Chapter 27

It was late when we got back to the cast house, and I was ready to just go crash, since the whole thing was going to start all over again the next morning with another challenge. However, a producer stopped me before I’d even gotten to the stairs, asking me to head out to the production guest house for my interview.

They’d slowly been calling in contestants over the last two days to do these interviews, which they said were for creating additional video packages for them to be able to play in between contestant performances. Mixed with footage from inside the cast house, it would be a way for viewers to connect with the contestants better. Or at least that was what they were saying.

I’d watched enough of the show before that I knew they dug into people’s lives, so I did know what I was getting into. I’d kind of hoped I could avoid this part and just compete, but I didn’t have much of a choice. If refusing meant they showed me less, then I wouldn’t get the exposure we were hoping for, and Warren, Lyla, and Seth were all counting on me.

So, tired as I was, I headed back to the production area to let them grill me on my past.

The producer led me into a small room and gestured toward a chair facing a camera on a tripod.

“Have a seat, Charlie. We’re just gonna do a quick little interview to help viewers get to know you better. Give them a peek into your background, what makes you tick.”

I sat down, trying not to seem as uncomfortable as I felt.

“No reason to be nervous. We’re just going to ask you a few questions to hopefully give the viewers a chance to connect with you on a personal level,” the producer gestured encouragingly. “So just answer as honestly as you can. Really open up.”

“Sure,” I said, not believing any of that.

These were the same people that threw unlimited booze at a bunch of twenty-year-olds, and they were making a TV show. They weren’t looking for reality; they were looking for entertainment.

“We’ll make the first one easy. What made you decide to audition for The Stage?”

“I’ve always loved performing and sharing my music. I thought this show would be a great chance to get my music out there and hopefully inspire people.”

Of course, that wasn’t true at all, but it sounded better than ‘I hope I’ll get enough name recognition that my old label can’t keep getting me blackballed by venues.’

“And who are some of your biggest musical influences?”

“Definitely classic rock artists like Brighton and Parker,” I said. “Also, older country artists like Billy Rayburn and Jackson Ford. Their songwriting has always inspired me.”

“Great. Now let’s talk about your childhood. From what I understand, money was pretty tight for your family growing up. What was that like?”

“Yeah ... I guess you could say money was tight. My dad was a musician too but never really broke big, so we spent my childhood going from tiny gig to tiny gig. Then, a couple of years ago, my dad wasn’t around, so my mom settled us down in a small town north of Asheville where she found work. They weren’t bad jobs, but we were basically starting from nothing, so my mom worked two jobs to support us. There were months we really had to pinch pennies.”

“That must have been difficult as a child, having that kind of instability,” the producer said.

“Most of my life, it just seemed like how things were. And I spent a lot of time with other musicians playing in the clubs or whatever my dad could book. I got to learn from a lot of people and hear a lot of different styles of music. I basically grew up surrounded by musicians. I thought it was pretty exciting.”

“When you finally settled down, wasn’t that around the time your dad went to prison for aggravated homicide?”

I guess the softball questions were done. I would have preferred staying away from my dad’s past, but his conviction, and when the charges against him were thrown out, were all public records.

“Uh ... yeah. He drank a lot, and he could be pretty belligerent. I guess he got into a fight in a bar, someone pulled a knife, and the other guy died. They threw the conviction out a few years later.”

“That was when it was discovered that your father’s prosecutor was sleeping with the judge who presided over the conviction.”

“I guess,” I said.

Wow, they really had done their homework.

“That must have been incredibly difficult, having your father convicted of murder. What was going through your head when you found out?”

“My mom kept me away from it mostly. She didn’t let us listen to the news and we didn’t go to the trial, so mostly, it was just him being gone. My dad had a temper, especially when he drank, so him getting in a bar fight wasn’t a total shock. But hearing he’d killed someone...” I trailed off, staring down at my hands.

“It’s hard for a kid to process something like that?”

“For a long time, I just felt confused. And angry. I was mad he’d ruined our lives, especially after seeing how hard my mom had to work to get us back on our feet.”

“And were things difficult at home, with his drinking?”

“I mean, our home was a Winnebago, so that was hard all by itself. But yeah, growing up with a drunk kind of sucks. Sometimes, when he drank, he’d get mean. Yelling. Throwing things. I mostly tried to stay out of his way when he got like that.”

“Do you think growing up in that environment affected you?”

“Probably, but who knows. I mostly retreated into music, which got me here. So...” I said, ending with a shrug.

“And then your father returned. From what I understand, things got pretty heated between your parents after your dad got out of prison.”

“I guess you could say that,” I said, my voice completely flat.

“There were some domestic disputes reported at your house around that time, right before their deaths?”

“Sure.”

“And the night your parents died, there was a physical altercation between them that you witnessed, is that correct?”

My throat tightened. This is what I was worried about. I didn’t want to relive that night and all the terrible things that happened after it, let alone talk about it. I was also concerned about where they would go from there. Sure, a bad childhood could build sympathy, but hearing that I was charged with my father’s murder would almost certainly lose me any goodwill I might have built, airing the rest of my dirty laundry.

“I’d rather not get into the details,” I said, trying to keep my face neutral.

“I understand this is difficult,” the interviewer said, his voice gentle. “But for the viewers, sharing your story can be incredibly meaningful. It helps them connect with what you went through.”

“With all due respect, I came here to play music, not dig up old trauma. There are parts of my life that I’m just not comfortable sharing.”

“You know, Charlie, being on a show like this means letting viewers into your world. The good, the bad, and even the painful. I think your story could really resonate with people. Isn’t that part of why you came here, to connect through your music?”

“Connecting through music doesn’t require me to recount specific details about my parents’ deaths on camera.”

When the interviewer opened his mouth to respond, I held up a hand. “I know you’re just doing your job, and I get that you’re looking for a compelling backstory. But I’d like to keep some parts of my life private. I hope you can understand that.”

There was a moment of silence as we just looked at each other. Finally, he just kind of shrugged.

“All right, Charlie. I respect you setting a boundary. We’ve got plenty to work with from the other questions.” He extended his hand, and I shook it. “I think that’s enough for tonight. The footage we have will make for a great intro package for you. We appreciate you taking the time to sit down with us.”

“No problem,” I said.

Of course, that was a lie. I was pissed they’d gotten into it, knowing they’d make me feel the way I was feeling.

I was drained by the time I made my way back to the cast house. Most of the others were still up drinking and socializing, but I headed straight to my bedroom, wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed.

I slept horribly, tossing and turning for hours, trying to ignore the sounds downstairs and to stop thinking about my parents. When I finally fell asleep, I had horrible dreams involving that night. Over and over, I kept hearing my dad trying to break through the trailer door to get to my mom.

When I jerked awake, I still heard the pounding on the door.

“Charlie, it’s eight-thirty,” one of the producers yelled through the door. “We’re gathering for the next challenge. Please come down.”

“Uh ... Yeah. Coming.”

I saw that Cole and Norman’s beds were both empty. This was karma, considering what I’d thought about the contestants who’d come late to the meeting two days ago when we learned about the first contest. Now, here I was, running late.

I hurried to throw on some jeans and a t-shirt, then rushed downstairs. Most of the other contestants were already gathered in the living room, looking about as lively as I felt. A few were sprawled on the couches nursing coffee, while others stood around bleary-eyed.

Amanda stumbled in a few minutes after me, still in her pajamas with serious bedhead. She headed straight for the largest mug of coffee she could find. I’d gone right to bed last night, but every other night, Amanda had been off partying, so I had to assume last night was no different.