“I don’t know. When’s your birthday?”
“April 6. I’m an Aries.”
“Okay. I don’t follow astrology. Is that supposed to mean something?”
“ ‘Micah Sinclair is as hot as you think he is. He’s also incredibly generous and as easy-going as you’d expect a Libra to be, but it was impressive to watch his leadership skills in action.’ ” He was reading my own blog back to me.
“Yeah?”
“You don’t know my birthday, but you know Micah’s sign? Do you know Noah’s, too?”
“No. Why would I?”
He sighed. “Why do you know Micah’s?”
That was a valid question. Why did I? I searched my mind, trying to remember where I’d come across that detail. Probably on the forums. “I don’t know. Maybe I read it in an article and it stuck.”
The jealous routine was beginning to piss me off. I knew he had an inferiority complex about the other guys, but I thought we were past that. I tried a different tack.
“Did you see what I said about you?”
“Yeah.” His tone still sounded upset, but less belligerent at least.
“And did you know I’m currently in your bed? Alone?”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Yes. I know. I’m sorry. I hate being on the road right now. I wish you were here. I miss you, and I’m on edge. And Noah’s been—”
“Could you stop listening to Noah? He’s an asshole.” I exhaled. It would have been easier to be mad at him if he was totally off base, but I had made that blog sound a bit unhinged on purpose. “Look. Lars wanted me to build enthusiasm, really push the fan-with-inside-access angle, so I did. That’s all. Okay? I truly love your music, and I really am a fan, but I don’t have some sinister angle, Shane. I’m here for you.”
His facial features relaxed. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Forgiven. Now. Tell me about your show tonight.”
I settled back into his deliciously comfortable bed. He’d invested in sheets I didn’t even know they made—ten-thousand count or something. They were almost as thick as blankets, but so soft. His blankets were another story. Everything Shane picked out showed the greatest care. I sank into the pillows and listened to him give me a first-hand account of the concert from a real musician’s perspective. I loved hearing all the stories that no concertgoer would ever know—the squabbles, the jokes, the mistakes.
When he asked me what I was wearing, I showed him the tank I’d pulled out of his drawers. It smelled like heaven, and I loved stealing his things. Then he held the camera back so I could see he wasn’t wearing a shirt. And although the rest went off screen, it would appear there was nothing below that.
“You’re making me miss you more, Shane.”
“Come see us on Friday. You can take the train up. Take a day off.”
If the idea had appealed to me in the abstract, the promise of seeing him Friday instead of waiting until he got home a few days later made me consider the idea for real. It was only a couple of days, but Shane was so intense that his absence in his apartment felt like a body part was missing.
“I’ll try. Okay?”
First thing Tuesday morning, I shot an email to Lars to ask him if it would be okay to postpone the rehearsal hall with Walking Disaster for another week. I came right out and confessed I was thinking of taking the day off to go to the Boston festival.
Once I’d gotten my mug of coffee and scanned my few emails, I pulled up Talking Disaster to catch up on the chatter about the blog post.
“Ah, I see. You’re checking out reactions to your own stuff. How very vain.”
Gabriel stood inside my cube, peering over my shoulder.
“Ugh. Gabe, why are you harassing me?”
“Harassing? I thought we were having a friendly exchange.”
“Hardly.”
He leaned down. I could almost feel him against my hair. “You do know that site is the source of the infestation on my review last week?”
On a hunch, I clicked the link to my blog page and scrolled to the last review I’d written. I opened up the comments section and scooted out of the way so he could get a better view of the dozens of sock puppet posts.
“Have you seen this?”
He laughed. “Yeah, serves her right. Did you see where she told people to troll my review?”
“I did.” I swiveled my chair all the way around to face him, although he was so close, our knees might have brushed. I cleared my throat, and he backed away a few paces. “Did you have something to do with those comments?” I tried to match my tone to his, as if I found the retaliation impressive when, in reality, I thought it was entirely cowardly to hide behind a fake name.
I was ninety-nine percent sure he was Sandman, but I wanted to coax the admission from his own lips.
“Maybe.” He smirked. I had him. He wouldn’t be so cocky if he knew who I was. And I itched to prove it.
“Explain.”
He looked around and lowered his voice. “I just wanted to give that irritating beast a taste of her own medicine.”
I let him feel his oats for a minute before I dropped the punch line. “Yeah, well that irritating beast didn’t really give two shits about your payback.”
He snorted. “How would you know how she feels?”
“Because she’s sitting right here.”
His eyelids went into defib. “What are you saying? You—”
“Yes, me.”
“You’re responsible for that attack?”
“Hardly an attack, Gabe. Those people had valid opinions.”
“Did you read what they wrote? It was vicious.”
“No.” I’d glanced at them once, but it had never occurred to me to follow up on their comments. Who cared what they said?
“Well, you really should. It was pretty hurtful.”
I couldn’t feel sorry for him. “Gabe, you write caustic words about musicians, but you can’t take it when people respond in kind? I honestly expected you’d have thicker skin.”
“At least now I know why you keep shooting me down.”
“What?”
“I get it. I mean you run a fucking fan site.” He grimaced. “That guy’s a musician, and I’m not. It’s exciting, and he gets you even closer to the band you worship. But you have to know, that’s not a realistic basis for dating a guy.”
“You’re not even close to the truth.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth and lodged it in his cheek, not impressed by my answer. “You’re blinded by proximity to fame. Is that why you got a job here?”
I closed my eyes. He wasn’t worth it.
“Or maybe I have it backwards. Maybe you have your sights set on a more ambitious prize. Did you think you could impress Lars with your inside connection?”
My head jerked up at that. “You think I’m using Shane to impress Lars?”
“Honestly, I might respect you more if you were. It would be less clichéd than sleeping your way through the band.”
I winced. “You’re way off base, Gabe.”
“Why? Are you going to pretend you really like the guy? That’s almost more pathetic. Do you even know how many short-lived relationships that drummer goes through? Have you done any homework? You really don’t have a clue.”
He was shooting with blanks if he thought he could convince me Shane was a womanizer.
“I need you to leave my cube right now, Gabe.”
“History has a way of repeating. Does he have any idea what you do in your spare time?”
I spun my chair back around, pretending to shut him out.
“He doesn’t, does he? I know that guy, Layla. He’s not going to take it well. It would be a pity if he found out.”
“Shut up, Gabe.” It was killing me that he might be right. I’d have to tel
l Shane about it, and he wouldn’t take it well. Handing the reins to Ash was becoming an inevitability.
“Come on, Layla.” His tone turned gentle, like we hadn’t just sprayed each other in verbal venom. “It’s almost lunchtime. Why don’t we forget about all this and go get a bite to eat?”
My fists clenched together, and I spun around so fast, my hair whipped across my face. “I’m about two seconds away from punching you in the nut sack.”
He flinched. “Jesus. Ask a girl out and get threatened with physical abuse. Nice, Layla.”
I shot him one more death ray glare, and he held out his hands in a whatcha-gonna-do-about-it gesture, like he really didn’t care either way. Yeah. Sure.
At least he avoided me for the next couple of days. I put my head down and worked on proposals, spoke up in meetings, and made an effort to stay away from lurking on the forums at work at least. At night, alone in Shane’s bed, I might have started following the tour on the TotA forum. But anything I read came from people seeing the band in a way that had grown foreign to me. They were reading into their every behavior for signs and meaning that didn’t exist.
Noah was still the primary source of gossip. Ever since his breakup, speculation was that his more than usual grumpiness was due to his heartache over this loss. Plenty of posters saw this as their big opportunity to land in his bed. If they could only get close enough to him to offer.
I wanted to post: Don’t bother, ladies. He truly is an ass.
On Thursday, I got the news I’d been crossing my fingers to hear. Lars called me in to tell me they’d set up the rehearsal hall with Walking Disaster for the following Friday, and that I was free to take the next day off to head up to the festival.
Everything I could have ever dreamed of was happening.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As much as I loved concerts, festivals weren’t really my thing. They reminded me of the Indiana State Fair when I was a kid. Hot, dusty, and crowded. Worse, they seemed geared more toward socializing and partying than appreciating the music.
As I dragged my carry-on from Boston’s T station to the park, I remembered why I avoided these things. Way too many concertgoers crowded the main entrance. I studied the map with mounting anxiety. Multiple bands would play simultaneously on three outdoor stages plus inside an arena. The fear of missing out would make me crazy, even though I wouldn’t have even come if not to see one specific band.
I relaxed, knowing that at least for one show, I wouldn’t need to fight the crowds. Theater of the Absurd would be headlining tonight on one of the bigger outdoor stages, and I’d have an up-close experience.
Speaking of experiences, for the first time in my life, I got to stop at Will Call. The woman working the booth fingered her way through a stack of envelopes until she found one with my name in fat, black sharpie. She circled my map with instructions on where I should go since I no longer needed to follow the cattle herd of non-VIP regulars.
Inside the envelope, I found a plastic badge attached to a lanyard that I looped around my neck. I texted Shane to let him know I’d arrived. Then I headed toward a smaller gate around the backside of one of the stages. Flashing my badge gained me access to this more private area where the people rushing about had a totally different vibe from the front entrance. Roadies carried equipment. Apparent musicians lounged, smoking cigarettes or drinking beer. A smattering of folks like me dotted the landscape with their VIP badges, but they all came across as cool and collected. Like this was all normal. I was about to scream with joy.
I suddenly had the presence of mind to get out my camera and start snapping pictures. I’d need to document this at least for myself. Possibly for the blog.
“There she is!” An arm draped over my shoulder, and I reached up to take Shane’s hand before turning and breathing him in.
“You smell like summer.”
“Like a week on the road more likely.” He tugged at me. “Come on, Star Shine. We’re set up around one of the other stages.”
The never-ending beating of drums pervaded the atmosphere. The music was loud, but somehow muffled or muted behind the stage. It was like listening to someone’s stereo from a floor below. I could pick out the guitar licks and bass lines easily enough, but the vocals only came through sporadically. The occasional crowd cheers were loud and clear.
We had to weave around various obstacles and groups of people until we approached a safari tent behind yet another stage. Inside, I discovered air conditioning, food, drinks, and Noah asleep on a beach chair.
“Rick’s gone into the city to do some kind of historical tour. Micah’s sleeping on the bus. Noah and I had been planning to go listen to a few of the bands, but I guess he’s out. What do you want to do?”
I looked around at the scene. It was so not rock-n-roll. I’d imagined getting backstage access for so long, but I’d pictured it like a scene from Spinal Tap where posh women and desperate groupies vied for attention. This looked more like summer camp.
“Who did you want to see?”
He pulled a folded-up guide from his back pocket and handed it over. “These are the bands playing right now.”
I didn’t recognize half the bands on the list. “You choose.”
We spent the next couple of hours wandering aimlessly from stage to stage. Loyal fans had probably staked out a place by the stage, forced to sit through countless acts in anticipation for their own favorite, but plenty of people casually hung out like me and Shane, enjoying the moment for what it was, listening to the music, swaying along, entertained by the spectacle. I’d never experienced any concert or festival like this, with one hand in the pocket of a guy who made the moment feel special. Who made me feel special.
A couple of times, Shane ran into people who knew him, usually other musicians or the occasional tech he’d worked with. They had history, and the conversations were low-key small talk, observations about the lay out, differences to other gigs. It was fun to watch him light up on those occasions when a fan recognized him and asked for an autograph or a picture, but even they were usually cool, not squealing like they might with a real celebrity.
And he was mine, all mine.
As the sun began to set, we needed to think about food and the band’s performance ahead. Back in the tent, Noah was awake, Micah and Rick had arrived, and it was time to get to work.
I took plenty of pictures of the preshow activities. It was surreal to see it all going down from a few feet away. Roadies bustled everywhere, mostly asking me to either move out of the way or to help carry some piece of equipment. I chose to fall back rather than screw something up. The sea of humans in front of the stage undulated like an ocean tide.
And then it was time. The final act of the night was announced to a deafening roar. The lights dropped. Shane gave me a kiss and crept to his drumkit. Micah, Rick, and Noah held back, and a spotlight hit Shane the first time he struck his drums.
Chills.
As Shane pounded out a rhythm, the crowd clapped along. Rick walked out and laid down the bass line. The crowd erupted in cheers at the unmistakable beginning to “Close Enough.” Noah strutted out under his own spotlight, bowing and waving to screams. He grabbed his guitar and lit up the night with electricity. Finally, Micah walked out center stage, and everyone went nuts. He grabbed the mic and broke out in the first lyric.
The world spins and spins and spins
Gravity pulling me back
Back to you
People crushed against the front barricade singing along, crying, losing their goddamn minds. I was losing my goddamn mind. The guys were so charismatic and talented. And I was so close, I could see drops of sweat flying off their hair. I could see the looks Noah and Micah shot at each other as they coordinated telepathically. I could see Shane’s muscles as he relentlessly destroyed his drumkit. Rick stood still, nodding to the rhythm as he performed to perf
ection.
The whole show was brilliant.
Normally, at the end of a concert, I’d stand with the crowd demanding an encore, and after another song or two, the arena lights would come on, cuing the end of the show. The band disappeared into another dimension. Gone. Whisked away.
I hadn’t expected the chaos on the other side. As soon as the guys stepped off the stage after the last encore, they were surrounded by people with various jobs. Techs shoved water bottles into their hands. Noah poured his over his head. Roadies began breaking down the instruments. I was jostled out of the way and fled to a less crowded spot behind the stage, near the safari tent, where Shane found me.
He was more sweat than man at that point. Rather than reach for me, he said, “Give me a few minutes to change. We have to head over to some afterparty for a little bit. You can come with us, or if you want, I can send you back to the hotel.”
I chortled. Like hell I was going to miss out on a new experience.
“I’ll wait for you here.”
He smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
The pandemonium continued around me, and I suddenly felt incredibly awkward and out of place. There was no sign of Micah, Noah, or Rick either, so I attempted to slink back into the safari tent to hide out, but a muscular man in a black T-shirt blocked my path.
“Miss, you can’t be back here.”
I started to lift my VIP pass before it occurred to me that maybe Shane had been my true ticket into this area. “I’m with the band,” I said, hearing how lame that sounded as it came out of my mouth.
“Well, you’re going to have to wait out here.”
He led me away from the tent toward a rope, behind which a group of twenty or thirty women and a few men craned their necks to peer around the stage.
When I joined the crowd, one lady said, “Nice try.”
She had salon-perfect highlights in her straight blond hair. Her makeup had survived the heat of the day somehow, and her clothes weren’t wrinkled, dusty, or moist from sweat. I’d avoided most of the festival filth, but she looked like she’d just arrived.
Kind of Famous (Flirting with Fame Book 3) Page 20