mother and her popstar life as if nothing at all had happened was the first straw. If she really didn't think she still needed help after her breakdown, if she still believed things for her were different, then Edward had no hope of reaching her.
Or, of being with her.
He'd walked along the beach after she'd left, trying to come to terms with her decision to leave. He could tell that Bella hadn't confronted her mother, that she hadn't shared her pain. While he suspected the woman would have been able to hide it well, Renee hadn't worn a look of anything even close to remorse. She'd been stiff in her actions around him, but she hadn't acted stiff with distress. It had seemed like business as usual between her and Bella.
Bella was letting her off the hook. Again. For whatever reason.
It had hurt like hell, letting Bella go, but he couldn't be with someone who wanted to remain a victim. He didn't think he had the tolerance or patience to deal with that kind of ongoing situation, not even for Bella. It would drive him crazy. His life was about helping people, but not perpetual victims.
And yeah, the hero remark had cut. After everything that had gone wrong for her, all those times when he'd been there to help her, it had felt as if she'd slapped his face. But it woke him, because she'd been right.
She did need him, but he couldn't be her crutch, not the way she was right now. He wanted to be more than that to her, but until she admitted she needed help and got it, he couldn't be. Until she faced whatever it was that had made her want to give up on life, until she faced her mother, until Bella took control of her own life, Edward didn't see how a relationship between them could work.
Yet, in spite of his misgivings about her horrible situation and the pain she had to deal with, she'd somehow crawled her way into his heart. He told himself it was probably the way she'd fallen into his castle moat on the beach—the way her fingers had just ghosted across his chest on the way down—the girl had known she was falling, and yet she hadn't taken him down with her.
Because she was used to falling on her own.
He'd get over her, Edward thought as he rubbed at the ache in his chest. There was no other solution. Bella had made her decision.
A sound to the right caught his attention, and he saw Rosalie climb out of her car. His father was with her.
Edward stiffened.
So Rosalie had been discussing plans with his father? Without him.
Carlisle Cullen might have brought Rosalie on board, but Edward realized he'd have to have a talk with her; it was his life, his candidacy. Not his father's.
His relationship with his father was another straw.
Things were strained between them because Edward had stopped returning his calls. Discussions between the two of them seemed to devolve continually into Edward's public persona, and how he was destroying it. Until his father acknowledged that Edward's life was his own, there wasn't anything else to do but keep him at arm's length.
"Councilman Russell is resigning tomorrow," Rosalie said as she drew near.
So that was the reason for the impromptu meeting.
"We'll need to announce your candidacy by Friday."
"What about the pastors?" Edward asked. "You said before we couldn't win without them."
Rosalie smirked. "The rapper called your girlfriend a bitch and you kicked his ass. You lost the church, but you gained the youth vote. You're that candidate with swagger."
It was another example of how perception skewed. No matter what Edward did or didn't do, there would be a group of people cheering him on. So he might as well do what he wanted and make himself happy—like giving in to a moment of anger and punching a little piece of shit rapper.
His father was frowning. "I'm still not so sure that's the angle we want to go with."
"It's the only angle we have," she replied, then she looked at Edward. "It's risky, but it's your call."
Because people readily recognized him now, it could be a good or a bad thing, depending on the voter. It concerned him, but after the showdown on National TV with Kid, the plan for the seat had taken on a fatalistic view in his mind. Edward couldn't be who he wasn't, so if it was meant to be that he won, he would. And if not, then so be it. There would be other opportunities, he was sure of it.
"I think—"
"Let's run with it," Edward said firmly, interrupting his father. "Let's see what happens." He turned to his father, briefly acknowledging him. "Dad." Then he turned and left them.
His life didn't depend on only one outcome, which was something his father didn't understand. For his father, it was do or die, but Edward didn't operate that way.
Sometimes, you had to leave it up to chance.
. . .
Bella was nervous. Five minutes of silence and counting.
The Brave Records team, who handled PR, distribution, social media, artwork, and God knew what else, sat around the conference table with her and her mother. But everyone was so quiet. Their faces were impassive, revealing nothing as they stared down at their phones or pads.
What did it mean?
Where the heck was Trey? Where was Laurent?
Surreptitiously, she pulled out the page with her song lyrics and studied it for courage.
As I dive in without my wings
at the speed of light,
I'm flying to my end
as I fall without my wings.
It was almost done, unless something else occurred to her while they worked out the melody. She thought it should begin slow and dark, like the Nina Simone song, since it was based on it.
"What's that?" her mother asked.
The door burst open, and Trey breezed in with his assistant and Laurent following.
"That clip is so official, Isa," Trey said, and took his seat at the head of the table. His face was open and excited, and Bella smiled in relief. If the president of Brave Records liked her song, she was in.
"Two million hits since yesterday morning. What!" he exclaimed, and slapped the table for emphasis. "I need your album out, like, yesterday. So we've got all hands on deck."
It was now or never. "It's not done," she said, surprising herself. And everyone else, as they all turned to look at her.
"What's not done?" Trey asked.
"I, er, wrote a song and I want it on the album," she said, stumbling at first, gaining confidence as she went along.
No one moved; the table held its breath. Bella felt her mother's gaze like a burn against the side of her face, and her hands curled into fists.
"Why you playing with me?" he replied archly.
She leaned forward in her chair. "Trey, everybody says I'm special because I have this voice. But I'm just saying what everybody else wants me to say. I need to say something."
He sighed and spread his arms. "Look, I was an artist, so I respect that, for real. But . . . the CD's been pressed, artwork's finished. It's done and done."
Bella sat back, but could feel that her expression hadn't changed. Her hands were still fisted; she was on a roll, and she wasn't going to give up on this now.
And Trey saw it.
"But you know what?" he asked with a sigh. "When the album blows up, we'll do a special re-release and drop your song on it. Cool?"
No.
And she was going to tell him so, too, when her mother suddenly spoke.
"Um, either you put her song on the record or you release it without an artist."
Bella's head swung her way in surprise, and she saw that her mother had her game face on as well. When she could call the shots, she was in her element.
"Come on, Renee, it's all love in here," Trey said smoothly. He wasn't easily taken by surprise, but Bella could see he was disturbed. "What's with the idle threats?"
Her mother crossed her legs. "There's nothing idle about it."
"Deals can be a little complicated," Laurent drawled while glancing at her mother. "But, I can assure you, she has no outs."
"Actually, we do," her mother began, and pulled paperwork out of her briefcase, then set it on the table facing Trey. "You see, the morning after the concert, this came through to my email. It's a letter of termination."
Trey's expression darkened. "We didn't send a letter of termination."
"That was sent by mistake," Laurent said hastily.
Trey swiveled to face him. "Excuse me?"
Laurent began to back-pedal fast. "I-I drafted it as a precaution. I-I left it on my desk," he ground out. "My assistant must have sent it. It was a mistake, Isa, I apologize."
Her mother was looking smug. "I know the legalese can be a bit complicated, Laurent," she said loftily. "But, the thing is, once that signed document from you came through to my email and it was received, it was legally binding. So as of now, there is no deal."
Bella was having trouble catching her breath. She felt as if she could stand up and scream in happiness.
"Do you have any idea how much this is gonna cost me?" Trey asked her mother.
"Yes," her mother answered. "But I think Laurent's salary will just about cover it."
Bella couldn't believe her moxie. As frightening as it was, it was also awe-inspiring. Her mother had dressed in all black today. Hair in an elegant chignon, with minimal makeup; she'd come ready for battle.
"Trey, look," Laurent began. "I can fix this."
"If you want another chance, you can buy one for 200k," Trey snapped at him.
In response, Laurent shot a glare at her mother, then climbed to his feet, yanking his suit coat off the back of his chair. No one spoke as his heavy footfalls fell across the floor. The door closed behind him with a bang, and Bella straightened. Since they'd won that argument, she was going to ask for something else.
"I have another request," she said, and Trey sighed. "I want the two songs with Kid Culprit removed from my album. I don't want to be associated with him any longer."
Trey raked his fingers across his face. "And the hits keep coming," he groaned.
"I know you get it, though," Bella pressed. "I didn't do anything wrong during that performance. He did."
"Fine," he gritted. "Kid needs to be penalized, anyway."
Bella exhaled shakily. Another victory. "Thank you," she whispered.
"Now," Trey barked at her, "I'm gonna need you to do something for me, and I ain't asking."
Bella nodded apprehensively. There was always a price.
He threw a magazine onto the table. As it spun and came into focus, she saw it was the Enquirer. On the cover was a terrible, sad-looking photo of her with the heading that read: DEPRESSED, Isa Jumps? What really happened?
Thanks to Kid's outburst during the concert, the ramifications of that night were catching up to her again.
"End this, Isa," Trey demanded. "Definitively. Make the statement, once and for all: You love life. It was an accident. A moment of weakness. Move the hell on."
Bella almost blanched, just barely hiding the spark of pain that Trey's words caused. Because he was so much on her mind, at first, she thought Trey wanted her to get rid of Edward.
But no, the article was about her attempted jump. It included small insert photos of Edward, and other so-called "witnesses."
The hazy pain of that night on the balcony played out in lightning speed through her mind, sending a pang of horror through her chest. She remembered Edward's fingers, hard around her wrist, the look of terror and fierce entreaty on his face.
He'd saved her life, but she'd come so close to falling.
Would facing it publicly be so awful? Either she could continue pretending and lie about what really happened, which Edward would hate, or she could admit it, which her mother would hate.
What did she want to do?
Edward's quote came to her mind: Truth is the only safe ground to stand upon.
Admitting the truth about that night might be freeing, but it was also terrifying. People would never trust her again, would they? And she'd always have the suicide stigma attached to her name.
But she already did.
Bella was used to avoiding or ignoring what made her uncomfortable. Painful things were difficult, if not impossible, to talk about. But she was slowly realizing that until she faced what happened that night, it was always going to haunt her.
Outwardly, she was calm and smiling, nodding her acceptance, but on the inside, her mind was racing.
Could she really admit that she'd tried to commit suicide? Was it possible to admit such a thing, tie it with a bow, then move on successfully? What would people think?
She knew she shouldn't care what others thought, but she was in the public eye. Either they'd be understanding, or they wouldn't, but they'd definitely be judgmental. Cringing inwardly, she imagined the horrible tweets and the headlines to come.
Isa lied! The rumors are true! She did try to commit suicide!
Depressed popstar really did try to kill herself!
Even success wasn't enough to keep Isa from jumping!
Then again, people loved a story of triumph. And her story would have it all—pathos, danger, betrayal, pain, lies, and truth, and a woman who was finally learning how to climb above it all. Emotionally and mentally, she almost felt as if she were there—right on the cusp of a major triumph with herself and her career.
She wasn't only a popstar, she was human, and she made mistakes, just like everyone else.
Trembling with nerves and excitement, she thought that maybe, just maybe, she could start there.
When she was ready.
