Another Grass Stalk In My Garden

Chapter 1

Rebecca's story

August 12, 2018

- Where's my Dior? – At first I don't shout. I tone my voice down to something a bit louder than a whisper, staring at Patrick wide-eyed, frustrated, and imagine my palms wrapped around his bare neck, strangling him to death. The fury is inevitably raging inside me and I am not trying to resist it. If I blow, I will blow hard. Inevitable, see?

Emily is standing a few steps away from me at her dressing room corner where an A4 sheet of paper is pinned to her chair, saying 'Emily Waltzer. Kittens With Black Mittenz'. Olivia isn't at the room at the moment. She must've gone to the 'Salad and Juice Bar' to get a snack.

Emily's just watching me, waiting for the big explosion, and is obviously surprised about my seemingly calm voice tone. But I'm like a volcano – saving anger inside my body to throw it out all at once. So I continue staring at our stylist Patrick, probably red-faced, teeth clenched, hands crossed on my chest. I'm waiting for the answer which isn't coming from his mouth.

Oh yes, Patrick. Now I'm furious. – Where's my Dior dress?! – I'm screaming so loud that I'm sure everybody in the building is able to hear these four words.

Olivia enters the dressing room the moment I grab an ordinary light blue knee-length strap dress Patrick wants me to wear tonight from his hands and throw it on the floor with an invincible gesture. I'm not wearing a cotton beach dress for Teen Choice Awards. Okay, it's not the Grammy Awards ceremony, but I'm absolutely not going to ANY awards show wearing an impersonal H&M type dress.

Patrick is devastated. Every inch of his body wants to react to my presumptuous behaviour but Patrick deals with anger a lot easier and more quickly than me. He's already calm and steady in two seconds' time. He crouches and picks the dress up from the floor.

I notice a long dark hair attached to the fabric at the back of the dress. I'm blonde so that's definitely not my hair. – I'm not wearing that! It's an award ceremony, for God's sake, Patrick!

His name sounds like poison in my mouth. It seems it tastes like poison, too.

- Mis Rebecca! – I can hear him hardly fighting anger in his voice. But Patrick is suppressing every single emotion boiling in him right now. The stylist knows that any argument with me, Olivia or Emily can cost Patrick his well-paid job. Patrick hasn't had any problems with the other two girls yet but every now and then I'm making him sweat. Like now, for example. – The dress code of Teen Choice Awards ceremony is quite ordinary and casual. You can't wear a ball gown to a ceremony where the prize you get is designed as a surfboard!

Yes, I know that. But doesn't Christian Dior design small and casual dresses, too? Still, I want a ball gown. I don't care the prize is a surfboard. Actually, I don't care about the prize at all. I just want to be pretty there and to shine brighter than anybody else. And this won't be possible if I'm dressed in an H&M strap dress!

The moment I decide to keep arguing with the stylist who believes that complying with the dress code is more important than the way I look tonight our manager Lisa Fontana crosses the threshold of the door. She's a tall middle-aged woman with curly dark brown hair. Lisa's wearing a black conservative costume – a jacket and long trousers. Even she will not look like a scarecrow, wearing a beach dress tonight! – Rebecca, what's the problem now?

I hear a slight irritation in her voice. And there's something else, too, I can't identify.

At first, during "BMADM Tour", I always agreed to everything Lisa wanted me to do, to wear, to sing or even to say in interviews. Now, at the age of 20, I have my own head on my shoulders and sometimes I require things Lisa isn't pleased about and deal with problems the ways she doesn't like. But at least we don't argue... very often.

I'm mad now. And I want the whole world to know it. – Problem? Is there a problem?! Well, yes, there is! I am supposed to wear... this! – I grab the light blue dress from Patrick's hands and almost throw it in Lisa's face. I hold it so close to her that she squints her eyes to avoid the fabric getting in her eyes.

Lisa takes the dress from me as calmly as she can. She doesn't let any feature in her face move. Lisa just stands still and her face is rigid as if chiselled from stone. – Patrick isn't the one who chose this dress for you. It was me. And I suggest you listen to me and wear it. I don't do things without a purpose.

- So you say that wearing a revolting strap dress for an award show is for some kind of a reason? I wonder what...

- Yes, it is, Rebecca! And you're just a stubborn, dumb young girl if you don't understand it! – Lisa shouts at me. For a second I think that maybe she is even angrier than I am. But I've got used to be unbreakable so I don't show the confusion.

Lisa continues. – You're driving me crazy! You have to do nothing by yourself, the only things you are supposed to do are doing concerts and giving autographs to the fans but you can't do a damn thing with a smile! The nicer you are to the fans the more fans you have! During the last few months you don't care about your fans at all! Do you think they don't see that their idol actually is an arrogant infantile brat?

Wow! I have never ever in a billion years thought that Lisa could say something like that to me. Maybe I don't care about the fans so much anymore, but I never had an idea she would say it to me right in the face. I remind to myself over and over again that nothing and nobody (not even Lisa with her unexpected, but truthful comments) can drag me down. I'm tough. They won't defeat me with bitchy comments.

Still, I remain silent. – This dress is supposed to show your fans how modest you are. Even if it's just an illusion... You have to act as a good, grateful girl in public. Everybody acts!

I've got a feeling that Lisa isn't done with this conversation. It's like the accusations have accumulated during these two years and she's finally decided to say everything. – I'm tired of treating you, Rebecca, like a childish "princess on a pea". I want this, I want that... Being a celebrity doesn't mean being a princess. It means more publicity and less private space, not more arrogance and less respect! Please, grow up and wear that dress!

I have my own accusations for Lisa. She deserves to hear them. – So, in your opinion, I am the princess and you're the servant? Actually, it's the complete opposite! We three obey everything you make us do and say. Do you think I want to obey some kind of stupid rules? Of course not, but you're our damn manager, so we are forced to listen to you! I want to live my own life, independent and free, no matter what dumb old bitches like you command me to do!

Lisa shrinks and her face turns paler than ever. I don't care (as always) and continue. – God, I swear you won't be here by tomorrow! I'll find another bitch to serve me!

Oh no, that was too much for that wicked old cow. But this is the worst thing about Rebecca Adeline Stenderson – she doesn't think before she speaks. And what's done is done.

In two seconds' time Lisa turns from a pale small mouse into a red-faced furious monster. She lowers her voice to a threatening whisper and moves a bit closer to me, staring right into my eyes. This time I want to shrink, but I don't – I never show fear. – Remember that I was the one who pushed you up the music industry ladder. I was the one to make your dreams come true. Don't you dare to threaten me or you'll have to regret!

I watch Lisa and Patrick leave the dressing room, completely destroyed on the inside, yet ready to take revenge for Lisa's last words.