Page 3 of Playing With My Heart Strings

The fans aren’t completely crazy for finding him attractive with his tall stature, sable hair that sweeps under the brim of his cowboy hat, five o’clock shadow, and thick mustache. Hazel eyes meet mine, and a dimple appears as Dusty cracks a small grin toward me. I raise my eyebrows, and his smile falters before he moves on.

Yeah, buddy, that charm doesn’t work on me, sorry. Move along.

Daniella, on the other hand, practically has hearts shooting from her eyes as he tips his hat then heads over to talk to Colette and the director of the show.

“What?” She looks at me with zero remorse for practically undressingthe lead of the show we work forwith her eyes.

“Nothing, Dani, it’s just that maybe you should have put in an application based on the look on your face right now,” I tease.

“Like I said, Bay. I would have jumped on that train so fast if I had a shred of musical talent. If I had half the voice you have.”

Daniella is one of few people who have ever heard me sing. It’s a rare occasion for me to sing around other people. And it’s never anything original, just covers of old country songs.

“I’m not made to be a singer, really.”

“What about those songs you’ve written, then?” she asks.

“What songs?”

“The ones in that journal you’re always carrying around.”

Oh. That.

“Those aren’t songs. They’re just poems or whatever. It’s nothing special. Not compared to some of the girls who applied to be on the show, that’s for sure.”

I’m not even saying this to win pity points or anything. It’s a known fact. Several of the applications came from singer-songwriters whose careers aren’t quite at the level they want them to be. Since the winner of the show not only gets a record deal, but also gets to go on tour with Dusty as a duo, it’s a no-brainer for them to at least try.

“Baylor, you have talent. I swear, I’m not just saying this because I’m your friend.”

“Well, now I definitely think you’re just saying it because you’re my friend. It’s not like I could apply—we’re about to start filming. Not to mention Iworkhere. That’s a huge conflict of interest, even if Iwantedto go on the show.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Her shoulders drop for a split second before she quickly composes herself. “It’s too bad, though. You really are talented.”

I know I have talent. But musical talent doesn’t pay the bills unless you have the same kind of status that Dusty has. And even then, it’s rare to make a living off just music. There’s a reason they’re calledstarving artists.

My parents were disappointed enough when I decided on a public relations degree. Coming from a family of doctors, it made sense, but I was never meant for that path. It was evident when I struggled through anatomy class in high school. I can’t do blood. Or any kind of internal organs. That’s why I need to get to Capitol Hill. I need to prove that my degree is worth something—thatI’mworth something.

Would I try to pursue music if there was a guaranteed payoff? Maybe. Probably. But that’s a dream that will never come true. I don’t need it to.

Colette has Dusty set up in front of cameras, while Daniella is there to assist. She’s not so much tasked with interviewing him as she is writing down his answers for press releases, and in some cases, coaching him with his answers. You’d think he’d be a pro at interviews, considering he’s constantly in the public eye, but no. He’s awkward in front of the camera, brash and pointed with his responses, and he keeps getting distracted by the fans crowding the windows outside.

“Dusty, what are your thoughts about finding not only a musical partner, but potentially a life partner, on the show?” one of the producers asks him.

“I, uh, I don’t have high hopes, honestly,” he grumbles with a frown. “I’m only here because my label forced me to be here.”

“Cut!” the director shouts.

“Can you at least act a little excited about this?” Daniella squeezes the bridge of her nose as she, yet again, coaches him on how to provide a more TV-appropriate answer. Her head turns toward me as she shakes it, clearly regretting taking on this task.

I avoid eye contact with her as I walk away, pretending to be busy with something else. I know I’ll have to deal with him eventually to get social media content, but I don’t envy Daniella at this moment.

2

dusty

Can’t Trust a Drunk Girl

I crossmy arms over my chest as the producers ask me yet another question about why I wanted to be on the show.I didn’t.But saying the only reason you’re here is because someone forced you to be is apparently not reality TV worthy. Ironic, considering thatismy reality right now.

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