Page 8 of Everything In Between
I cannot faint up here on stage under the weight of his attention.
He’s just a man.
An attractive man, absolutely. But just a man.
Glancing away, I focus on the crowd, plastering on a smile and hoping I don’t appear as frazzled as I feel. The moment—though lasting only milliseconds—seems to stop time and I’ll admit I forget myself for a moment. I’m thankful the moment has broken because I can’t fathom the world catching onto whatever passed between us and dissecting every little detail.
Suddenly, I’m ushered off stage and back to my table. As soon as I’m seated, I reach for my water glass and take a big gulp. Bethany disappears, and a few minutes later, stands in front of me handing over a drink in a martini glass.
“What is this?” I ask her, peering at the raspberry-colored liquid.
“Cosmo,” she replies simply before disappearing again.
I take a sip. The sweet flavored alcoholic drink hits the spot and eases some of my frazzled nerves.
Finally, after what feels like forever, it’s time to announce the winner for Song of the Year. The prestigious category I’m nominated for.
While I’m hopeful all my hard work will pay off in another award to stick up on a shelf, I can’t help but think that the other nominees deserve the same recognition. Every one of us in this category have worked our asses off.
The person presenting the award stands back as the screen behind them lists off the nominees. I squeeze my friends’ hands when my name soars across the screen, and a second later, they play a clip from my song up for nomination—Good Times Roll.
To be perfectly honest, if it had been up to me, this song wouldn’t have been the lead single on my latest album, but Callum and the rest of the production crew were dead set that this was the one, confident it would get me the win for the third year in a row. I had no choice but to go along with it. The songhad been an item of dispute between me and the label since I first recorded it, and while I like the lyrics, I think the production of it is all wrong.
Good Times Rollis a song that, if given the proper attention, could have been a ballad for the books. But as per usual, Callum and his eccentric tastes took it a little too far. His goal with the sound made it too poppy and synthesized for my liking. And to be fair, it worked in his favor. The song was an immediate hit, topping the charts within that first week of release. Every time I hear it or have to perform it, I can’t help but think that if I had been in control, I would have taken a more somber route, while still giving respect to the genre that I belong to.
But again, it wasn’t my choice.
Nothing ever is.
The presenter steps back up to the microphone and holds onto the envelope containing the name of the winner.
“And the winner, for the Song of the Year goes to...”
My breath catches in my throat, and I squeeze the hands of my friends. My heartbeat thrums in my ears and my chest tightens with anticipation. The room falls silent, and I count my breaths, waiting to hear the verdict.
“Meghan Connelly,Summer Lovers!”
The venue erupts in cheers and the video on the big screen pans to Meghan, who is a few tables down. She stands, looking absolutely shocked.
I release my friends’ hands and clap, standing up and plastering on that big smile, showing support for her. Meanwhile, my stomach threatens to jump up into my throat as it constricts with a weird mix of disappointment and satisfaction.
I didn’t win? I didn’t win!
I swallow, forcing my apprehension down and making sure my face has the mask of excitement, knowing cameras will be onme to catch any hint of ill wishes. Inside, I’m starting to work through the consequences that will trickle my way from this loss, and how my management at Silver Shadows will respond to me not clinching the win this year.
While I’m surprised and a little disappointed, I’m truly happy for Meghan. She’s newer to the game, this only being her second album, and although she’s been caught on camera saying that I’m old and washed out, and I need to step down to let newer artists achieve the same attention, I don’t hold any ill wishes toward her. She deserves it, just as much as the rest of the nominees would if their names had been called.
From what I know about her, she spends hours writing and perfecting her own songs, piecing them together in a perfect blend to create a masterful album. She has more creative liberties than I do, so of course she should win the award over me.
She’s what I would consider a real artist, while I am simply a chess piece on the board that is Silver Shadows Records.
When the excitement from the award dies down, I sit back in my seat and get comfortable, ignoring the way my ears ring at a pitch that makes my head spin. Already I can hear Callum grumbling about what we need to do better to secure the win for next year. He’ll pace back and forth, wearing a hole in the carpet of his office. He’ll saybigger, better, stronger.
And I’ll be at his mercy.
The conversation hasn’t even happened yet, but I’m already dreading the aftermath.
I have three years left on this extension. Three years ofbigger, better, stronger.
