Magic's Song (3 page)

It seemed like an omen. Should she audition?

Tanith belted out her scales, testing her vocal cords. Were pipes enough? Didn’t rock singers need attitude?

At twelve years old, she’d resisted when Grandma Sweeny dragged her to voice lessons. The teacher won her over with gentle encouragement and resistance died. The more she sang, the more the sweet old lady encouraged.

Despite classical training, she harbored secret fantasies of being a rock star. Didn’t everybody?

She’d kept singing, but refused to sing for anyone but her teacher, much to the chagrin of Grandma Sweeney. In all that time, she’d made only one exception. In college, she and Darson sang along with the radio. His encouragement superseded that of the voice teacher.

Maybe…

She glanced again at the flyer, looking for a time. She found it in bold print—the try-outs were at eleven. Her eyes darted to the clock on her coffeemaker: 10:30.

“Too late.” She’d picked the wrong morning to sleep in.

She poured a cup of coffee, unable to shake the heaviness consuming her. After all, it was just a stupid audition she wouldn’t win.

She sipped her coffee as she sat down to read the paper. Like every day, she read her horoscope first.

Today you meet the man of your dreams.

“Yeah right.” Been there, done that.

The doorbell rang. She laughed. “That’ll be him.”

After a glimpse through the peephole, she flung open the door. “Darson?”

“You look fabulous, dahling,” he shrilled, doing a bad imitation of Billy Crystal. “What have you been eating? I want some.”

She arched a brow, taking in Darson’s shiny, black-leather pants and silky, yellow shirt. “Love the pants but the dry cleaning must be a bear.”

Darson stood back and put his hands on his hips. “No, you cannot wear them.” He eyed her hips. “Although I must say, they’d be too big for you now. You’d make that Swedish model girl green with envy.”

Tanith’s grin spread across her face. “How’d you find me?”

He rolled his eyes toward her ceiling. “Duh. Google. Are you ready to go?”

Her smile faltered. “Go where?”

Darson gave her his patented look. “Ohmigod. You weren’t going? Here I am hoping you’d changed your attitude to go with that fab body. I should have known you’d find some lame-butt excuse to back out. Good thing I came along to drag you to the damned audition.”

“Come on, D. I can’t go. I’m not lead singer material.”

“You so are. Not only do you have the best voice I’ve ever heard, you also have the second hottest body in this room. Maybe in the whole world.” He popped a hand on his hip. “The Tough Guys are perfect for your pipes—edgy, but smooth and, God, girl. Those guys are so hot I sweat just thinking about them. You’ll fit with them just like a hot dog in a bun.”

He put his fist against his chin. “Technically, you’re the bun and they’re…” Darson grinned wickedly. “Anyway, they don’t have a single gay man in the group, but I still love ’em. That should tell you how good they are. Let’s go.”

“No.”

He pursed his lips. “Yes. A voice like yours might get them into the big leagues. You don’t want to deprive those delicious boys, do you?”

“Dar, I don’t want to be in the big leagues.”

“Um-hum. And I don’t want ten inches. Now let’s go. There’s sure to be a line.”

She blushed. “I can’t, I’ll choke.”

Darson cackled. “Sweetie, I’m going to let that one slide. Ten inches—choke? Too easy. Besides, you’ll be singing, not giving blowjobs. You
are
going to this audition even if I have to drag you by your blonde head. Which looks great, by the way. Why don’t you wear your hair down more often?”

Tanith involuntarily touched her head. Normally she wrapped her long locks sloppily on the top of her head and shoved a clip through her hair. “I haven’t even combed it.”

“Leave it alone.” Darson tugged at her arm. “Let’s go, we’re late.”

She couldn’t go. She’d make a fool of herself. Backing away, Tanith grabbed the flyer from the desk and pushed it toward his face. “Read this.
Auditions by appointment only
. I don’t have an appointment.”

Darson showed too many teeth. The grinning hyena had to be up to something. “I was afraid you’d chicken out, you chicken shit. I called and made the appointment for you. No excuses this time.”

“You what?” Tanith gulped, too stunned to be angry. Her thoughts scattered into a hundred directions, making her stomach gurgle. If she didn’t do something fast, Darson would succeed in getting her to try-out.

“Let me change clothes.”

“Change? No way! You look fabulous.”

She whimpered as Darson pushed her from behind. Tanith barely had time to grab her keys and a hairclip before he marched her out the door.

Chapter Four

They made it to the audition five minutes early, but a long line already snaked around the building. Tanith felt her throat constrict. She tugged at her hemline, her mind working frantically to find any excuse to leave.

Every time she thought of something and opened her mouth, Darson put a finger on her lips. “Just breathe. You’ll be fine.”

The line moved faster than her thinking. “Dar, I really don’t think—”

“Breathe.” He kept chatting but his words didn’t penetrate.

She kept seeing herself fall off the stage. She re-tasted her morning coffee and feared she’d see it again too. In her mind, she stood onstage, but when she opened her mouth, she sounded like a seagull.

“I can’t do this.”

“Of course you can. You do it in the shower every morning.” He leaned closer to the woman standing next to him. “Don’t let your imagination get creative. I assure you, the only thing she does in the shower is sing.”

Both the woman and Darson laughed. Tanith felt sick.

Darson kneaded her shoulders. “Quit being a ninny. You’ll be fine.”

She opened her mouth again to reason with Darson, but she’d made it to the front of the line. How could that have happened? She tried to speak, to tell the man she’d made a mistake, but her mouth wouldn’t work.

“This is Tanith Cox,” Darson said to the man behind the makeshift desk.

He didn’t even raise his head as he studied the paper. He placed a check on the page and barked, “To the right.”

“My right or your right?” she squeaked. A large group waited to her left with at least thirty females standing in a cluster. Even more women waited behind her, but only two women stood to her right.

His arm, covered with scrolled tattoos, shot out toward the two women standing near a door. “Wait over there. Next.”

“Move,” Darson hissed in her ear.

He pushed her and she stumbled to the right. Her stomach stopped churning. Sick disappointment drowned her nervous jitters.

She hadn’t really wanted to try out—okay, she’d wanted to, but had been too afraid. That didn’t make rejection any easier. It sucked. They’d dismissed her already, probably because she didn’t have the right look.

Sighing, she glanced at one of the women standing next to her. The vamp towered over her with legs encased in skin-hugging leopard pants. The black vest exposed most of the Amazon’s boobs and tons of makeup enhanced a classically beautiful face.
What’s wrong with her look?

“‘Lo,” the vamp said, flashing a row of perfect teeth. She gave her black-purple hair a bit of a shake, exposing green streaks randomly planted in the long black. Somehow, she looked sexy instead of garish.

“Hello,” Tanith whispered, feeling overdressed. Even in her thigh baring dress, no one would notice her standing next to that dazzler. Not that it mattered.

“We might as well leave,” she whispered to Darson. “This is obviously the
reject
line.”

“Just a sec, hon.” He kept talking to the other female in the trio, as if she hadn’t spoken. His chat buddy wore a buzz cut and sported more chains than Tanith had ever seen without a Doberman nearby.

“Dar—”

A combined scream drowned out her words. Tanith looked around for the source of the commotion. She recognized the man sticking his head through the door from the picture on the flyer. Several girls in the other line shrieked.

“Margo Stewart?” he yelled in a clipped accent, and then disappeared inside the building.

The beautiful woman who’d been standing next to Tanith tottered toward the door on four-inch stilettos. Tanith grabbed Darson by his ear, forcing him to listen. “I don’t get it. Are they taking people from this line? I thought we were the discards.”

He groaned. “You’re so negative. Of course this isn’t the
reject
line.”

“But, Dar. Why would they want to listen to me and not all those women?” She gestured wildly toward the mob on the left.

“They’re probably auditioning experienced singers first.”

“I don’t have any experience.”

“Sure you do. When I made the appointment, I had to submit a bio along with a listing of any musical training.” The smugness on his face frightened her.

“Dar.” She shook her head, hoping she was wrong. “You didn’t? Tell me you didn’t fake my experience.”

He shrugged. “Just a smidge.”

She would have smacked him if she’d possessed the strength. Heaven help her. Darson had falsified her musical background.

“I didn’t fake your training, sweetie. And you have the pipes. I’ll bet those women can’t even sing.” He pointed to the other line that kept growing longer.

“But you lied about my experience, Dar. That isn’t fair.”

“Get over yourself. You can sing. Those women are just groupies.”

If his plan included getting her mind off her audition and onto his fraud, he succeeded—she felt completely distracted. “What are you talking about? Why would groupies come to an audition?”

“Honey, if I were female, I’d be in that line too. Did you see the man who just stuck his head out of that door? He plays keyboard, and like the lead guitarist, he’s beyond gorgeous. These guys may not be big time yet, but they have groupies everywhere they play.”

Darson maintained his continuous chatter, but Tanith couldn’t follow—mainly because she couldn’t breathe.
What happened to the air
?

The scenery began to spin. She leaned against Darson to stop the swaying. She focused on a light pole in the distance, trying to keep the bitter coffee from rising past her throat.

“Tanith Cox.”

Her name penetrated her consciousness. The three syllables sounded as if they’d been spoken from inside an aquarium.

“That’s you, sweetie. Break a leg.” Darson gave her a gentle shove. Her unwilling body moved forward on unsteady legs.

The man who’d checked her name off the list held the door open for her. “You okay?”

“Bathroom?” Tanith croaked.

She followed the shadow of his arm as it pointed. The swirly tattoos seemed to spin in cadence with her head. Bile erupted from her stomach. She ran.

No time to shut the door. The coffee she’d guzzled earlier made an encore appearance, splattering everywhere. She breathed deeply, trying to prevent another gag. True to her own prediction, she’d made a fool of herself.

She stood over the toilet, huffing until the worst passed. When she felt a little better, Tanith leaned over the unexpectedly clean sink and splashed water on her face. There’d be no audition now that she’d shown her lack of professionalism. Bringing her shoulders back, she held her head high and prepared to make a grand exit.

The man leaning against the wall stood straight when she emerged. He was handsome in a wooly sort of way. His big brown eyes raked over her, seeming both concerned and amused. “I’m Marcus. Feeling better?”

She nodded.

“‘Atta girl. You ready now?”

What the devil is he talking about?
He must have heard her vomit. Heck, the people outside, even those at the end of the line, had probably heard her barf.

“Happens all the time, luv. I puke before every gig.” Marcus flashed a friendly smile and slipped his arm through the crook of her elbow. “Allow me.”

He led her onto a small stage before she could protest. She turned to ask him what was going on, but a spotlight landed on her face, concealing his whereabouts. Having grown accustomed to the dimness, the sudden brightness blinded her. She blinked, trying to comprehend the sequence of events.

“Marcus?” she whispered.

A voice echoed from the back of the room, smooth and sexy. “What are you going to sing?”

Definitely not Marcus
. Tanith wondered why the man with that voice didn’t do the singing.

Oh, crap!
They still wanted her to sing?

She hadn’t believed she’d actually audition, so she hadn’t even thought about a song. The lyrics of a Pussycat Dolls song popped into her head—she pushed them back out. The song was too sexy for her. She needed something else.

A song.
She needed a song. Something simple to keep her from making a total ass of herself.

Her mind didn’t cooperate. Her eyes darted around, looking for the door. Maybe she could run for it.

A tower of CDs was stacked on a shelf by the door. Who kept CDs anymore?

“Miss?”

She couldn’t see the man who’d asked the question, but she could see the labels on the cases. The CD on the top of the stack was by the Pretenders.

“Miss? What are you going to sing?” the voice repeated, the tone surprisingly patient.

“I’d like to… I’ll do something by Chrissie Hynde.” Where had that come from? Her voice hadn’t even trembled.

Unexpected calmness engulfed her. After being the idiot who puked, she reasoned, she had nowhere to go but up. What difference did it make if she croaked the lyrics like a bullfrog?

“Jesus, we wait ten minutes for another broad doing oldies?” The female voice reeked with sarcasm. “Come on, Brent, the guys only let her in here because of that bit of fabric masquerading as a dress. How many more of these are we gonna listen to?”