The Second Song #1: Homecoming by Emily Stone

Chapter One
    "G reat show Elise," My longtime manager, Max Clark yelled across to me as I left the stage to the thunderous applause of screaming teenagers. The statement was his habit after every performance; it didn’t matter if the show had been amazing, a disaster or simply mediocre, he always met me after my last encore with the same phrase. It had long since lost its meaning over the years we’d spent in forced proximity together. Once upon a time, I thought Max Clark hung the moon, but there were times now, when I hated him. I knew I blamed him for my discontent with my career, but I also owed my enormous success to him as well.
    "Great for an over-the-hill pop princess you mean?" I stormed past him, eager for a shower to wash the glitter and glam away.
    "You’re barely twenty-five Elise." His frustration was evident as he followed me into my dressing room.
    "And I’ve been doing this shit for a decade Max! I don’t want to do it anymore. The choreography, back up dancers, the smoke and lights - it’s all too much and it’s never been me. The music is cheesy and the costumes are offensive! The next album has to be different, you promised after this tour we’d talk about transitioning my career into a more mature one. The tour is over, so what’s your plan?" I dropped to my seat at the vanity and proceeded to rip my mile long false eyelashes out. The makeup artists would yell at me about that later, but those dang things drove me half-crazy or motier foux , as my grand-mére Léoma would say.
    "You’re going to take a much needed vacation and we will discuss it back in L.A. in three months."
    "Three months! What the hell am I going to do for three months?" My vacations were usually never more than a few weeks before I was either back in the recording studio, or on the road.
    "We’ve been going hard these last few years. Hey - everyone needs a nice long break. Your managers and the producers at the label all agreed; you need a rest as much as your team does."
    "That’s what I’m talking about Max, that shit right there! It’s got to change. You people have been making my decisions for me for ten danged years, but I’m an adult now and I need to be more involved in these things."
    "Go home for a couple of months and relax. When we reconvene in L.A. we’ll talk about the direction of your career; but I will warn you, the label isn’t going to allow any major changes. You’ve got a couple of more pop albums and long tours in your future before your fan base starts to outgrow you."
    "I’m not doin’ another dang pop album, Clark." I growled, letting the Cajun come out in me a little more than usual.
    "Just take the vacation Elise," he begged, "go see Léoma and get your head on straight. You’ve been an extra special nightmare this tour."
    "I can’t go home for three months !" A note of panic crept into my voice.
    "You haven’t been home longer than a few days at a time in years; Léoma deserves to see you more often."
    "You know I talk to my grand-mére every single day and I make dang sure she doesn’t want for a thing!" I frowned at the implication that I was neglecting my beloved grandmother.
    "You know that’s not the same. That woman sacrificed a lot for you, and you’re all she has. Go spend the summer with her. Go fish for crawdads or whatever it is you do back in the Louisiana swamps and get rid of all that angst you’ve been carrying around."
    "And where will you be?" I knew he’d die before he stopped working for three whole months.
    "Shopping for new songs for your next pop album."
    "Max! I swear to Pete , if you make me dance across that stage one more time... Je vas te passe une callotte !" I really might slap him, I thought as I hurled my sparkling stilettos across the room.
    "Okay, I’m leaving; I know when you go all Cajun on me that I’m in trouble. Have a good vacation cher ." He grinned as he rushed from the room.
    "I can’t go home," I whispered at my reflection as I dabbed