Paparazzi - Jesse Roman (best classic literature .TXT) 📗

1. Showstopper

July 29, 2009
9:56 P.M.

Her headpiece was the microphone - the instrument that required her to sing, but to also dance without a single flaw in her choreographed steps. The audience before her ranged from the very young to the moderately old, all alike in the sense that they came to see her, the performer of their generation, a legend in the flesh . . . the Sabrina Elease. The stage was ablaze with the lights and quick flashes of sweat tinged bodies moving and dancing along with her in the background, synchronized, step by step. The thumping bass blasted bursts of thunder through the crowd as they sang along in wonderment at their performer on stage, and a small earthquake arose with each step that was stomped with aggression as the song reached the chorus. Neon lights flashed across the stage of pinks, purples and blues. The limbs pumping, the thighs thrashing in the air with each outstretched arm that the dancers needed to spin around and move their legs with Sabrina in the forefront.
Behind, the backdrop of her music video brought back memories of a launched career into super stardom ten years ago. It was a milestone, and much anticipated one to say the least. Even through the ups and downs and the mishaps and struggles, the fans still managed to stay with her, to come here tonight for the last leg of her world tour in Los Angeles. She was glad that it would soon be over, that she would soon return home to see her children.
Even though her mind was focused on her singing, she had the routine stuck in her head; having done it thirty-eight times already in three months, she knew what she was doing, but her mind was elsewhere . . . to the crowd. She looked around into the mobs of fans in front of her, dangling their posters and fan shirts in front of the stage as if to get any specs of sweat onto them would be a goldmine on e-bay. She glanced down to the black floor and watched her heels move from side to side as the lights shined against the black gloss. Her eyes shifted to the side as she spun around and was lifted up by two male dancers, her lips moving fast as she sang the bridge and was twirled around on their shoulders. She looked above her to see the hundreds of light shining down onto her, making the stage warm and alive with presence. The lights sometimes blinded her vision if she looked directly into them, which in this case, she accidently did.
As the male dancers put her down, she stumbled slightly to the side, losing her grip on the stage with her heels and falling into another dancer. A few surprised shouts erupted from the front rows of the crowd, and other shouts and yells seemed to emit anger, panicked even. There appeared to be yelling somewhere ahead of her, but it quickly faded. The dancer helped her back into position, giving her a small smile and asking if she was okay. She nodded her head and smiled back, not losing track of the song and getting back in position for the final chorus that would end the night, and tour.
Everyone was ready for it. The big fireworks that would erupt from behind once the song finished. The round of applause and final bow . . . the walking off stage . . . the encore . . . being able to breathe . . . alive, perhaps. All of which, would never come to be.
Nobody heard it coming, but others did see it, and everyone saw what would be the final encore of the night – the showstopper. She fell to the ground with a sudden lurch of her body backwards, as if someone kicked her in the stomach. Maybe she just tripped, or maybe she just fell by accident. But once she didn’t get back up, and the thick, red liquid spread across the stage and trickled over the edge, everybody soon realized that there was no getting back up. Everyone knew what had just happened to her. It was not an accident. It was murder, and she was gone forever.


2. Exposed

September 14, 1998
12:32 P.M.


He was slowly breezing through the notes of her audition, and from what she saw on his face, and the few sighs and glances up at her, it wasn’t going to go her way. Mr. Chan, the “music man” as everyone called him, was browsing through not only her examination, but all the other student’s to see if she would fit in right with the group, and apparently, she would – sort of.
“You know what? I won’t make you wait,” he said as he shuffled the other girl’s papers together into a pile. “I truly think you have the look of her, but not so much the voice I need for this production. You see where I’m going?”
“Sort of,” said Sabrina, absolutely disliking what she was hearing. “I mean, I know I don’t necessarily sing like her, or look like her, but . . .”
Mr. Chan nodded his head, as if understanding what she was going to say. “You don’t sing that well at all, actually . . . oh . . .” He then closed his mouth and closed his eyes, as if wanting to take back what he just said. “Sorry, but hey, don’t worry; I think I can give you a part. You will do some singing, but it’s very minimal. Do you want to know what it is right now?”
Sabrina smiled in relief, but felt like she was just insulted – actually, she was insulted. He sure wasn’t delicate in his wording. “Yes, if you could.”
“How about Glinda, alright? The good witch of the south. You’d do well as that. You even have your own song.”
Sabrina nodded her head in agreement, satisfied. “Sure,” she said, forcing a fake smile. “I thought Glinda was the witch of the north.”
“No,” he said, chuckling. “In the movie she is. I really want our play to be a representation more of the actual book then the film. The film was a representation of the book, and my play will be too.” Mr. Chan looked at her and saw the concealed disappointment on her face. He scratched his head and slid his chair back to get up from behind the desk, folding a piece of paper and putting it in a folder inside of a filing cabinet. “So . . . did you have any luck yet?”
Sabrina walked over towards a plastic chair beside the piano and picked up her violet purse, then turned her attention back to Mr. Chan. “Luck with what?”
“The record thing you have going on. Did anyone get back to you yet? Pretty tough thing you’re trying to do. I give you props.”
Sabrina was shocked at what he knew about her personal business. “No, I haven’t. How did you know? I haven’t told many people about what I’m doing. Who told you?”
“Well, let’s just say she’s someone you know very well.”
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door of the music room and standing on the threshold was a fifteen year old girl with short chestnut hair and humble in her facial features, her clothes mismatched and obviously self made. “Oh,” said the girl quickly, standing awkwardly with her hand on the knob. “I thought you were done. It’s twelve thirty-five.”
Sabrina signed and rolled her eyes, knowing that God had sent the answer to her question. “No, Leigh, I’m finished. Time to go. Bye Mr. Chan.” She waved to him and he returned a small hand flap as she departed the room. As they walked down the hall towards the front doors, she didn’t feel the need to drag the inevitable of what had to be said.
“So, you told him?”
Leigh looked at her and shifted her eyes. “Told him what? I didn’t say anything . . .” She seemed to move ahead of Sabrina a bit as they walked up the stairs to the lobby.
“Please Leigh. I can tell when you’re lying; you’re walking ahead of me. I told you not to tell anyone.”
“I didn’t mean to, it just came out, I promise.”
“Out when? When you just so happened to start chatting about me with him? It’s alright, I’m not mad at you, just don’t tell anyone else. I really want this to be private. You’re my best friend. I trust you”
Leigh reached the top and waited for Sabrina to catch up, then they both left through the doors and outside for a late lunch. It was a warm fall afternoon in Arizona, no need for a jacket, and the trees were already changing and littering the ground with their red, orange and yellow foliage. “Okay, you’re right, it was a mistake. I just thought that he knew things about music and that maybe he could help you. Come on, I was being helpful and you know it.”
“He’s a music teacher,” said Sabrina. “He isn’t a producer or agent or, I don’t know, a label exec. If I need to know how many strings are in a violin I will ask him.”
“I was talking about singing, duh. Maybe he could help you with your voice. You always said you needed professional training.”
“I shudder to think of the training that he would give me,” muttered Sabrina, grinning at the pathetic scenario. “A capello, maybe? Dear God.” She walked from side to side down the sidewalk, as if debating something in her head, and kicked some leaves into the air. “My voice doesn’t even need help. I am so hungry I don’t even want to think about this. Where are we going anyway? We have to be back in fifteen minutes. Mrs. Chester will make us stay late again if we arrive two seconds after the bell.”
Leigh laughed and made a mocking smile that was uneven at one corner. “She’s a terrible substitute with a weird mouth.” She suddenly stopped and grabbed Sabrina’s arm. “Oh-my-God, I also got your birthday present yesterday.”
“What!” Sabrina smiled. “You can’t tell me that. Now you have to tell me what it is.”
Leigh shook her head and started skipping. “I’m not going to. It’s a very special sweet sixteen gift for an awesome sweet sixteen party next week.”
At the reminder of next week, Sabrina raised her arms into the air as if she just won first place in a marathon. “Can’t wait!”


3. Shut Down

July 29, 2009
10:21 P.M.


It wasn’t long before word broke out across the state, the country and the world. From ear to ear and phone to phone, websites crashed, new stations were hysterical and newsrooms went live all over the nation to report the havoc from Los Angeles. It was like wild fire, and it was just the beginning. By morning, it would be pandemonium. Within seconds, a call for evacuation was ordered and the Staples Centre was shut down. Twenty thousand fans and backstage crew members had to be emptied out immediately, and several who were in the front rows before the stage during the shooting were in a state of frenzy, some even fainting or refusing to leave as they tried to crawl onto the stage to reach the body that was now covered with a sheet. The security that patrolled the area, inside and out, were called by the dozens