Stage Secrets

Zackary West stood in front of the audience of screaming girls, smiling a charismatic smile and belting out the lyrics to his new hit single with pride, his band providing the perfect base for the dark, vengeful words coming from his mouth. He grasped the microphone like a lifeline, wondering briefly what he would do without it.

The fans ate it up, and he could feel the energy pouring off them like the potentially lethal radiation coming from a running microwave. They varied in ages, from far too young to be hearing all the profanity he sang to girls in their mid and upper twenties. Hell, there were even guys in the audience, though they were not acting nearly as rabid. He finished the last song with a scream, forcing it up from deep within his throat and breathing roughly, though satisfied. He thanked the audience, grinning and nodding at them one last time before bounding off the stage, followed closely his bandmates.

Lisa Devera, Johnny Briar and Kurt Woodson were some of the very few people who knew his secret. They had been friends since kindergarten, sticking together through a love of music and a love of the idea of playing in front of screaming fans. Or any fans, really. So it was only natural that they agreed, that they swore silence, that they would never utter a word about who Zackary really was. It would kill their careers and futures, and it would ruin Zackary.

Twenty year old Zackary was the hottest new thing to hit the music industry, his face was already on magazine covers everywhere, MTV scrambled to get interviews with him and his band, Crashing October. He was young, he was new, and he had the slightly feminine features that seemed to make girls fall all over themselves these days. In other words, he was a gold mine. And that’s what his manager had thought when he practically burst into the small club they were playing at years ago, saying ‘Kids, I’ll make you famous.’ And he had. The middle-aged man’s eyebrows had shot up when Zackary confessed his secret, and it had taken a lot of convincing to stop the man from outing him without delay, because Vincent Striker was all about scandal. But really, Zackary had made a good argument; he could make so much more money, be so much more successful, if he was…well, if he was Zackary. That was pretty much how he convinced everyone who already knew not to tell: if word got out, they wouldn’t get his money. And that was all they really wanted.

He signed autographs, carrying on short and neutral conversations with the many people who lined up just to meet him. He didn’t have to do this, of course, but he liked to. He liked how eager they were to meet someone famous, how eager they were to tell him how much they loved him and how long they had been listening to his band. He liked how every single one called themselves his biggest fan. It made him think back to before he was famous, when he would have killed to get this close to someone like him.

He called it a night and hugged the last person in line, heading out to the parking lot to the tour bus where his friends had probably already crashed out. It had been an exhausting show.

And, of course, the bus was a mess. Clothes were strewn everywhere, empty bottles of soda and beer overflowed out of the trash bin and a bag of chips was laying on its side, crumbs spilling out onto the carpet.

He had been right; his band was completely conked out. Johnny and Kurt had made it to their bunks, while Lisa was laying sprawled out on the couch, drool ran down her chin. Zachary took a moment to look at her, really look at her. He had always been somewhat jealous of Lisa, ever since he met her. She was what he should have looked like, delicate and just all around perfect. She had long, dyed black hair. He had had long hair once too, though he had never been as beautiful as Lisa. And that, really, had been the problem.

He walked to his bunk and sat down, being careful not to bump his head as he leaned back against the wall and exhaled softly. Thinking back, he wondered if all of this had been a mistake. It was hard to be something you were not, and he thought about the people who wanted to do what he had done, but for better reasons. The people who didn’t feel comfortable being who they were, who wanted desperately to feel comfortable in their own skin. He thought that maybe what he had done had been stupid, stupid and selfish. No, it wasn’t technically permanent, but wasn’t it? There was no way he could go back; the media would have a field day with that story. And his fans, what about his fans? He worried that some of them might be permanently damaged if they knew the truth; he had read the fan fictions, felt them grabbing his ass. So, wouldn’t it also be selfish of him to just come out and admit what had happened? And He loved his life! He loved what he had become. They had told him he couldn’t do it, back before everything had changed.

Because Gloria Sharp had not been pretty enough to meet the industry’s expectations, her voice hadn’t been delicate enough for their standards. She had the talent, the will and the fire in her eyes, but she just couldn’t match the other top female artists. It wasn’t fair, no, but she had done what she felt she had to do to accomplish her dreams. Someday someone would find out, but that would be okay. It was the now that was important.

And after all, they say that you should do what you’re good at, and Gloria Sharp was damn good at being Zackary West.