Behind the Veil

FROM THE AUTHOR

"When I was a kid, I was in love with movie stars like Doris Day, Pier Angeli, and Mitzi Gaynor, and singers like Joni James and Theresa Brewer. And many others. I had multiple scrap books filled with autographed photographs and clippings from movie magazines. (Showing my age here,)

It’s not surprising, then, that celebrity romances are my favorite and I’m always thrilled to find a new one to read. But I’d never written one, until Behind the Veil.

I waw 20,000 words into the story of Ariana Calandre, a mega singing star, when I read and really enjoyed a celebrity romance with alternating chapters for the two main characters with both in first person point of view. While I’d written romances from the point of view of two characters, I’d never written both in first person. So I challenged myself to write Ariana’s book that way. Of course that meant I had to rewrite those first 20,000 words but I believe it was worth the effort. Enjoy"

—Catherine Maiorisi

Chapter One

Ariana

December 2022

“Ariana, Ariana, Ariana,” the crowd chants. Wrapped in the love, overwhelmed by the roar, and brimming with adrenaline-spiked energy, I bow from the waist for the twentieth time and wave my arm to include the band. I fucking love these people. All seventy-two thousand of them. As I did the previous nineteen times, I speak the words in my heart into the microphone.

“Thank you, Houston. I love you.” I swipe at the sweat dripping into my eyes and bow again, then raise my hands asking for silence. “Thank you, Houston, I love you all so much.” I repeat it until the crowd quiets. I stand, arms spread wide. “What a wonderful ending to our gloriously successful six-month world tour. We”—I gesture to my bandmates—“are truly grateful for all the love and support we’ve received from you and fans all over the world. As you know, this is our last concert for a while and we’re looking forward to three months of rest and then some time in the recording studio. We’ve earned it, don’t you think?”

The crowd roars again. I truly love them. I love connecting with them through the music. Touring for so long in so many countries has been exhausting, but we’ve been successful beyond all expectations, and we’re all looking forward to winding down after tonight. I raise my arms again and after a few minutes the crowd quiets.

“How about showing some love for Girls Breaking Out, the best band ever, starting with Gloria West on drums.” The crowd roars as Gloria does a double stroke roll, stands, raises her arms, then bows. I signal for silence, then one at a time I introduce the others—Maggie Fortuna on keyboard, Nellie Garcia on bass, Erica James on fiddle, and Torie Stella on lead guitar. They each do a signature riff and bow as the crowd roars its appreciation. When the cheering for Torie ends, I throw kisses to the band. “Thank you, my friends. Even after living with you in a bus for months, I still love you all.”

I turn back to the crowd. “Our live on-tour album will be dropping in a couple of months so keep your eyes and ears open for it. And now, one last song for all of you here in Houston and our fans all over the world.”

Gloria hits the drums. Although we’re exhausted, we give one hundred percent as usual. The crowd roars in appreciation. The girls leave their instruments and join me at the front of the stage and, holding hands, the six of us bow again and again. Then we wave to the roaring crowd and run into the wings.

Kim, our manager and my sister and best friend, hands me a towel, and I pull her into our after-performance group hug. “Love you all,” we say, one after another. Kim smiles. “You guys were wonderful, giving everything to the very end of your spectacular tour. Go home, have a wonderful Christmas and a happy New Year, rest up, and write. I’ll see you all in three months.”

Micki, the head of our security team, joins us. “We’re leaving from the side exit in twenty.”

Normally the band stops to talk to the crowd waiting at the stage entrance to see us off, but we’re all too wiped out tonight. Besides I want to avoid Tiffany, the woman I hooked up with last night. I don’t hook up frequently and whenever I do, I’m up front about the no-strings, quickie arrangement, but some, like Tiffany, become clingy and want it to mean more.

We break and go gather our belongings. Kim follows me to my dressing room where she’s already packed my things. I change out of my wet shirt and bra, then slip into my leather jacket. Kim and I hug. She kisses my forehead. “You were great tonight as usual. Are you sure you don’t want to hang out here with me for a couple of days, then drive back to Austin together?”

I squeeze her shoulder. “As much as I’d love some alone time with you, I’m tired and so is my security team. If I stay, they have to stay. We’re all ready to be home.”

Kim smiles. “Sorry, just being selfish. After you leave, I’ll tie things up here, meet with a few people, and go to my hotel downtown.”

Arm in arm, Kim and I walk to the side exit so I can make a quick getaway to the van that will take the six of us from the arena to the airport hotel where we’ll spend the night and, then, in the morning, catch our various flights. I can’t wait to get home. According to Graciela, my cook and caretaker, the house is ready, stocked with everything I requested. I’m looking forward to a good long stretch of downtime there, relaxing, seeing friends, reading, and writing songs. I’ll enjoy being alone for the first time in many months, but I have no doubt I’ll be happy to see my bandmates in three months when they move into the sprawling guest house I had built on my property for them, their families, and occasional guests. It’s always exciting to sift through the songs we’ve each written, select which to include in the album, and begin rehearsing and recording.

As we head out the door, I’m blinded by a flash. I stumble back into Kim’s arms. What the fuck? How the hell did a photographer know we’re using the side door? Micki lunges and grabs the photographer. Frankie and Dawn rush to hold her while Micki takes her camera and removes its memory card. “Where’s your press pass?”

The photographer glares as Micki pockets the memory card. “You owe me for that.”

“You’re lucky I’m not having you arrested.” She shoves the camera at the young woman, then waves a couple of our other security guards over. “Get her out of here and turn her over to house security. Tell them she was back here without credentials.”

“You okay?” Kim asks.

“Yes, just surprised.”

She hugs me tight and kisses my forehead. “I’ll see you in Austin in a few days.”

Micki escorts me to the van where Chioma and Evie, the two guards who will ride to the hotel with the six of us, are waiting with huge grins. “Great concert to end the tour,” Evie says. She hugs me. Chioma, the quiet one, nods and high-fives me. I can’t help smiling. It’s great to be alive, great to be me. I raise my face to the sky, enjoying the splat of the cold December rain against my still warm face.

I turn to the group. “I call dibs on the front seat.”

This is my band. Though I am the main attraction, I rarely pull rank but whenever I do, I endure a lot of good-natured teasing. Tonight is no different. “Sure, Your Highness.” Nellie punches my shoulder and laughs.

Evie slides the van door open, Chioma gets behind the wheel. Her steady silence will leave me free to gaze at the sky, watch the rain, revel in the love of our fans, and savor the happiness and joy I’m feeling.

I climb into the front passenger seat and fasten my seat belt. We’re all high from the concert, nothing else, and the van is filled with laughter and teasing for the first ten minutes, then one by one they drift off to sleep. Right before I drift off, I remember I told Chioma to leave before Kim’s assistant brought me my favorite guitar, the one I use at every performance. My last thought before dozing is, Kim will take care of it for me. She always does.

I wake to the sound of blaring horns, screeching brakes, and Chioma cursing as she swerves, trying to avoid the semi headed straight for us. The earlier laughter is replaced by terrified screams. We’re helpless. I feel the impact, hear the crunching metal and the shrieks, feel the van being pushed, then turning over and over. My seat belt snaps open and I’m bouncing off the seats and the ceiling, and, oh God, my friends. And then the van begins sliding on its side. The sound of metal screeching on concrete is horrendous but then it’s eerily quiet and dark. I can’t see anything except the sparks. I shout their names. “Gloria? Maggie? Nellie? Erica? Torie? Chioma? Evie?” No one responds. The pain is incredible. I feel as if every bone in my body is shattered. The stink of gasoline is overwhelming. Then there’s a loud whoosh. And I’m being burned alive.

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Fiona S. - In Behind the Veil Catherine Maiorisi has delivered an emotional masterpiece full of gut-wrenching pain balanced out by heartwarming tenderness and understanding. I was gripped from the very start and did not want to put it down.