The dryer whined, blowing a D and a B flat simultaneously, as Eileen went on about maximizing followers and building synergistic partnerships.
“Is she even paying attention?” she heard Eileen ask eventually.
Ruthanna gave a low chuckle. “Oh, believe me,” she said, “AnnieLee’s tracking every word.” She paused. “She’s going to take it all in and turn it all over. And she’ll do whatever she thinks is right.”
The blow-dryer finally shut off, and Poppy appeared in front of AnnieLee with a handheld mirror. “Behold the glory that is you!” the stylist said, without even a trace of irony.
AnnieLee’s dark hair fell in smooth, luxurious waves over her shoulders, while a sweep of a shorter layer slipped teasingly down in front of her right eye. She looked sultry, innocent, and defiant all at once.
“Prettier than a picture,” Ruthanna said.
“Speaking of pictures,” Eileen said, pulling out her phone and snapping one. “It’s perfect for your Insta.”
AnnieLee was about to protest, but then Eileen knelt down and looked her in the eye. “We can handle the social media. Just think hard about who you are,” she said gently. “And who you want to be. The truth—whatever that may look like—doesn’t really matter. There’s only what you tell us, and what you’ll have us believe.”
AnnieLee rubbed her hip, where there was still the faintest ghost of a bruise, a visual marker of a past that didn’t want to leave her alone.
The truth doesn’t matter? she thought. If only it were that simple.
Chapter
48
All this for us?” AnnieLee asked, glancing around the clean white cabin of Ruthanna’s small private jet. “Shoot, I was impressed by Delta. They had those cute peanut packets.”
“A Bombardier’s a little nicer than Delta,” Ethan agreed. “And it’s a lot nicer than hitchhiking.”
“No kidding.” AnnieLee set down her duffel bag and sank into her seat. “I still can’t believe any of this is happening.” She shot a warning look at Ethan. “But you don’t need to pinch me again, in case you were thinking about it.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Never.”
It had been an exhausting, exhilarating few weeks. First she’d moved out of the Pepto-Bismol motel room and into a rented cottage in the neighborhood of Hope Gardens; it felt like the first real home she’d had in years. And then, after talks with her manager, her lawyer, and her label, AnnieLee had released two more singles on the same August day. Though ACD had initially been against the idea, AnnieLee had insisted that the songs go out into the world together, like the A and B sides of an old-fashioned 45.
Even more unusual than a double release, the tracks weren’t fully produced, perfected, and mastered. Instead, they were the ones that she’d recorded in Ruthanna’s home studio: the Cellar Sessions, AnnieLee called them. People loved them, even more than she’d dared to hope, and an influential music critic tweeted that AnnieLee would be the next Taylor Swift—“but fierier and fiercer, with a voice so raw and gorgeous it’ll make your jaw drop or your eyeballs leak. Or both.” ACD was thrilled, and now—rather than release an EP—they wanted AnnieLee to write more songs so she could put out a full-length album instead.
Ethan waved a hand in front of her face. “Hello? Buckle up,” he said, and soon the jet had risen above the clouds, where it then seemed to float as smoothly as if gravity had suspended its rules just for them.
AnnieLee gazed out the window at the endless blue sky. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
“Try riding in an Apache over a Taliban stronghold,” Ethan said.
“That sounds terrifying,” AnnieLee said. “But I didn’t mean I was afraid of flying.”
She’d been profiled in Rolling Stone’s “Ten Women to Watch Out For” feature, and so she was heading to LA for a photo shoot and an interview, which was far more frightening than streaking along at thirty-five thousand feet above the earth. Far too soon, the plane made its graceful descent, landing at Van Nuys Airport, twenty miles from downtown Los Angeles, where a car was waiting to take them to the photographer’s studio.
On the top floor of a refurbished warehouse in the Arts District, Eileen Jackson greeted them like old friends—even Ethan, whom she’d never met but took an instant liking to.
I’m sure it has nothing to do with his smoldering good looks, AnnieLee thought wryly.