Page 6 of Legendary Rock Star
He placed his hands on the table as he said, “In my home. I have a studio. I’ll give you a copy you can use as a demo, free of charge.”
“You’re on.” I said. I half wanted to lose this competition now, but I led him toward the stage. Recording a song with him might finally make me forget how obsessed I had been with him, for so long. I had read all the articles I could find about him, like some stalker might, for longer than any of my friends did.
But when we hit the stage, I became Maggie Carrigan, the star that needed to break out of my life and shine. Singing was in my blood.
We both had the crowd’s attention for our karaoke battle.
3
Phoenix
On stage Maggie transformed.She wasn’t just the shy girl in all black clothes with the vocal cords of an angel.
She was fierce and a firecracker.
So I had to pull out all the stops to win.
For my next song, I picked my own one hit when I was part of the soon-to-be biggest band in the world.
Then the crowd went insane and people all over the room were taking my picture.
Maggie rolled her eyes and tried to win back the crowd, but they were mine now.
I’d won our bet.
As the song ended, the lights went out and we stepped off the stage. I paid for our dinner and we made our way out the side door. She elbowed me and said, “You sang your own song. That’s why you won.”
The night air in the side street had a slight electric tinge to it. Or was it just my adrenaline that picked up steam again? I brushed my ribs like she’d hurt me when she hadn’t and said, “I won’t lie. You were more competition than I expected, so I took a shortcut.”
Her eyes were wide as I called for my driver. She said, “Cheating should mean you forfeit—”
“We’re recording a song together,” I said. The blue Toyota Rav 4 pulled up beside us. “It will be fun. And I’ll get you back to the hotel before your parents worry.”
She tapped her shoulder and then hopped into the car with me and took out her phone to text. She said, “They are probably already worried, but you’re right. I’d love to sing with you.”
She put the phone away and smiled.
A few minutes later we were close to my house and recording studio. I said, “We’re supposed to move into the camp for contestants in the morning, so it’s our last night of freedom anyhow.”
The driver pulled through my black gates and up past the sparse palm trees and the green grass front lawn of my estate in Beverly Hills.
She glanced up at the glass and cement modern mansion I called home and walked with me to my door as she asked, “Is that where you live? And you still want to sing?”
“I only ever felt alive on a stage.”
“How do you afford this?”
“I still write a lot of songs, and some A-listers have hit it big with my music.”
I opened the door. The glass roof of the center part of the grand room made this place bright most days, but for now I flipped the lights on and said, “I was thinking we’ll keep it simple. Something we both know, like a Christmas song.”
Without a word I directed her through double doors to the studio and she stared at all my equipment and recording booth.
I glanced at her lips and wanted to know what she tasted like.
For a moment I wasn’t sure what she’d do, but she rolled up her sleeves and put her phone on the mixer as she asked, “’O Holy Night’?”
I held the door for the recording booth and she slipped past me. As the door closed I pointed to the instruments and said, “Perfect. Can you play?”
