Foolish Games

by Leah Spiegel

  Five hours later, the theme song for Mission Impossible blared in my jeans pocket, jolting me awake. Flipping over on my back, I ripped the phone out of my pocket and glanced down at “Mom” calling.

  “Seriously?!” Did I really need this right now? I glared up at the ceiling so that God would know I was talking to him before I flipped the phone open.

  “Hello?” I said while sitting up.

  “Josephine?”

  No, Mom, you called someone else’s cell phone. “Yeah?”

  “Oh, my god,” my mom said in her overly dramatic way. “I’m so glad that I reached you.”

  Wish I could say the same.

  “Where are you?”

  “Atlanta, Georgia.”

  “Did you hear about Lizzie?”

  Oh, shit.

  “What about Lizzie?” I pretended to be clueless.

  Lizzie suddenly stopped applying mascara in front of the mirror and froze while looking back at me through the reflection.

  “You haven’t heard?” My mom’s voice hovered over the phone. It was good that I did know where Lizzie was because I’m pretty sure anyone else would have thought she was dead by now.

  “No, Mom,” I lied. “I’m on the campaign trail, remember? What’s up?”

  “I don’t even know where to start,” my mom said and I couldn’t blame her.

  “Apparently, she’s following this band around like a groupie. She’s been on the news and in all these magazines,” my mom explained. “Her parents are disgraced. Everyone’s talking about it here,” she whispered. “I mean everybody. They’ve been trying to reach her, but she won’t answer her cell phone.”

  “Wow.” I glared at Lizzie. “I can’t believe she hasn’t called them to let them know she’s okay.”

  Lizzie shook her head at me and then continued to apply mascara in the mirror. She was dressed in a black sequined top with silver bangles practically up to her elbows and tight black leather pants. It was an outfit better selected to work the nearest corner than go to a concert.

  “Knowing Lizzie she probably just lost her cell phone.” I tried to console my mom.

  “Maybe,” my mom contemplated it. “I’m just glad that you would never do anything that stupid.”

  “Ah huh,” I agreed, after all what else could I say?

  “So have you met Nicholas Johnson personally, yet?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I lied. “He’s a real decent guy…straight arrow that one.”

  Lizzie made fun of me by silently mocking my expressions.

  “Mom, I got to go.” I tried to sound busy and distant. “Umm, I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” my mom gushed.

  Oh god, I’m going to hell.

  “I really thought that you were going nowhere there for a minute,” she continued in her overly sensitive way. “But I’m so glad you finally found your niche in life. My daughter the politician,” she said proudly.

  “That’s me.” Crap, I felt like a piece of shit. “Love you.”

  “You too, bye, honey.”

  Snapping the phone shut, I took some of my anger and guilt out on Lizzie. “Call your mom so mine will stop calling me. Everyone in Shadyside is talking about you.”

  “They’d be talking about you too if they only knew,” Lizzie clucked while turning to look over at me. “We are no different.” She turned around to face the mirror again while layering on another coat of mascara.

  “Yeah, except I manage to keep my clothes on, especially around cameras.”

  “You wish you were getting the attention I am, and I plan for these clothes to be lying on the floor by the end of the night if I have my way,” she said with a smug smile. I knew that she was talking about tonight with Hawkins, but I just ignored her and turned to Riley.

  “Any tweets?”

  “Actually, no,” he explained. “Apparently whatever happened last night is between you and Hawkins.”

  “Yeah, because who wants to hear about you getting sick on a plane?” Lizzie laughed.

  “You’re probably right,” I muttered to myself.

  “Everybody’s real shaken up about Jeff Monroe.” Riley changed the subject. “No one still knows where he is.”

  The comment had me replaying the way Cyrus shot at us without a moment’s hesitation last night. “It’s probably because he’s already dead.” The confession came with a cold shiver down my spine and for a moment we didn’t speak a word to each other.

  “I know, I’ll feel better when they catch this psychopath,” Riley confessed.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” I stressed.

  Looking at the clock, I realized it was time to get ready for the concert. “Did you guys leave me any hot water?”

  “We just thought you would want to go looking like that,” Lizzie jabbed while glancing down at my sweats.

  She says that, but would be totally embarrassed if I wore them to the actual concert so I just closed the bathroom door. Peeling off my clothes, I discarded them to the floor for a quick hot shower. The water felt good running down my back. It helped ease the tension from my stiff muscles. After showering, I brushed my teeth not once, but twice. I took the time to blow out my hair with the hotel’s hair dryer because I wanted to look good if I was going to get interrogated by Hawkins.

  I’d have to say our little meet and greets were becoming interesting. He was frustrating beyond belief, frustrating and hot. I knew that I was not exactly showing up just because he “could” fire Riley now, but the last thing I was going to do was admit that to anyone. Sifting through my small collection of clothes, I pushed the t-shirt with Hawkins’ face on it to the side and grabbed up the other shirt that read “The Grimm Brothers Band” across it. It was powder blue and looked good with my dark jeans. After I got dressed, I came out of the bathroom and looked over at Riley, who due to a long, hot shower wasn’t painted blue anymore.

  “Are we ready to do this?”

  “So ready,” Lizzie emphasized as she strutted past me to the door. A strong whiff of something woodsy and potent filled my nose. Pulling up my shirt to cover my nose, I took a breath. I knew that it was rude, but so was putting enough perfume on for the group.

  Riley was also letting Lizzie move ahead of us as we walked down the hallway to the elevators. In no time the doors flung back open to the darkened parking lot. Looking over my shoulder, we passed a line of cars as we walked towards the van. The rational part of my mind was telling me to calm down. It was a big city filled with several hotels, but I was still not comfortable as the memory of last night played in my mind. Unlocking the van, I slipped behind the wheel.

  We pulled out of the garage while Riley flipped through the maps and directions as we merged onto the highway. My copilot led the way to the venue as a city full of skyscrapers flew by us. We came to a standstill when we hit rush hour traffic again. Sinking back into my seat, I tried to relax as we crawled along the freeway.

  Glancing over at Riley, I noticed that he had taken extra time to blow dry his hair and iron his shirt. It was the most put together I had seen him in days. “Hoping to see Rob Harlow?” I asked.

  “The band is kind of busy if you haven’t noticed?” he said, smiling. “I need something to look forward to.”

  “Oh, about that.” Lizzie flashed her dazzlingly smile. “It’s official.”

  “He is?!” Riley perked up in his seat.

  “It’s a sure thing.” She licked her glossy lips.

  “When did you have time?” I asked with exasperation.

  “You’re not the only one with secrets,” Lizzie said with a devious smile.

  “Yes!” Riley fist pumped the air and then looked over at us. “You know whatever,” he said sheepishly.

  “Ah, huh,” I teased while starting to move along the highway again. The traffic continued to accelerate until it was zipping past us going well over eighty miles an hour. The speed was scaring me since I couldn’t keep up. Pressing the gas pedal to
the floor, I watched the odometer twitch one or two more notches, but nothing over sixty-seven. Finally, our exit came into view and we pulled off the deadly highway. Gosh, all this driving was exhausting. No one wanted to do this part of the trip which was okay because Lizzie would have had us wrapped around a guard rail in seconds and Riley would never have gotten his work done which was kind of the point of the trip.

  After thirty minutes, we entered the venue and a crew member flagged us into a spot before I cut off the engine. We all sat in silence until Riley asked if we just wanted to head up. Not even Lizzie wanted to tailgate today in the aftermath of what happened with Cyrus last night. I hiked my book bag up over my shoulder, not wanting to leave the thick manila envelope filled with cash and tickets in the van. Hopefully no one was going to give me a hard time about the contents of my bag. Some venues let you get away with certain things while others were more particular and wouldn’t even let you bring in a blanket for the lawn.

  Because we started our trek earlier than the others around us, we skipped the paved sidewalk beside the lines of concert traffic in case Cyrus was driving by. Instead, we crossed through the parking lots in the general direction of the pavilion. We were sweating by the time we reached security. Scanning the venue crew, I looked for the weakest link out of the bunch and pulled Lizzie over with me into that line. A guy in his late thirties with a stocky build, who was dressed in a bright yellow shirt, asked me to turn around. I did a quick, innocent twirl. “Let me see inside your back pack.” That part I knew would be inevitable. “Lizzie, why did you make me carry your bag?” I pretended to sulk.

  “What?” Lizzie asked as the man sifted through my clothes and I nudged her side. He was about to wrap his hand around the envelope of cash and tickets when Lizzie entered his personal space.

  “Everything is okay, right?” she asked in her puppy dog voice while batting her lashes up at the man.

  “You can pass.” The guy nodded at me and I walked through the tight gates with Lizzie behind me. After they scanned our tickets, we met up with Riley. The Larks were already playing on the stage by the time we found our seats. Unfortunately, we were exposed with all the open seats around us because most people were still tailgating back in the parking lot. There was a clear view of us from the second pavilion to the lawn. To be more inconspicuous, we should have tailgated for a while I realized.

  The sun slowly set, casting a light apricot glow over the hill behind us by the time The Larks were finishing up and enough people had filled in around us that I felt comfortable for the first time since we had entered the place. The crowd roared to life as Hawkins crossed the stage. He gave a long look across the sold out pavilion before he zeroed in on me. There was a hint of concern that lingered in his eyes before he turned around and grabbed his black Gibson. Hawkins swung it over his shoulder as the crowd around me went crazy with anticipation.

  He hit the first chord and the lights went up. The spotlight suddenly zinged over to Lizzie while Hawkins sang in my direction. Lizzie jumped to life beside me, black stilettos and all. A small smile played across my face because I knew that he wasn’t singing to Lizzie, he was singing to me. Sadly though, I noticed over Hawkins’ shoulder that Warren didn’t look happy with Lizzie as she continued to dance throughout the night.

  When the band exited the stage at the end of the show, Lizzie strutted down the aisle headed in the direction of the backstage doors. Looking over at Riley, as the packed amphitheater tried to rush out of the venue, I asked, “Do you want to come with me?”

  “Not after what happened at Bonnaroo.” Riley insisted while grapping my backpack from me. “I need to get the van out of here.”

  “Okay, just keep your cell phone on.” I hugged him before I hurried down the aisle behind Lizzie. Miller was holding the door open for me when I arrived and to my surprise, Woodley was also waiting there for us.

  “We have some photos of possible suspects,” Woodley explained to me. “Do you think that you could identify him?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said.

  “Good.” He pointed to Lizzie. “This one here can’t remember anything.”

  “This one? My name’s Lizzie,” she said hotly while stealing a glance over his shoulder. She was probably looking for Hawkins.

  “Come with me.” Woodley directed us down a hallway and into a dressing room. Harrison and Hampton were waiting there for us, too. Mirrors were lined intermittently down the right side of the wall with three hairdressing stations in front of them. Across from me, clothes racks were lined back to back like it was a shopping mall. Scattered throughout the room were large vases with freshly cut white roses. Woodley followed my gaze and explained, “A certain diva is coming here tomorrow. You wouldn’t believe the list of things she asked for.” He motioned for me to follow him over to a rectangular table to my left. Approaching the table, I noticed another guy that I didn’t recognize from behind was looking over the pictures scattered across the long table as well.

  “Do any of these guys look familiar, Rob?” Woodley asked as my mouth dropped open with surprise. Rob Harlow?!

  “I don’t know, I only saw him in passing,” Rob said hesitantly. “It was dark outside.”

  “Maybe this one.” He tossed a photo over to the side.

  “Joie?” Woodley asked.

  “Oh, but you know her name,” Lizzie blurted out while tapping her stiletto impatiently and continuing to look back at the door.

  Rob looked up and his shaggy blonde hair fell back off his face. Our eyes met for a moment and I couldn’t suppress the big ole grin on my face. If only Riley could be here!

  “Umm, sure.” Walking up beside Rob, I looked over the photos, too. My focus suddenly changed with the seriousness of the situation. A dozen or so photos of men that I had never seen before were scattered across the table.

  “No, it’s none of these guys,” I said with a hundred percent certainty.

  “What about him?” Rob pulled a photo over from the side. It was out of focus and blurred, but I could clearly see that this man didn’t have any of Cyrus’s features.

  “No, that’s not him either.”

  “Do you think you could give the authorities a detailed sketch of the guy?” Hampton asked me.

  “Can you remember him that well?” Harrison interrupted before I could respond.

  “Yeah, I’m usually the designated driver,” I smiled. “If you know what I mean?”

  Woodley nodded at me then turned to Harlow and said, “Thanks, Rob, for your time.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,” Rob said regretfully as he went to leave.

  “Umm, Rob?” I spoke up while unexpectedly feeling a wave of nervousness since I was talking to the man Riley admired so much.

  “Yes?” He swung his sandy hair out of his eyes to look over at me.

  “I know that this is seriously not the appropriate time for this, but my friend is a huge fan of yours.”

  Rob smiled at me for the first time and said, “It’s okay.”

  Grabbing my ticket out of my back pocket, I started searching the table for a pen when Lizzie announced, “Because you know, we just love the gays.”

  Rob wasn’t smiling anymore. My eyes expanded as I looked at Lizzie.

  “I’m so sorry.” I fumbled with my words when Rob turned for the door and left without giving me his autograph.

  “I cannot believe you!” I yelled at her and it seemed to echo off the walls long after I was done.

  “Ladies,” Woodley interrupted. “Umm, can we focus?”

  Completely dumbfounded, I looked back over at Woodley.

  “Can I leave or what?” Lizzie asked. “It’s not like I remember the guy or anything.”

  “Yes, you can go,” he answered.

  Her glossy lips pulled up into a triumphant smile before she passed by me. I was not used to seeing this side of her. That was probably because I never had anything that she wanted this badly before. Though I was pretty sure I didn’t actuall
y have what she wanted in the first place.

  “Do you mind waiting?” Woodley asked me.

  “No, it’s okay,” I assured him while crossing my arms.

  We waited there for over an hour for the authorities, but somehow there was a miscommunication about needing a sketch artist. Woodley was fuming about who dropped the ball, the police or one of his own?

  “How could you forget to tell them we needed a sketch artist?! He said that a tour bus was next!” Woodley grumbled to Harrison and Hampton who were huddled to the side by one of the hairdressers’ chairs in front of the mirrors.

  “How did he even get backstage?” Harrison asked with exasperation.

  “And why do the venue surveillance cameras have no record of him walking in the hallways?” Woodley asked gruffly. “That’s what I want to know.”

  “Someone had to have clearance to let him in,” Harrison added.

  “I agree.” Hampton looked over his shoulder at me and suddenly lowered his voice so that I couldn’t listen in anymore.

  The guys broke up their heated discussion when a few officers entered into the room. Although there wasn’t a sketch artist with them, I did provide the police with a description of Cyrus. Though how many tall, white, built, bald men with a tattoo did I know? Just looking at the crew alone, I could have rattled off a few.

  After another long hour with the authorities, Woodley escorted me out of the room. I knew that Lizzie was long gone to some unknown location with Hawkins. Wondering how I was going to get back to the van, my eyes slowly adjusted from the bright light of the room to the dimly lit walkways of the backstage. Woodley continued to usher me down the hallway when I recognized a familiar, tall silhouette leaning against a nearby wall. Hawkins wasn’t anywhere with Lizzie I realized. Hawkins was standing right there waiting for me.

  “She was very helpful,” Woodley said to Hawkins when we approached him.

  “I’m just glad that someone could be.” Hawkins made a clear jab at Lizzie. “Thanks.”

  The bodyguard backpedaled a few steps and replied, “No problem.” He then turned around to leave us alone. Hawkins continued to watch the bodyguard exit down the hallway. It gave me a minute to discreetly look him up and down. He was wearing a short-sleeve red t-shirt that had “Brooklyn” printed on it that showed off his large biceps and slightly baggy jeans which looked hot on him. The leather cuff he wore from time to time was around his wrist. I looked up and met his gaze while he stared down at me. Those blue eyes didn’t seem surprised, or condescending for that matter.