Page 4 of Playing With My Heart Strings

baylor

Damage Control

“SOMMERFELD!” Colette St. James releases her wrath on me the moment I step through the doors of the production building.

Hell hath no fury like the executive producer of a TV show after seeing a drunkenly posted video on the company social media account.

It’s the cardinal rule of social media management.

You always make sure you’re on the right account before you post anything.

Better yet, you log out of the company account before a night out in case you, or apparently your coworker, gets drunk.

The video has since been deleted, but not before hundreds of thousands of likes and shares. In other words, my singing voice is currently all over the internet.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my pounding heart. I will not lose my job today.

“You called, Colette?” I try to sound as collected as possible in hopes that she doesn’t notice the shake in my voice.

“What the fuck happened last night?” She’s fuming, frown lines cutting through her skin. I can practically see the smoke coming out of her ears.

“I-I have no idea. I guess something accidentally got posted.” Obviously. I’m not going to throw Daniella under the bus, though, and get her fired too.

“No shit, Baylor. This type of thing is unacceptable.”

Here it comes. I’m about to lose my job. My parents are going to be pissed, and then they’re going to tell me I told you so . My pride is about to take a brutal hit, one I’m unsure I’ll be able to recover from.

“Wait, Colette! You need to see this!” One of the marketing strategists runs over holding out her phone.

Colette snatches the device out of her hand and scrolls, her face pinched in a permanent frown. She scrolls for what feels like an eternity and then hands the phone to me.

“Well, well, well. It seems as though the internet has saved you today, Baylor.”

I look at the phone, confused about what she means. And then I see exactly what she means.

There are thousands of comments on just one repost of the video.

OMG, she better be on the show!

I don’t even know who this girl is, but I’m rooting for her so hard.

They posted this on the official social media. It has to mean something!

“Wait, you’re not firing me?” I ask, blinking in shock.

“No, although I should,” Colette mutters. “I’m not firing you, but only on one condition. You are going to clean up this little mess you made.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” I mean, I can handle a social media crisis. I’ve done it before. It’s just never involved me before.

“You saw those comments, didn’t you?” She eyes the phone in my hand. “You’re going on the show, Baylor.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and takes off.

What. The. Fuck.

“Wait, Colette.” I’m speedwalking, trying to keep up after she dropped that absolute bomb on me. “What do you mean I’m going on the show?”

“Exactly what I said. You’ll be joining the other girls on the show.” She shrugs, barely paying me any attention.

“But—”

“Do you want to keep your job or not?” she snaps, to which I nod. “Okay, then you’ll do what I ask. As of today, you’re not part of Sparks Studio Productions, you’re part of the cast. Which means you should probably stop following me around like a lost puppy.”

I frown and stop in my tracks. So callous , I think.

Then, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do .

“Baylor!” Daniella calls out to me. “Hey, I’m so sorry.” She starts to apologize, but all I can think about is the fact that I have to go on the show now.

“What am I even supposed to do?” I mumble.

“I can’t believe I did—huh? What do you mean? What happened?” Daniella snaps her head in my direction, no longer worried about what she did. “Oh my God, you got fired, didn’t you? I need to go tell Colette it was my fault.”

“No, no, I didn’t get fired.” I stop her before she does anything rash. “Although I’m not sure if that would be worse than the alternative.”

“What do you mean?”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Because of how popular the video has gotten, instead of firing me, she’s putting me on the show.”

“Wait, that’s good! Isn’t it?” Daniella asks, a little unsure of herself.

I purse my lips. “I mean, for someone who wants to go on the show, sure. But the fact is I’m only going on so I can keep my job.

” I don’t want her to feel bad. It could have happened to anyone.

And I was the one responsible for the social media accounts, so it’s just as much on me as it is on her.

“I have zero idea what I’m supposed to do now, though, as a contestant instead of an employee. ”

“I mean, I can ask?” she offers as she shuffles her feet, unable to maintain eye contact. “It’s the least I can do, really.”

I wave her off. “I’m sure someone will brief me.”

No one briefed me, so when the call for contestants came and I showed up, you could probably imagine my confusion and frustration when I was told to leave.

Not only was I told to leave, but a bunch of the actual contestants gave me the stink eye.

They probably thought I was some poser trying to get on the show.

Don’t worry, ladies, you have nothing to worry about. I don’t actually want to be here , I think as I head from backstage through the tunnel that connects to the main building where a group of producers are congregating.

“Is anyone going to tell me what the hell is going on?” I roll my eyes, hoping to get at least one of them to help me. I know I probably sound like a diva, but my job is on the line.

One of my producer friends, Alex, pulls me aside. “Baylor, maybe you should just go home today. The thing is, we don’t need you right this moment.”

“I’m confused. Colette told me that I’m going on the show.”

“Yes, well…you are. But we aren’t going to have you sing in front of him. The world has already heard your voice. They already know they want you on the show.” He ruffles his hair.

“Isn’t Dusty supposed to choose the ones he wants?” I know sometimes shows are scripted—well, let’s face it, most are scripted—but this makes it seem like Dusty isn’t even going to have a choice. And I hate that.

“I mean, yeah, but we want a good show, too, Baylor. And the people want you. We can’t risk him not choosing you on live television.”

Wow, thanks for the confidence boost. I don’t hesitate to tell him that either.

“Jeez, thanks for having faith in me, Alex. So, what does Colette expect me to do?” I’m officially annoyed—no, I’m past annoyance.

“Just hang tight until the first week of filming is over, okay? Trust me on this.” Alex pats me on the shoulder before he heads to the set. “Think of it as getting paid to sit at home!” he calls over his shoulder.

“Think of it as getting paid to sit at home,” I grumble as I pace around my living room for the fiftieth time this afternoon. This is boring . I wasn’t made for sitting at home all day.

I don’t want to be on the show, but I would rather sing in front of Dusty Wilder a thousand times than twiddle my thumbs wondering what to do for the next week.

I type in “Heart Strings” on social media. While the original video Daniella posted of me was taken down, it was reposted hundreds of times. The video quality isn’t even good. It’s shaky and blurry, like a four-year-old took it. You can even hear Daniella’s breathing in the background.

“You’re so lucky you didn’t get fired.” I curse Daniella even though she’s not here. No one is here. Just me and all my thoughts. A scary combination, if you ask me.

Instead of dwelling on the consequences of our actions, which would most certainly send me into an even deeper spiral, I pull out my journal.

The edges of the leather are worn, and small amounts of coffee stain the lined pages, but I’d never throw it out.

Writing is my escape when the world gets a little too heavy.

It’s why I bring the journal with me everywhere, but I didn’t think people actually paid attention to me writing in it.

Music, and especially lyrics, have always called to me. There’s a certain type of beauty in pouring all your feelings and emotions into a song. How some of the most upbeat songs have the saddest meanings behind their lyrics, or how a melancholy tune can evoke hope if you listen closely enough.

Even though I don’t want to be on the show—can’t afford the setback in my career goals—maybe it will spark some inspiration in me.

Deep down, though, my hope is that it’ll allow me to muster up the courage to stand up to my parents, to tell them my passions are worthwhile, even if they don’t make me millions of dollars.

That I can have a successful career and, if I’m lucky, maybe pursue music, too.

I pull out a pen and open the journal to the very first page, running my finger over the faded inscription.

This journal belongs to Sylvie Mae. My mom.

Four hours later, Daniella walks through the door of our shared apartment and immediately starts apologizing again.

“Baylor, I’m so sorry. I had no idea the video was going to blow up. Hell, I didn’t even know I posted it. I was so drunk, oh my God.” She’s rambling, and it takes everything in me not to smack some sense into her, if not just to get her to stop word vomiting all over the carpet.

“Daniella.” I try to get her attention, but she keeps sputtering about how she ruined my career and she can’t handle Colette on her own and what if I have to move back to Denver?

“I can’t believe I did?—”

“DANIELLA!” I shout at her.

“WHAT?” she shouts back.

“Chill the fuck out! It’s fine.”

She gives me a look that tells me she’s not convinced it’s fine.

“Seriously. I’m fine,” I reassure her. “I’ll just go on the show, make it past the first few eliminations, and then Colette will be happy enough that she won’t fire me. It’s not like I’m being forced to fall in love with the guy.”

“I mean, isn’t that the point of the show, though?” She grimaces.

“It’s a dating show, yeah, but there’s a thing called faking it, Daniella.” I roll my eyes. “Besides, reality TV isn’t real . I just have to give the viewers a good show. That’s all.”

“Hm, yeah, that’s true. Are you sure about this, though? Maybe we can talk to Colette and I can explain what happened.”

“And risk both of us getting fired? No way.” Even if Daniella technically did royally screw me over, I’d rather neither of us lose our job.

“I just feel terrible.” She sits on the couch and places her head in her hands.

I sit next to her and try to comfort her by rubbing circles on her back. “Just keep your head down and work. It’s not that big a deal. Two months tops, and then everything will be back to normal.”