The Second Song #1: Homecoming

The Second Song (Part 1): Homecoming

Emily Stone

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Text Copyright 2014 Emily Stone

All Rights Reserved

Cover Design by Melody Simmons of eBookindiecovers

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Title Page

Copyright Page

Copyright Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Glossary of Cajun/French Phrases

Also By Emily Stone

"G
reat show Elise," My longtime manager, Max Clark yelled across to me as I left the stage to the thunderous applause of screaming teenagers. The statement was his habit after every performance; it didn’t matter if the show had been amazing, a disaster or simply mediocre, he always met me after my last encore with the same phrase. It had long since lost its meaning over the years we’d spent in forced proximity together. Once upon a time, I thought Max Clark hung the moon, but there were times now, when I hated him. I knew I blamed him for my discontent with my career, but I also owed my enormous success to him as well.

"Great for an over-the-hill pop princess you mean?" I stormed past him, eager for a shower to wash the glitter and glam away.

"You’re barely twenty-five Elise." His frustration was evident as he followed me into my dressing room.

"And I’ve been doing this shit for a decade Max! I don’t want to do it anymore. The choreography, back up dancers, the smoke and lights - it’s all too much and it’s never been me. The music is cheesy and the costumes are offensive! The next album has to be different, you promised after this tour we’d talk about transitioning my career into a more mature one. The tour is over, so what’s your plan?" I dropped to my seat at the vanity and proceeded to rip my mile long false eyelashes out. The makeup artists would yell at me about that later, but those dang things drove me half-crazy or
motier foux
, as my grand-mére Léoma would say.

"You’re going to take a much needed vacation and we will discuss it back in L.A. in three months."

"Three months! What the hell am I going to do for three months?" My vacations were usually never more than a few weeks before I was either back in the recording studio, or on the road.

"We’ve been going hard these last few years. Hey - everyone needs a nice long break. Your managers and the producers at the label all agreed; you need a rest as much as your team does."

"That’s what I’m talking about Max, that shit right there! It’s got to change. You people have been making my decisions for me for ten danged years, but I’m an adult now and I need to be more involved in these things."

"Go home for a couple of months and relax. When we reconvene in L.A. we’ll talk about the direction of your career; but I will warn you, the label isn’t going to allow any major changes. You’ve got a couple of more pop albums and long tours in your future before your fan base starts to outgrow you."

"I’m not doin’ another dang pop album, Clark." I growled, letting the Cajun come out in me a little more than usual.

"Just take the vacation Elise," he begged, "go see Léoma and get your head on straight. You’ve been an extra special nightmare this tour."

"I can’t go home for three
months
!" A note of panic crept into my voice.

"You haven’t been home longer than a few days at a time in years; Léoma deserves to see you more often."

"You know I talk to my grand-mére every single day and I make dang sure she doesn’t want for a thing!" I frowned at the implication that I was neglecting my beloved grandmother.

"You know that’s not the same. That woman sacrificed a lot for you, and you’re all she has. Go spend the summer with her. Go fish for crawdads or whatever it is you do back in the Louisiana swamps and get rid of all that angst you’ve been carrying around."

"And where will you be?" I knew he’d die before he stopped working for three whole months.

"Shopping for new songs for your next pop album."

"Max! I swear to
Pete
, if you make me dance across that stage one more time...
Je vas te passe une callotte
!" I really might slap him, I thought as I hurled my sparkling stilettos across the room.

"Okay, I’m leaving; I know when you go all Cajun on me that I’m in trouble. Have a good vacation
cher
." He grinned as he rushed from the room.

"I can’t go home," I whispered at my reflection as I dabbed at the thick eyeliner with makeup remover.  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to spend three months with grand-mére Léoma. There wasn’t much I wanted more than to spend time with the only person on the planet who loved me for me, and not for what I could do for them. I’d grown up in the small backwater bayou town of Avery Island and I loved it and missed it more than I could have ever imagined, but my old friends from high school hated me. In the beginning when I went home, it was fun, but when I really made it big, it was like they resented me for my success. These days, when I went home, I stayed in grand-mére’s house and never ventured into town.

I could handle three months of solitude with just me and grand-mére, but three months was a long time, long enough to run into Avery Trahan, my high school sweetheart, who I was still more than just a little bit in love with. I could not handle seeing the indifference in his eyes.

It had hurt Avery the most when I left. He understood I couldn’t turn down such a golden opportunity, but it happened so suddenly, and we’d said some awful things to each other and had barely spoken since.

I’d always loved singing as a child and I had huge dreams of becoming a rock star, leaving Avery Island far behind. In high school, my friends and I would make the long trek to New Orleans on Friday and Saturday nights, and we’d find any club or speakeasy that would let us sing.

I was barely sixteen years old when Max Clark handed me his card and swore he’d make me a star. I believed him too and thought he could make all my dreams come true, even grand-mére thought so when he respectfully came out to our remote home in the bayou to meet her and assured her he only had my best interests at heart. He was a smooth talker back then, still was; but he had grand-mére’s signature on all the papers and within a month, I was on the radio with my first single, and within two months, I was on tour, opening for one of the most popular boy bands at the time. I quickly surpassed them with Max’s head for business, and it didn’t hurt that I’d been picked up by one of the best labels around.

The first few years had been amazing, but I quickly tired of the pop scene. The music wasn’t anything I’d have ever listened to, and that was part of the problem with my friends back home. They thought I was a sell-out and I suppose I was. I always thought the pop-princess thing would turn into something more serious, but here I was ten years later and I was still dancing like a trained monkey, doing whatever my managers told me.

Ten long years of working; singing, dancing, touring, not to mention the interviews and music videos...it was all a never ending circus and the thought of a real break was appealing, but could I really go home?

"What the hell else am I going to do for three months?" I frowned at my reflection in the mirror as my phone buzzed.

"Silas." I smiled. My ‘boyfriend,’ handpicked by my managers. He was also an artist represented by my label and everyone thought it would be great for both our careers to be seen together as often as possible.

"Elise!" he exclaimed loudly when I answered.

"Hey Silas!"

"How was the show?"

"Same ole, same ole."

"Listen, I’m shooting a new music video next month and my managers think it’d be great if you make an appearance, you know, just for fun?"

"Sure thing Si." If I did decide to go home, I could use Silas’ video as an excuse to bail if I needed one.

"Awesome babe, thanks! So the tour’s over? You want to come out and hang with me in Malibu for a few days?"

"Nah, I think I might go home for a few weeks."

"Home, like to the swamps home, or L.A. home?

"Not sure yet. It might be nice to get back to the peace and quiet of the good ole bayou."

"Really? Mosquitos? Gators? Hillbillies?"

"Dangit Silas, we’re Cajun, not hillbillies!"

"You’re cute as hell, you know that right?" He laughed.

"Don’t tease me." He was such a great friend, sometimes with benefits, but we both knew this wasn’t going anywhere long term.

"Go see your grandmother and get some rest doll, you’ve been working that fabulous ass off for too damn long."

"Thanks Si, see you next month."

I
found myself driving down the 329, heading south to Avery Island just a week later. I hadn’t told grand-mére I was coming; I just hopped a flight to Houston at the last minute. After two days at my home in LA, I knew I couldn’t take three months on my own. Once I made the decision, I packed a bag with the essentials, thinking I’d just hit the local Wal-Mart for the things I might need while I was home. 

The girl at the car rental place in Houston recognized me, despite my attempt at disguise.

"Are you headin’ home Ms. Leroux?" She hissed loudly as I scrawled my autograph on her copy of my latest CD.

"Just takin’ a drive to see some friends in Baton Rouge," I lied. It wouldn’t do to let the press get wind of my destination; they’d been trying for years to get me to confirm my hometown. Everyone who’d heard me speak could tell I was a Cajun from the bayou, but I never wanted to ruin the beauty of Avery Island by drawing the world’s attention to it. The paparazzi would swarm the Parrish looking for anyone who might have known me before I was famous, and then the town would never be the same, everyone would blame me for it, and hate me all the more.

"Have a good trip Elise." The girl flashed a wink, like we were now the best of friends.

"Thanks sweetheart." I forced my best smile and threw my small suitcase in the backseat.

As soon as I hit bayou country, I rolled the windows down and the warm humidity mixed with the scent of the swamps, wet cypress trees and Spanish moss, took me back to my childhood.

The tears came when I drove past my old high school and I thought about my life back then. I had a happy childhood, and sometimes I wondered if I had been happy at all since those days with my best friends - and Avery. It did not bode well that I was thinking of him so much lately. I was both anxious and afraid of seeing him again.

Could we possibly be friends again?
I wondered as I drove. I missed our friendship the most and I knew I’d be happy with just a fraction of what we once had.
If he doesn’t still hate me.

Grand-mére Léoma lived deep in the swamp, down by old Willow Pond in a small palafitte house, built up on stilts to avoid flooding when the waters rose. My grand-pére, Henri built the house and my mother had grown up in it, until she died giving birth to me, not long after my father died in a tragic accident. Grand-pére Henri died when I was four, so it had always just been me and gran.

She was sitting on the back porch, weaving baskets made of swamp grass. Back when I was a child she sold them to tourists passing through our little town. The money she made from her baskets, put clothes on my back and a little cash in my purse and I loved her for it. I hated seeing her work her fingers to the bone making them now. She didn’t need to worry about money ever again, but she rarely touched the money I put in her account every month. It felt like a slap in the face that my own grandmother was too ashamed of me to let me take care of her.

"Elise? Honey is that you?" She stood, letting her basket fall to the ground where the wind caught it, sending it into the murky pond below.

"Grand-mére!" I grinned, charging up the rickety porch steps to catch her in a warm embrace.

"Oh, honey, I am so glad to see you! Why didn’t you call?"

"I wanted to surprise you!"

"Well, you could knock me over with a feather,
cher
. How long you stayin’ this time?"

"All summer if you’ll have me."

"Darlin, this is your home, you’re always welcome. Come on in, I’ll make you some lemonade and you can tell me all about your tour. Didja get to go to China again?"