Breaking South (Turner Artist Rocker #3) - Alyson Santos
CHAPTER 1
She stares at No One in the mirror.
No One laughs like her
No One cries like her
No One smiles, lies, or hides like her.
No One believes like her.
No One breathes like her.
No One’s heart beats and bleeds like hers
No One sees like her
No One loves like her
But no one does these anymore…
GENEVIEVE
Mirrors.
They should be a refuge for a pop princess. Icons should love gazing at their own magnificence. Heaven knows the world believes Genevieve Fox does little else. Too bad that’s not even my real name.
Hadley still hasn’t returned to the dressing room with my lunch and the schedule for today’s events. Normally, I’d welcome the rare solitude, but today feels different. Today my foreign reflection isn’t equipped for this afternoon’s charitable rendezvous—highly-publicized charity, of course. After all, it’s not every day a terminally ill child gets to meet a pop icon and a professional hockey player in the same breath… although it happens more often than you’d think when you’re the pop fairy granting wishes.
I call these types of outings The Goodwill Shows—not to be confused with The Glamour Shows, The Publicity Shows, The Freak Shows, The Peep Shows, and of course, the actual show shows. My entire existence is a long-running performance fashioned solely for the consumption of others. Who is Genevieve Fox? Who isn’t she. Today she’s a nurturing philanthropist. Last night she was a cable TV sex goddess. Tomorrow… I need my assistant’s schedule for that.
“Sorry it took so long. The lineup at the coffee shop was insane,” Hadley says, breezing past my security with a cup carrier and salad. “Your lunch, milady.” She hands me my royal kale mix with a slight bow, and I roll my eyes at my oldest (only?) friend. “Also, your parents called. They’re here and want to know if they should come back now or if you’ll meet them afterward.”
“Thanks. I’m so hungry.” Well, I was. My stomach cramps with a different kind of pain at the thought of suffering through a meeting with my mom and dad right now. “After, and not on site. See if we can do an early dinner or something.”
“They won’t like that. You pushed them off yesterday too.” She shrinks and lifts her hands at my glare. “Just saying.”
“Their request has been logged. So what’s the plan for this thing?”
“Let me grab the schedule.”
Hadley pulls out her phone, while I crack open the salad container. Other than a fruit cup and yogurt, I haven’t eaten all day. We just flew into L.A. this morning after last night’s taping in New York, and the car took us straight from the airport to the L.A. Trojans training facility for today’s Goodwill Show. Oddly enough, this is my first time in a professional hockey team’s training center. I’ve performed in hockey arenas around the world, but never a practice facility. I’m sure my standard hockey-fan persona will work just fine for this. It’s one of the few personas that’s real. I even commissioned a custom Trojans crop top for the event. Go Trojans.
“Okay, looks like you have about an hour until we need to be on the ice for the meet-and-greet. There will be five children total, and you will address each one first… wait, no… hang on.” She skims the screen while I chew my kale like a champ. “Sorry, you’re second. The hockey player is first, then you. You each give the kid a hug or whatever, maybe say a few words. They’re looking for about a minute max per kid. Then you all line up for the money shots and that’s it.”
“Any gifts?” I ask through a mouthful of food. There’s no time for demure when cameras aren’t rolling. Stuff has to get done sometime.
“Hmm… good question. I don’t see anything. The hockey player is presenting a personalized jersey, but there are no notes for you. Let me check on that.”
The Hockey Player. I smirk at the generic title. Swap it out for anything and you have the same event. The Hospital Director. The Group Home Manager. The Game Warden, Prison Warden, Building Warden. Hadley doesn’t even bother with names anymore. Pretty sure she has a template she uses for each of these affairs. Insert co-host here. Insert gift here. Insert schmooze time here. Cameras, cameras, cameras… and out.
But, yeah, this one feels different. Today feels different.
I woke up with my chest constricted, my mind chaotic from the rush of something heavy and dark. Stress, maybe. But every second of every day has been stress