French Wanker - Victoria Pinder Page 0,51
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Legendary Phoenix Preview
Phoenix
I knew three things with absolute certainty. One, I hit my notes perfectly, which was why all three judges wanted me on their team. Two, TV was more about the showmanship and not about the talent, and I’d been born and bred for this forum. No one had a better edge. And three, I was playing to win now.
There would be no more chances if I didn’t.
I was on this show because it was my last chance to be on the stage. I had washed out my first opportunity.
And I sang that song right out of the park tonight. The judges had known. It’s why they voted for me.
Of course, in another life I’d have been on the panel. One of the “celebrity” judges was about my age. But no matter; this was how things were.
And when I won this competition and the recording contract for one new album, I’d get back out there as a single act. No one would dare call me a washout or a loser then.
On stage I was a god again. This was my comeback. And as a solo act, I answered only to myself.
No more heartache.
No more letting friends down.
I used to have great friends in my old band. They were still rocking platinum songs and albums without me.
They deserved it. My friends from my childhood TV show had saved my ass from jail and from actually killing someone. That girl’s unconscious face in my car still haunted my dreams, every night. She was why I joined Alcoholics Anonymous. If not for Luca of Indigo 5, and my agent, Mark, she’d be dead, because of me. I had crashed my car and instead of being a good guy who called for help, I called my agent and my bandmates, the closest I had to family, to get me out before the press arrived.
What I piss head narcissist I’d been. I’d lost control.
Outside, I saw the blonde soprano with a powerhouse of a voice. She had my attention—despite the long skirt that hid her figure and the huge hat only old hippy women would wear in public—strutting in the hallway like she walked on air itself. And fair enough. She’d just won over millions of viewers, so she had the right to have that huge grin on her face and that glow in her skin. She rushed to the family waiting area and hugged the two praying people I’d spotted.
So her story about growing up religious wasn’t a lie.
I held back. That wasn’t my jam. My family had taught me to use each other, until I had enough of them.
But it had been too late for me by then. I had learned drinking straight from the bottle as a coping mechanism.
The blonde’s family insisted she come with them, that she needed to get some sleep and be up at 5 a.m.
No one ever said anything like that to me, even when I was a kid. After a show, it took me hours to unwind.
So I figured I’d lost my chance to meet her and returned to the lounge, grabbed myself a water. The place was empty. Even Finnigan was gone.
My phone rang. It was Mark, my agent. He must have seen the show. The second I answered, he said, “Phoenix, you’re on a comeback.”
“I hope so.”
Unlike everyone else in this competition, having an agent meant I’d be protected in any contracts. Mark Powers, agent to the stars, said quickly, “Just keep in the competition for as long as possible.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I couldn’t say more than that.
“I can launch you as a solo act, and no one will remember you were kicked out of Indigo 5 years ago. But getting your face on TV will ensure we get bigger contracts.”
“You’re why I’m here,” I said, though the face of that blonde floated to my mind for some reason.
I blinked and we said goodbye.
I hung up and tucked the phone in my pocket. It was time to head home, alone. That was my usual state anyhow. Once the high from performing wore off, I’d be on my couch, asleep in front of the TV or laptop.
As I opened the bottle of water, the door to