Backlash

Another rejection. So polite, so formal, but still nothing more than a sugar-coated kick in the guts. Danica Tallien read over the forwarded email as she waited for her flight, careful not to grind her teeth. Her pearly whites had to be perfect. Her smile had to be perfect. Everything about her had to look absolutely perfect, and polished, and ready for the flash of the camera.

Do my best to be all pretty and professional and I’m still not good enough.

Enough of that. She made a face as she swiped her finger over her phone to close the depressing email. Ignoring the pit of unease in her stomach, she pushed up her stylish, Wayfarer sunglasses and went back to flipping through the latest issue of Vogue.

“Oh my god, look at her shoes.” Across the aisle, a girl in her late teens with long blond hair leaned close to her brunette friend, ‘whispering’ loud enough for anyone in the terminal to hear. “I would kill for those shoes.”

The brunette snorted. “All you’ve got to do is fuck the right guy and he’ll buy you whatever you want.”

“Dude, I don’t think she fucks anyone. Do you know who that is?”

Danica managed not to wince, but she fumbled trying to flip the pages she wasn’t really reading.

“Do I look like I care?” The brunette let out a heavy sigh. “She’s pretty, and she’s dressed like a fucking nun. I’m guessing some politician’s wife?”

Seriously? Danica took a deep breath, closed the magazine, and stood. She took off her sunglasses and smiled at the girls. Both their faces went red and they looked away, which stole the urge to make an offhand comment before she headed to the closest store to browse. What the girls had said was nothing new. At twenty-three, she wasn’t much older than them, but at their age, and even younger, she’d heard plenty of catty comments about what she wore and pretty much everything else that could be judged. Her clothes weren’t nice enough, or were too fancy. She was either ‘exotic’, or acted too white.

She’d learned to ignore what other people thought of her. Unless it affected her career. Like the casting director at her last audition, who’d told her she had the sex appeal of a lamp post.

“It’s nothing you’re doing.” The man sighed as he packed away the script her agent had convinced him to let her read. “You’re beautiful, but…hell, I used to watch that movie with my daughters when they were little. I feel like a dirty old man even trying to see you as sexy. There’s just something so…pure about you that I can’t get past. I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work.”

Not surprising, since that was the exact reaction she got every time she went for an audition. How the hell could she complain though? She’d just come back to the states after doing a catwalk in Mulan. Her sleek black hair, soft olive complexion, and brilliant green eyes made her fairly popular with the fashion designers, but that wasn’t enough to give either her modeling or acting career a much needed boost.

Once, she’d have settled for another year earning a modest living, happy that what she’d done so far had helped pay off her grandfather’s debt, but her agent wanted more for her. Which meant yet another movie script with a casting director who couldn’t see past the one role she’d played as a child.

The woman she wanted to become stood in the shadow of the little girl she’d once been. Some days, it seemed the only way to step into the sun was to head in a completely different direction, but she’d come too far to turn back now.

As Danica strolled aimlessly between the food stands she caught the buttery scent of fresh croissants and her mouth watered. Maybe fate was calling out to her, disguised as carbs, telling her her days of modeling were numbered and she might as well start enjoying the forbidden.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she grinned as she saw the notification of a text from her agent, Sophie. The women had some kind of spidey-sense for anything that might tempt her models. Just last week her texts saved Danica from both a cheesecake disaster, and a make-out catastrophe with an Italian rugby player under investigation for performance enhancing drugs. The latter could have dragged her into a spotlight she’d managed to avoid her whole career. She had a pristine reputation.

More commonly known as boring.

She eyed the croissants displayed under glass with all the other taboo treats. Then she shook her head and turned away, clicking on the message.

Sophie: I have a plan for you. As soon as you land in Florida there will be tickets waiting. I hope you kept your schedule open.

Chewing at her bottom lip, Danica wondered if Grandpa would be lonely if she was gone for another week. Fine, he said he preferred the house quiet, but it couldn’t be good for him to be on his own so much.

Her phone buzzed again before she could even think out a decent reply.

Sophie: Knowing you, you want to check on your grandfather first. Feel free to call him, but we’ve already spoken and he’s doing well. He went onto the reservation to have dinner with someone he met at work. He agrees you should focus on what’s best for your career.

Manipulative much? Danica frowned, stepping out of the path of a business man cutting across the terminal, speaking sharply, either to himself or to a Bluetooth she couldn’t see. Dodging a pair of scuffling toddlers, she ducked into the closest bathroom and rested her hip against the counter to type.

Danica: You know I hate it when you do that.

Sophie: …

Rolling her eyes, Danica held her tongue between her teeth, her finger posed over her phone. She smiled at a woman who ambled into the bathroom, looking exhausted and apologizing as she bumped into her purse.

“You’re fine.” Danica watched the woman step up to the sink, peering at herself in the mirror. She was dressed all in black, with thick lacing up the sides of her jeans, and an elaborate sugar skull on her tank top. Her hair was dyed black on one side, and red on the other and her big purple eyes stood out even more with the thick, black liner.

One hell of a statement. Not one Danica could pull off, but no one could ever call her a lamp post or…a nun if she dressed like that. She glanced down at her own black slacks, short black jacket, and simple white shirt. She hadn’t had her own style since she was eleven and people in the business took over her wardrobe for everything from playing in the park to lunch meetings and travel. Sophie wasn’t as strict as her previous agents, so Danica stuck with what she knew when her outfits weren’t laid out for her.

At the sink, the beautiful punk-rock princess touched up her makeup, frowning as she dug through her black, skull-shaped purse. She glanced over at Danica. “Hey, sorry to bug you, but I just got off the longest flight in the world and I need to brush my teeth. I’ve got serious stank breath, but I can’t find my toothpaste.”

The shops around them would have plenty, but Danica had a spare, so she pulled it out of her own purse and handed it over. “Where’d you come in from?”

“Sydney! My fifth Motionless concert this year. I’m a total groupie!” The woman laughed as she loaded her toothbrush, then stuffed it in her mouth with a groan. “Fuck, you’re a doll. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” Danica typed a quick reply to Sophie, asking what the plan was before returning her attention to the fascinating woman in front of her. “What’s Motionless?”

After spitting in the sink, the woman gave her a wide-eyes stare. “You don’t—” She looked Danica over and rasped out a laugh. “No, I guess you wouldn’t know of them. Have you heard Bullet at least?”

“Umm…” Danica wasn’t sure what the woman was talking about. She’d said ‘heard’ not ‘heard of’ so maybe music? “Are they a band?”

“Oh sweetie, have you been living under a rock?” The woman’s tone wasn’t cruel. She honestly sounded sad for Danica. “Yeah, they’re metal bands. Bullet isn’t as hard core, so might not shock you as much. You should check them out.”

A buzz brought Danica’s attention back to her phone. She swallowed hard as she read over Sophie’s text. Then she laughed. “Could you do me a huge favor and write those names down? And any others you can think of?”

The woman’s thin black brows shot up her pale forehead. “Sure. You mind if I ask why?”

Sophie has lost her mind? That answer wouldn’t work, and Danica couldn’t bring herself to say anything negative about her agent, who she usually loved like family. Even though she was clearly insane.

“I’ve just been informed I’ll be going to a metal concert and hanging out with the bands after the show.” Danica read over the text again and shook her head. “Horizon?”

“Oh, that’s cool! Lucky bitch!” The woman grinned. “You got a pen?”

“Yeah…” Danica pulled out her small leather notebook and attached pen, passing them to the woman before bringing her hands up to cover her face and groan. “Wanna trade? I’m going to be so out of place. Actors, sports stars, hell even pop bands, I can do. I have no clue about the metal scene.”

“That’s pretty obvious, hon. Do they let you dress yourself? Whoever ‘they’ is?” The woman popped a hip against the counter, giving Danica a critical once over. “I’d so take you for IRS or something, but some of them are total freaks once they leave the office.”

IRS? Damn it, I am so burning all these stupid suits! Danica’s face heated. She stared at the pointed toes of her shoes, the only thing she wore which wasn’t dull as dirt. Beige Jimmy Choo sandals with a delicate T-strap. Which had been chosen by Sophie. “I’m a model.”

“Damn, I’m sorry.” The woman made a face. “That’s a great big no on trading places. Not even to meet Chris. I like food too much. And wearing whatever the fuck I want. They won’t make you go to the concert like that, will they?”

“I sure as hell hope not.”

“Good. I’ve got some ideas for clothes if you have time and any say.”

“Thank you so much. I don’t even know what to say.” Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it. Her stomach twisted and she wished she’d had more than yogurt for breakfast. Screw it, after what Sophie had just dropped on her, she was so spoiling herself with a damn croissant. “By the way, my name’s Danica.”

The woman lifted her head, her lips parting. “Shit! I thought you looked familiar! You were that Indian girl—or, umm…Native American girl. In that TV movie? Dancing Doe or something like that?”

Cheeks blazing, Danica nodded. “Yeah. I’m not even allowed to mention it during interviews. It was popular twelve years ago, but now? So not PC it’s not even funny.”

“Ugh, I can see that. I’m Bridget, by the way, but everyone calls me Raven.” The woman, Raven, jotted down a few more notes, filling up yet another page. “I’m kinda happy you’re not one of those child stars that flew off the deep end, but I guess the movie still fucked things up for you. Curious to see how hanging with metal heads changes things for you.” Raven checked her own phone. “Shit, I gotta run or I’ll miss my flight! Hit me up if you’re ever in New York! And good luck with the little punks that are gonna say you’re too old. Real music has no age limit!”

“Got it.” Danica smiled and stashed her notepad in her purse. “Glad you’re not like those kids. You’ve made this all a lot less scary.”

“Ha! I’m almost thirty, babe. I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of me.” She leaned forward suddenly and gave Danica a quick hug. “And neither should you.”

In a blink, Raven was gone and Danica was alone. She checked the latest text from Sophie.

Sophie: Call me.

One ring and Sophie answered. “All right, sweetie, first, take a deep breath. I know this sounds overwhelming, but you’ll do just fine. Men like you, despite your pure and innocent reputation. We’re just looking to tarnish that a little bit. Remind people you’re not a child anymore.”

“I get that, but with metal bands?”

“Yes. It’s the last thing people expect from you. Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely.” And she really did. Sophie was the only one who still believed she had a career worth investing in. Danica was so grateful for all the faith her agent had in her, especially when her own began to fade. “But—”

“No. No buts.” Sophie let out a soft laugh. “I have a good feeling about this. Just go with it. You’re a smart girl. You adjust better than anyone I’ve ever worked with. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t believe it would work.”

“Fine. You know I’ll do anything you ask. I just need to know one thing.” Danica shoved aside all her misgivings and did her best to see this as yet another role she had to play. A challenging one that would prove all those who didn’t believe in her were wrong. “Where are you sending me?”

“I figured that would be obvious.” Sophie’s tone took on that mischievous edge she usually used when she was about to ask Danica to do a risqué nude photoshoot. One that said they were going to push the boundaries and give the limits of the business the middle finger. “You’re going to Vegas, baby.”