She Will Be Loved
Bentley Slade
Piano music floated throughout the room, beautiful and melodic. There was something profound about the sound, so pure and openhearted. It was as if the music were saying everything a voice couldn’t, and if it were letting out its deepest, darkest desires. That’s how it felt, anyways, every time my hands touched the keys and began to hear the music lilt from the striking cords. Requiem for A Dream played hauntingly from the piano as I swayed, eyes closed. I had the song by memory, and although it wasn’t the most difficult of songs or the most classical, the daunting sound to it, the cadence and the sadness, spoke to me like many other songs did not.
The phone sitting on top of the piano began to light up and vibrate vigorously, begging to be answered. I lifted my hands from the keys to see my mother’s picture and named flashing on the iPhone. I picked it up easily slide my thumb to answer and answering lightly as I stood from the bench, turning to look out of the glass walls in the apartment.
“Hi, momma.” The view outside the walls was breath taking at night, thousands of lights in LA twinkling below, the sky turning black and purple as the sun finally faded. “What’s up?”
“Hi baby girl,” my mom-ager said over the phone. She sounded extremely stressed, her English accent becoming even more pronounced. “What are you doing?”
“Sitting at my apartment,” I sighed, throwing myself backwards onto a white, soft couch. So often I had fallen asleep on this very couch after staying up late and writing songs. “You sound out of breath. Are you on a treadmill or something?”
She snorted. “As if I have time to work out while trying to manage you? Yeah right.”
I rolled my eyes at my mother. Lillian Slade was the most determined and tenacious woman I knew. She was able to raise me single handedly after my fathers death, and she had taken on the responsibility of managing me as a performer in the blink of an eye, knowing that no one on earth knew me better than she did. My mother was the strongest woman I knew, and I looked up to her, so thankful that she existed, even if she got annoying sometimes.
“I’m not that bad,” I insisted, staring at my ceiling. “How’s London?”
“Oh splendid!” She chirruped. I could hear the sound of traffic behind her. So that’s why she sounded out of breath, she was walking, and with the quick pace she moved at, I’m sure she would die of exhaustion. “I’ve just met with Simon Cowell- such a darling and old friend, you remember? Anyways, he believes that you would be the perfect act to open up for one of his groups that he has! They’re going on a world tour in a few weeks and he would love to have you!”
A smile washed over me. A few weeks was extremely short notice for a tour, but with hard work it would pay off. “Are you serious mom?”
“Of course I’m serious, why would I joke about that?” Where my mom succeeded in intellect, she failed in humor.
“Are you coming home now? I’d like to learn all about it, but I promised Jess I would go to dinner with her.”
I could hear the frown in my mothers voice when she said, “You will take John, right? You know I don’t like you wondering around that bloody city, especially since you only released your album a few weeks ago.”
As much as she got on my case about safety from paparazzi and fans, I was glad that my mother cared. I had my fair shares in scary cases where I almost drowned in a crowd of fans, or my address was leaked, or silly things that put me in serious jeopardy. Life as a pop star wasn’t always easy, but to see the look on the faces of hundreds as you sang to them, as you connected with them, was like nothing else in the world.
“Of course I’ll take him,” I assured her. “Jessica doesn’t like the fans anyways. She actually threatened not to go to dinner with me if it was going to be a camera and screaming show.”
My mother laughed. “She cares about you safety too, Bentley.”
“I know, ma. I’ve gotta go get dressed. Call me in the morning, okay?”
“Of course, love. Good night and be safe. My cup runneth over.”
I smiled at the phrase we used from our favorite movie, Hope Floats. “My cup runneth over. Night, mom.”
Hanging up the phone, I rolled off the couch and padded across the tiled floor, the soles of my feet feeling the cool touch of it. The light in my bedroom flicked on automatically at my presence, making me flinch as it did sometimes. I was still new to the apartment, and the rooms with automatic lights scared the bejesus out of me still every once in a while. I passed my dressed and tapped my iPod dock as I did, the sound of Assassin by John Mayer flooding the surround sound. His velvet voice wrapped around me and filled my senses as I entered the huge space that was my closet.
Some time ago, I could have fit my entire room in my closet. Funny how things had changed so quickly and differently. In the hundreds of shirts I had in my contents, I selected a thin, red tank top that was a button up, tucked into high waited white shorts, a pair of white Christian Louboutin heels that secured around my ankles, and an off white Chanel flap purse with a gold chain strap. I pulled my dark brown hair into a simple bun and added a touch of blush and lip stain, completely the simple yet cute outfit.
That was the one thing I would never get over: having millions of clothes worth so much money, just to keep up appearances. I myself had not purchased the expensive bag- my mother had given it to me as a gift. She thought as well as I did that splurging on such things was ridiculous. We knew very well what it was like not to have money, and just because we were worth millions now didn’t mean we were going to spend it on ridiculous things.
That was another thing I was thankful towards my mother for. My mother had raised me to not be excessive in what I had, arrogant in what I did, or flashy in what I owned. Even though I was now Bentley Slade, pop star sensation, I was still a normal person, and my mother tried to remind me that every day. After all, when Caesar conquered Rome, he had a slave whisper ‘you are just a man’ in his ear every day to remind him that behind all his success, all his accomplishments, he was but a man.
I heard the elevator open in my apartment as I walked out of the closet, knowing Jess had let herself in as she so often did. She was one of the three people that knew the pass code to get to the penthouse part of the complex, and she was very careful to always assure no one else was in the elevator with her when she went up. Many people living in the complex didn’t even know I was at the topmost room.
“Bee, I need shoes!” she hollered from the living room, not bothering to come pick out a pair for her self. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the closet, looking through my heels as she said, “Black ones, preferably.”
“Why don’t you come get them yourself, lazy ass!”
“Because I don’t pick out shoes.”
Muttering curses under my breath, I hooked a black pair of Jimmy Choo heels on my fingers and exited my room. I tossed the shoes to my beautiful friend who was lying on the couch, nose in a magazine. She had on a black cropped top, paired with white skinny jeans, a black leather bracelet and her black clutch laying on the glass coffee table. Her long blonde hair was down and splayed all over the white couch, looking like wheat in a sunny field.
Jess put the magazine down and sat up, strapping the shoes onto her feet at the bottom of long, slender legs. Jess Anderson was a beautiful California beauty, with her sun kissed hair and skin, sea green eyes and long, soft features. She was a tomboy if anything, but on the nights that I could take away from my busy schedule, she dressed up to go to dinner with me. It was like pretending to be royalty.
“Ooh,” she cooed, looking at the shoes. “I like these. I demand a pair for my birthday.”
I snickered and grabbed my phone off the couch where I had left it. “You’re not getting shit for you birthday if you make us late to dinner.”
She scrunched up her nose and began to mock me, "I'm Bentley Slade, I'm a pop star who doesn't like to be late, blah, blah, blah. Don't give me that look, I was kidding." She got up and joined me at the door, smiling. "And I was serious about getting me the shoes."
The phone sitting on top of the piano began to light up and vibrate vigorously, begging to be answered. I lifted my hands from the keys to see my mother’s picture and named flashing on the iPhone. I picked it up easily slide my thumb to answer and answering lightly as I stood from the bench, turning to look out of the glass walls in the apartment.
“Hi, momma.” The view outside the walls was breath taking at night, thousands of lights in LA twinkling below, the sky turning black and purple as the sun finally faded. “What’s up?”
“Hi baby girl,” my mom-ager said over the phone. She sounded extremely stressed, her English accent becoming even more pronounced. “What are you doing?”
“Sitting at my apartment,” I sighed, throwing myself backwards onto a white, soft couch. So often I had fallen asleep on this very couch after staying up late and writing songs. “You sound out of breath. Are you on a treadmill or something?”
She snorted. “As if I have time to work out while trying to manage you? Yeah right.”
I rolled my eyes at my mother. Lillian Slade was the most determined and tenacious woman I knew. She was able to raise me single handedly after my fathers death, and she had taken on the responsibility of managing me as a performer in the blink of an eye, knowing that no one on earth knew me better than she did. My mother was the strongest woman I knew, and I looked up to her, so thankful that she existed, even if she got annoying sometimes.
“I’m not that bad,” I insisted, staring at my ceiling. “How’s London?”
“Oh splendid!” She chirruped. I could hear the sound of traffic behind her. So that’s why she sounded out of breath, she was walking, and with the quick pace she moved at, I’m sure she would die of exhaustion. “I’ve just met with Simon Cowell- such a darling and old friend, you remember? Anyways, he believes that you would be the perfect act to open up for one of his groups that he has! They’re going on a world tour in a few weeks and he would love to have you!”
A smile washed over me. A few weeks was extremely short notice for a tour, but with hard work it would pay off. “Are you serious mom?”
“Of course I’m serious, why would I joke about that?” Where my mom succeeded in intellect, she failed in humor.
“Are you coming home now? I’d like to learn all about it, but I promised Jess I would go to dinner with her.”
I could hear the frown in my mothers voice when she said, “You will take John, right? You know I don’t like you wondering around that bloody city, especially since you only released your album a few weeks ago.”
As much as she got on my case about safety from paparazzi and fans, I was glad that my mother cared. I had my fair shares in scary cases where I almost drowned in a crowd of fans, or my address was leaked, or silly things that put me in serious jeopardy. Life as a pop star wasn’t always easy, but to see the look on the faces of hundreds as you sang to them, as you connected with them, was like nothing else in the world.
“Of course I’ll take him,” I assured her. “Jessica doesn’t like the fans anyways. She actually threatened not to go to dinner with me if it was going to be a camera and screaming show.”
My mother laughed. “She cares about you safety too, Bentley.”
“I know, ma. I’ve gotta go get dressed. Call me in the morning, okay?”
“Of course, love. Good night and be safe. My cup runneth over.”
I smiled at the phrase we used from our favorite movie, Hope Floats. “My cup runneth over. Night, mom.”
Hanging up the phone, I rolled off the couch and padded across the tiled floor, the soles of my feet feeling the cool touch of it. The light in my bedroom flicked on automatically at my presence, making me flinch as it did sometimes. I was still new to the apartment, and the rooms with automatic lights scared the bejesus out of me still every once in a while. I passed my dressed and tapped my iPod dock as I did, the sound of Assassin by John Mayer flooding the surround sound. His velvet voice wrapped around me and filled my senses as I entered the huge space that was my closet.
Some time ago, I could have fit my entire room in my closet. Funny how things had changed so quickly and differently. In the hundreds of shirts I had in my contents, I selected a thin, red tank top that was a button up, tucked into high waited white shorts, a pair of white Christian Louboutin heels that secured around my ankles, and an off white Chanel flap purse with a gold chain strap. I pulled my dark brown hair into a simple bun and added a touch of blush and lip stain, completely the simple yet cute outfit.
That was the one thing I would never get over: having millions of clothes worth so much money, just to keep up appearances. I myself had not purchased the expensive bag- my mother had given it to me as a gift. She thought as well as I did that splurging on such things was ridiculous. We knew very well what it was like not to have money, and just because we were worth millions now didn’t mean we were going to spend it on ridiculous things.
That was another thing I was thankful towards my mother for. My mother had raised me to not be excessive in what I had, arrogant in what I did, or flashy in what I owned. Even though I was now Bentley Slade, pop star sensation, I was still a normal person, and my mother tried to remind me that every day. After all, when Caesar conquered Rome, he had a slave whisper ‘you are just a man’ in his ear every day to remind him that behind all his success, all his accomplishments, he was but a man.
I heard the elevator open in my apartment as I walked out of the closet, knowing Jess had let herself in as she so often did. She was one of the three people that knew the pass code to get to the penthouse part of the complex, and she was very careful to always assure no one else was in the elevator with her when she went up. Many people living in the complex didn’t even know I was at the topmost room.
“Bee, I need shoes!” she hollered from the living room, not bothering to come pick out a pair for her self. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the closet, looking through my heels as she said, “Black ones, preferably.”
“Why don’t you come get them yourself, lazy ass!”
“Because I don’t pick out shoes.”
Muttering curses under my breath, I hooked a black pair of Jimmy Choo heels on my fingers and exited my room. I tossed the shoes to my beautiful friend who was lying on the couch, nose in a magazine. She had on a black cropped top, paired with white skinny jeans, a black leather bracelet and her black clutch laying on the glass coffee table. Her long blonde hair was down and splayed all over the white couch, looking like wheat in a sunny field.
Jess put the magazine down and sat up, strapping the shoes onto her feet at the bottom of long, slender legs. Jess Anderson was a beautiful California beauty, with her sun kissed hair and skin, sea green eyes and long, soft features. She was a tomboy if anything, but on the nights that I could take away from my busy schedule, she dressed up to go to dinner with me. It was like pretending to be royalty.
“Ooh,” she cooed, looking at the shoes. “I like these. I demand a pair for my birthday.”
I snickered and grabbed my phone off the couch where I had left it. “You’re not getting shit for you birthday if you make us late to dinner.”
She scrunched up her nose and began to mock me, "I'm Bentley Slade, I'm a pop star who doesn't like to be late, blah, blah, blah. Don't give me that look, I was kidding." She got up and joined me at the door, smiling. "And I was serious about getting me the shoes."
http://www.mibba.com/Stories/Read/471031/She-Will-Be-Loved/
sorry, I don't go here so I didn't see your comment sooner.
12/23/12