Chapter 6

Screaming and singing were very very different. Danica sat in her hotel room in Vegas, listening to the playlist Raven had written for her. Everything from hard rock to death metal. Some of the music was like a little man in leather and metal studs cracking the inside of her skull with a pickaxe, but she listened anyway. She couldn’t very well dive into the metal culture if she’d never listened to the music. This was kind of like studying the guest list before a party attended by the most influential fashion designers in the industry.

Only, a bit more fun.

A couple of bands had her relaxing and bobbing her head, taking in the complicated riffs and the deep, tri-tones that made the hairs rise on the back of her neck. For these songs even the screams added another layer, like a different range of the instrument a voice was supposed to be. The way the lyrics were snarled and growled made the lead singer sound like an animal. A beast barely under control, restrained only by the message in the aggressive music.

She could picture herself in the pit, jumping and cheering and punching her fist in the air along with the crowds who worshiped these bands. The very idea of being caught in the middle of all those bodies slamming together was invigorating. And terrifying. But so was this whole insane plan to change her image for the media.

Bullet came on and Danica smiled. She’d fallen in love with their music quickly, even though her typical go to was lighter pop tunes. Singing along, she finished touching up her makeup. The threatening headache faded away and she was able to listen to the next song without wanting to throw her iPod across the room. She didn’t know the words to this one, but it was good. She checked her iPod for the name of the band. Her pulse sped up and she nibbled on her bottom lip.

Winter’s Wrath, one of the bands she’d be meeting at the after party tonight. She was excited to see them live on stage, but hanging out in the private area reserved for VIPs was a completely different story. And it wasn’t like she could just show up and hang out.

She had to be noticed.

Tightening her jaw, she gave a firm nod and looked down at her tight black jeans, stylishly ripped, and her black ‘Merete’ Wornstar t-shirt which had cuts in the material of the arms, back, and along the bottom edge. More the type of shirt you’d see on stage than in the crowd, but she couldn’t blend in too much. Her waist-length, dark brown hair fell in loose waves, tumbling over her shoulders, held away from her face on one side with three rows of tight braids. Not too revealing, but not cutesy.

She didn’t look like the little girl who’d done commercials and modeled kid’s clothes for companies like J Crew and DNKY. No one would recognize her as the child who’d had backup roles in a couple of shows.

Those accomplishments filled her portfolio. And the experiences were fond memories, but had ended up hurting her career as an adult. She didn’t have the edgy appeal so many designers were looking for.

But that will change. Tonight.

After lacing up her beige heels, she grabbed her purse, double checked for her room key, and strode out. She had about two hours left before the concert started and she needed to grab a bite to eat. Probably takeout in her car, because she wasn’t in the mood to be gawked at. One would figure there were enough hot women in Vegas that guys wouldn’t even notice anymore, but they did. And many forgot their manners under the bright lights of sin city.

Halfway down Tropicana, on her way to the little In and Out burger joint on the edge of town, there was a loud Pop! The steering wheel jerked in her hands. She bit into her cheek, tightening her grip to hold the wheel steady as she accelerated slightly to regain control. She eased off the gas, cruised into the other lane, then pulled off the road in front of a closed office complex.

All those lessons and warnings from her grandfather when he’d taught her to drive when she was sixteen had seemed excessive at the time. Now? Damn, she loved that man. He’d be so proud.

Even more so if she used the other skills he’d taught her.

She’d changed tires for friends before—guys and girls—so it didn’t take long before she had the spare secured in place. And aside from a bit of dust, she managed not to get dirty.

It wasn’t until she had her food and was chewing a huge mouthful of the fully loaded burger—her agent would kill her if she caught her eating all this cheese and bacon—that she noticed one of her acrylic nails was broken.

Damn it! She stared at the stupid nail, which with it’s one little flaw, screwed up her entire schedule.

When she was a kid, chicks freaking over a broken nail used to make her laugh. As she got older, and started modeling, she learned to treat her appearance like a valuable asset. Her grandfather hadn’t had the money to put her through acting classes. He’d helped her pay for a modeling portfolio and she’d repaid him shortly after she’d done her first commercial. Then she got a small part in a TV movie, playing the Native American friend of a girl in an early settlement town in California.

Once she hit her late teens, both modeling jobs and even callbacks for commercial auditions lessened. Her grandfather had his first stroke when she was eighteen, so she’d ditched her plans to move out of Bay Mills, Michigan and head to New York where she’d thought all her dreams would come true.

She didn’t regret not going though. Half the models in places like New York and Los Angeles ended up working as waitresses and barmaids. Staying home, she’d helped her grandfather get healthy, found a job at the local boutique, and built a pretty decent online platform. Between her job, and the money her grandfather made working part time at the casino, they hadn’t done too bad at first.

Unexpected things, like her car breaking down, the roof of their house needing repairs, and a pipe bursting in the basement, threw them from living comfortably to struggling to pay for the barest necessities. Her grandfather wanted to take on more hours, but she was so afraid he’d push himself too hard again. She couldn’t lose him; he was the only family she had left.

An offer of representation from the talent agency, Diverse Faces, came a few days after she turned twenty-one. Like some kind of angel, Sophie stepped in, finding her several high paying photo-shoots, which brought in enough to pay the bills. Danica had to quit her job to keep up with all the traveling, and she hated leaving her grandfather, but he wouldn’t let her stay. He’d been almost as excited as she’d been at her getting back to doing what she loved.

Two years later and Danica had an amazing career. One she was proud of. But Sophie believed Danica could do even more. She wanted to get Danica in front of the ‘right people’.

The contract she’d signed was very strict about maintaining her figure, as well as how polished and respectable she had to appear in public. Which was funny, considering what Sophie had asked her to do. Either way, Danica felt a little guilty about the burger, since she knew her dietitian wouldn’t have approved this much red meat in a week, never mind one meal. And if she gained weight, there’d be some explaining to do. Sophie would question how serious she was about her future as a model.

So yeah, no way was she going anywhere with her nails messed up.

Finishing up the last, delicious bite, Danica Googled nail salons near the venue. The show was happening at the Hard Rock Hotel. There was a salon a couple of blocks away with great reviews.

She still had enough time if she hurried, so she headed out, pleased to find the salon was off the strip and not too busy. She had her nail fixed within twenty minutes and left a nice tip to the sweet lady who didn’t speak a word of English.

Hitting the sidewalk outside, she smiled as the sun slipped behind a few of the taller hotels, giving her a break from the blinding light. It was still warm out, but nowhere as bad as she’d expected. Then again, it was almost November. Sophie, who’d been born and raised in Vegas, had told her it actually got cold here.

Danica would have to see it to believe it.

Turning to get back to her car, which she’d left in a small parking garage, she almost ran into a man that was standing in front of the salon, staring at it with the same dread one might have before going into the emergency room of a hospital. He looked down at something fisted in his hand, then sighed and took a step forward.

Then took a step back, spun around, almost slamming right into her.