Page 1 of A Tragic Melody

CHAPTER ONE

Tuesday Blue is not a stage name.

Everyone always assumes it is, but unfortunately for me, my mother predetermined my fate. She thought if she gave me the name of a star, I’d have no choice but to become one. Her belief was that since she gave up her dream of being a Hollywood actress to have me, that meant she got to live vicariously through me.

I once told her with a name like Tuesday Blue, I’d be better off becoming a porn star or stripper. That didn’t go over well, which is ironic given everything she put me through. Apparently selling my body for money was too far, but selling it for fame was perfectly acceptable.

My whole life, my mother pushed me towards the limelight. She put me in acting classes. Spent money on headshots. Made me take diet pills and exercise until I puked. Limited my calories since the moment I could eat whole foods. Anything to keep me skinny and pretty.

She wanted me to be an actress, like she sought out to be. I think she hoped it would revamp her career, too, but I wasn’t born to be an actress. I may have picked up a few helpful skills in those classes, like crying on demand, but it wasn’t what I was good at.

What I’m good at is singing.

The day she found out I could sing might have been the one and only time she was happy she had me. It was some elementary school musical, and I landed the leading role. She only came because she thought if she filmed it, she could show it to talent scouts.

When I walked up to her after, all she did was criticize me like I knew she would. She thought I moved around more than needed. That I slouched and looked towards her too much. She went on and on about how I could’ve done better. It was only when multiple people came up to us and complimented my voice that she realized she could use it to get me famous.

She tried to make me a pop star first. That scene was hard to break into. The only way to land auditions was to know someone on the inside. She could only land me three auditions with studio executives in that realm. Each time they gave the same feedback:

“She’s a little rough around the edges.”

“Too eccentric.”

“Not soft enough.”

My mother put me in vocal classes to try to train my voice to be sweeter and soothing, but that was never going to be possible. I was never meant to be a pop star. I was born to be a rock star.

From an early age, that’s the kind of music I was drawn to. The sound and aesthetic felt right to me. I looked up to the female-fronted bands of the glam rock era. I’d sing along to the music on the local rock station when my mom was gone, using marker as black eyeliner. Rock ‘n’ roll felt like home to me.

My mother hated it. She liked me in pretty dresses, lace, and bows. My golden-blonde hair screamed bubblegum pop in her eyes, but eventually she had no choice but to accept the facts.

Rock music was the way I’d get famous.

Of course, she had no trouble blending into that scene once she came to terms with my calling. She made quick work of getting the attention of record label guys and producers. My mother worked quickly. My hair was dyed platinum-blonde, and the pretty dresses were thrown out, never to be seen again. From that moment on, I got to dress more to my liking. Black clothing, faux leather, and dark makeup.

By the time I turned fifteen, she had me in a studio recording my first single with a backing band of men twice my age.

The age difference did little to stop them from talking about how hot I was or making passes at me. My mother never let it be more than a few harmless jokes and light flirting. She wouldn’t want me to waste myself on a lowly band guy. No, she wanted to push me on the higher-ups.

I was seventeen when Veritas Records found me. By then, I had a few more songs recorded, a lot of local shows under my belt, and a large online following.

My mother was beyond thrilled when they asked me to come down to LA for an interview.

I met with some guy who asked me a bunch of questions while my mother was given a tour of the building. Then Mr. Hendricks came into the room. He, too, asked me questions, and for a moment I thought everything was above board. Then he dismissed the first guy, and it was just him and I.

I should’ve known that the CEO doesn’t normally meet with new people, but I was young and naïve. Was excited to be in the building of one of the biggest music labels.

When he propositioned me, I knew I had no choice but to do what he asked. My mother would’ve never forgiven me if I ruined my chance all because I didn’t want to give a blowjob.

When the ink on the contract dried and she realized she didn’t read the fine print, she was livid. They let her believe she’d become my manager, but it was all smoke and mirrors. Vague answers gave her no legal ground to stand on, and she’d end up with nothing. The only role in my life she’d have going forward was being my mother, a job she never wanted to begin with.

Once she realized I couldn’t get it changed—not that I tried—she walked out of my life. I’ve only seen her once since then in the last five years, and that was only so she could blackmail me into giving her money. Well, blackmailing me into getting money from Jack Hendricks, the CEO of Veritas, and earning me a debt I’ll probably be paying off for the rest of my life, in far worse forms of currency than dollars.

The amount of dirt my mother has on me would bury me far more than six feet under. If she leaked any of the pictures she had of me doing drugs and hooking up with guys, or told any of the stories she has threatened to tell, my career would be over. At least that’s what Hendricks tells me. Apparently, the fact that I was just a child during all of it won’t save me. The only thing that can save me is his signature on a check and doing exactly what he says.

That mostly involves his tiny cock. Which also happens to be fucking me now, but I refuse to let myself focus on that. I let my thoughts wander to the night that became my big break.

Opening for Abbey Dark after she almost got raped.