Page 4 of Love Is a War Song

“I think if I go with no makeup and a sweatshirt with a hood no one will be able to tell it’s me.”

Chelsea didn’t look convinced.

I sank to my knees and dug through my suitcase that was on the bathroom floor until I found my old baby-blue sweatshirt that zipped all the way up.

I’ve had it since I was fifteen and it was so soft from all the washes that it was like a security blanket.

I zipped it up then threw Chelsea a smile over my shoulder, pretending everything in my life wasn’t burning down in flames.

“Maybe take your hair down from the bun, so you can hide your face behind your hair.”

“Good idea.” I ripped the elastic out of my hair, shaking it loose. “Let’s go!”

I snatched my black Gucci quilted crossbody bag and threw open the door to freedom.

The elevator was full of old businessmen who probably had absolutely no idea who I was, but I kept my head down and hid behind Chelsea until we made it to the lobby. It was swarming with people, young people. Shit. I grabbed Chelsea’s hand and hunched over as I ran to a huge potted tree.

“This isn’t looking good,” Chelsea whispered.

A group of young girls wearing My$teriou$ Money tour shirts walked in front of the tree. Definitely not good. The likelihood that someone here would recognize me was huge.

“I think if we just power walk with our heads down we can make it out.”

“Avery, this is a terrible—”

“Avery? Are you Avery Fox?” a loud young voice sounded from behind us.

I turned around and discovered we were hiding behind a tree that was in front of the lobby bathrooms. A young woman who looked close to my age stood in front of the bathroom door in shock.

“What? Who? Me? Avery is such a common name.”

“Let’s go,” Chelsea whispered.

“No way, you are Avery Fox. Hey, girls! It’s Avery Fox!” she yelled. It suddenly felt like one of those scenes in movies where people are at a dance or a club and someone says something embarrassing and the record scratches and everything goes silent before all the attention is directed at them.

Every single head turned toward the oversized pot we were still crouched behind.

Then chaos descended. People rushed over to try to get photos of me. Flashes were going off.

“Make a break for it!” I yelled to Chelsea as I ran back toward the elevator.

Thankfully the concierge stopped the mob from following us to the elevator hall.

The moments we waited for an elevator car to arrive were excruciating.

And there in the trash can in between the elevators were several copies of my magazine.

Covered in grime and spilled coffee. A real-life metaphor for my career.

Chelsea made to speak, and I cut her off.

“Don’t even think about saying ‘I told you so.’?”

“Well, I did.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

I felt hopeless and like a feral animal resisting going back in its cage. The suite, while luxurious, was just that—a cage.

This was fucking bad. I couldn’t go anywhere.

I didn’t want to go to bumfuck Oklahoma and do whatever it was that people in Oklahoma did.

If I was going to have to go into hiding, I’d rather just go to Costa Rica and ride out this debacle on the beach.

A dollar stretched pretty far out there.

I could make a quiet life for myself and maybe, in a year or two, resurface.

When we got back in our room, my mother was pacing in front of the blaring TV.

“There you are! Look at this!” She pointed to the screen.

It was a video playing on repeat on TMZ of me on set of the music video in the leather bikini with the male dancers in wigs and headbands. This was not going to help matters. Out of context, that footage, along with the cover, was damning.

“Who leaked the footage?” I asked, feeling nauseated. There was no way I’d ever recover from this.

“It doesn’t matter. You are the biggest story on the news right now, and people are paying top dollar for paparazzi photos of you and any other newsworthy tidbits to keep the ravenous media cycle fed.”

“Ugh!” I stormed past her and launched myself onto the bed. “I’m an idiot.”

“Should you maybe make a statement?” Chelsea asked.

“No, our PR team said silence is the best course of action right now. You have to go to Oklahoma, Avery. I called my mother.”

I looked up at the sound of my mom’s resigned voice. She looked drawn and exhausted like she had gone to battle. She leaned against the dresser that housed the TV.

“What did she say?” I whispered.

My mother made a sound between a scoff and a sardonic laugh. “She said we are embarrassing the family.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what I had hoped for, but that made me feel more deflated.

“She agreed to let you go stay with her, so you’re going.”

“You won’t go with me?” I squeaked. This was my family, but I didn’t know them. She knew them.

“No, I’m not coming with you. Our lawyer said the label is well within their rights to cancel the album and potential tour. If they do, you will never get another record deal. The contract we signed prohibits it. This is it. We have to fix this.”

“I’m not going.” Now this woman wants to swoop in as some savior when my mother and I struggled alone for years? It didn’t feel right, as much as I longed to have family. I didn’t want it like this.

“You have to go. Just listen to me. Broken Arrow is a small town. It’s a place where you can lie low and let all of this blow over without paparazzi everywhere.

Your grandmother is well-connected in the community.

I think this is a great opportunity to go and win over the hearts of everyone there.

Then these lies that you aren’t really Native can just go away,” my mother said.

Her tone was soft and as she crossed her arms and stared at the carpet I got a glimpse of my old mom, the one who I knew loved me and didn’t think of me as some product to push and monetize.

This was the whole problem. I could lie low in a town no one knew my connection to because no one believed I was Muscogee to begin with.

Was she even sending me because she feared for my safety, or was this all about my public image?

I wanted her to want me safe first, my album be damned.

“What, you just expect me to show up at my estranged grandmother’s house?

Someone I have never met, someone who has never bothered to get to know me?

All while avoiding paparazzi and trying to win over the tribe? ”

“Yes. It wouldn’t be for long and you can take some photos and I can see about arranging an interview where you can talk about your heritage. Oprah is a long shot, but we could definitely get Hoda from The Today Show interested.”

I watched as my mother’s gears started turning in her head, devising some scheme.

“What heritage, Mom?”

She rolled her eyes. “Really, Avery? This again?”

“Yeah, this again.” I mocked her tone and didn’t care if she didn’t appreciate my sass.

I listened to her always and this time, I was burned and had become a social pariah.

“All I know is what you have told me, which is next to nothing. We are Muscogee Creek, and our family is in Oklahoma. The only problem is you have never told me anything else! My DMs are full of people asking me if I’m enrolled and what my blood quantum is.

I don’t even know what any of that means.

Now I have to go force myself on some old woman to save our lifestyle and you don’t even want to go with me to help me! ”

I stopped to take a breath, and Chelsea patted my back.

“You just are Native American, Avery. That’s how it works.

” The way she growled those words out made my hackles rise.

“No one had to prove shit when I was your age or younger. I don’t get how it is now, but I left Oklahoma and that way of life behind me.

I wanted more for me and you. But if we have to send you there to snap a few photos to get your record deal out of jeopardy, then you will do it.

That is how I’m helping you. I vowed to never go back there, and my mother knows why. ”

“Maybe I should leave,” Chelsea said, and got up to go, her arms raised like my mother was a spooked horse.

“No, stay,” my mother ordered. “We’re going to pack and get Avery ready for her trip tomorrow.”

“I’m flying to Oklahoma tomorrow?” It was happening so suddenly, all of it, and I could barely wrap my head around it.

“No, not flying.”