Forward To Fame
Chapter 2
A cloud of hairspray surrounds me and as usual Mathieu doesn’t care if I choke and die. He whizzes around me like a fly, his face contorted with concentration as if he’s solving some serious maths equation. He drops his hands and you would think he was finished but I know better from having him as my hairstylist for what feels like forever. He bends over slowly like an animal about to pounce on his pray, he tip toes closer, closer and slowly draws up the scissors, closer and closer until…… snip.
‘Voila!’ he says and struts around the room as if on a catwalk.
I roll my eyes but giggle at his gay dramaticism. He really was hilarious and a fabulous hair stylist. I kiss him on the cheek and step into wardrobe. It is a lot of girls dreams to have people waiting on them hand and foot. Getting your hair done, make-up, getting to wear the most amazing top of the range cloths that cost more than your mother. Personally I don’t enjoy it. I did at first but now I feel they are covering me, smothering me. There are hands always poking and brushing and plucking at me from every direction constantly trying to change me. My head throbbed and I was over run by tiredness. I could hear Fabiora talking and talking and talking to me somewhere in the distance. I closed my eyes wishing I was anyone else but me.
By the time I opened them I was out on stage talking about myself. The good-looking presenter grinning at me acting all nice even though he always asks the worst questions.
‘Your new album has been said to be very repeititive. Critics say it’s exactly like your first album ‘Coming Of Age,’ he said, his voice booming at me making my head split open. I wanted to smack him. ‘What do you think of this?’
I couldn’t think. My brain was murky.
‘Well,’ I laughed. ‘Critics are critics.’
Silence. The bitch cleared his voice.
‘There are rumours circulating that your innocent image is toiled as you’ve been out partying lately and consuming a lot of alcohol. Is this true,’ he smiled.
‘You know what bucko,’ I said poking him. ‘I’m a teenager, k? I like to get wasted, k? I like to go to very expensive parties VIP, k? I mean I’m a fucking one-woman party!’
I fell on the floor with laughter, which adding to the humiliation turned into tears. Before I knew it the interview was over.
I woke up on the plane. Fabiora was looming over me.
‘How could you?’ she gasped.
‘What?’ I said rubbing my eyes.
‘You,’ she said excruciatingly. ‘You went to an interview… drunk? Who does that?’
‘Me. Apparently,’ I sigh.
‘What’s gotten into you?’ she said. ‘You used to be so dedicated. I feel like I should give up on you!’
‘Mmmm,’ I murmur and grabbed my laptop. She left the room. I don’t know if she was crying or not. Not that I really give a crap. I signed into my homepage and smiled at the comments. It was like I had friends. Bearing in mind, I had never met them before. As I clicked around the internet, a little bubble advertisement popped up on the screen.
‘Friends.com,’ I read aloud. ‘Join, make a profile and chat! Make friends or maybe more. New!’
I shrugged and clicked on the bubble. I signed up and designed my homepage.
About me. My name is Katie-Louise. Im 19. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Five foot six. I love my music. Infact, that is my occupstion. I sing and write music for a living. Nothing major mind but I get by. I’m lonely and slowly turning into an alcoholic. I have so much to say to anyone who’ll listen. I don’t have a family anymore, I live alone. I don’t have any close friends. You could say I have associates but not friends. I’m very popular, a lot of people adore me. However, I am un-happily single. I’m am unnaturally lonely. I join every fucking website I can just to talk to other people like me or like you. I am brutally honest but fabulously trustworthy. Tell me your sercrets I’ll take them to the grave…… or at least to the bottom of a wine bottle. Peace out. Katie-Lou.
I left my new homepage and fell asleep. Before I knew it I was being preened again, getting ready for a gig I was playing that night. Fabiora loomed over me, making sure I wasn’t taking any of the alcohol roaming around. That’s the problem with being a celebrity, there’s just free alcohol everywhere you turn. Mathieu is pouring over me, obviously peeved that I had gotten sick all over his last creation this morning on the plane. An older woman about the age of thirty was bending over looking me directly in the eye. As usual, she was not looking at me but the mascara brush carefully applying the black mess to my eye lashes. Nobody ever looked at me. They saw the beautiful, talented artist but not the young teenager crying inside. I wondered if she was married, had children and enjoyed her job. I wondered if she was happy. I wondered if there was ever a time in her life when she was nineteen and felt like killing herself even though she had everything in the world she could possibly want being handed to her on a stick.
When I was completed, I stood up and gazed at the thing in the mirror. If someone looked at me right now they would see perfection, not the ugly person inside. I was hidden, at least for now. A crew member stuck on my microphone, he was giving me orders but I wasn’t listening. I was listening to the crowd of eleven and twelve year olds chanting my name through the stadium. If only they knew what a twisted bitch their idol is. If only the parents knew that I was about to come out on stage in a bikini and practically lap dance on one of my dancers.
It was a benefit concert, so I would only be performing three songs. Thank God. I watched as the last performer came from stage and began yelling at the stage director about her mike falling off. I rolled my eyes. Why bother?
I stood offstage listening to the beautiful presenter introduce me. She said I was the biggest act of 2007. She said I was talented, beautiful and an amazing artist. She said I was hottest, new, young star she has ever seen. She said I will go down in history. She said Kate Teel.
I stood on the platform as it began to rise up onto the dim stage. A huge burst of light and colour suddenly surrounded me. My song started. I turned around and saw the crowd going crazy. This was the one thing I enjoyed about my life. Stepping on stage and seeing the crowd go wild for you. That burst of adrenaline and pride. God, I wish there was tablets for that feeling.
‘Voila!’ he says and struts around the room as if on a catwalk.
I roll my eyes but giggle at his gay dramaticism. He really was hilarious and a fabulous hair stylist. I kiss him on the cheek and step into wardrobe. It is a lot of girls dreams to have people waiting on them hand and foot. Getting your hair done, make-up, getting to wear the most amazing top of the range cloths that cost more than your mother. Personally I don’t enjoy it. I did at first but now I feel they are covering me, smothering me. There are hands always poking and brushing and plucking at me from every direction constantly trying to change me. My head throbbed and I was over run by tiredness. I could hear Fabiora talking and talking and talking to me somewhere in the distance. I closed my eyes wishing I was anyone else but me.
By the time I opened them I was out on stage talking about myself. The good-looking presenter grinning at me acting all nice even though he always asks the worst questions.
‘Your new album has been said to be very repeititive. Critics say it’s exactly like your first album ‘Coming Of Age,’ he said, his voice booming at me making my head split open. I wanted to smack him. ‘What do you think of this?’
I couldn’t think. My brain was murky.
‘Well,’ I laughed. ‘Critics are critics.’
Silence. The bitch cleared his voice.
‘There are rumours circulating that your innocent image is toiled as you’ve been out partying lately and consuming a lot of alcohol. Is this true,’ he smiled.
‘You know what bucko,’ I said poking him. ‘I’m a teenager, k? I like to get wasted, k? I like to go to very expensive parties VIP, k? I mean I’m a fucking one-woman party!’
I fell on the floor with laughter, which adding to the humiliation turned into tears. Before I knew it the interview was over.
I woke up on the plane. Fabiora was looming over me.
‘How could you?’ she gasped.
‘What?’ I said rubbing my eyes.
‘You,’ she said excruciatingly. ‘You went to an interview… drunk? Who does that?’
‘Me. Apparently,’ I sigh.
‘What’s gotten into you?’ she said. ‘You used to be so dedicated. I feel like I should give up on you!’
‘Mmmm,’ I murmur and grabbed my laptop. She left the room. I don’t know if she was crying or not. Not that I really give a crap. I signed into my homepage and smiled at the comments. It was like I had friends. Bearing in mind, I had never met them before. As I clicked around the internet, a little bubble advertisement popped up on the screen.
‘Friends.com,’ I read aloud. ‘Join, make a profile and chat! Make friends or maybe more. New!’
I shrugged and clicked on the bubble. I signed up and designed my homepage.
About me. My name is Katie-Louise. Im 19. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Five foot six. I love my music. Infact, that is my occupstion. I sing and write music for a living. Nothing major mind but I get by. I’m lonely and slowly turning into an alcoholic. I have so much to say to anyone who’ll listen. I don’t have a family anymore, I live alone. I don’t have any close friends. You could say I have associates but not friends. I’m very popular, a lot of people adore me. However, I am un-happily single. I’m am unnaturally lonely. I join every fucking website I can just to talk to other people like me or like you. I am brutally honest but fabulously trustworthy. Tell me your sercrets I’ll take them to the grave…… or at least to the bottom of a wine bottle. Peace out. Katie-Lou.
I left my new homepage and fell asleep. Before I knew it I was being preened again, getting ready for a gig I was playing that night. Fabiora loomed over me, making sure I wasn’t taking any of the alcohol roaming around. That’s the problem with being a celebrity, there’s just free alcohol everywhere you turn. Mathieu is pouring over me, obviously peeved that I had gotten sick all over his last creation this morning on the plane. An older woman about the age of thirty was bending over looking me directly in the eye. As usual, she was not looking at me but the mascara brush carefully applying the black mess to my eye lashes. Nobody ever looked at me. They saw the beautiful, talented artist but not the young teenager crying inside. I wondered if she was married, had children and enjoyed her job. I wondered if she was happy. I wondered if there was ever a time in her life when she was nineteen and felt like killing herself even though she had everything in the world she could possibly want being handed to her on a stick.
When I was completed, I stood up and gazed at the thing in the mirror. If someone looked at me right now they would see perfection, not the ugly person inside. I was hidden, at least for now. A crew member stuck on my microphone, he was giving me orders but I wasn’t listening. I was listening to the crowd of eleven and twelve year olds chanting my name through the stadium. If only they knew what a twisted bitch their idol is. If only the parents knew that I was about to come out on stage in a bikini and practically lap dance on one of my dancers.
It was a benefit concert, so I would only be performing three songs. Thank God. I watched as the last performer came from stage and began yelling at the stage director about her mike falling off. I rolled my eyes. Why bother?
I stood offstage listening to the beautiful presenter introduce me. She said I was the biggest act of 2007. She said I was talented, beautiful and an amazing artist. She said I was hottest, new, young star she has ever seen. She said I will go down in history. She said Kate Teel.
I stood on the platform as it began to rise up onto the dim stage. A huge burst of light and colour suddenly surrounded me. My song started. I turned around and saw the crowd going crazy. This was the one thing I enjoyed about my life. Stepping on stage and seeing the crowd go wild for you. That burst of adrenaline and pride. God, I wish there was tablets for that feeling.