Chapter 23: White Christmas

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Eric's head snapped up guiltily at the sound of his manager's voice. He must have lost track of time. He only meant to hide out for a few minutes in this abandoned dressing room before he headed back on set – just long enough to respond to Tessa's latest DM.

He knew he didn't have time to chat with her for long. He was performing tonight on live network TV: one of those cheesy December Christmas specials, complete with Santa hats and mistletoe. They had him singing White Christmas, and Eric had wrapped up soundcheck an hour ago, but he still hadn't run through his spoken lines. He and Ariana Grande had to fill two full minutes of airtime with ad-libbed holiday banter – not an easy feat when you're reading your "unscripted" lines off a teleprompter.

Eric glanced over his shoulder now to see Maury standing in the open doorway of the dressing room. "Sometime today, kiddo? They needed you ten minutes ago."

"Sorry." Eric turned his head to avert his face from his manager's view. He hastily slipped his phone into his back pocket, struggling to erase the guilty flush of color prickling his cheeks.

"What are you doing in here, anyway?" Maury asked.

"Just reading over my lines again for tonight," Eric lied. "Did you know my dad used to take me sledding every year on Christmas morning?"

"Sounds like a heart-warming family tradition."

"Yeah," Eric said with a smirk. "Of course, I grew up in Arizona. Just a minor detail. You wouldn't believe how many times I crashed my sled into a cactus. But that's totally believable, right?"

Maury swatted away the question with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Just smile pretty for the camera and stick to the script. No one's gonna be listening too closely."

Eric snorted but didn't bother to retort. He turned to leave the room, but Maury stood squarely in the doorway now, hands on his hips. "Wow," Maury said with a low whistle. "You're just gonna let that comment slide? This is more serious than I thought."

"What is?" Eric pulled to a stop and crinkled his forehead in puzzlement as met the other man's eyes. How long had his manager been standing there just now? How much had he seen?

Not that there was anything shady going on, Eric reassured himself. Not really.

"You just spent the past ten minutes giggling like a schoolgirl at your phone, Eric.  We both know you weren't going over lines."

Eric raised his eyebrows. "Ten minutes? You were spying on me?"

"You call it spying. I call it managing." Maury gave an exaggerated shrug. "You know you're supposed to disclose if you have a new girlfriend, right? The publicists appreciate a heads up."

"Yeah right," Eric replied. "Like I have time for a relationship."

He tried again to step past his manager into the hallway, but Maury didn't budge. "Maybe not a girlfriend, then. But definitely a girl. Don't bullshit me."

"You're crazy." Eric forced a chuckle, but it sounded false even to his own ears.

"It's fine, kid. About time, if you ask me. Just tell me who she is and I'll pass it along—"

"It's no one!" 

"Eric—"

"Drop it, Maury. Asked and answered. Can I go now? Or was there something else you wanted to talk about?"

Maury still didn't move. He narrowed his eyes as he studied his client's face. "No one, huh? That's more serious. Don't tell me you're in love."

"No!" Eric clenched his fists at his sides, fighting with all his strength not to reach up and wrap his hands around Maury's throat. "No, I'm not—that's ridiculous!" He winced internally as he heard his voice crack, and he forced himself to take a breath and respond in a calmer tone. "I was just texting with a friend. What makes you so sure it was even a girl?"

"Come on, kid. It's all over your face. You know you're the color of a pomegranate right now?" Maury smirked. "Don't get defensive. This might actually be a good thing. Perfect timing."

"Perfect timing for what?"

Eric eyed his manager uncertainly, watching as Maury pulled out a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He handed it over, and Eric looked down to see a marked up copy of the lyrics from the new single they had in the works: Snowflakes.

Someone had taken a red pen and slashed an X through the main chorus.

I watch the snowflakes falling

Too many for me to see

But I know each one is beautiful

Special and unique.

"What's this?" Eric asked, although he could already guess the answer.

"The label's thinking of bringing in an outside songwriter."

"Not happening." Eric thrust the paper back at Maury's chest. "I write my own lyrics. They know that. That's the only shred of artistic credibility I have left."

Maury shrugged. "You'll still be credited as lead songwriter. They just want a fresh pair of eyes on it. Someone to give it a little tweak."

"A little tweak?" Eric felt his temper start to slip now, and he growled the words through gritted teeth. "It doesn't need a tweak. This is a hit. The fan girls are going to be all over this song. Did the shitheads over there even get that it's a metaphor? The snowflakes are supposed to be the fans? Or did they have their heads too far up their asses?"

"Yeah, they got the metaphor, Eric. Everyone agreed the 13-18 demo would go for it – with a little tweak. That's all. They just thought some of the lyrics came across kind of. . . ."

"Kind of what?"

"Insincere. The word they used was insincere."

Eric rolled his eyes upward and kept them pasted to the ceiling for a long moment. "Gosh, Maury. Insincere? Me? When have I ever been 'insincere'?" His voice rose again with barely suppressed anger, and he made air quotes with his hands as he spoke. "Hey, I know. I have an idea! Why don't you tell them that I'll go 'tweak' it with my 'dad' on our next 'sledding' trip!"

"OK now. Calm down." Maury laid a hand on Eric's arm to steady him. "This is the music industry, Eric. Don't take it so personally. You can't take a little constructive criticism?"

"I can't win! When I'm sincere, they say it comes across too angry and bitter. So I tried to write a song that didn't sound bitter, and they call it insincere. Yeah. No shit, it's insincere!"

"So go re-write it yourself," Maury replied, tapping the paper back in Eric's direction. "Go write it about your little mystery girl on the other end of all the text messages. Give them a love song that's actually about something real. That's all they're asking."

"Maury, I told you—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're not in love."

"I'm not!"

"You know, Eric, this isn't the first time I've seen you on your phone. I know what I know. This has been going on for months."

"It's just texting."

"I'm not telling you to stop. Not at all. Maybe be careful with the nude-y pics, though. Assume anything you send her will eventually get leaked to the press. . . ."

Eric's jaw went slack at Maury's words. He blinked rapidly as he struggled to compose himself enough to reply. "OK, first of all, nude-y pics? Seriously? You're worried about nudity now? And second of all, she would never leak something—"

"Ah," Maury cut him off. "So there is a girl."

"Yes. Not like that, though. It's not what you think."

"No, Eric. It's not what you think. Trust me, kid. I've seen this show enough times to know how it ends."

"And how does it end, Maury? Enlighten me. Please."

"Don't get me wrong. I think it's great. I know you work like a dog. If anyone deserves to blow off a little steam now and then, it's you." Maury leaned forward now, his nose only inches away as he spoke, low and grim.  "Just keep your head on your shoulders. That's all I'm saying. Don't kid yourself that this girl is different. Special and unique, my ass. You need to keep your eyes open."

Maury took a step backward, swiveling to let Eric exit the room at last. "Keep one eye over your shoulder and always watch your back," he muttered as Eric stepped past. "But I shouldn't have to tell you that, kid. I'm preaching to the choir. Right?"

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