Jo nodded. “Micah moved wicked fast, and I wasn’t really ready for that. We sorted it out, of course.” She patted my hand. “Go on.”
Her confession made me less anxious than I had been about opening up with them. “I mentioned it to him, but he’s so charming, he put me at ease. I mean, he was acting possessive, but in a way that felt safe and okay.” I grabbed my beer and took a long swallow. “Then today, he demanded I don’t go to the rehearsal Friday. He ordered me to stay away from you all.”
Eden arched one eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“That was my reaction exactly.”
“Well, obviously he’s wrong.”
I let myself fully relax for the first time in hours. “Oh, thank God.”
“You didn’t think you deserved that, did you?” Jo crossed her arms, and I was loving the girl power solidarity.
“No. That’s why I told him he couldn’t dictate my choices and grabbed my suitcase and left.”
Eden jumped to her feet. “Oh, hell no. This will not stand.”
“Where are you going?” I made to follow her, but Jo held up a hand.
“I’m going to have a little talk with my brother.” Eden tossed her hair defiantly and slipped into the townhouse.
Jo turned back to me. “So, have you considered starting a website for a photographer? She’d pay you. Asking for a friend.”
I choked on my beer, laughing.
Then her expression shifted to concerned. “You stay here as long as you need.”
A weight lifted.
Ten minutes later, Eden rejoined us, saying, “Okay. I’ve let Micah know what’s going on, and he’s going to talk some sense into Shane.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such friendship. I’m sorry to have brought this drama here.”
She sort of punched my shoulder. “I should apologize. I always meant to reach out to you on the forum and send you tickets or flowers or money. It always passed through my mind and then escaped me. Maybe I can make it up in the future.”
How could she not know that just the offer was better than anything she could have given me? Knowing that I’d made her and Adam proud of my site was worth more than any compensation they might give me. Then I had an idea.
“You know what would be huge?”
She cocked her head. “What?”
“If you could come on the site sometime and do a Q&A.”
“I don’t think your fans would want to talk to me.” She stuck out her tongue, like she’d eaten a bug, imitating the imagined fan disgust.
I chuckled that she’d called them my fans. “Oh, but they would. Really.”
She didn’t look convinced but said, “However, I think I could convince Adam to do it.” She laughed at my sudden shock. “He loves talking to fans. I think he might have volunteered if it wouldn’t have made him look like the attention-seeking fan whore he innocently pretends not to be.”
“God. The server might go down.”
“Why don’t we arrange something to coincide with whatever you get Friday. You can give Lars some video. Keep some as exclusive to your site. Then Adam will hang out on the forum for an hour.”
I was speechless. “That—” I couldn’t finish. I just grabbed her in the biggest bear hug I could, and for the first time, I heard her really laugh. It was a truly gorgeous sound.
“My boobs are gonna explode. Adam’s probably going insane alone with the baby.” She grabbed her purse and shot me another glance. “I still can’t believe you’re Pumpkin. How crazy is that?”
The Rock Paper
Fly on the wall: Walking Disaster
By Layla Beckett
I’m going to confess something right up front. I’m a huge dork for Walking Disaster. I’m not an overnight fan. I didn’t discover them after they hit the pop charts. I don’t forget about them between albums, and I never have something better to do when they pass through the town where I live. I love a lot of bands, but I obsess over Walking Disaster.
Proof?
I have every one of their albums plus recordings from back when they were called The Pickup Artists. I own a T-shirt from every single tour. My ultimate cred is that, as someone recently told me, I’m literally the president of the fan club. I run a fan forum called Talking Disaster, and it’s one of the most popular fan sites for Walking Disaster.
To say I was thrilled to sit in on their rehearsal in a quiet Brooklyn suburb would be a quantum understatement. Lucky for you, the band let me record everything, so you don’t have to take my word for how incredible they were.
To be honest, this wasn’t the first time I’ve met Adam. In fact, it was the third time. However, I’d initially gotten to know private citizen Adam, backyard barbecuer, diaper-changing dad, and super nice guy. But the man in the rehearsal studio was all rock star. His white T-shirt bunched up around the waist of his black jeans, and his tattoos peeked out below his sleeves. He strode over and gave me a hug like we were old friends. He smelled like heat and mystery. And dryer sheets, honestly.
Some of the video is below the fold, but with the blessings of the band, there will be another blog with extra bonus videos posted on the Talking Disaster fan forum later today.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Over breakfast Thursday, Jo reminded me I could talk to Zion about rooming with him over in Williamsburg. She said, “He spends half his time over at Andrew’s anyway.”
But I didn’t want to take advantage of Jo and her friends anymore.
It had been foolish of me to slide into cohabitation with a guy I just met. I should have at least set up an alternate residence in case things didn’t work out.
Like exactly right now.
I started combing through craiglist, calling people, finding out I couldn’t afford any place in this area of Brooklyn. I estimated how much Shane was paying from a real estate site. No idea if he owned or rented, but either way: Yowza. I hoped for his sake the band didn’t break up and wondered why he wasn’t kissing Noah’s ass to make sure things stayed solid.
Friday morning, a tour bus pulled up in front of the townhouse, purring loudly as Micah and Noah loaded up the things they’d taken out to the sidewalk. I watched from the window and wondered if Shane was aboard. If he was, he didn’t make his presence known.
As the bus rolled away, leaving Jo a tour widow again, she called for her driver and, on her way to the art gallery, dropped me off outside Shane’s to pack up the rest of my things. I prayed the security code he gave me would work.
On the street outside that paint-chipped green door, she scrawled out directions to drummer Hervé’s house for the Walking Disaster rehearsal, then gave me a hug, saying, “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?”
But there was no need. I only had a few things at Shane’s, and I wanted to be alone when I confronted the space we’d shared, even if only briefly.
Once inside, I went on the hunt for anything I’d left behind. It all fit into a duffel bag Jo had lent me. Toiletries mainly. A pair of socks. Some dirty clothes in his hamper. Such a small imprint I’d left on his world, but his apartment dredged up so many fond memories. Memories of him playing his guitar for me, calling me Star Shine, feeding me cinnamon croissants, and making love to me passionately and gently. I honestly thought he’d fallen in love with me. How stupid was I?
I was tempted to squat while he was away, deal with my lodging problems later. Shane would be gone until next Sunday. He had weird food in his fridge and a bookshelf full of books I should have already read. I grabbed The Little Prince and climbed into his bed with a sidelong glance at his empty pillow. Where was he? Was he thinking about me? I tried to stoke my anger at him, but mostly what I felt was sad.
But then I remembered how he’d asked me to distance myself from the only friends I’d made simply because they happene
d to be the same people I’d fixated on for years. Okay, when I thought about it that way, I could kind of see his point, but it hadn’t been an issue until his jealousy reared its ugly head. And I hated the thought of giving in to bullying even once. What a slippery slope toward total subjugation.
I took out my phone and checked my calendar. I only had a couple of hours to kill before I was expected at the Walking Disaster rehearsal, an event that should have given me nothing but endless joy, and here it was colored by guilt and self-doubt. Fuck Shane. I was going to go, and I was going to enjoy every second of this once-in-a-lifetime experience.
With my duffel bag in hand, I started to drop his key off on the funky table I’d admired the first time he’d shown me his extra cool lair, but I couldn’t let it go. I might never use it again, but it was a link I needed to hold onto a little while longer. I locked and closed the door, hoping it wasn’t metaphorical. I still wanted to find some way to work things out, but I didn’t know how. Not with his attitude. Not with my refusal to be someone other than who I was.
And with that, I left Shane’s world behind, summoned an Uber, and headed to the address Jo had given me. I got out a block early to grab a cup of coffee, then with nerves flipping over in my stomach, walked up the front steps to the home of the legendary drummer, Hervé Diaz.
Hervé opened the door with a massive grin. “You must be Layla. Jo said such lovely things about you.” I grabbed the hand he’d extended, expecting to say hi and shake, but he tugged me into a hug. “Any friend of Jo’s has to be all right. Come on in. The guys are setting up downstairs.”
He whisked me down to his basement, which was completely decked out with a couple of sound booths and all kinds of production recording equipment. I may have wiped the drool from my chin.
Charles McCord and Mark Townsend both greeted me with a wave and a salute respectively. My eyes bugged out. Stay cool, Layla.
“And I don’t think I need to tell you who that is.”
Adam was sitting on an amp, walking an octave up the neck of a guitar. Fucking sexy as hell. “Layla! You made it!”
He crossed the room and gave me a hug, and I didn’t even think about sniffing him. “Thanks so much for inviting me to do this. It’s such a great honor.”
He chuckled. “Well, I hope it works out for you.”
And right then, it was evident that he was doing this as a favor to me, not because his band needed the exposure it would bring. They didn’t need it. But I needed them, and he was okay with that. I felt humbled that he’d extend his powers of good to someone like me.
Hervé showed me where to set up my equipment, then I lived every fan girl’s fantasy. Again.
The guys played for a couple of hours, and they made it more show than rehearsal. In fact, it wasn’t the fly-on-the-wall experience I’d expected at all. It felt planned out, almost scripted. There was no bickering. They didn’t squabble over songs. They weren’t putting together a setlist for an actual tour. The band wasn’t even touring, which made me wonder: What were they rehearsing for?
They did play some unreleased material, and that would be the gold in my article and a huge hit at my forum. But they mainly played songs off their latest album, all super polished and professional.
I couldn’t help but compare the experience to the rehearsal with Shane’s band, a band I hadn’t followed as closely, and yet, they’d set a bar no other band would reach. And the reason for that wasn’t the music or the performances or even how welcome they made me feel. It was simply Shane’s joy at having me there.
And for the first time, I almost regretted choosing this over the boy who’d given me those shy smiles when Noah had first accused me of being a super fan. Turns out maybe Noah had been right. Maybe my priorities were completely out of whack.
What was I doing here? Was this really worth losing Shane over? Surely Lars would understand if I didn’t follow through. This wasn’t even my real job.
Everyone I knew online would be eating their hearts out with jealousy if they knew where I was sitting, but all I could think about was how lonely I was going to feel when I walked out with a camera full of videos and nobody to go home to.
As the band wrapped up, I thanked them for giving me such an incredible opportunity, hoping my gushing sounded as sincere as it would have been just a month earlier. I did appreciate them donating their time, especially since they didn’t need to at all, kicking myself for having mixed emotions on a day like today.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Once I got back to Jo’s, I set to work writing the blog and editing videos. Once Lars gave me the go-head, I posted the article on the Rock Paper, then went over and stared at a blinking cursor on my own site, trying to figure out how to word my unmasking.
At Adam’s suggestion, and cleared by Lars, I planned to write an exclusive for Talking Disaster to coincide with the magazine article. By mentioning my site in the magazine, I’d already given the game away. My fans didn’t need to be spoon-fed clues on the worst of days. They’d connect the dots in a heartbeat. Still, writing it out on my own blog felt like a huge confession. One that would invite a ton of questions and open the door to the kind of scrutiny I’d tried to protect the band from.
But it was time to come out from behind my moniker and own my double identity. It was time to be Layla.
Talking Disaster Forum
Topic: Walking Disaster - Media - The Rock Paper - Fly on the wall - Page 2
AdamAnt wrote:
Hey, she mentioned our forum.
Di$a$ter wrote:
She didn’t just mention it. She said she runs it.
AdamAnt wrote:
Shit, is that Pumpkin?
Talking Disaster wrote:
Gotta be. Hey, Pumpkin! Say something!
Wannabe wrote:
Did you guys hear the new song?
DiazRules wrote:
What did she mean by more to come? Do you think there are more videos, or is she going to come give us a recap?
ADAMate wrote:
Pumpkin!! Bravo! I love seeing our community mentioned in the ROCK PAPER! OMG!
InTheMood wrote:
Wow, what a bounty of WD goodness.
AdamFannnn wrote:
Thank you Pumpkin/Layla for making me almost feel like I was there. It sounds like it was a most wonderful time. I love the new songs! I also loved Adam’s between song banter.
JacksMom wrote:
Pumpkin, what kind of camera did you use to record with.
Delusion wrote:
and Mark’s guitar skillz are CRAZY good.!!
Knope4Prez wrote:
PUMPKIN! You are FAMOUS!!!
AdamAdamAdam wrote:
On the internet.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When I got to the forum, someone had already started a thread with the link. I blew a raspberry. Why did I bother updating my blog?
As I expected, they immediately honed in on who’d posted the article rather than the actual content. I was tickled at how happy they were that the forum itself got name dropped, like it made them famous, but I wasn’t surprised when one of the more cantankerous posters said I was a hypocrite for moving in on Adam in that way. Another poster who balked at commercial influence suggested that maybe I’d been friends with them all along. What if she set this site up for them? He was met with a chorus of So, what? Even if the label had set it up, there’d been no interference. It had always been a welcoming environment.
That didn’t stop them from speculating.
RetiredNurse wrote: Pumpkin’s always quick to stop conversations that get too invasive. Like she’s got a personal stake.
Shy Guy wrote: Don’t forget she did the Theater of the Absurd thing too. Maybe she’s been an insider all along.
Ouch. Nobody could claim t
hey held back on their opinions. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little to hear them question my integrity so openly.
Thankfully, CanadaFan was the voice of reason. Why would she just now make herself public then? You all are grasping at straws. Let’s wait and hear from her.
Sounded like a call to make my entrance.
I cracked my knuckles and started writing a post on the thread.
Hi, guys. To answer your questions, no I haven’t been working for the label all this time. The truth is, I got a job at the Rock Paper. The whole rehearsal idea came about organically, and I feel super fortunate to have been able to participate.
Also, you guys should be making plans to be online later today, because in addition to some more exclusive video, Adam has agreed to come by the forum and do a Q&A around five. Start posting questions here now. I’ll pick out a few and post them in a new thread. And check out the blog for an exclusive video of “Hurricane Warning.”
That should get them off my case. I’d be a hero for all this content
I took a break to steal a bottle of San Pellegrino from Jo’s fridge. I missed Shane’s pretentious water. I missed him. I’d written the entire article with him riding on my shoulder. I could picture him grousing at all the gushing I had to do.
I didn’t regret anything I’d written though.
First because it was honest. My admiration for the band was legitimate, but Shane’s jealousy was misplaced. I had no interest in any of those guys romantically, and my comments about Adam’s sexiness didn’t change that.
Second because, truthfully, I wanted Shane to hurt. Shitty of me, I know. He clearly had issues that went beyond me, but if I was going to be accused of something, I might as well get the enjoyment of the crime. I laid it all out there. If he was ever going to come to terms with me, he’d have to take me with all of my wide-eyed fascination with rock musicians.
As if he wouldn’t have jumped at the chance to sit in a room while Keith Moon had rehearsed with The Who. I made a mental note to ask him exactly that.
Kind of Famous (Flirting with Fame Book 3) Page 24