The Pop Star and the Dreamer

Now, it seemed, she had fallen back into the sticky web of drug dependency.

When she phoned me a few days later, it was even a bigger shock, and this time, she seemed more coherent, lucid even. "Nash, could we get together, talk? I would love to catch up, I need to apologize for what happened."

"Yeah of course. I don't wish you any harm, Kiara. I still consider us friends."

"I'm so glad to hear that. I hate to think we couldn't be friends."

"Cool, why don't we meet for lunch somewhere? I can't do dinner until the weekend, because of my work hours."

"Actually, I was thinking you could come to the house. Stay away from those prying cameras."

Strangely, that worried me, but it also made sense. "Yeah, could do. When do you want me to drop by?"

"Today, silly. I will order in. Unfortunately, my new PA can't make sandwiches for shit."

"Yeah, can do. What time?"

"Nash, it's not a formal thing. You are always welcome here. You don't need an invitation."

Maybe you should tell that to your security guard."

I heard her gasp, and the phone went silent for a minute whilst she regathered her senses. I heard the sniffles though. She was putting on a brave face, but the facade was veneer thin.

"That was just a huge misunderstanding, Nash. I never wanted that Ralph got everything wrong. He thought he was doing the right thing."

"The right thing for him. I'll drop by about eleven."

Pulling up to the gate brought back old memories. I can honestly say the start had been rocky, but after Kiara and I worked it out, the memories were mostly good. We had a lot of good times, and she had been incredibly generous as a boss.

The security guy waved me through, didn't even check my ID.

It was a bit like old times, the car park area was overflowing with cars. Walking inside, the first thing I noticed was very few people. A couple of caterers, and some of her old entourage. The music was loud, though, and coming from the studio.

Desala, one of, Kiara's old crew, rushed to greet me with a big hug. "Hey, Nash." Her kiss on the cheek was pleasant. We never really gelled while I worked for, Kiara. She was a distraction, a drug maggot. Always high, always looking for some star to bang her.

As we parted, she said, "They're all down in the studio. Why don't you go down and have a listen?"

I felt nervous walking through to the studio. Good memories, but also apprehension, because as I got closer, I heard what they were performing. It was one of my older songs, although Now, it was laden with synths and strings, a heavy driving modern automated drum fill. It sounded like any one of the other million top-twenty songs of the era. Pop, with a capital P. The only thing making it possible to discern the song was the lyrics. Yeah, it was definitely mine.

Walking into the control booth, there were the usual suspects. Jogo, her favorite sound engineer, Rudy, the producer, and a couple of other dudes I didn't recognize.

In the studio, there was Kiara, front and center, and she did look stunning. She had returned to her old look, although the hair was different. She was at the mic, singing her heart out as she always did. She was a wonderful performer, always gave it one hundred percent.

Even in the studio, she got lost in the music. There was no standing still, she bounced around, searching out the highs and lows. The other musos were working their magic, and I could see this being a number one.

I watched from the back, unnoticed by the guys at the desk. It was Kiara who saw me. I saw her face light up, which made my heart race. She waved to me, which made the guys around me turn.

Jogo smiled and reached out his hand to shake. "Hey my man. Good to see you. Sounds great huh?"

I waved my hand, s if to say I was undecided. He gave me a scowl. "You don't like?"

"No, not really. You know me dude. This isn't my preference."

He chuckled softly. "Yeah, that's right. You're into that old-time Americana themed shit."

"Shit is a bit harsh, but yeah."

The song ended, and Kiara rushed through the studio door, and leapt into my arms. The kiss took me completely by surprise. Her lips were suddenly glued to mine, and her tongue ravaged my mouth like an avenging army. The kiss was insistent, inviting, overpowering, and yes. Overwhelming.

I could do nothing but clutch onto her ass as her legs were wound around my waist, her arms around my neck, pulling me deeper into the kiss.

I staggered a little under the onslaught, only the wall saving us from ending on our asses.

Kiara slowly released me. "God, I've missed you," she sighed loudly.

I chuckled heartily. "I missed you, as well."

We stood face to face, her hands cupping my face, caressing, her thumbs running along the side of my nose. Her eyes never moved, she stared straight into mine, and I could feel my soul being inhaled into her softly panting mouth. She had me, and there was no escape. Well, that was until she said.

"What did you think of the song?"

Grimacing, I shrugged noncommittally. "It was okay, I guess."

"Okay?" she spluttered. "What the hell does that mean?"

Swallowing hard, I replied, "Do you want me to be honest?"

"Yes, that would be nice," she said nervously.

"Okay, here goes. I hate it. You have cut out the heart of the song, filled it full of beats and synths. Now it sounds like every other song playing on the radio. The song has lost its soul."

Her smile was long gone, her warmth faded quickly. "It's still the same song, Nash. The fact we brought it into the twenty-first century hasn't changed it."

"Is that why I'm here? So you can convince me to let you use my songs?"

The conversation that had been going on behind us dried up, and the air was full of tension as everybody in the booth listened to our fight.

She sighed, let her head fall, breaking our eye contact. "You're here because I wanted to see you, but yes. I was hoping once you heard the songs you might reconsider you position."

"No, nothing would change that. The songs are mine, Kiara. You know that. Ralph might think he can just ride roughshod over everybody, but not me."

She moved back in closer, her arms circling my waist. Her lips caressing mine. "Let's go and have something to eat. I need to know what you've been up to."

We left the guys in the booth and walked out to the deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It was one of those miraculous California days, clear skies, a gentle breeze blowing in from the sea and the temperature hovered in the eighties.

The tabled was covered with food. I noticed the big sandwiches and grabbed one, as did Kiara. "They're not as nice as yours, but they're okay."

We ate and she slurped on her giant coke. "So, tell me about what you're doing now?" she gushed enthusiastically.

"I'm producing a radio show, out in Burbank. It's a bit of fun, and it pays the bills."

"Where are you living?" she asked. The interest and empathy genuine.

"Same. Burbank. I found a nice little apartment, close to work."

"Are you still playing, writing?"

"Yeah, in fact I have a band. We are just getting ready to record and release my songs."

"What? Record? No, you mustn't."

"Don't be goofy. They're my songs, and the guys in the band are really into them. We have a label interested."

"A label, who?"

"Rebel records."

"That's ridiculous, they'll never be heard."

"I don't care," I snapped with my mouthful of sandwich.

"Nash, I am begging you. Let me release them. You could release your own versions later."

"Kiara, you have your own songs. You don't need mine."

"Nash, these are amazing songs. Okay, I admit I didn't see it at first, but the more I heard them, the more they mean to me. I want to record them, get them out to the world, so they can see what amazing writer you are."

"No, the reason the songs meant something is because they were real. Covering them in fluffy tinsel for teenage girls will destroy the intent. You liked them the way they were. I have the recordings. If you listened to them, you would know what I mean."

She pouted, visibly hurt. "I can't listen to them, somebody won't give them back to me."

"If you honestly want them just to listen to, I'll send you a copy."

She smiled. "That would be amazing. I have been dying to let Ralph hear them. I would like to release them, like that. Just you and me, but Ralph doesn't think it would work. He said it would kill my reputation."

"That's because he's an idiot. He can't see past the dollar signs. Why don't you move on. There are better options than AGM."

Her eyes took on a sad flickering malaise, the clarity gone. That's when I noticed; her hands shaking. Actually, her whole body trembled.

She needed a fix; she was struggling to hold it together. "Nash, I can't break my contract. I'm locked in."

"I feel for you. Look, it was nice to catch up, but I haven't changed my mind about the songs. We are about to record them, anyway. You could always do cover versions of them."

I stood up, walked around the table, and embraced her from behind. My arms circled her, and I lent down to kiss her neck. "I've missed you, the real you. I loved our time in New Zealand. I would love to see that woman emerge from the haze."

"What does that mean?" she said through her sniffles.

"Give up the drugs, Kiara. Let yourself go."

"What makes you think I'm using?" she asked.

I lifted her trembling hand and held it in front of her eyes. "Tell me you aren't."

When she didn't respond, I whispered softly. "I should have told you this in New Zealand. I wanted to, in fact, I have wanted to for a long time. I love you, Kiara, not like a crazed fan. I mean I love you with all my heart."

"Nash..."

"No, don't say anything. I have loved you for a long time. I tried to fight it off, but when I met the real you, I was hooked, I can't stop thinking about you. I want you in my arms, I want to go to bed at night with your head cradled in my arms. I want to smell you on my bedclothes."

"Nash..."

"It's okay. I have come to understand my love is a one way street. A boulevard to nowhere. I just wanted you to know, I will always be there for you. Any time, day or night. If you need me, I'll be there."

I kissed her cheek, and stood slowly. "Goodbye, Kiara. Live well."

She didn't rush after me. There were no forlorn pleas for me to stay. No cries of, "I love you too."

In my car, I managed to get out the gate before the tiny tears streamed down my face. I had managed to get out what I wanted to say, and I'd done it without her seeing me cry.

As I cruised through the heavy traffic, my phone broke through the radio. Pressing the hands free button, I acknowledged the call. "Hey, Adam. What's up man?"

"Nothing much, just checking up. You still cool with me coming to stay for a couple of weeks?"

"Yeah, man. Looking forward to it. You're gonna love LA."

We chatted for a while, and just hearing his voice brightened my mood. We had managed to stay in touch since my return to the States. We had been talking about this trip for months, but it never seemed to happen for one reason or another.

Still, he was probably my most trusted friend. He was just a really nice guy.

The next couple of days drifted by, and thoughts of Kiara slowly drifted away. The band was going great; we had been rehearsing the shit out of my songs. The deal I had strung together with Rebel Records was okay. They weren't pouring a lot of money into it, but they were going to do the recording at no charge and help with promotion. They would take their cut from album sales. That pretty much suited me, because I didn't have money to throw at it either.

My world came crashing down when I received a letter from a lawyer. It was a cease and desist order. In short, AGM was contesting my rights to record my own songs. They were, in fact, claiming the songs were written by Kiara. If I broke the order, they were taking me to court.

It was only an hour later that I got a call from Mike, at Rebel. "Bro, what the actual fuck is going on? We have just been served with a letter saying the songs aren't yours. That the fuck dude?"

"The sings are mine. I have copyrighted recordings. They are registered."

"That's not what this fucking letter says, man. Look, I think we need to take some time to sort this shit out."

"Yeah, I'm going to contact a lawyer. I need some advice."

"Good idea man. Call me when you get it sorted."

"Fucking assholes. Ralph... what a dick." I hissed quietly. In reality, I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs."

The second shock was when I contacted a lawyer. He was pretty helpful, for a shark. It was plain, I couldn't stop Kiara, or anyone for that matter, from performing or recording my songs. They would have to pay me royalties and acknowledge me as the songwriter, but I couldn't stop them.

The lawyer was also confident, so long as I had the original recordings, my copyright would be easy to prove.

He did say if I broke the cease and desist that we would have to go to court, and it would be expensive. I realized it was just a game for Ralph. He was tying my hands financially. He knew I wasn't in a position to fight a court case. He was going to win by default.

Fucking royalties. Nine cents a download. Despondent, I moped around the house before going to work. The program ran from seven PM, till 11.

Walking into the station, I was surprised to find, the station manager still there. When I walked past his office, he called out. "Nash, can I see you for a minute?"

"What's up, boss-man?"

"Nash, this is tricky, and truthfully. I'm not comfortable with it. You've been a good employee. However, we are terminating your contract. There is a small redundancy package, but the reality is. You're fired."

"Why? What the hell?"

"Nash, I can't go into it, but I can't stop this. It came from way above my head."

"Fucking, Ralph," I snarled, and he just dropped his eyes.

"We've cleaned out your desk, the stuff's in a cardboard box at reception." He reached out to shake my hand. "Sorry, Nash."

"Yeah, right."

If I was feeling despondent earlier, now I was depressed. It made me nervous. How deep could the fuckers tentacles reach?

My mind flashed. "Money." Shit, I wondered if he could somehow freeze my accounts? Could he do that?

Apprehension filled my mushy brain. I needed to find a way to keep my cash safe. The next day, I went to the bank and withdrew everything except a thousand bucks. Apprehension, shit, here I was walking around with close to a hundred thousand dollars in bills.

I locked the car doors; this was not a good idea. Not good at all. I kept glancing around, expecting gun toting muggers staring at me.

Rehearsal at least would give me some peace. Playing with the guys was usually a blast. Having more time on my hands, seeing as how I was now unemployed, I went into our little rehearsal room and started setting up.

When the guys turned up, I sensed the doom and gloom. Aaron, the drummer was the first to speak. "What's this fucking letter about dude? It says in there, these songs aren't yours."

"Yeah, it's bullshit. I can prove the songs are mine. AGM wants Kiara to record and release the songs as hers. They're just playing hard ball. Trying to scare me off."

"Yeah, well, let me tell you man, it's fucking working." Jimmy, the keyboard player exclaimed. "Fuck man, I don't have money for lawyers and shit. I'm pulling out. Sorry, man."

When I looked around the group, I saw the same sad expressions. I could understand. None of them were in a position to afford legal representation.

My world as I knew it was falling apart. I couldn't blame the guys. In their position, I would probably do the same. We shared a hug, and as I closed the door on the rehearsal room, another chapter of my life was gone.

I was at a pretty low point. No job, no band, and a huge legal battle on the horizon. Back at the apartment with a bottle of bourbon, I lay back on the sofa to contemplate my life. What was important? Maybe the easiest thing to do was just forget the whole sorry episode. I should take Ralph's seventy-five thousand and just disappear for a while.

By the time the bottom of the bottle was becoming visible, my mind was gone, filled with happy images of New Zealand. Yeah, okay, maybe most of it was tied to Kiara, but there were plenty of other good memories. I loved that little place, good friends, and the people were real. None of this plastic pretentious crap.

Everyone called you mate, brought you a beer. Shared jokes. Yeah, it was fun, and I didn't have a lot of that at the moment.

Those thoughts filled my mind, as the alcohol finally sent me off to lala land, images of light reflecting off Lake Wakitipu, the snow capped Remarkables glistening in the pink sky.

The morning wasn't pleasant. My head throbbed painfully, my mouth was dry, my tongue swollen. Coffee, I needed coffee.

As I stood waiting for the water to boil, the images of last night came back. Yeah, it was probably the happiest time of my life. Maybe that's where I should be. Maybe all this shit was just to open my eyes?

I checked my phone, and it was nearly ten in the morning. Doing a quick calculation, it was nearly four in the afternoon in New Zealand, although a day ahead.

"Hey, mate, what's happening?"

"You know that trip you've been talking about, how would you feel about putting it on hold for a while?"

He laughed. "Yeah, about that. Mate, I don't actually have the money. It's just a dream?"

I chuckled softly. "I got that. What I wanted to know was whether you might like a guest for a little while?"

"Do you mean you? What happened about the album you're recording?"

I explained a little of the story and how New Zealand had been playing on my mind.

"Mate, if that's how you feel, why not come for longer? You know we're looking for a new bar tender."

"You mean work?"

"Yeah bro. The job comes with free accommodation. You just need to work out a working visa. If you want, I can fill in all the shit from our end."

"Wow, it might be exactly what I need."

"Then stop talking, and start doing."

He was right, and absorbing his words, I realized it was more than a reactionary dream. It was what I wanted.

I did some research and organized the paperwork for the working visa. I could get a six month visa, but that was it. "Better than nothing," I muttered as I sent the forms off to Adam.

While working through the paperwork, I got a call from Ralph. "Nash, I want to talk to you about the songs. I think my offer of seventy-five thousand, was generous. I am imploring to use your head and take the offer."

"Nope, not a chance in hell. The songs are mine. I may not be able to stop you covering them, but they are mine, and I can prove it. If you try to rip me off, then we will be going to court. So do what you want, but acknowledge that they re mine and we will be square."

"Nash, I want to promote them as Kiara's, and that's what I'm going to do. Take the money, son. You'll make more that way. It's cash in the hand."

"Nope, no way. The songs are my property. Always will be. You try to sell them as anything else and it will cost you a lot of money. I have copyright on those songs. I have recordings that go back a long way before, Kiara and I went to NZ."

"Fuck, you are an annoying son of a bitch. You're a dumb fuck, Nash."

"Maybe, I'll take my chance with the royalties. If you're right and they go to number one, my nine cents per download is going to be a handy little pay packet."

That's pretty much how we ended up. I did get a tearful call from Kiara.

"Nash, oh my god. I'm so sorry. I just found out what Ralph did. Honestly, I didn't know."

"Never thought you did. That's just the sort of pig he is."

"Nash, I can give you some money, just give me your bank details."