Hot Set, page 25
“To you, B.A.S.E. jumping is an extreme sport. To me, it’s a science.” Timmer slings an arm around my shoulder. “Would I risk my own nephew’s life?”
A grandfatherly dude slides square-framed sunglasses to the end of a nose in serious need of a good hair plucking. “Come on, Mr. MacKenzie, that kid can’t be eighteen.”
I wince at the familiar speculation my youthful image always dredges up. Satan’s roadies have prepped a new circle of hell for Timmer’s perpetuation of the lie about me being eighteen. My B.A.S.E. jumping talents at twenty-three are PDG – pretty damn great—but a fresh out of high-school dude rocking my moves is prodigy wonder boy territory, great P.R. fodder.
I keep my lip zipped over the deception. I’m not going to lie, it does not suck being a prodigy wonder boy.
Unc spins me to display the product emblems plastered all over my banana-colored wing suit. “Endorsements like these don’t come from launching children into the sky. Justin jumps one-hundred percent legally.”
The reporter’s skepticism settles at the edges of his mouth. Metallic coating on his sunglasses turn my gray eyes silver as I catch my reflection. The gloaming breeze plucks strands of my tawny mane free from the generous layer of product I always apply before a jump. I’ll have to retame those suckers to restore my roguishly hot vibe instead of the young and soft look Timmer prefers. I’d give my right nut to have a growth spurt on the spot. Sadly, thanks to MacKenzie short man genes, there probably aren’t any in my future.
A gust of wind blows the press a tiptoe closer to the curved edge of the roof. Timmer and I hold our ground with matching “no big thing” expressions.
A babe in a raspberry-colored lady suit pushes toward me, eyes bulging with concern. Twitchy fingers alight on my shoulder. Next to my banana wingsuit, we’re a fruit salad. Here comes the concerned auntie vibe.
“Justin, why take risks B.A.S.E. jumping with the Slinging Seven Troupe even for someone as enchanting as Zeli?”
I bite back a groan at the mention of the pop queen.
“Is glorifying her platinum record worth your life?”
Truth rumbles in my throat. Yes, ma’am, B.A.S.E. jumping is worth the moon. It got me to Hollywood, the land of my music dreams. Dreams that will free me from Timmer’s whims so I can make my own destiny.
Timmer’s glare scorches a hole in my suit, cueing the trained monkey answer he expects.
I open my arms to the clouds. “Who doesn’t want to fly?” Every person on this roof does. I see it in the way their eyes brighten.
My stomach loops into a knot. Unc may piss himself when his prize canary asks to go AWOL. I’ve jumped off everything Timmer asked of me on our jiggy pathway around the country to make it here. My gaze drifts to the Hollywood Sign as I press toes into the roof of Rampion Records, the touchstone by which all music greatness is measured.
Tonight, this bird will fly off the Rampion Tower. Tomorrow, I dive into the audition for Rampion’s annual singing competition, The Summer Number One. It’s the U.S. Open of music, amateurs vs. pros, where Rampion Records dangles a chance for nobodies like me to go mic to mic with their current stable of rock stars. According to the Rampion P.R. machine – Even the little people in this world have a shot at the Summer Number One dream. This ammie is going to kick some serious pro ass and score a Rampion Records contract. I’ve got everything I need for the audition: demo tracks, my guitar, ass-hugging black jeans, and a sexy aviator jacket.
For the last five years, in every crappy rent-a-room the Slinging Seven have crashed, I’ve done dozens of online music courses. I study. I practice. I’m ready.
Unc laughs at one of the reporters he’s chatting up, and I see Ma’s smile here on the rooftop. Our signature MacKenzie smile packs serious wattage. I should know, I’ve busted it out often enough to sway, play, and dazzle females of the species.
Once I grab the top spot in the Summer Number One, my pile of gold for winning will be enough to snag my own digs here in L.A., the last place I remember Ma smiling. The cold burn of loneliness flares when I think of her and wonder if she’s safe.
Clouds thicken as I watch the sun dip into the Pacific Ocean. I ignore a stitch of concern at the base of my neck as the jump difficulty ticks up a notch and think in my language of future Justin merch.
T-shirt moment: Music Dreams Sucker Punch Death.
Channel Six pushes in front of his colleagues. “Justin, does Zeli have a lock on the top pro spot in the Summer Number One?”
Lady Suit bumps her shoulder into mine. “Is Zeli your dream girl?”
My lips twist into a frown. Zeli is my nightmare.
Timmer digs his fist into my back, my cue to fix my pissy face. I manage to upgrade to a grimace dressed as a smile. By their winks and snickers, the reporters take my tension as embarrassment. I’d like to water cannon them all off the roof. I’m entitled to a dream girl, but it will never be the plastic diva with her bubblegum diluted pop crap. That chickadee is an affront to everything I love about music.
Unc hasn’t run out of bluster. “It’s an honor for the Slinging Seven to be part of Zeli’s platinum record celebration.”
My temple throbs. I’m more than half nuts to risk a concrete sandwich for that over-hyped female commodity with a pink guitar.
Don’t stop now. Keep reading with your copy of PINK GUITARS AND FALLING STARS
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And find more from Leslie O’Sullivan at
www.leslieosullivanwrites.com
Want even more from Leslie O’Sullivan? Read PINK GUITARS AND FALLING STARS and be sure to check out all the details on her website at www.leslieosullivanwrites.com
Zeli’s signature pop diva sound and image are nothing short of magical—literally. Her fame comes with hidden costs, a curse that could ruin her voice forever.
Aspiring indie musician, Justin MacKenzie, is determined to kick it to the top of the Rampion Records’ Summer Number One professional vs. amateur singing competition.
The favorite to beat in the annual televised contest is none other than the label’s smoking hot superstar, Zeli, whose crazy extensions flow the length of a football field. Those ridiculous extensions, coupled with her bubblegum brand of pop, are an affront to everything Justin loves about music until a stolen kiss blazes into a romantic encounter.
Once inside Zeli’s world, Justin discovers things are not as they seem. In their quest to allow the real Zeli, to step into the spotlight, the pair must confront the mysterious force behind the dazzle of Rampion’s success. If these star-crossed lovers can’t rally their own magic to defeat the darkness, they will lose everything—including each other.
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Acknowledgments
Loving thanks to everyone behind the scenes and in front of the camera on “It’s Garry Shandling’s Show.” I am honored to have been a part of this amazing series as the assistant art director and grateful for all the lessons I learned during the experience. It is a time in my life I will treasure forever. An extra serving of gratitude for the writers on the show, especially Ed Solomon, Tom Gammill, Max Pross, Alan Zweibel, and Garry Shandling who never suspected they were Jedi Masters teaching this padawan how to craft a story with innovation, humor, and heart.
Boundless appreciation to Michael, the most amazing tour guide in all of Ireland, for sharing the beauty and lore of the Ring of Kerry.
This wild and wonderful writing journey is only possible with supportive friends and family. Thank you with an exponent for all the encouragement, hand holding, and love to Melissa, Cameron, Rich, John, Sidney, Diane, Flo, Laurie, Rob, Tiffany, Shannon, Gail, Anthony, Lizzy, Sarah, Julie, Katharyn, Shona, and Greg at The Rose and Crown Pub.
A special shout out to my fellow teachers, Eagle-Eagle-Eagle Soar-Soar-Soar who never cease to demonstrate caring and selflessness. Thank you for your devotion to students, and for being a light even in the most stressful and challenging of times.
Thank you to City Owl Press for creating a joyful environment for writers to create their art. I so appreciate everything you do to bring our stories into the world. Special hugs to my editor, Theresa Cole, for believing in Hot Set and helping me tell Gilly and Jack’s tale.
Finally, I’d like to acknowledge my appreciation to the Outlander television series for being the inspiration for the fictional TV show, The Chieftain’s Son, in Hot Set. I’m a lifelong fan of everything Outlander. A special thank you to Sam Heughan who had the courage and transparency to share a post on social media about the monumental personal challenges of being in the limelight. Sam, your words touched my heart and sent me on the journey to write this story. Thank you so very much.
About the Author
LESLIE O’SULLIVAN is the author of Rockin' Fairy Tales, an adult romance series of Shakespeare/fairy tale mash ups set against the backdrop of Hollywood’s music scene. Coming soon is her Behind the Scenes contemporary romance series that peeks into the off-camera secrets of a wildly popular television drama. She’s a UCLA Bruin with a BA and MFA from their Department of Theater where she also taught for years on the design faculty. Her tenure in the world of television was as the assistant art director on “It’s Garry Shandling’s Show.” Leslie loves to indulge her fangirl side each year at San Diego Comic Con.
www.leslieosullivanwrites.com
About the Publisher
City Owl Press is a cutting edge indie publishing company, bringing the world of romance and speculative fiction to discerning readers.
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Escape Your World. Get Lost in Ours!
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Additional Titles
PINK GUITARS AND FALLING STARS
by Leslie O’Sullivan
Zeli’s signature pop diva sound and image are nothing short of magical—literally. Her fame comes with hidden costs, a curse that could ruin her voice forever.
* * *
GILDED BUTTERFLY
by Leslie O’Sullivan
King Midas and the Golden Touch meets King Lear in a slow-burn, friends to lovers, romance set against the backdrop of the Hollywood music scene.
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Leslie O'Sullivan, Hot Set
