Wicked White
Page 55

She’s fucking unbelievable.
I shake my head and push past her, not willing to put on the show she wants for the cameras. I’m not here to answer questions or to gain the public’s sympathy. I’m here to get my shit squared away.
Jane Ann follows close behind me, leading the trail of paparazzi our way. “Ace, at least give the camera a sympathetic smile.”
“Screw that. You know I’m only back to get this all squashed. I could care less about how this will affect my career. I told you over the phone that I’m done being your puppet,” I fire back.
The hulking security guard ushers us through the automatic doors leading outside and then into an awaiting black limo.
I slide inside and Jane Ann immediately follows, and we’re shut in. The reporters shove their cameras up to the windows, attempting to get a shot of us inside the dark-tinted glass, but I refuse to give them much to report. I keep my head down with my sunglasses on, doing my best to hide my face.
As soon as the car pulls away from the curb, the weight of Jane Ann’s heated stare hits me full force.
“What?” I ask in a harsh tone as I turn to face her, readying myself for her to start bitching at any moment.
Her blue eyes narrow at me. “Do you have any idea the hell you put us all through? I’ve had to work my ass off in order to convince Mopar that you’ve had some sort of mental break after it came out that you were alive and well.”
“I don’t give a shit about what you’ve been through. If you haven’t noticed, I just buried the woman I consider to be my mother and I’ve been yanked away from the girl I love, so excuse me for not really giving a shit about what you’ve been through.”
Jane Ann sighs. “Look, Ace. I’m sorry about that. I should’ve handled things a little differently, but you should’ve too. We both were wrong, and now we have to fix what we’ve screwed up. We have to make the label happy. The label is ready to sue, Ace. They lost a lot of money after nearly four months of canceled shows. The best thing you can do now is beg for the mercy of the public, claiming to have had a mental break over the death of—”
“No!” I assert with authority. “I will not use my mother as an excuse for walking away from everything. I left because I’m tired of being your fucking puppet. I’m sick of being something that I’m not.”
Jane Ann scrubs her forehead with her hand, clearly flustered. “What is it that you want, exactly? I mean, what was so bad that you felt like you had to walk away from everything in order to make your point? You’re the star of the band. What more could you want?”
I laugh harshly. “Where do I even start? I hate everything Wicked White. I hate the kind of music I’m forced to sing. I hate the clothes I’m forced to wear. The way I’m paraded around and not allowed to refuse things that I’m not comfortable with. All so you can make a buck off me. You won’t even give my ideas a chance.”
“I’m doing what’s best for you.” Her face twists in anger. “If it weren’t for me—”
“I’d still be in Ohio and happy,” I quickly cut her off.
“No,” she counters. “That’s not true. You were hungry for a music career and you wouldn’t have been happy until you got one. So, Ace, honey, you would’ve been in Ohio, still plugging away on that frivolous philosophy degree, dreaming about having a career like the very one you’re on the verge of losing.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips as the words from her mouth hit me as a possible truth. She’s right. Dreaming about making it in the music industry was something I always did, and in truth, that’s mostly why I agreed to signing a deal where everything was dictated to me. I knew going in that I would have absolutely no creative control, but I was hoping that would change over time—that Mopar would trust in my talent enough to give me a shot at writing and performing the kind of music I love.
In reality I’m what the industry refers to as an indie rock artist. I want to march to the beat of the soulful drum that moves me and not play this lame pop shit that I’ve been forced into.
“You’re right,” I whisper. “I hate admitting that, but you are.”
Her eyes soften. “Ace, I know you want to write and perform your own music. I promise, if you stick with me and work through this little hiccup in the road, that I will make sure that you get to do more of that.”
“You will?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes.” She nods. “I’ll do everything I can, since you’re obviously so unhappy with the way things are going. I’m sorry about how I treated you before, and I’m asking you to trust me to guide you in the right direction, just like I have been over the past couple of years when I took your career to this level.”
I bite the corner of my thumbnail as I think about what she said. Mr. Stern confirmed that my contract states that I’m still obligated to fulfill concert dates and record two more records, but he also said there was a clause in there allowing me to have creative control of my brand. I don’t mind being on the road. Of course I’ll miss Iris, but I know that the sooner I get my shit back in order, the sooner I can track her down and salvage what’s left of our relationship.
“What do I have to do in order to save myself the headache of having to fight Mopar Records on a lawsuit for breach of contract?”
Jane Ann’s mouth pulls up in a halfhearted smile. “We need to get your side of the story out there. I need you to be honest with the world—tell them you were upset over your foster mother and apologize—to everyone. I’ll arrange a sit-down interview with Linda Bronson from Celebrity Pop Buzz Nightly since she’s been following your story so close. If we get you seen, things will get back on the right track.”