And the dream ofmaking itthat she’d had since childhood had been disappearing with every day that slipped by.
Who would she be, if music didn’t pan out?
What would she have done?
Realistically, she’d have done exactly what she’d been doing since she’d dropped out of high school: work two jobs for the rest of her life. Exactly like what her mom had done. When she’d still been around, anyway.
She’d be working at the bar/pub/front desk/backroom re-setter – everyone at Stardust wore many hats – of the bowling alley, while also bartending on the weekends at Jake’s because it was the best place in town to get tips. It was also the best place in town for open-mic nights.
Which Darcy had been obsessing over for years, honing her performance skills.
There was nothing wrong or shameful about hard work. Her mom had worked herself to the bone to provide a roof over their heads as a single mother with two kids of her own by the time she’d been twenty-one.
But, dear lord, Darcy didn’t want that for herself. She didn’t want to be anything like her mother, in any way. Other than her mother’s love of reading, she hoped she was nothing like her.
Granted, she was already twenty-six, so thehaving two kids at a young agepart couldn’t apply. But everything else…?
The problem was thateveryonewanted to believe they were special. Everyone who was trying to break into the industry believed they had what it took. So, yeah, Darcy believed that about herself – and her sister and best friend – but… what made them different from everyone else?
Well, they had done it. They were fuckinghere.
And now she hadJuliet Jacobstrashing her for it?!
“Oh, I am sooo much better because I work all by myself. What I do is a million times harder,” she mimicked Juliet’s quote.
The sentiment of that quote – complete with images and video of Juliet’s fake smile along with it. Smiling with her mouthand her perfect, sparkling white teeth, while the look in her eyes read:I hate you– had made its rounds all over social media, and into digital tabloid headlines.
Blythe dropped her head back with a groan. “That, actually, isn’t what she said.”
Darcy paused a foot in front of her sister, shooting her an incredulous look. One that matched the!!!she was feeling inside. “I’m sorry; what she said – after webeat herfor an award – is that our success isn’t worth as much as hers, because she does it ‘all alone.’” She used her fingers to make air quotes.
Like, fuck Juliet and the horse she rode in on. Which was, even in her mental idiom, some purebred stallion.
Blythe reached up and rubbed her temples.
Darcy continued to pace. Mostly because she’d been set off all over again when Sandra, their boss at the bowling alley, who could barely use social media at all, had sent her the video of Juliet and askedwhy is she being so mean to you?
It had reachedSandra!
“But the thing I really can’t get over, Blythe – thanks for asking – is that she didn’t saywecan’t do it. She didn’t sayWe, The Romanticscan’t compare to her impeccable talent. She saidme.” Darcy jerked her hand holding her phone up, hitting herself with unintentional force in her chest. Grimacing with pain, she tossed it onto the couch next to her sister. “She isn’t out here putting us down, collectively. She specifically said my name. Just me.”
If Juliet had been talking about all three of them as a group, Darcy would have been annoyed. Absolutely.
But she could maybe chalk it up to a bad night after not winning at the NAMAs.
That wasn’t what Juliet had said, though.
Juliet very clearly statedhername. Her full name, just in case there could possibly be any confusion.
Darcy had watched that clip of Juliet over and over in the last few days. She’d seen it so much now that she could picture with crystal clarity the way Juliet’s lips – that perfectly plush bow – a glossy pink for the night, looked when saying, “Darcy Kincaid.”
It was the first time Juliet Jacobs hadeverreferenced her.
We, The Romantics had blown up seven months ago, and they’d had run-ins and intros to so many musicians by now that Darcy’s head was still spinning from it all. But never Juliet Jacobs.
Angelic Juliet, with her cupid’s bow lips and long, silky chestnut brown hair and demure outfits – country music’ssweetheart.
“Country music’ssweetheart.” The venom in her voice felt good, felt satisfying, as it fell from her mouth. It was how Juliet was so often described by media outlets online, and they’d continued to say that about her while bringing up her quote about Darcy. “What the hell is so sweet about her, huh? What could I havepossiblydone to her?”
