Audrey, Wait!

by Robin Benway

  Getting from the gate to the baggage claim area required airport security, because everyone at the airport was pointing and whispering, “That’s her, that’s her!” I could tell my mom wanted to throw her coat over my head again, like she had at RPM Records, but she managed to restrain herself. I think if she hadn’t been with me, I would have been locked into a small dark room at MTV by the producers, but after I walked offstage, she grabbed me and practically shoved me into an elevator and then into a cab outside. “What about our luggage?” I asked her. My latent stage fright had kicked in and I thought I would be sick. As it was, my hands couldn’t stop shaking.

  “We’ll get it shipped to us,” she said.

  At the airport, my mom went to the counter to exchange our tickets for the first flight back to California. At first they refused to do it, but once they realized who I was, we not only got our tickets, but we got escorted to the gate, too. And when they offered us beverages on the plane, my mom got red wine, even though she doesn’t drink that often. She was already sort of giggly, and kept looking at me and shaking her head, saying, “My daughter, my daughter.”

  In the baggage claim area in Los Angeles, this is what I saw: my dad, talking to another airport security crew; photographers half-holding their cameras up, waiting for that first shot; a small figure standing next to my dad, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently while her half-grown-out fauxhawk bobbed up and down.

  And the back of James’s head.

  His red hair was peeking out from underneath his hoodie, and at first I thought it wasn’t him. But then my mom said, “Is that James?” and I broke out of the pack, dashed down the escalator steps, past security, past the cameras, and I didn’t stop until my arms were around his neck. As you’ve seen, he’s so tall that I was dangling off of him like a baby monkey, which made for some really cute pictures.

  And then I was crying all over the place. “I’m sorry!” I kept saying. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I love you, I’m so sorry!”

  James was hugging me and even though he swears to this day that he wasn’t, I know he was crying, too. In the pictures, his eyes are all red and swollen. “Shut up!” he finally said as we pulled away. “I can’t kiss you when you’re apologizing!”

  So of course, I shut the hell up so he could kiss me.

  Then Victoria and I started crying all over each other, so it got even messier, and then we were doing that weird thing where we were laughing and crying and talking at the same time, both of us saying what a shitty friend we were. “It’s a terrible video!” Victoria kept saying. “I just said that to make you feel bad!”

  “I know!” I said as I hugged her again. “Can we just not fight again? It’s lonely without you!”

  “I hate fighting with you! No more fighting ever!”

  “Ever!”

  “You were awesome!”

  “Victoria,” I said, nearly breathless from all I had to tell her about my backstage experiences, “wait until you hear what happened to me.”

  So that’s kind of it. Victoria and I made up. (As if we wouldn’t, though? Please. She’s like my sister. I couldn’t get rid of her if I tried.) She gave the BMW back, too, but not before we took Jonah and James on a joyride that ended with midnight drive-thru trips at both In-N-Out and Del Taco. It was awesome.

  James and I made up, too. And James got a new job. We had one last kiss session in the freezer of the Scooper Dooper on his last day of work. (“Just for old times’ sake,” I told him.) But he and I also got all serious and mature and hashed out a deal where we would start going out in public, photographers or not.

  The first time, we went to the movies and I was totally nervous, but I didn’t run or flip them off or anything, and it just seemed less exciting. I guess the paparazzi are just like guys: They love the chase. The photographers and press were in a frenzy for the first week after the MTV experience, but then some movie star got busted for strippers and heroin and got sent to rehab. So that bumped me right off the front covers and onto page three.

  (Coincidentally, the drummer of the Lolitas went into rehab a month later, claiming exhaustion, of course, but I’m sure it didn’t help that I outed them on national TV. Either way, demos for their second album leaked online, but they didn’t really do much for me. Or anyone else, for that matter.)

  But what really changed everything was that Evan got a new girlfriend, some girl named Kayleigh who he met at a video game release party in Los Angeles, and all the attention went from me to her. I never thought I would be so happy to hear that my ex-boyfriend had a new girlfriend, but Victoria and I did the Happy Dance for like ten minutes when we found out about it.

  “You’re old news,” James said as we glanced through all the weeklies at the bookstore, the ones where Ashleigh was featured. “You’re a has-been.”

  “Her hair looks cute there,” I replied, pointing at one of the photos.

  Oh, and speaking of hair, Victoria’s growing her hair out and I think she’s gonna get extensions next summer, which is gonna look amazing on her. All of her finagling to get free stuff got her interested in PR work, so now she’s thinking about doing some work with this local band, New Nostalgia, helping them get some press and booking shows. I might sell merch for them this summer, too, which is good, because I need cash to replace my car speakers.

  Again.

  Evan and I still talk, which James is cool with. Ev’s in the studio a lot now. I guess that letter-writing campaign the fans launched really helped, because now the band’s making an album and they’re working with some crazy producer somewhere in L.A. We’re talking about all of us getting together—me, James, Victoria, Jonah, Evan, and Ashleigh—and you know that Victoria and I are dying to meet Ashleigh. From what I’ve read, she seems nice enough. I told Evan to have her call me once her cell phone gets hacked into and I can advise her on what to do.

  “Audrey, Wait!” doesn’t get played as much on the radio anymore, but every once in a while, it comes on and I don’t change the station. I wasn’t lying when I told Evan it was a good song. It’s even better now that I can enjoy it. James likes it, too. After our exciting first date at RPM Records, James got a new job there, and on his first day, Mr. Emo Glasses (whose real name is Kevin) played The Song over the loudspeakers to welcome him. And sometimes when we’re being stupid and goofy, James sings it to me in this really awful high, warbly voice that sounds like a mouse crossed with a seagull.

  It’s funny. He’s funny. And I love him.

  I know this is like the longest story ever, but I really just wanted you to know the other side. (And besides, Bendomolena’s been on my lap this whole time and once Bendomolena decides to sit on you, get comfortable, because you’re not going anywhere for awhile.) Anyway, James is coming over in fifteen minutes so we can go with Victoria and Jonah to see New Nostalgia, and I still have to figure out what I’m wearing.

  Like the Beatles said, “O-bla-di, o-bla-da, life goes on.”

  And it does.

  Rock on.