Grounded! More Confessions of an Angel in Training (9781310362958) Read online

  My words and Victor’s from Nostalgia come back to me: Who would cage a bird? And then, Exactly. It seems like a coincidence, but when you add in my gift and Heaven’s involvement, who knows? “Why would Stevie say that?” I wonder aloud.

  “He wasn’t always my manager; he was a well-known rocker in his time.”

  “Have you played this song for him?”

  “Not yet. Like I said, half-baked. But when it’s finished I will. Just because he has an appreciation for the art. He’s not as impressed with the hierarchy.”

  Whoa! “What do you mean, The Hierarchy?”

  “You know, at the low end there’s starving street performers, and the studio guys, then folks like me who have a small, loyal following, then bands that open for big names, then break-outs, then mega-stars. There’s probably a hundred other levels, but you get the idea.”

  Yep. I get the idea. And now I realize Izzy is struggling with a hierarchy and envy, same as me. How on Earth can I fix his problem when I don’t know how to fix my own? I merely nod.

  “Yep, it’s a crazy business. I’d probably sell my soul to the devil to be a mega-star.”

  I wonder if my face looks as terrified as I feel. “Don’t even joke about something like that.” I think he’s joking. I hope he is.

  }{

  In my dressing room, I try to get ready for rehearsal, but the bizarre convo with Izzy stresses me out. I don’t understand his relationship with Roger at all. If they disagree so much—and it sure seems like they do—why does he keep him around? Worse than that, the whole sell his soul comment has me rankled. On my last Assignment, Tara never approached true evil. Sure, she flirted with it, especially with the prank at the football field, but I can’t imagine her ever saying anything like Izzy just said. Michael told me this Mission would be more challenging, and I’m just now understanding what he meant. There’s a lot more at stake for my Assignment.

  A thought flits through my head. Can I make him famous? It seems like if I could do that, he’d lose his envy and we could avoid the whole bargain thing.

  I unzip my makeup bag, piling blush, eye shadow, mascara on the counter in front of me. When I look in the mirror to start, Cherish has crept into the room and is standing over my shoulder again. I wish she’d quit doing that.

  She’s ignored me since the whole bi-location episode, so I wonder what she wants.

  “I saw you leaving Izzy’s dressing room,” she says. “Are you making any progress?”

  “I have a couple of ideas,” I say.

  Confession: This is a micro-lie, which is a no-no on the Code of Conduct, but it won’t be the first time I broke the rules. Shoot, it’s probably not the first time today.

  The truth is I only have one idea: make him famous. And I have no ideas about how to do that.

  “They are…” Cherish waits for me to fill in the blank.

  I fidget, picking up my blush, setting it down, then pumping the mascara wand, never actually applying any makeup. Finally, I say, “I think you need to convince him to perform his new song at the first concert.”

  “What new song? I would know if he wrote a new song. I’m his Muse, after all.”

  “‘Cherish.’”

  “Yes?”

  “That’s the name of the song—‘Cherish.’ I figure if it’s named after you, you must’ve had something to do with it.”

  Her mouth drops open and she kind of staggers over to the couch against the wall, sitting down slowly like I hit her. She lays her hand over her heart. “I can’t believe he’s the one who wrote it.”

  There are times when finishing school first seems like it would’ve been a good idea. Like now, for instance. I have no idea how this whole Muse gig works.

  “I’ve planted the seed of that song, oh, I don’t know, twenty, maybe thirty times on past Missions. No one has ever bothered to write it.”

  “He was still working on it when I left, but what he has so far is wonderful.”

  Cherish smiles at me for the first time.

  “He said Roger would never approve this song, because it doesn’t fit his image. I don’t get why Roger has the final word or why Izzy cares so much about what he thinks.” I want Cherish to enlighten me, because I need to understand this for my Mission.

  “Roger looks at everything through a business lens. He’s booked all of Izzy’s concerts, arranged studio time, even set up the auditions you came to when he really wanted his daughter to be the back-up singer. While Izzy could handle that if he wanted to, he doesn’t want to. Roger really does have his best interests at heart—and deep down, I think Izzy knows that, but…”

  “But Roger’s wrong about this?”

  “Probably. Do you really think the song is good? I’d like to see it performed.”

  “It’s better than any of the ones we’ve rehearsed so far.”

  Cherish nods. “Okay. I’ll see if I can convince him.”

  Chapter 9

  Opening night. The last time I was this nervous was during my Declaration, when I asked Big Daddy to do on-the-job training. Clearly, our first concert isn’t as big a deal as that, but I still take a deep breath, trying to calm my jitters.

  Everything is totally and completely dark as we take our spots on stage. Adam, the drummer, is behind me on my left. He taps around each drum in a ritual good-luck test of his equipment. There’s a low murmur that rolls onto the stage from the small audience. The outline of the bassist, Robbie, is across the stage, parallel to me. He arranges pedals with his toes until they’re in the exact spot that he wants them. A few people clap and chant “Izzy, Izzy, Izzy,” and then there’s a laugh. For the first time I understand how the name is perfect for him, how chant-able it is. I shake my hands and wipe sweaty palms on the back of my jeans.

  Suddenly Izzy runs in from the wings. Lights blast on overhead with him, spotlighted from two directions, and someone in the crowd goes berserk. Their screaming is the strong wind Aisha and I walked against that first day, blowing so hard it could almost knock you off your feet.

  Desmond, the guitarist, strums the familiar first notes of “Nighttime,” and the crowd grows louder. No turning back. I sing the first chorus. Yep, I’m performing, nerves gone. We finish the song to cheers, while Izzy takes a slug from a water bottle before launching into the second song. It’s like Victor described. I can’t make out any individual faces, since the lights swirling around us are far too bright for that, but there’s a sense that the audience is one living thing.

  Izzy runs and jumps and dances and reaches his hands to a few in the front row. At one point he walks on his hands. Is this the same guy from rehearsals? He looks like he’s in hog heaven, and then I realize that performer Izzy is more real than rehearsal Izzy.

  I’m usually tired after seven songs, but despite the heat from the lights and nerves, I have energy to spare. It’s like I’m channeling some from the audience. The eighth song in the set is “You’re My Angel.” The large screen behind us is backlit, creating the same light effect a halo would. Outlines of wings are projected behind each of us. I glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m lined up with the shadows and start the choreography until it’s time for the chorus. For the first time tonight, because of the backlighting, I can finally see the audience clearly—singing and smiling and grooving—every eye trained on Izzy. His star quality fills the stage.

  That’s odd. One body is so still, so stiff, it almost looks like it’s in freeze time. What’s even odder is that I know the face. It’s the guy from Grand Central and the subway. The guy with the tattoo on the back of his wrist. My knight in shining armor that swooped in to save the day.

  You know what’s even weirder? I could swear he isn’t watching Izzy, but that instead he’s watching me. Why? Did he remember I said I was a back-up singer for Izzy. I sing the chorus, not exactly half-heartedly, but definitely distractedly. Right before the song ends and the audience is plunged back into the shadows, he smiles and gives me a little wave. Wow! I have a fan. Gr
anted it’s only one in this whole crowd of people, but still.

  I’m actually glad that for the next number, I’m back in the shadows. Izzy drags a stool across the stage and adjusts the mic, a single beam spotlighting him. He says softly, “This is a new one. I hope you like it,” and then strums the opening to “Cherish.”

  I’m thrilled that I, along with the real Cherish’s help, convinced him to try the song over Roger’s protest. Stevie agreed with us. Izzy’s voice is haunting, the acoustic guitar serenading the audience with mournful chords. They don’t breathe or sigh, instead feeling the otherworldly connection. As he draws out the last note, it’s almost sacred, and then…the applause. The crazy, crazy cheers and clapping and whooping feel like they could bring down this small theater. I finally made some progress on this Mission. His fans loved it as much as I did, and Izzy looks blissed out. AIT 1—Cage 0.

  }{

  Backstage after the concert, there’s a lot of euphoria over the fact that Izzy’s Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell tour had gotten off to an amazing start. We have ten more concerts scheduled from Boston to Philly. Everyone hopes that this will lead to bigger and better things for him.

  Champagne flows, and I pretend to take a sip then carry the still-full glass to the dressing room so I can change and avoid looking out of place. As I scrub the heavy stage makeup from my face, Roger sticks his head in door. “Wonderful performance tonight, Grace. You’re coming to the after-party, aren’t you? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Parties on Earth can be difficult for Angels, as I learned during my first Mission. But I’m on the clock, and my seven deadly sins report is almost complete, so I don’t have a good excuse to avoid trouble. “Sure,” I say.

  “Great. Victor will see that you get there.” As he turns to leave, he bumps into Victor. Speak of the devil. “Ah, Vic. I was just telling Grace you’d bring her to the party.”

  “It’d be my pleasure.”

  Then Roger leaves, and Victor slips into the room. As I go back to removing my makeup, he rests his hands on my shoulders and speaks to my reflection in the mirror. “I need to warn you, this party might get a little wild.”

  “Like the float party at Lacey’s?” I wipe the heavy cold cream off with a wad of tissues.

  “Um…yeah. Kicked up a notch. You’ve heard the expression ‘sex, drugs, and rock and roll?’”

  “No, but it sounds like it violates The Code of Conduct.”

  Victor grins. “You could say that.”

  “I just did.”

  He laughs. “I’ll let you get changed. Meet me out front by Roger’s limo.” He bends down and places a kiss right on my neck below my ear.

  Shiver. My heart races, faster than the beat of Izzy’s drummer, faster than the beating of wings. “Okay.”

  I squirm into clean jeans, zip into a sleek pair of platform ankle boots. Plain gray sweater, black leather jacket. Three wand strokes of mascara per eye, hair fluff, lip gloss, and I’m out the door. Victor holds the door of the limo, and Stevie is already in there.

  “I could use a drink,” Stevie says. “Can I fix you something?”

  “Water for me,” I say.

  While the limo idles at beside the theater’s back door, Stevie plays bartender. His hand shakes as he drops cubes into the crystal glasses. The cubes rattle against the side of glass when he passes my water to me. He grabs his right hand with his left, squeezing it tight and breathes deeply. Victor leans forward and takes over bartender duties from him, fixing something a little stronger.

  “Thanks, Vic,” Stevie says as he takes the glass and sips. The back door opens. A chill wind blows in, and I pull my jacket tighter as Cherish climbs and sits next to Stevie, facing Victor and me.

  Over her shoulder she says to the driver, “Izzy said to go ahead and then come back for him. He wanted some time to unwind.”

  The limo pulls away from the curb and navigates through the streets. After a short ride we stop in front of what looks almost like a several-story warehouse. We enter the building through a side door and climb a narrow staircase with graffiti all over the walls. The staircase turns every half-floor and it seems like the climb goes on for and eternity. Finally we reach a door that says Club Spring Break.

  “Here we are.” Stevie’s hand vibrates as he smooths his ponytail, and Cherish opens the door.

  We step into a room that may be the weirdest one I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.

  In the center of huge two-story room, there’s a swimming pool with one large disco ball suspended over it. A couple of red and yellow beach balls bob on top of the water. The indoor/outdoor carpet is green, and over to one side there’s a putting green with sand traps. A net is strung between two poles, and a volleyball sits underneath. Cozy sofas and glass tables and lamps are arranged randomly around the room. People are sitting on a few of them, but we’re some of the first guests to arrive.

  Victor sits down on a floral sofa that faces both the pool and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river. He looks up at me and pats the spot next to him.

  It’s warm and humid in the room, steam rising from the heated pool. I shrug out of my jacket before sitting next to him. A waitress in a bikini hurries over. She lays a platter stacked with some kind of food on the table and takes drink orders.

  I’m starving after our performance, so reach forward and grab a bite. Mmmmm. Warm and spicy. Stevie dips his into some white sauce, so I try that with the second one. Yum. Tangy.

  “Those are delicious! What’re they called?”

  Cherish rolls her eyes, and Stevie gets a strange expression on his face. Uh-oh. I just screwed up.

  A smile flickers across Victor’s lips. “Those are wings.”

  I gag and grab a napkin, placing it over my mouth and coughing out what’s left of the vile food. I can’t believe I already ate one! What am I? Some kind of freaky cannibal?

  Victor’s in a full-out grin now. “Chicken wings.”

  “Oh,” I say, playing it casual. “I didn’t know.” I ball the napkin in my hand and look for a spot to put it. On the table seems rude, so I slip it into the pocket of my jacket to throw away later.

  “I tried the vegetarian thing for a while,” Stevie says as he takes another wing. “It didn’t really work for me.”

  It’s fantastic that Stevie didn’t catch my goof, but Victor and Cherish were both amused by it. She’s arching her eyebrows at him all Seraphim superior, and he’s giving her a what-do-you-expect? look that makes me feel stupid and jealous. Like I’m the outsider watching them share an inside joke.

  “Excuse me. I need to go freshen up.” I bump Victor’s knees as I squeeze past him, and he tries to squeeze my hand. Just keep going. My eyes burn as I cross the room head down. If there’s any walk that’s the antithesis of the Angel-walk, this is it. Don’t cry, don’t look up, don’t cry.

  Unfortunately when I reach a doorway that leads to the hall, I bump into someone and have to look up. It’s that guy. The one I keep seeing. Mr. Grasshopper Tattoo.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks in an empathetic tone.

  “Oh, there’s something in my eye—an eyelash or maybe…a plank.” I wipe my eye to keep from looking directly at him, but he doesn’t move out of my way. The way things are going it’s probably good that he’s here. If Victor is going to play catch up with Cherish at least I’ll have someone to talk to. I try to tame my green-eyed monster, and smile at him. “Why do I keep running into you? It almost seems like fate.”

  He smiles and holds out his hand. “Maybe it is. I’m Annex.”

  That’s a strange name, almost like one an Angel would have except I don’t know what it means. “Grace.” I return his grasp.

  “Lovely.”

  His eyes are just as intense as they were on the subway. I can barely look away.

  “How do you know Izzy?” I ask.

  “I don’t. I’m crashing this party.”

  I laugh at his j
oke. At least I think he’s kidding.

  “I suppose I should explain. I’m from L.A.” He hands me a business card that reads:

  City of Angels

  Recording Studios

  “I love Izzy’s work,” he continues and points a finger in my direction. “And you’re the one that helped me discover him.”

  Definitely fate. The mantra of Can I make him famous? is carried on a wisp through my mind.

  “Especially that new song,” he says. “What’s it called?”

  “‘Cherish?’”

  “Right. That’s the one. It’s got Billboard written all over it.”

  I don’t know what his billboard remark means, but I’m pretty sure it’s not literal. If there’s one thing I learned on my first Mission—and was reminded of with the wing incident tonight—it’s to just go with the flow and try to piece it all together later.

  “Do you think you could introduce me to him?” Annex asks.

  Could I? He’s about to be my knight in shining armor yet again.

  I flick the card between my fingers, and it seems like the Hallelujah chorus is playing. It could be the answer to my prayers and the answer to Izzy’s too. Once he’s a big star, all that envy will just fade, fade, fade away. “Let me make one quick stop, and then I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

  I turn to walk through a door labeled Mermaids, but he holds me in place. “Wait. One more question if you’ll indulge me?” He gives me a half-grin.

  “Sure.”

  “Did you sing with the angels in heaven before this gig?”

  What a flirt! “Nah, I always found the Angel’s tunes a little boring,” I tease.

  “Ah! I like it, rebel girl.”

  }{

  In the bathroom, I splash water on my face and try like Hell to compose myself. I hope the look that flew between Victor and Cherish means nothing. I hope it’s only my envy. I pull a scratchy brown paper towel from the dispenser and blot my face. It’s so weird that I keep running into this guy.