"But, they could spend a day or two
Walking in someone else's shoes
I think they'd stumble and they'd fall
They would fall"
— Good Charlotte
While Rufus suffered the dark devastation of defeat, Vincent, thousands of miles away, sat on a bar stool next to the kitchen island with Lena. His elbows were on the marble surface, bearing the weight of his head which he held with his hands.
"I can't believe this," Vincent said as he massaged his temples. "There has to be something we can do."
"I know you're a fierce optimist, but I think we're at the end of the road," Lena replied reluctantly. "His case is airtight and the support he's received—well—it's actually kinda impressive. I hate to admit it, but our ship is sinking and there aren't any lifeboats. Well, there is one. Have you thought about the settlement offer?"
"You want me to give up?" Vincent asked, a little surprised.
"It might just be your only option," Lena said, sighing.
"No, absolutely not," Vincent fired back. "This is not how this story ends. Tyson cannot win."
Lena folded her arms and crossed those long legs of hers. "Honestly—and you know it kills me to tell you this—but, I think he's already won."
Vincent winced at the bitterly truthful words. "Bloody hell. Perhaps he has."
Now, to understand Vincent's dilemma, it's necessary to travel back in time to the morning of Friday, September 29, 2023. By this point, The Prince had, for the most part, conquered the city of Houston, exploring almost every nook and cranny the metropolitan area had to offer. He had exceeded expectations at every engagement he attended, from signing booths at conventions to black-tie charity events. He was even dominating the social media space, taking tips from Lena about how to effectively influence the ravenous online audience. Everything was moving along swimmingly.
"I've gotta say it, Roo: You've really been knocking it out of the park lately," Savannah said, sipping coffee from a mug Rufus had made for her as a child. The lopsided lettering on the mug spelled out: The Real Wonder Woman. "I'm so proud of you. Your determination, your focus, your spark—it's all going to take you to a place beyond your imagination. I really can't wait to see what the future holds."
"The way I see it, the only way is up," Vincent replied, taking a bite from a McGriddle.
"That's what I like to hear," Savannah said, smiling. "Now, your schedule's a little light for the moment, so I suggest you go out and enjoy yourself while you can. It won't be long before your nose meets the grindstone again."
"We should go TP Tyson's house," Lena suggested as she sauntered into the kitchen, wearing an oversized New Found Glory concert tee and striped knee-high socks. She stretched out her arms and yawned.
"I'm only going to say this once," Savannah said, holding up a finger. "Do whatever you want, but please do not call me from jail. And don't forget—"
Savannah's phone suddenly started to ring, vibrating on the countertop.
"Oy vey," Savannah said as she looked at the screen. "No rest for the wicked." She slid her finger across the glass and took the call, walking away toward the sitting room.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Lena asked Vincent, "So, what did you have in mind for our next foray into the city?"
"Whatever works," Vincent replied while he stared off into space.
"Hey, Prince Vince," Lena said as she snapped her fingers in front of his face. "What's the deal?"
Vincent exhaled deeply. "I just can't seem to shake Tyson's threat. It's been rolling around in the back of my head for quite some time now. I'm a little worried."
"Listen, whatever he's up to, I promise you we'll figure it all out when the time comes," Lena assured. "Don't let him rattle your cage; stay annoyingly optimistic. It's part of your charm."
"You find my optimism annoying?"
"Let's put it this way: Sometimes, I want to take that glass that's half-full and chuck it at your head."
"Really?"
Lena showed off her Cheshire smile. "No, I'm kidding. Kinda."
"Well, I shall do my best to rein it in a smidge."
"I would certainly appreciate it. But, enough of that. You still haven't told me what you wanna do."
Vincent mentally shifted gears and gave it some thought. "Truth be told, there is something that I've always wanted to do."
"Lay it on me."
"I'd like to experience an American high school football game. After seeing Remember The Titans and Varsity Blues, I became utterly fascinated by this game which is more like a religion to countless people. True fans take it incredibly seriously."
"That's how we roll in 'Merica," Lena replied with a thick southern accent.
Vincent chuckled. "I really want to feel what it's like to be part of that world. I want to hear what it sounds like when an unstoppable force collides with an immovable defense; I want to hear the roar of a crowd when their team makes a clutch play; I want to eat nachos and yell obscenities at the referee. That's what I want to do."
"Well, then," Lena said, taking a bite from Vincent's McGriddle. "Let's make it happen."
It was that night when Vincent experienced the electric atmosphere of a highly anticipated high school football game, where long-time rivals—The Terrall High Hurricanes and The Foster Fighting Falcons—were about to kick things off and go head-to-head for four twelve-minute quarters just to see who will have the bragging rights for the next 364 days. Moreover, this game was Foster High's Homecoming Game, so the energy of the stadium was intense to say the least.
After Lena and Vincent found a parking spot out in the boonies, they made their way to the sold-out Katy Independent School District's Legacy Stadium, which holds a maximum occupancy of 12,000 football fanatics.
"This is insane," Vincent said, staring at the behemoth of a stadium. His face had been completely painted—one side gold, one side black. This provided a decent enough mask for Vincent, so he could fly below the radar and not detract spectators from the game on the field. Gold and black were the official colors of the impressive, some say State-bound Foster High School. "This is where the high schoolers play? It looks like something the professional athletes would use."
"You're not wrong," Lena said while she took a panoramic shot of the packed stands, getting something new to post on her social media accounts. "But, you've gotta realize: you're in a bright red state that worships football. This sport is woven into our culture and while it does bring out the best of people, it also, unfortunately, brings out the worst out of those who keep ESPN on their TV's 24/7."
"It's all absolutely wondrous," Vincent said as he drank it in.
Five minutes into the second quarter, the game was tied 6-6. It had been an evening of watching the kickers do their thing. Before the center hiked the ball, the quarterback called an audible, which gave the receivers the go-ahead to shift from their positions, overloading their rivals' defense on the left side. Once the formation was in place, the Falcons' quarterback counted things down and then led the execution of the play. As he found his place in the pocket, the Hurricanes started to tear through the offensive line, forcing him to shovel pass the ball to one of the many receivers on the field. After advancing a few yards, this receiver again lateraled the ball to another player who took it down to the Hurricanes' 20-yard-line, however a free safety bolted in the receiver's direction with the intention of pushing him out of bounds. But, before he could do that, the receiver, once more, lobbed the ball to a teammate who ran it in for 6 points.
Vincent was astonished. "That was brilliant! How did they think up a play like that?"
"It's really nothing new," Lena replied as the Falcons kicker put up the extra point. "The play is called 'The Flea-Flicker'. It's a simple concept, but it's damn hard to get it right."
"The Flea-Flicker..." Vincent muttered underneath his breath. "Incredible."
The Prince wanted to remember every last detail of the game. He wanted to remember the fast rhythm of a hurry-up offense. He wanted to remember the chants led by the cheerleaders, who were drenched in school spirit. He wanted to remember the sounds of the drumline's driving cadences which segued into full-band arrangements of classic stand-tunes—"Sweet Caroline", "Mustang Sally", and "Land of a 1,000 Dances".
As the first half of the game came to a close, the marching bands representing both teams took to the track which encircled the grassy field. Being the visiting team, the Hurricanes were the first to showcase their performance, using it as practice for the upcoming UIL competitions. The band marched military-style, which required a larger step than other styles, while also creating rigid box shapes on the field; it was straight-forward and unpretentious, clean and well-executed.
After the Hurricanes' Band stepped off the field, the highly-favored Foster High Band took their positions in the shape of The Triforce—three triangles stacked in a way that created a larger triangle. As soon as the drum majors clapped their white-gloved hands together, establishing the tempo, the performance began pianissimo, leaning heavily on the light sound of the woodwind section. Then, the booming sounds of the bass drums and quads filled the stadium, prompting the brass section to bring on the nostalgic melody—the 8-bit score from Nintendo's The Legend of Zelda. Several spectators stood up from their seats and cheered on the band as they slowly stepped into a slew of shapes, fully embracing their corps-style methods which felt so much fresher than the rigid performance by the Hurricanes. In the past four years, The Foster Fighting Falcons' Marching Band had reached the state-level competition and took home first place twice. This was the beginning of a musical dynasty and the band made sure that the crowd would never forget it.
"So, I have an idea that I wanted to run past you," Lena said as she poured some cherry vodka from her titanium funnel flask into her styrofoam cup of Sprite.
"I'm all ears," Vincent replied, relishing the taste of a perfectly grilled hotdog—a little texture from the scorch marks with its juiciness locked inside the casing.
"It's Fair Season in Fort Bend County," Lena said. "I really think you'd love it."
"Really? Well, then. We shall pay the fair a little visit."
"Oh, yes, we shall."
The next day, Lena drove Vincent down Highway 36 for The Fort Bend County Fair & Rodeo, one of the largest fairs in the state, thanks to the hard work of the community's youth, who have been the cornerstone of this event for the past 80 years. In 1979, a scholarship program was established for students who opted for an in-state university for their institution of higher learning. To date, the fair has awarded over 800 scholarships to its student participants.
Along with the noteworthy scholarship program, the fair holds a highly-publicized, annual BBQ Cook-Off as well as a colorful carnival, welcoming all ages. Vincent pranced around like a kid in a candy store or like an upper-class young man in a Best Buy. This was absolutely spectacular.
As Vincent savored every delicious bite of his funnel cake, which was preceded by a giant turkey leg and an authentic ear of Mexican corn, he came across something he'd only seen on YouTube—The Starship 2000. Vincent's brain went into overdrive and time seemed to stand still.
The Starship 2000, also known as The Gravitron. This spinning ride is found at a number of fairs and carnivals across the United States. It spins at 24 revolutions per minute and uses centrifugal force to lift passengers off the ground as they experience the feeling of weightlessness.
"Here," Lena said, offering Vincent a paper ticket.
"What's this?" he asked.
"It's what's gonna get you on that ride you've been staring at."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. Come on—let's go!"
Vincent tossed the remnants of his funnel cake into the trash, sucking off the powdered sugar from his fingertips. He climbed aboard the Starship 2000 with Lena and he finally experienced the unique sensation the ride delivered. As the carnival attraction began spinning, he could feel himself sinking into the walls, pressed down by the force of manually manipulated gravity as the floor dropped down. He could then flip upside-down or appear to be levitating in a cross-legged position. It was remarkable.
After the ride ended, Vincent and Lena headed to the main stage where a popular cover band that found success on social media performed the music of Top 40 songs, spanning across several decades with the obligatory nod to "Bohemian Rhapsody" and a stripped down rendition of Sublime's "Santeria". They were the local celebrities known as Fly By Radio.
While Vincent considered the entire band to be quite talented, the stand-out for him was the exceptional lead guitarist. He made the complicated riffs and solos seem like effortless acts as he stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, appearing cool as a cucumber.
"My God, he makes it look so easy," Vincent said, thinking out loud.
"Who? The guitar player?" Lena asked.
"Yeah, can't you see? He's a phenom," Vincent replied.
Lena looked into Vincent's deep gray eyes. "Tell me, straight up—can you play?"
"Not at all," Vincent admitted. "It's the only hole in my plan. I managed to get Rufus' voice down along with all of his little quirks and eccentricities, but playing guitar? That's just something I've never been able to do."
"Okay—follow-up question: What are you going to do if you're pressed to play a song? It's not something you can really fake your way through."
"I know and I'm dreading the moment it comes around. Hopefully, I'll have a reasonable excuse to get out of it."
Lena grinned widely. "You're not going to need an excuse, Prince Vince."
"What?"
"I'm going to teach you how to play. You'll be shredding in no time."
"You play guitar?"
"I went through a Joan Jett phase several years ago. I was absolutely obsessed, so I asked Rufus if he could teach me the fundamentals, just so I could play well enough to keep up with the tabs. Now, I'd like to pass on what I've learned; it just happens to be a little poetic that I'm paying it forward to Rufus' carbon copy."
Vincent shifted in his seat. "May I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why are you doing this? I mean, how did I get so lucky to have someone like you in my life?"
"Well, first and foremost, I am a firm believer in karma. Whenever I can, I try to put some positive points on the board. Secondly and surprisingly, you represent all that's pure; you're adorably naïve, you carry around this child-like hope, and you're a 100% innocent soul. It's not that you're lucky to have me in your life. It's really the other way around."
Vincent flashed a smile. "You're really something else, Helena Redding."
Over the next few weeks, Lena began educating Vincent through somewhat of a Guitarist Bootcamp, using dated and vintage equipment Rufus kept in a sound-proof room in his home. Scuffed Marshall half-stacks, Dunlop effects pedals, dusty Behringer mixing boards—everything they needed was at their disposal.
"Are you sure about this?" Vincent asked before they started their first lesson.
"I'm very sure, Prince Vince," Lena replied, adjusting the strap attached to a Taylor Custom #32 Grand Auditorium Acoustic Guitar. "Now, grab that Martin over there in the corner and follow my lead."
Vincent did as instructed and ran his fingers across the fretboard. "You know, every time I've tried this, it usually ends with me growing so frustrated that I end up throwing something at the wall."
"You're in luck," Lena said. "The walls in here are padded."
"I'm being serious, Lena. This might be nothing but wasted effort on your end."
"Look—learning to play guitar is like learning how to dance, except instead of worrying about what your feet are doing, you're focusing on your hands. And if you want those fingers of yours to dance, you must first have a strong lead to take you through each step. And right now, you've got one of those. So, let's begin."
And, boy, did Lena ever drill Vincent. Hours upon hours of applying The Prince's knowledge of music theory to a classical, timeless instrument. Lena felt a lot like J.K. Simmons in Whiplash, only less abrasive. Vincent would play a simple scale or rudiment and Lena would forcefully instruct him to do it again, tersely stating, "Again!" This would go on until Vincent lost the feeling in his hands. But, as soon as the blood started flowing again, they were right back at it, reviewing the correct pressure for a crunchy palm-mute, the benefits of the pentatonic scale, and the powerful tool known as the power chord. Vincent absorbed it all like a sponge; even he was surprised that Lena's methods were working.
"Wow, I really am impressed," Lena said, just after Vincent nailed the main riff of "Eruption" by Van Halen.
"It's all that fundamental practicing. It's quite effective. I must say I, too, am a little impressed," Vincent replied.
"I'm not impressed with you," Lena retorted. "I'm impressed by your ravishing teacher. I did good." She then smiled and winked at The Prince.
"I think you did good, too," Vincent said.
"Now, fortunately enough, the style of 90 Percent Ninja is pretty similar to the rest of the bands in the pop-punk space," Lena explained. "There's really nothing overly complicated about its structure and it relies heavily on simple power chord progressions. Playing this genre of music is a lot like drawing a masterpiece with crayon; it's basic, bright, and totally acceptable to color outside the lines."
"That's an interesting way of illustrating it."
"Well, I think you're ready to fully fill the shoes of the great Rufus Spencer. Or at least be a passable knock-off. I'd be willing to put money on it."
"I really can't thank you enough. You've been this wonderful Godsend. I can't imagine how everything would go without you."
"Hmmm—I suppose you could thank me by getting me something pretty for my birthday."
"Oh, that's right. Halloween is fast approaching. What do you have planned?"
"Let's see—the parents will be out of town; my father's going to LA on business while my mother's going to New Orleans to prowl on some random, unknowing 21-year-old who doesn't understand the shitstorm waiting for him. So, I'll be throwing a theme party at the house."
"Sounds fun. What's the theme?"
"After polling my followers on Insta, the theme that took the cake was surprisingly 'Wild West Steampunk', which beat out 'Barbenheimer' and 'The Roaring Twenties'. I guess people are sick of Margot Robbie, Christopher Nolan, and The Great Gatsby."
"That's understandable," Vincent replied. "They're all wildly overexposed."
"Exactly."
On October 31, 2023, Lena did precisely what she had promised; Her family's $36 million, 26,400 ft² estate, which sat on 2.3 acres west of The Loop on the well-known Carnarvon Drive, was transformed into an exorbitant recreation of The OK Corral. A hired DJ blasted house music, which echoed throughout the mansion. The Redding estate represented the height of opulence, embracing the architecture of modern neoclassical and impressionistic French design with its pillared grand archway, swaths of the finest marble, and a spacious outdoor veranda where a giant version of Jenga was being played. However, there was a twist on the game. Each hefty block was etched with a word—a random article of clothing. Whatever the block read (be it a shirt, a sock, a bra), that's what a player had to remove. If the player wasn't wearing the article of clothing, he/she would have to take out another block from the tower and the process repeated itself.
Vincent arrived at the party in an elaborate costume which truly captured the concept of Steampunk with its simple brown leather vest, utility boots that came up to just below the knee, a pair of bulky goggles, and an army green gas mask. Lena told him to bring it and he certainly got the message.
About an hour into the birthday extravaganza, a number of party guests started dancing to the thumping tracks the DJ was spinning. A remix of Meghan Trainor's "All About That Bass" played loudly, drowning out the overlapping conversations. And that's when the drunken debauchery began.
A tall young woman with uncommonly broad shoulders and dressed in a crimson corset with a black duster danced around a sectional in the main common room, where Vincent was sitting, trapped in the bend by two intoxicated, gargantuan jocks who were laughing obnoxiously about which chubby girl at the party would be the easiest to get into bed.
As the music moved into the contagious chorus, the tall young woman started sitting on the laps of the boys on the sectional, grinding on them vigorously. Vincent tried to stand up, but he was immediately brought back down by the obnoxious boys who kept telling him, "It's a party! Let's get crazy!"
That's when the tall young woman sat down on Vincent's lap, even after he attempted to brush her off politely. After a few highly uncomfortable seconds, she stood up, faced Vincent, and removed her blonde wig, revealing a dark receding hairline; she was a man. Then, he took out a manila envelope which was folded into fourths and tucked inside his wig.
His deep voice boomed and the music suddenly stopped. "Rufus Spencer—you've been served."
After delivering the legal document, the cross-dressing man made his way to the exit while the music picked up again. Vincent tore open the envelope and read over its contents.
A winded Lena, who was not doing well at Giant Strip Jenga and was down to her bra and panties, ran over to Vincent who sat completely frozen.
"Hey," she said, catching her breath. "Someone said there was this bitch in here acting crazy."
Vincent couldn't take his eyes off the papers in his hands.
"Hey," Lena repeated. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Vincent looked up at her, his expression marked by disbelief. "It's Tyson. He's suing Rufus for Copyright Infringement. He claims that he wrote the music for 'Douchebag'. And apparently, he has some damning evidence."
That's when Vincent caught the stare of a smirking Tyson Joules, standing still with his arms folded in a sea of party-goers. His smirk then widened into a malicious grin as his blue eyes sparkled with the thrill of victory.
YOU ARE READING
The Prince & The Popstar
General FictionA twisted fairy tale with a little bite. When popstar Rufus Spencer meets his doppelganger, Prince Vincent of Verastoria, he's offered the chance to escape his exhausting life by switching places with the prince, who grew up incredibly sheltere...
