Hello, From the Other Side

Chapter 2

Joe

I'll have to admit, Demi was a very talented young woman. All of the rumors of her using auto tune were automatically squashed when I heard her sing Made in the USA acapella that night.

The concert lasted 4 to 5 hours. It probably would've been shorter if Barb hadn't prompted Demi to keep doing an encore for the screaming girls in the crowd.

This morning I woke up, and met with Demi and the rest of the crew for breakfast at the hotel. I was scheduled to have my first one-on-one interview with Demi today after breakfast.

"Good morning Joe." Demi greeted me when I walked into the dining all. "Good morning. It all smells really delicious." I said looking around at all the amazing food choices there were. Pancakes, waffles, muffins, eggs, cereal, anything you can imagine.

I grabbed a paper plate and loaded it with everything on the menu. I started to take a seat at a table alone when Barb grabbed me by my shirt collar and sat me right across from Demi. "You never know when the paparazzi may come in looking for pictures. It would look bad for Demi to be sitting away from her guest." she scolded us both. Demi looked down and Barb found someone else to order around after realizing that someone hadn't color coded Demi's makeup box.

"Sorry about her." Demi apologized. "She's sort of.." she trailed off. "A control freak?" I finished questionably. She chuckled. "I was going to say organized, but that'll do it too." Demi replied.

I starred at her plate. She had a glass of water, and a bowl full of fruit. "That's your breakfast?" I asked her. She nodded. "Yup! Keeps me energized throughout the day." she said halfheartedly. Demi tried to sound excited about healthy living, but anyone with half a brain would know she desperately was craving a huge plate of chocolate chip pancakes with maple syrup dripping from them.

We made small talk. Mostly about tour life and places she's been. None of it was really worth putting in a piece about her. This was the problem. I don't want to make this piece how they want it. I want to make it about the real Demi Lovato. The only problem is everyone here spends so much time covering it up, it's hard to see who that is.

Demi

"So what exactly are you going to ask?" I asked Joe. We were alone in my hotel room. This was supposed to be an interview type of thing. Although, it wasn't what I was used to. This didn't require any wardrobe or hair and makeup. I was literally sitting her in a pair of sweats and a plain old white t-shirt. "Whatever comes to mind." Joe answered simply. That helps a lot, I thought to myself.

"So what is this exactly about?" I asked him. He opened up a notepad and clicked a pen. "Well you, duh." he said obviously. I laughed. "Well I know  that. What's the focus though? The tour? My album? What?" I asked. "To be completely honest. I'm not sure yet." Joe answered. He was so confusing. Maybe this was just apart of how writers work. Who am I to question his abilities?

"So where are you from?" Joe asked me. "Colleyville." I answered. "Texas?" he questioned. I nodded. "Aren't we here now?" he asked. "Close. Fort Worth. It's basically the same thing I guess." I said. "So where's your family?" he asked. "They're around." I said trying to avoid a direct answer. "Are you planning on visiting them while we're here?" he asked me. "If my schedule allows it." I said. He looked confused. "What does your schedule have to do with it? It's your family?" Joe said.

Flashback

"I don't need you telling me how to live my life! Music is what I want. I WANT this. More than anything. I'd do or give anything for this career." I screamed at my mom. She just doesn't understand.

"Demi, you're only 17. We've allowed you to pursue anything in music that you want to. We're telling you that you CAN'T go on the road by yourself. Not because we hate you, but because we know what's best for you." My mom lectured.

I turned to my father. My #1 supporter. My first fan. The first person to ever put me up on a stage at 2 years old. "Dad, please talk to her." I said with tears in my eyes. "Tell her I'll be okay." I begged.

My dad sighed. "Demi, you're just not ready to be responsible for yourself for that long alone. You're still 17. And until that changes, you follow our rules." he told me.

That night I grabbed my suit case and car keys. I threw all of my stuff in the car and pulled out of my long drive way. As soon as I was far enough away from my house I dialed Barb's number.

"Hello," the voice on the phone said. "Hey, it's Demi. I'm going on tour. I'll need some help though." I told her. "With what?" she asked. "Emancipation. If that's an option." She gasp. "Did you get the contract signed?" she asked me. "I forged their signatures.. Between you and I." I told her. "Demi, I don't know if this is something I can cover up." she told me. "Please!" I begged.

We continued to talk until we came to a formal agreement that her husband would be my emancipation lawyer, and I would be her client for a full fledged 6 years. She would receive 80% of all my salaries, and she would legally be entitled to half of all of my asserts. At the time it seemed like a fantastic idea. All I wanted was to sing for people anyway. Now, I'm paying the price for my mistake.

end

"Can we cut for a second?" I asked. "It's not a movie.." Joe told me. I nodded. "I know. I just have an important call to make." I told him. He nodded with a sigh. "Alright."