Welcome to the next chapter! It's a whammy.
As always, thank you to Di, Paige, Aileen and Lizzie.
They help make my words shine.
Blackbird
Chapter 9
. . . . .
On the way home from the record label meeting, Bella's mood soured. As the car moved along Laurel Canyon's dips and curves, her eyes filled with tears she quickly blinked away.
Edward would have been proud of her today.
Oh, how she wished she could call him and share her news, which was kind of sitting in her stomach like a rock right now. It felt as if she was coming down from a big high when she was all alone. As if she had something big to tell, but she was gagged. As if the pain could only be released by sharing.
But there was no one to share her good news with.
She didn't have friends; she had assistants—someone to drive her, feed her, dress her, make her look pretty, clean her house. Why didn't she have any friends?
Because you were never allowed to act your age and play with them.
It was time to get out there and start finding them. Somehow. Maybe she could start with Dani, who was one of her backup singer-dancers. Dani had always seemed friendly and approachable—at least she smiled and said more than just a hello to Bella.
Beside her, her mother was talking on the phone to someone about merchandising strategies. Her voice was almost cheerful, and the sound grated on Bella's nerves. Her mother was in her element, celebrating her win by reaching out to strangers. Ignoring her client. Her daughter.
It was nothing new, Bella realized, but maybe, for the first time, she began to resent the status quo. Her mother had never focused on her daughter; her focus had been on raising a star. Bella didn't think she needed a mother as she used to, but she disliked being ignored. Then again, she didn't want to talk to her manager. They were together all the time, and it was tiresome never talking about anything but gigs, songs, albums, or image.
As the conversation wore on, Bella pulled out her phone.
Could she message Edward? Would he mind?
She stared down at his name—Officer Hero—and the message balloon icon.
I miss you.
Then, she backspaced across each letter.
She couldn't message him. He'd made it clear he didn't want anything more to do with her, that she didn't need him and he didn't need her.
How was she supposed to move on without him, though? A sense of fear and panic filled her heart, which scared her. She shouldn't need someone that much. It wasn't healthy. She should be able to stand on her own, be happy on her own.
But how could she not need Edward? He was as beautiful on the inside as he was on the outside. He'd seen the worst in her, yet still cared about her. Bella had felt free to be herself, had felt happy and safe at his side. But now that he'd taken himself away, it was as if she'd lost a piece of herself, and until Edward came back, there'd be no way to get it back.
I miss you.
It hurt like hell. What was worse, though, was she didn't think the feeling would pass quickly. It was funny, yet heartbreaking, how quickly Edward had filled all the corners in her life. She'd felt strong because he'd cared so much, given so much. Who was she without him?
Had she done too much taking? Was that why it had fallen apart?
Her mind raced, thinking of all the times he'd given to her. He'd saved her life, lied for her, let her kidnap him, defended her against Kid, then took her away when it had all crashed down. She'd disrupted his life.
And what had she given him in return? A bracelet, which he'd barely wanted.
Crap, he was a giver and she was a taker.
The thought was mortifying. She was a spoiled popstar who was used to getting her way, used to having things given to her. It had to change. She had to change. He was worth it.
Fingers hard around her phone, she edited his name from Officer Hero to Edward Cullen, then dropped it back into her purse. She wasn't ready to reach out to him yet. They both still needed time.
But damned if she was going to let the best thing in her life go.
. . .
Bella had a thing about mayonnaise. Like some people tasted Pine-Sol when they ate cilantro, she tasted bilge when she ate mayonnaise.
But there was no mustard to put in her turkey wrap. All she had was low fat mayonnaise.
No. Mustard?
As she stood at the door of the open refrigerator, lamenting the lack of mustard, she heard her mother's voice as she climbed the stairs to the kitchen.
"It's raining cats and dogs out there, so I thought I'd make us some of Mom's Famous."
Bella turned as the refrigerator door closed. "But I used to call everything Mom's Famous," she said.
Her mother pushed back her wet hair and grinned. "Homemade mac and cheese," she said, holding aloft boxes of Velveeta cheese, elbow pasta, and a can of Campbell's pork-n-beans.
Growing up, it had been one of Bella's favorite meals.
Surprised her mother was there and willing to make such a thing, considering the amount of calories, Bella's mouth hung open.
"Kingsberry called," Renee said, and stepped over to the counter, pulling out a saucepan from below. "They want you to close with 'Blackbird'."
Kingsberry had been Laurent's assistant. A stone-faced sycophant, he'd probably been promoted. And while she'd prefer to close with her own version of the "Blackbird" song, it was still a major coup.
"Are you serious?"
Her mother set the pan full of water on the stove to boil. "Not bad for a couple of going nowhere girls, right?" she asked as she added salt to the water. "But I have to talk to the label because we don't want to confuse the public about who you are," she said archly.
Confuse the public? Bella was confused; she was just learning who she was.
But she got what her mother—her manager—was saying. Bella's last few songs were rap and pop, and "Blackbird" was jazz. But the way Bella had sung it a few days ago? It was total dark jazz, which was different from her recognized style.
But people loved it anyway. She didn't think anyone was confused. Least of all, her manager.
"I think you made it clear who's running things," Bella said, and hoisted herself up on the counter beside the stove. It wasn't often that her mother did things like this, so she was going to enjoy it while it lasted. "But tell them I want to do it."
Her mother began slicing thick squares of velveeta on a cutting board, and Bella stole one. The taste was incredible, and her eyes closed. Why did fat have to taste so good? It was so unfair.
"I was thinking about Ryan Tedder producing the song," Bella ventured.
Ryan, the lead singer for OneRepublic, was low key, centered, and had a real gift for melody. He'd written and produced one of her favorite songs called "Counting Stars." He'd even written a song for Ed Sheeran.
"Can we find out his schedule?" Bella asked.
Her mother turned to face her in shock. "Bella, we can't delay the album."
Bella didn't process the words at first. It sounded like her mother had said . . . they couldn't delay the album. As it was now? With the Kid Culprit songs? Without her song? That album? The one they'd just gone to war over?
"What do you mean?" she asked, hearing the awful woodenness of her tone.
"Well, the buzz right now is insane. We can't take any chances," her mother insisted with a pointed look her way. "It needs to be out."
The bottom dropped from beneath her.
It was just . . . gone, and she was kicking her legs through a dark abyss.
"But . . . in the meeting, you said I wouldn't re-sign," Bella managed. Her mouth was dry, and the words came out hard and slow.
"Yeah, because I wanted Laurent gone," her mother replied.
She what?
"But this isn't about Laurent," Bella cried. "It's about me."
Her mother—her manager—spread her arms entreatingly at Bella. "On the next album, if you want to write a couple of songs, write a couple of songs. Do that, I promise."
As promises went, it was more than a little hollow. Not to mention she was missing the point entirely! Did Bella not matter at all?
"Mom," she tried again.
"We all win here, Bella," her mother cried back. "The label gets what it wants, and we get what we want: for your name to be out."
Liar! You don't have my back after all!
Bella swallowed back the pain and steeled herself. "I'm not re-signing," she said firmly, and jumped down from the counter.
Her mother gave her the face, the one that meant business. "Oh yes, you are."
Bella reared back, then leaned forward. "You work for me, remember?"
Eyes flying wide, her mother gave her a look that told Bella she was full of it. Bella could tell her mother didn't think she meant what she was saying, either, and it infuriated her.
"You know," Bella began, and the words came almost faster than she could pronounce them, "I always wondered when I'd do a shoot or something, and they'd tell me to hike up my skirt more, or lose a jacket, and I'd look to you to see if it was OK, and it was always OK."
"Would you look around you?" her mother shot back, throwing an arm up at the vaulted kitchen ceiling. "It is OK."
"It was never OK," Bella choked out. "It never was!"
"Bella, the song doesn't make you, you make the song. It's a game, right?"
Bella was ten feet under and upside down. What did that have to do with what she'd said?
"You know that," her mother insisted. "It's a game."
A game she'd never wanted to play. The rhinoplasty at age sixteen? Body laser treatments from head to toe? All the time spent in a beautician's chair? For what? To gain a manager, but to lose a mother?
"So what, you give me a new nose, a new body, some Indian chick's hair! A new and improved me," she gritted. "Except I'm not a damn product."
"We did what we had to do!" her mother roared.
"There was never any we!" Bella yelled. "Your word was gospel."
"Oh, wait . . ." Her mother held up her hands. "So now you're a victim? When did you ever tell me that you didn't want this?"
When? When?
She was blind; her mother was truly blind.
"When I was on that balcony," Bella whispered, realizing it fully for the first time.
Her mother's face collapsed, then righted itself lightning-quick. "You promised me that was a mistake."
Bella swallowed another scream that went down like acid. "You wanted it to be a mistake. You didn't want to hear the truth, or anything about how unhappy I was. I needed a mother, but you are always my manager."
The horror on her mother's face morphed into anger. "I was your manager, I was your mother, I was your father, I was whatever I had to be in order to take care of you!"
"You didn't take care of me," Bella cried. "You took care of my career!"
Her mother advanced on her in full warrior mode. "And I made you a damn star!"
But Bella was through being her victim. "And everyone who looked down on you would suddenly look up to you. Prove to the world that you weren't a fuck-up. It was never about me; it was always about you!"
Her face wrenched sideways as her mother slapped her. In disbelief, Bella's hand rose to her cheek and pressed against the sting.
"Don't you dare question my love for you!" her mother cried.
But Bella no longer believed her mother loved her. The realization was a long time coming, but it was awful to feel as if your mother didn't love you. She had pushed the thought away and away for so long.
"Bella, come on," her mother pleaded, immediately remorseful, but it was a moment too late.
Her mother was on the edge of tears and Bella was glad. If her mother felt as if she was walking on eggshells, if she felt as if she'd done the worst thing ever and disappointed the person who meant most in her world, if her mother felt anything like Bella had felt countless times when being shut down and ignored, it wouldn't be enough.
"You're fired," Bella told her manager, the words bubbling up and out unbidden.
Before her mother could say anything else, Bella turned and left her. Although her nerves were shot and her breath was racing at what she'd just done, it felt right.
It was time to stand up for her, to fight for what she needed.
. . .
It was dark and late when Bella's driver, Sam, pulled up alongside Edward's house.
She didn't see any paps or Edward's truck, but there was a black Lexus with its lights on parked in his driveway. She eyed it with confusion. Was that a woman under a chauffeur's cap sitting in the driver's seat?
Bella didn't know what she was doing there, really. She was imposing, showing up unannounced again, but she was hurting, yet hopeful. The argument with her mother had confirmed who was truly important, who was necessary.
She needed to see Edward. Wanted to see his face. Hoped for a hug. So, she climbed out of the limo.
It was quiet in his neighborhood, but then it was after nine.
Each step that brought her closer to the door was lighter, then heavy, as if she wanted to both run to him and back off. Fear warred with excitement. She hadn't felt this insecure in years. She didn't know what she was doing, but it felt necessary, and she was going with it.
She'd just put a foot onto his driveway when Edward's front door opened, and Bella nearly swallowed her tongue. Dressed in a black suit with a dark red tie, he looked like sophisticated sin.
The driver of the Lexus exited the car then, and walked around to the back passenger door, opening it. Bella stopped where she was as Edward's gaze fell on her. Feeling utterly nervous, but thrilled at seeing his face, she shoved her hands in her pants pockets and aimed a smile his way.
Although he didn't smile back, Bella saw his expression lighten. Maybe with curiosity?
"Good evening, sir," the chauffeur driver said, and wrested Edward's attention away.
"Um, good evening," he said, and Bella sighed at the sound of his voice. "I'll be right there."
His eyes were steady on hers as he walked down the drive to where she stood, but the closer he got, the less sure she felt. He didn't seem happy to see her, only confused. And he was going somewhere fancy, by the look of him.
"Hi," she said when he drew to a stop, standing a good head taller than her. Until now, she hadn't appreciated how tall he was. "You, uh, have to go?"
Mirroring her, he shoved his hands into his own pockets. His eyes pierced her like lasers, powerful and searing. "Yeah. I'm being vetted."
"Vetted?" she asked faintly.
His mouth twisted. "My potential donors want to be sure our goals align before they sponsor me."
She swallowed. He was going on with his life, going on to bigger and better things. It had only been a few days since she'd last seen him, but he seemed like a stranger, standing there looking down at her as though he barely knew her.
"So you're going to shake up the world?" she asked softly, teasingly.
He dropped his gaze briefly. "That's the plan."
He was so polite, so polished. Stiffly proper. Nowhere was the sensual, playful man she'd seen in the recent past. Even his body stance warned her not to come too close. And while that made her heart break, she'd come here for more than one reason.
"That night on the balcony . . . you saw that I was worth saving," she whispered. "And it was enough to keep me going . . . until I could finally see it myself."
Bella no longer questioned how or why he saw something of value in her, she was just grateful he had. But surely now that she was realizing it, now that she was beginning to feel life was worth living, he'd see something more in her than someone who needed saving.
She loved him. Every moment of the last few days had taught her that. He'd shown her more care and consideration than anyone else ever had, expecting nothing else in return.
Except maybe for her to get help.
"I'm sorry it took me so long," she whispered.
Edward sighed, but she saw it was uneven, and she felt a glimmer of hope. He did still care.
"Me, too," he admitted, his gaze softening briefly.
But while he might still care about her, he didn't have anything else to say, and the moments passed in bittersweet torture. She'd just admitted her biggest mistake, that she was sorry, and that was all he was going to give her? It was still too late? Still not enough?
They stared long and hard at each other, seeming to drink in the other's face, but it was as if there was a big plate of glass between them.
There would be no comforting hug from him. No kiss of luck from her.
"Well, I'd better let you go," she said, and took a step back.
And then he said something that killed her.
"Take care, Bella."
Which was goodbye, and pain shot through her body.
"Edward," she said as he turned to leave, and he looked back at her hesitantly before his expression shuttered again.
Her hands were wringing at her waist, giving her emotions away, and God knew what look was on her face. Probably despair. Still, she had to know that it wasn't all a dream.
"It was perfect, right?" she asked, her voice thin as he turned to face her fully. "What we had?"
His face was still expressionless. Hiding his emotions from her.
"We started on a lie. It continued on a lie," he told her. "So it could never be perfect."
Her suicide attempt. The cover-up.
His words, and the cool way he said them, stole her breath. Her mouth opened, but she couldn't speak.
Bella watched him walk to the Lexus, slowly going numb the farther he moved away. As the car reversed down the driveway, she followed its progress with a sense of disbelief. Edward looked her way as he rode past, as if she was an unknown pedestrian on the sidewalk.
Her hands balled into fists as her head shook in denial. She couldn't believe it—it was truly over, after everything they'd been through, and it was tearing out her heart in the process. Bella knew she'd made mistakes. But why did he have to be so cold? It was hard to reconcile after all the times he'd been anything but with her.
However, she had to accept it.
She was on her own now.
Alone.
And she was afraid.
. . .
