“Oh my god. You put chocolate frosting on my nose,” grumbled Cricket as she reached for the napkin to wipe it off.

“Well, Earth to Cricket wasn’t working. I mean, your body is sitting here with us celebrating, but girl, you are far, far away,” Jenna replied, sashaying her fingers along with the words.

“Oohh, I bet she’s with Scott, doing stuff that makes late night TV blush,” Mary chimed in, slowly licking the frosting off her fingers.

“Really Cricket, where’s your party spirit? Both Mary and I think you need to have your meds adjusted. Lately, you have gotten so quiet.”

Cricket sputtered her indignation. “You know I don’t take anything.”

“Then maybe you should,”  they exclaimed together.

“Oh this is a stupid conversation,” Cricket said quickly, as she glanced around the room at the other American Star winners, also here for the much advertised “epic reunion.”  It had been six long years since she herself had stood on the stage with her heart pounding in anticipation, like an oarsman responding to the shouted commands to dig in and row.  She thought it an amazing contradiction, that stillness on the outside, while her insides were freaking loud with that methodical pounding.

“See! You did it again,” accused Jenna. “You spaced out on us and you’re doing it more and more. Mary says it’s because your star is super-sized and we’re still the kid’s meal.”  Warming to her analogies, Jenna continued, ”You won the lottery, and we won the scratch-offs.” She stopped, trying to think of more ways to describe Cricket’s stardom, versus their own.

Cricket listened to this growing rant about her success like they were talking about someone else. After all, it was true. She had concert tours every year. She won best new country voice and best crossover, plus several top ten songs, a number one, and an album that might go gold. And all she wanted to do with her bazillion dollars was to buy her soul back.

The three of them were in one of the far corners of a room at NBS Television City, where American Star was filmed. Each of them had their favorite dessert in front of them. This had been their tradition since they first met in the competition on American Star.  Mary said that success was being able to pay for a whim, like ordering your favorite dessert, and having someone go pick it up and bring it to you at any time, even if it’s 3am.

Well, the time thing aside, because Cricket said it wasn’t nice to bother people at 3am, when they got together, there was always a piece of chocolate cheesecake for Mary; a square of tiramisu for Jenna; and a slice of boston cream pie for Cricket.

This time, it was the silence that brought Cricket back to the girls. They were both staring at her in the way that people do when, after clowning around, they realize that something is really wrong.

“What?” Cricket cried, trying to bluster back her mask, her show persona, people persona, anything but me persona, and failed miserably.

“You’re scaring us Cricket” whispered Jenna. And she, of the golden hair, the infectious smile, laughing eyes, and gift of a voice, was scaring herself. How much to tell them? That she had forsaken the usual nightmares of showing up to sing and forgetting the words, to showing up to sing as a corpse.

Losing herself in her dark analogy, Cricket continued thinking, it’s a dead me that knows all the right moves, all the right sexual looks, all the right clothes, all the right guys and how to give it on stage and off. 

She also grudgingly admitted that she loved being in A-list gossip news and having the love of her fans. The worst part of the dream was the battered girl in the front row, who wasn’t jumping up and down. She just stared at her with her bruised and bloody face, like she had been fighting, and lost.

Unfortunately, she knew who that girl was. It was the ghost of herself, living in her ‘Godly heritage.’ The heritage of a loving family, a praying Grandma, a church that had supported her in her most awkward years, and a relationship with God that she trashed overnight.

But it was the end of the dream that was so shameful: She was now in the audience, watching herself perform, and as the Cricket corpse turned to smile at her, they both knew her dirty little secret. She was not only a Star, but an idol, who worshipped herself.

Shaking her head to free herself from these gloomy thoughts, Cricket looked at her friends and sighed. “Hey guys, I’m spelling stardom differently these days..STARDUMB. And that’s what I feel like now. Dumb, stupid and very blond.”  They both laughed nervously.  Subterfuge was better than truth now, so Cricket became for them what they wanted, a girlfriend.

“You’re right Mary, this little, silly me stuff, is all about Scott.  Yummy, yummy, Scott.”
The girls happily squealed like Cricket knew they would, and together they tried to figure out what to do.

“Tell me he’s not leaving you,” Jenna cried. “You couldn’t have done anything that stupid…”
Mary shushed her. ”She won’t say anything with your slinky heart trying to find out info.  Besides, we all know you would be first in line for any left overs.”

“That’s not true. Well, maybe it is.” Jenna laughed, rolling her eyes.

Cricket was laughing too. “Stop girls, I really need some help. I think I’m in over my head.  Scott is really the big leagues. I mean after all, he is one of the highest paid actors in the industry, and no matter how hard I try, I keep thinking of myself as the country hick that won American Star.”

Mary was thoughtful and then gave the clarion cry of all females, “Shopping; salon; spa.” Saying the sibilant ‘S’ words made them hiss like the ancient serpent, still enticing them as much as he had Eve. 

Cricket clapped her approval. Jenna put up her hand in a Stop! position and did a very good rendition of Diana Ross singing “Stop! In the Name of Love,” but changing the word to ‘Shop.’
The song’s melody carried to ‘Think it o,o-ver,’ and that was the problem. Cricket was thinking it over, and something was ‘off,’ like leftovers that were one day too long in the refrigerator, and you couldn’t decide whether to throw them out or not.

She had met Scott at the Disney studio when she’d shown up to do the voice of Maisie the Mouse for an animated film about mice super-heroes. Scott was there also, to do the voice of the villain, a super-hero gone bad, Micetro. They had enjoyed each others company, laughing about the names of the characters. He had asked her out for dinner that night, joking that he had never dated a bug before.

“There has got to be a story behind your name.  Can you tell me what it is, or is it a private family thing?”  Scott asked.

“No, it’s all right.  I’m just surprised you don’t know.  The press made such a big deal of it, it got embarrassing. It’s nothing, really. My family was very poor when Mom and dad were expecting me. Dad would work all day at the refineries, and then stay out late crabbing to bring in extra money. He says there were times that the only friends he had were the crickets chirping to him as he sat waiting for the traps to fill. Naming me Cricket was Dad’s way of thanking God for the noisy encouragement he got during those long nights.”

Cricket’s voice slowed and died away as she finished her explanation. Somehow sharing her family history had made her feel foolish, so she laughed to cover up her discomfort and joked that maybe she had ‘bugged’ him with too much information. Scott smiled and said no, but it’s not a name he would have chosen. And added, “But then, I don’t mess around with God, so a Haley or a Britney would have been just fine.”

They had been dating ever since, if sensuality and sex were what defined dating. However, that definition was making her feel like a paper doll, and she was getting so damn tired of being someone else.
 
Better not go there, Cricket sighed, as she joined the singing with the girls, jumping up and dancing the motions that had made the Supremes so popular.  “Haven’t I been good to you? Haven’t I been sweet to you..?  Think it oo-oo-ver.”

Falling together in more laughter and group hugging, the rest of the room broke into spontaneous applause. Just for the moment, it felt so good to be here with Mary and Jenna and the rest of the American Star family.  Behind her, someone touched Cricket’s shoulder, causing her to suddenly turn and trip.

Scott.

She hadn’t seen him come in and felt embarrassment redden her face for being less than ladylike. Leaning in he whispered in her ear, “You’re my cute, clumsy star,” taking advantage of her shame and reminding her of the privilege to be called ‘his’. 

Laughing to cover up her uneasiness, Cricket poked him in the arm and told him not to sneak up on her like that. The girls and the rest of the gang immediately deferred to ‘Mr. Big Stuff,’ which she secretly called him, so she wouldn’t fall completely under his spell.  And that was becoming very, very, hard.

While Scott talked to the producer, Cricket made ‘help me’ faces to her friends.  Mary, bless her, grabbed her arm, shooing Scott off, saying they were off to do girl stuff.  Irritation washed over his face, but he quickly recovered, reminding Cricket of their dinner tonight and the press mock-up for some magazine.

“Oh I remember. I just wanted to get something new to, to,”  she trailed off unsure of what she wanted to say, and blushing more at the suggestive twinkle in Scott’s eyes.  He chuckled and told her to have fun and remember to wear that black dress he had chosen for tonight’s date.  Winking, he added, “I’ll be there at seven.”

With good byes and hugs given, the girls hurried out arm in arm.

Cricket asked “Where to first?  I’ll treat for a taxi, but can we stop for coffees?  I’ve got some words and phrases in my mind that I’ve got to get down, before they blow away.”  Her friends groaned, but understood that when a song was on her, everything else came second .  “Besides, you’ll like this one,” Cricket said. “ I’m calling it ‘Girlfriends.’”

Girlfriends

Girlfriends, talk to me,
tell me what I want to know.
Girlfriends, talk to me,
When I’m with him, it’s growing cold.

We might bitch, have PMS,
but God, we’re together at times like this.
We have companionship,
with him I have sex,
Don’t the two ever mix?

Girlfriends, talk to me
I need your hugs, your words of advice.
Girlfriends, talk to me,
‘cause his silence is turning to ice.                                                                
We share our fears, our hopes, and our dreams,
With guys, well you know just what that means.
A faraway look, and some stupid joke.
A “That’s nice baby, now pass the remote.”

It’s my time for grateful,
please hang with me now.
I’m over my head, I’m lost in his scowl.
Pick me up, shake me, smile and say,
“With him, without him, girl, we’re here to stay.”

Girlfriends, talk to me,
tell me what I want to know.
Girlfriends, talk to me,
When I’m with him, it’s growing cold.