The Pop Star and the Dreamer

A big thank you to my friend Randi for her fabulous editing skills, her guidance and assistance. It certainly helps to have the very best in your corner.

As always, this comes with a rider, you may still find errors contained within the story. They are all mine, I am a terrible tinkerer, and can never resist rewriting sections even after they have been edited. So, all complaints must be aimed at me, and not the editor.

*****

Staring around the glitzy office, slash, waiting room, I wondered, "What the hell am I doing here?"

The place was full of twenty-something girls, looking more like they were at modeling auditions. The giggling was off the hook. Although I sensed most of that was nervousness. There was a definite air of tension, and I wasn't the only one showing nerves.

For me it wasn't so much the nerves, more an internal questioning of my motives.

When I saw the position advertised, it sounded good. Not what I expected to be doing with my life, but hey. You know what they say, sometimes, opportunities arise, and you have to grab them with both hands. My girlfriend, who was about to become my ex was my motive. Yeah, maybe I was doing this so I could wave it in her face. She was such a huge fan. She would be jealous as fuck if I got the job.

Watching the parade of gorgeous sexy girls coming and going, I realized I had no chance.

The feelings of discomfort grew, and I was about to walk out when I heard my name being called.

"Nash Collins!"

I saw all the heads turn, and suddenly, I was the center of attention. I tried to ignore some of the hateful glares as I walked proudly through the big glass doors. The one male in a sea of gorgeous wannabe starlets.

Once inside, all the tittering and giggling from the waiting room vanished. There she was, turning to take in my arrival. My god, she was even more beautiful in person. In the magazines and videos, she looked hot, but here, in the flesh. What was there to say, except wow.

As I neared, she gave me a somewhat contemptuous sneer. Her hand pushed towards me, and we shook hands. "Why are you here, Nash?"

Confused by this brusque start, I mean she didn't even introduce herself. I said, in a hopefully confident voice. "I'm applying for the position of your PA."

"Yes, yes, I got that. The question, though. Is why?"

"I'm a fan. I like your songs, and I'm interested in the job."

There was a group of about six people, including the impossibly beautiful Miss Kiara. Yeah, as one of the all-time biggest singers on the planet, she was simply known as "Kiara."

I was directed to a table, around which we all sat. "Your CV, Mr, Collins. There's no reference to you ever having worked as a PA."

"Yes, that's true. Although, I have worked in a wide variety of jobs, some of which had large degrees of responsibility. Oh, and I do have a business management degree."

"Yes, and how will that help, Mr, Collins?"

I saw his point. "I understand the requirements of the role."

"Really?" a tall willowy blonde sitting across from me asked. "All right then, young man. Tell us, exactly how you see the role of a successful PA?"

Having spent the last couple of days on Google. I had a pretty damn good idea. "I'd be responsible for all of Kiara's travel arrangements, interviews, her road requirements, her schedule, mail, email and communications."

"What about accommodation, car repairs, accounts, meals?"

A little confused, these were not jobs I was expecting. The role was bigger than I expected, I replied, "Obviously, I'm not sure how inclusive the role will be. However, I assure you, I'm capable of whatever is required. Believe me, I can cover, all scenarios."

Kiara stared at me. "You are aware it's a live in position?"

That one flummoxed me. "No, I did not know that. Still, it's not a deal breaker. I could do that."

The whole team took turns at firing unconnected questions. It resembled an inquisition more than a job interview. As the questions flew, and I became more disconcerted. I heard, Kiara say "You said you were a fan of my music. Which is your favorite song?"

"Hands", I have to say that has the most amazing lyrics." I tried to hold her eye contact, throughout our exchange. She apparently didn't think I would know her music. "That's one of my favorites. I love the guitar intro. It took me ages to learn it."

She scoffed. "You can play it?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "I love it."

She leaned over and whispered something into the ear of the guy in the million-dollar suit sitting beside her. He jumped up and ran off out the door.

Kiara returned her attention to me. "You play guitar, how seriously?"

"I have played in a few bands, but I consider myself more of a songwriter."

She sneered. "A songwriter..."

Just then the suit guy reappeared carrying an acoustic guitar. He handed it to Kiara, who in turn handed it to me. "Would you like to give us a rendition of your version of "Hands"?"

Taking the guitar, I checked the tuning, and it was way out. I gave it a quick tune, just by ear. Then using a bluegrass style finger picking pattern, I started to sing her song. I closed my eyes and let myself slide into it. My version was so different. Unlike her poppy version, laden with Melodyne, and auto tune, mine was a more rootsy down to earth rendition.

Trying to forget I was at an interview, I got a bit carried away.

Kiara laughed, causing me to open my eyes and catch her condescending smirk. "Interesting. Well, at least you got the words right," she huffed, obviously unimpressed.

Her piercing stare intensified, giving me a very uncomfortable knot in my stomach. I was about to hand the guitar back, when she said, "Play us one of your original songs."

Not something I was expecting, but if you had asked me what I was going too be doing today and the answer was sitting in front of a whole bunch of record execs and Kiara, listening to me perform one of my songs. Nobody would believe it.

Choosing one of my old ones. I started working my way into it, letting my confidence grow. I was just getting to the refrain, when Kiara put up her hand in the accepted stop position. Snide titter ringing through her voice. "Oh dear, lets hope you are a better PA than a singer."

The snickers reverberated around the group. There were a few more questions, but that was pretty much it.

I walked out with low expectations, feeling pretty low. Listening to them laugh at my song, was disheartening too say the least.

At home, my girlfriend asked. "Where have you been? God damn it, Nash. I'm not carrying your lazy ass forever."

"I was at a job interview." I spat out curtly.

She gave me a skeptical sideways glance. "Wow, Where was it?"

"PA, for Kiara."

"No way." She gasped.

"Way."

The doubt was written all over her face. "You, a PA? You're kidding me."

"Nope, it was something else. She must have had ten people asking me questions."

"And she was there, like, I mean, you actually met her?"

"Yeah, she was there; we spoke for about fifteen minutes."

"Holy shit. Oh my god, like you met her. God, babes, you know how much I love on her."

I chuckled softly. "Oh yeah, I know."

The next hour was like a police interrogation. She wanted to know everything: What was she like, what was she wearing, did I recognize her perfume.

In the end, I had to cry, "Enough already. Jeez girl, give me a break."

She pouted in mock indignation before asking, "Do you think you will get it?"

Shrugging, I said, "I doubt it. There were over a hundred girls there today, probably more tomorrow. I'm thinking she will want a female, I mean it is a live in position."

"Live in!" She shrieked like I had shot her with a taser. "Holy crap, Nash. You never mentioned that. Oh my god, imagine us living there with her. Oh my god, I could be like your assistant."

She was so excited I thought she was going to have a heart attack. I had one hand on my phone, ready to call for a defibrillator. That night was one of the most incredibly sexual nights of my life. Erin was so excited by the whole thing, she ate me alive.

It certainly made me question my plan to dump her. Lately she had been driving me crazy. Always bitching about the fact she was paying for everything, while I was supposedly lying around doing nothing. Consciously, I had already made the decision to dump her. After that night, I reassessed. Although, as the realization sank in that I wasn't getting the job. Things didn't take long to get back to normal. The griping about her having to carry my sorry ass, the bitching, and griping returned with a vengeance.

"All you ever care about is your bloody guitar."

The next day, I packed up my shit including my guitar and walked out. Yeah it was gutless. I should have stayed and at least tried to explain. The truth though was. I couldn't stand the thought of another night of fighting.

I thought she would be happy, to see me go. I moved in with Danny, the drummer in our band. It was only a small apartment, but at least it was better than the street.

Two days later, I was shocked to get a call from the agency. "Mr. Collins, if you are still interested in the position as Kiara's PA, then we would like to offer you the job."

I nearly choked on my hot dog. "I am interested; what do you want me to do?"

"Come into the office tomorrow. There are some privacy documents you will need to sign, as well as a contract."

With the paperwork all signed. I was given two days to clean up my shit and be ready to move into her palatial mansion, at Paradise Cove Bluffs. The limo picked me up from Danny's place, and it was like being in a movie. As we pulled into her driveway, the huge metal gates swung open automatically.

I was met at the door by the lady from the agency. She showed me around the house... house. Jesus H Christ, it was as big as some of the neighborhoods I had lived in. It wasn't just the size of the place, it was the quality. Okay, I'm no expert, but looking at some of the artwork, I recognized a lot of the signatures.

I was shown to my room, given a laptop and a mobile phone. The hand over included a list of passwords to Kiara's social media accounts, which I was now officially in charge of.

Her schedule was already laid out for the next month. Charity appearances, interviews, performances. It was all in there. "Become familiar quickly, Mr. Collins. You will be responsible for making sure she attends all of these functions."

I was starting to get a handle on exactly how much responsibility I would be carrying. I was feeling a little disconcerted throughout the four hour introduction. Kiara never came in to say hi or make me feel welcome. Eventually, the team of aides all vanished, and I was left alone.

My room was bigger than the whole of my previous apartment. It felt huge, and the bed, it was enormous. After unpacking, I wandered around the house. Out back, I found Kiara. She was lying back on a sun recliner by the pool. She looked wasted, completely out of it.

I was just about to walk back inside when a guy walked out. He stared straight through me. "Hey dude, Sup?"

Reaching my hand out, I said, "I'm Nash. Kiara's new PA."

"Oh right, she a bit chilled dude. Maybe come out later."

Totally dismissing me, he flopped in the big deck chair beside Kiara. "Hey, my man. We could use some more bubbles. Get us a fresh bottle."

I walked inside, cursing myself. What the fuck had I got myself into? The guy was an asshole. Walking around in nothing but shorts, every visible inch of his body inked to the max. His stupid cap on backwards, like some white wanna be rapper.

The kitchen was impressive, and the refrigerator was massive. I did find another bottle of Champagne and carried it out to him. He didn't even acknowledge my presence.

A sandwich, yeah. Food, something to eat. The refrigerator was stocked, and it wasn't hard to find all the makings.

Just as I was about to take a bite. "Kiara's voice cut me off. "Hey, Nash, right?"

With my sandwich stalled, I replied. "Yes, that's me."

She reached out, took my sandwich and took an enormous bite. Her eyes bulged, and she sighed, enjoying the flavors. "Oh my god. This is awesome, could you make us some more?"

With that, she turned her back and staggered back outside. I grumbled away as I made them some more, and a couple for myself. I carried theirs outside and set them on the table beside them.

She smiled, and when she did, her real beauty shone through. That's all it took to melt away my anger.

"Thanks, Nash."

I finished my sandwich in my room. Later, I did a little more house inspection. In a huge room at the back, I walked into heaven: a full recording studio. Sheesh, it had all the top quality gear, a proper control booth, separated from the performance area by a huge glass window.

Inside, there was a small baby grand, a drum kit, guitars, a frigging wall of guitars. Amps, jeez, it was musicians Nirvana.

Running my hands over the guitars, I felt like a kid in a candy store. It didn't feel right to pick them up. They weren't mine, but I plucked some strings, enjoying the rich tones of a Martin D6.

Stunning, absolutely mind blowing.

As I walked back out into the huge lounge living area, the acrid aroma of some pretty strong hash wafted in from outside. Damn, that smelt good. Not really knowing what to do, I wandered back to my room and waited for instructions.

I didn't have to wait long. My new phone buzzed. "Hey, Nash. Could you be a sweetie, and order in some pizza?" She giggled sexily, adding, "Somebody got the munchies." She gave me the order, and I rang it in. It took me a while to figure out how to get the driver through the gates, but got there in the end and I had to pay.

When I took them out to the pool area, Kiara smiled warmly. "Thanks, sweetie. Did you find the money?"

Shaking my head, I replied, "I paid him myself."

"Oh no, sugar. There's a jar in the kitchen. Get some cash for yourself."

A jar in the kitchen?

Yep, there sure was. There must have been five grand in notes, stuffed in a stone jar.

It didn't take long to figure out I was nothing more than a servant. Some days, she was great. Others, if she was coming down, she was tyrannical, explosive and downright rude.

I was expected to do everything for her. Organize everything, schedule everything. I mean, there was a ream of house keepers and gardeners. The rest, however, was up to me.

She was generous, and on good days wonderfully kind. But on bad days, fucking look out. She was like an incendiary explosive device, waiting to go off.

She had her entourage and a constant stream of boyfriends. Record label hangers on, but behind that, she had some really cool muso friends. I met them all; the place regularly overflowed with famous celebs.

It was pretty exciting, but scary as fuck. The place always had drugs, and it was obvious Kiara, was a junkie... One of my jobs was to collect her prescriptions, legal and otherwise...

The good part of the job was when the musos all came over to use Kiara's, studio. It gave me a chance to learn from and work with the sound engineers. I loved it.

The first time Kiara caught me looking lustfully at her guitar collection, she laughed. "Nash, you are allowed to play them. You are part of the team. I trust you. If the studio's not being used, you can come down and use it."

After her generous offer, I pressed the engineers to show me how to operate it. She only used the studio for her new projects, she was contracted to AGM records.

Seeing her sitting at the baby grand, singing and writing, she was a different animal. Earthy, raw, beautiful lyrics. For me, that was her beauty, the lyrics.

They were so strong, so visual. She had the ability to depict in words, scenes and emotions. When she played by herself, her songs were amazing. Unfortunately, I watched as the label execs talked her down. When they were released, it was dumbed down and turned into teenage girly pop. I hated that they took her beautiful songs and turned them into trash.

Watching her sit at that piano, her gorgeous rich gravelly voice echoing around the room, her eyes closed, her head thrown back and her soul poured out through the mic. It was epic, pure emotion. You know when you hear a voice like that, everything reacts, your body vibrates in synch with the music.

Watching her dance around on stage, performing her pop driven tunes, was heartbreaking. Yeah, she pumped up the crowd, she danced, she twirled, she got the crowd to sing with her, and they did. It seemed, I might have been the only person who didn't like it.

Guess you don't get to be number one if what you produce didn't affect people. There were other good points surrounding the job. We traveled the world, and she took me everywhere. We ate at all the best restaurants, stayed at the best hotels. Traveled first class, well she did, but at least I got business class, still pretty good.

I got to go to concerts and festivals I had only ever dreamed about.

The downside, of course, was watching Kiara spiral out of control. Her team seemed more intent on fueling her drug habit than helping her. All they cared about was whether she could perform. If she killed herself in the process, they didn't care.

I actually heard a couple of high ranking AGM officials say, "If she dies, she'll be worth even more."

I, on the other hand, had to nurse her through the highs and troughs. The down days were terrible. Seeing her fall apart was an emotional journey.

At her piano, by herself, she was happy and productive. Our relationship grew, as well. When she saw me one day staring in at her through the recording studio window, listening to her, she waved me in.

"Nash, play with me, I know you can."

Getting down her Martin, I sat opposite her, and as she played, I started playing along. Not the raucous noisy guitar, but light finger-picked patterns.

The smile on her face grew, and she started singing, encouraging me to do the same. That's difficult, when it's something you've never heard before. I did find words, and as we played together, she started recording the sessions.

It was pretty cool; here was little old me, recording with one of the most famous singers in the world...

Things can change pretty quickly, and for Kiara, that rang true. Each day, she slipped a little further. She was incoherent, spaced out, her eyes vacant and empty. She couldn't hold a conversation, and was likely to break into fits of hysterics for no reason.

I found her unconscious on the kitchen floor. Worried, I rang the label execs to inform them I was ringing for emergency services. Ralph Merchatto, the head, screamed, "Don't you fucking dare. Is she breathing?"

"Yeah, she's breathing, but it's shallow and I can't wake her."

There was a moment's silence before he barked, "Okay, sit her up, try to wake her. I have a doctor on his way. Under no circumstances are you to call anybody."

He disconnected the call, and I screamed to nobody, "Fuck!"

Sitting down, I pulled her into a sitting position in front of me. I shook her, called to her. Nothing, she stayed unconscious. When the intercom sounded, I had to get up to let the doctor in.

He and a couple of aides rushed in and went to work trying to wake her.

They pumped out her stomach, put her on a drip, and slowly she came around. We carried her into her bed, and the nurses set up the drip and ECG machine, the oxygen monitors. It took hours, but in the end, they left. My instructions were clear, talk to her, keep her awake at all costs, for as long as I could.

I sat on the bed beside her, made god knows how many cups of coffee, and we talked. Well, she talked and I listened. I heard her whole story. How her father tried to rip her off once she became wealthy, and they were no longer in contact. It hurt because it kept her separated from her mother, as well. That was what hurt her the most.