by Becky Wicks
I wink and stand up again, stroke the low ceiling quickly and point opposite the couches to the terracotta orange and black furnishings and appliances.
'Here's the kitchen! As you can see it's spotless. Denzel, he's my manager, hates when we leave cookie crumbs all over the place.' I motion to the black marble counter tops, the full-sized refrigerator and the microwave before opening the snack cupboard to show the packets of double chocolate Oreos my drummer and percussionist Sebastian is obsessed with. 'Apparently, these are hard to get where he's from, which is Medellin in Colombia,' I say. 'He might look ripped but inside, he's made of sugar, girls.'
I wink, open the tiny door midway in the bus, revealing the toilet, 'Ah, such a beautiful throne! Chloe here might be holding her nose right now but I can assure you we're not allowed to do any number twos in here so whatever that smell is... well, let's not think about it.'
Chloe laughs behind the camera and I beckon her onwards. 'Here we have the beds,' I say pointing either side of me at the triple bunks. 'Three on each side. Denzel's on the top, then this one's Jeremy's -- he's my backing vocalist on the tour. He also does keyboard and acoustic guitar, and under him is Sebastian... aha! Cookies!' I hold up the half eaten packet of Oreos at the camera. 'Busted! Eating in bed, what would his mother say? I'm telling you girls, all sugar! Seriously.'
I toss the packet back on the bunk and swipe the curtain shut. 'Now, over here on the other side is Chloe's bunk -- she does the awesome blogs you're watching - then Britney's -- she's our roadie - and that one up there is Zayne's. He plays bass. These guys all spend a lot of time in these bunks so they're kind of like mini hotel rooms, I guess. Make that very mini. But each one has a TV screen at the end so they can watch movies or whatever. Sweet, huh? Oh, and we plug our phones and stuff in here too.' I point to the sockets at the end of each bunk and Chloe gestures for me to move along.
'No one wants to know where you plug things in, Noah,' she quips.
'Har har. This here is my room!' I stick my tongue out at her words and walk to the end of the bus. I stop for a moment and spin around in the space, before flopping onto the pillows on the double bed. 'Trust me guys, I feel a tiny bit guilty about having all this space to myself, but I play my guitar here and practice too, and write songs.'
I pick up my guitar from where it's laying on the comforter, strum it for a second and sing two lines from The Facebook Song for effect. 'You never know when inspiration will strike, right?'
I jump up again. 'Check out the little desk here for my laptop, how cute is this? Sometimes I get my make up done here. Ladies, when I'm on stage I wear more make up than you, I'm sure. Don't judge me -- you definitely look better in it. Oh, and here's where I keep all my shirts and socks! I know you're all so intrigued!' I open a half-sized closet and pull out one red sock for half a second before slamming it back. 'And here is where I sit and watch the world go by when we're on the road.'
I drop to the chair by the back window and gaze out of it for a moment before turning back to Chloe. 'If you've been following the blog, or if you've been to any of the shows you'll know I'm supporting the awesome Knight Ryder on their U.S tour, and right now we're halfway between Miami and Tampa. I think we must've stopped for someone who wasn't allowed to use this toilet -- what do you think, Chloe?'
I grin up close to the lens and she laughs as she presses stop. 'Noah, you can't say stuff like that!'
'Course I can,' I reply, standing up and flopping on the bed again before picking up my guitar. 'They want the real deal, don't they? That was one minute of genius, I tell you!'
She stands there frowning with a trace of a smile and I notice the cut on her lip has almost faded. Her bruises have pretty much gone, too, thank fuck. It's been four weeks since she was mugged, three since we started the nine week tour and just like Marianne commissioned her to do, she's been making backstage video blogs, adding photos and interviews and Tweeting stuff the whole time for the Shimmer gang.
Most of it is vetted before she sticks it online, but people are starting to trust her now. It gets over three hundred thousand hits a day on average. They're calling her the marketing prodigy. The way she writes in this sweet and innocent 'this is fun, but it's all a bit silly when you think about it,' way along with her honest, real, photos is making everyone sit up. Even HotFlush are talking about poaching her, according to Denzel. But I know she just wants to take her pictures.
'We're setting off again in five,' he's saying now, poking his head round the door. 'Sorry guys, hate having to stop for a Horse n' Trap but that's the way it goes. Mind you, doesn't help when Sebastian's having a Barclay's in there, too, does it?'
Chloe's working out what he's said. I can almost see the cogs turning.
'I think Barclays is a bank?' I say and she crinkles her face up instantly as Denzel grins. He's in another crazy pattered shirt and his hair is mad. I have a feeling he hooked up with a fan last night after the Miami show because he didn't get back to the tour bus till gone two a.m.
'Score, did you?' Zayne asked him, looking up from his X Box when he wandered sheepishly through to his bunk. I noticed the look of disapproval Chloe shot them both over the top of her laptop. She gets along with Denzel just fine but for some reason, I'm not sure she particularly likes Zayne.
Her face showed total disappointment when I said he'd been booked for the tour after he played for me on MoonRise. She said something about the creepy pick he has permanently glued to his fingernail, which I admit is fucking weird, but who gives a shit? He's an amazing bassist. Almost as good as Jack could've been if he hadn't quit. They're a top team actually, and I need them all because the shows have been going really well.
There've been so many fans arriving early at each gig. Some even leave before Knight Ryder come on so I know they've only come to see me. I've signed so many autographs I'm surprised I don't have carpel tunnel but Denzel says the label couldn't be happier with me and they're even letting me play three of my own songs every night after Play Me and the album stuff. I've written a lot on the road. I think it's all the late nights, being jostled awake on bumpy roads.
'Oh, by the way Chloe, there was a note on the pile for you last night, did you see it?' Denzel says as I pick up my guitar and start plucking the strings.
Chloe puts the lens cap on the brand new camera I insisted on buying for her, in spite of her protests, and shakes her head. I follow her with my eyes as she wanders through to check the mail tray just inside the door. Her hair is up in a bun and she's wearing loose black sweat pants and a cropped lycra shirt that shows her entire toned midriff and flat stomach.
We went running a few times but got papped and wound up in the press and Chloe hated it, so now we stick close to the tour bus. We just did half an hour of body pump while the guys were smoking cigarettes and it energized us enough to make another video blog, although I'm pretty sure I don't look as sexy in workout clothes as Chloe says I do. Or as sexy as she does.
Fuck. I have got to stop thinking these things about Chloe. But she is undeniably hot. I noticed Zayne's, Sebastian's and Jeremy's eyes following her just now, and Britney's, too.
Britney has two girlfriends who both know about each other and don't mind. She was a doorwoman at some club in Chicago before she became a roadie. You don't fuck with Britney. Britney gets shit done.
'What did you get? An adoring memo from Marianne? A proposal from a blog fan?' I say, grinning as Chloe wanders back in holding an envelope. I get weird stuff sent to me from fans all the time now. The other day I got a painting of my face and Denzel said the maroon border on it was watercolor, but me and Jeremy both thought it looked more like blood.
Chloe opens the envelope, unfolds a piece of paper and gasps immediately. She drops it to the floor, covers her mouth with her hand.
'What is it?' I say, dropping my guitar and leaping off the bed to pick it up. What I see makes my blood run cold.
PREPARE TO DIE CHLOE CAMPBELL!!!
'Fucking hell,' I blurt,
turning the paper over in my hands. There's nothing on the other side but the letters have been cut out of a newspaper and stuck on menacingly at weird angles with glue. Chloe's gone pale.
'What's up?' Denzel asks, wandering back through. I hold up the note and he snorts in amusement. 'Wow, that's some psycho nut-job piece of work, eh? Don't worry darlin', you probably won't die.'
He laughs and I shoot him a look. We don't joke about shit like that around Chloe. She's freaking out, I can tell. I know what goes through her head, always thinking she's gonna die in some random way with no warning. She jokes about it sometimes, but I know she's tortured by it all the same. She's been like that since Dave, her dad, just keeled over with no warning whatsoever.
Denzel takes the paper off me as Chloe folds her arms around her bare stomach. 'Seriously, Chloe, love,' he says, 'this is nothing. Well, it's a tad Sean Bean but at least who ever did this didn't send a pig's ear in a box. You hear some stories, let me tell you.'
'Sean Bean?' we say together.
'Mean. Very mean.' He screws the paper up in one hand and tosses it onto the floor. 'Seriously though, don't worry about it, OK? This is just some daft kid making hollow threats from her bedroom.'
'Maybe, but it's creepy,' she shudders and Denzel puts his big hands on her small shoulders.
'Look,' he says, level with her face, 'yes, it's creepy, no one's arguing with you but get used to it. This ain't The Bodyguard. No one's gonna shoot you up in an acceptance speech, are they! Well, they better not anyway... didn't Kevin Costner just retire?'
'Denzel,' I say coldly and he holds up his hands.
'Kidding, mate. Sheesh. OK, we're getting back on the frog! See you in Tampa.' He walks out and I shut the door behind him as the engine turns and the familiar juddering starts around us.
'Frog... frog and toad... road?' Chloe says. 'Seriously, he needs to come with an app for translation.'
'I know, right?' I pull her onto the bed next to me, put a hand on her knee and then remove it instantly. 'Listen, don't let this get to you, we were having fun!'
'This isn't fun, Noah. You don't think Jayde...'
'Jayde?' I scan her khaki eyes. She can't be serious. 'Pan, course not!'
'How do you know?'
'Chloe, trust me, it wasn't Jayde.' Jayde was upset that things ended but she was never cruel. 'It's probably some psycho teenager somewhere like Denzel said!' I say.
But Chloe's frowning at the note on the floor as we pull out of the parking lot and I know she doesn't believe me.
24
Chloe
'He says it's not Jayde but I can't trust anyone right now, Alyssa, I mean, look what Cooper did!' I dart around two guys who are carrying lighting equipment past me. I'm backstage at the Tampa Bay Times Forum with my access-all-areas pass and I'm filling her in while I have the chance because I'm interviewing Ryder Telling in his dressing room soon.
He's been re-scheduling and re-scheduling since we met and even though he and the guys are all pretty cool, he's so busy all the time. Pinning him down is literally like trying to catch a star.
'Well, maybe they're right. It's just some weird asshole with nothing better to do. I mean, look at your life now, babe,' Alyssa gushes, 'you're the girl everyone wants to be. You're the lucky bitch on tour with Noah Lockton and Knight Ryder, working for Shimmer. Do you even know how insane that is to us regular people?'
'I'm a regular person, Aly, and so are they,' I remind her, just as the giant LED screen flashes on in front of me and Ryder's face pops up on it, the size of a building.
'Yeah, whatever,' she snorts, 'you have no sense of perspective, you're just so blasé about all this. Do you even read your blog comments? People are wondering who the hell you are. You're Chloe, this enigma who's in every other photo with Noah, who knows everything he's wearing, eating, doing, but has never been linked to him romantically and will never talk about herself. You're like, the most mysterious celeb out there right now. Do you blame people for loving you and hating you at the same time?'
I sit down on a wooden crate, staring out over the empty arena, feeling her words blast me like blistering comets from the stratosphere. She's right. It really happened. I'm a celebrity by proxy. My heart beats harder at my ribcage. I'm a celeb now because of this blog… because of Noah, and not everyone likes me, clearly.
'You should just enjoy this,' Alyssa cries. 'Seriously, screw everyone else. And screw the fans, too, literally, get in there! How's it going with Zayne?'
'Zayne?' I say, distractedly.
'He sounds like he's into you!'
I sigh. I told her he was hot, told her how we chat most days while Noah's writing songs in the back and I'm at the laptop, editing my photos for the blog. I've tried to be cool -- his cocaine habit isn't something I'm particularly fond of, not that I've seen him do it since that night -- but he's growing on me, I guess.
'Just get laid. Get celebrity on this shiz, babe, I would!' she's saying, laughing. 'Lockton must be getting some offers with all those hot chicks around, right?'
My stomach jolts. 'I don't know,' I tell her quickly. Alyssa doesn't know we slept together four years ago. I wanted to tell her so many times but I couldn't. Boulder's too small and Alyssa has a big mouth, as much as I love her.
'Oh cheer up,' she replies, reading my tone. 'I know it sucks reading stuff that isn't nice, or true, but regular people just don't get what you're going through, do they? I think about this a lot when I see stuff in the papers about you guys... I mean, it's like you're on another planet! People don't think that what they write will actually affect you because you're untouchable, Chloe, you're barely real. And Noah too. You're a song, or a photo or a webpage, think about it. Or... don't think about it. Just ignore it.'
I know she's right. Noah says the same things. But it's easier to say don't think about it when you haven't had death threats in the mail.
'Noah stopped me, but I tried to quit,' I tell her.
'What? Are you insane, you can't quit!'
'This isn't me, Aly. You know me! I'm a small town girl from Colorado. I take photos of the frickin' mountains and Chuck e Cheese parties!'
'Correction. You did those things, but now you don't. Now you have the most popular insider's blog on the Internet and you're best friends with the rich and famous!'
'Not quite,' I say, 'and it's not really photography, is it?'
'Then take more photos for yourself! Keep some aside. This is what you make it Chlo, don't just quit because of some stupid letter.'
I pause. I haven't told Alyssa I got mugged and beaten up, too. Or that I was dragged into the pap world (albeit briefly) and witnessed an A-lister almost get his life ruined by what was probably yet another made-up story, because of me. I told Noah not to tell anyone, not even Jack or the Commander (especially not the Commander) about the mugging. She'd freak out for sure. She freaks out over the smallest thing these days, not that I can blame her.
I've been scanning the papers every day for the photos that were on my camera, but so far nothing's emerged and Jack has the box with the other photos in it from my house in Boulder. I'm going to have to go through them when we get to Denver; make sure any incriminating ones are destroyed. I'm going to have to start being way more careful about everything.
'Don't tell anyone about this,' I tell Alyssa quickly. 'They're trying to keep the press out of it. It's all about Noah right now... the tour...'
'Chloe? He's ready when you are,' comes a voice to my side. I turn to see the runner motioning at me, holding a Starbucks cup.
'I have to go, Ryder's ready for me,' I tell Alyssa and she laughs. 'Again, so blasé,' she says. 'OK, beee-yatch. Give my love to Lockton. Oh, by the way, is it true he dumped that blonde chick -- that one who was always hanging off him?'
'That is true,' I reply, standing up. 'A while ago now, actually.'
'Thank Christ, she looked lame. And just quickly, is it true he's been talking with Courtney Lentini since she left the apartment? They hooke
d up, right? I mean, I'm sure she said something to People or whatever the other day, and you saw the Tweet, right, from The Great Catsby, about Noah being the purrrrr-fect roommate and how he can't wait to sit on his lap again? I mean, hello!'
Alyssa carries on but I realize my heartbeat is thumping in my ears and I'm only half listening and that I feel a bit sick. Courtney Lentini?
Again?
Really?
Since when?
'Wouldn't you say that's kind of animal cruelty, bringing an innocent cat into this? Who makes a fucking cat flirt on their behalf? Chloe?'
'I don't know,' I say, so she can't tell I'm actually having heart palpitations. I'm sure it's not true. Hardly any of the gossip going round is true, right? But how do I know what Noah's been doing? I've been so caught up in the Shimmer blog stuff since the tour started that I've hardly read any of the other rumors going round. He has appointments all day with TV shows, radio stations, journalists. We're not together all the time.
More importantly, why the hell do I care? We're friends. He wanted his best friend on tour, right? And that's what he got. 'I'll find out,' I tell her, forcing my voice to sound normal. 'Later Aly, and thanks for the chat,'
'Pleasure. Ignore the psycho mailmen babe, OK? You know what Idina Menzel would do, don't you?'
'Let it go?'
'Exactly. Oh, and don't forget to tell Ryder about Ghetto Greek Kitchen! He might know someone. '
'I won't.'
We hang up and I follow the runner off the stage area and into the back, where the long corridor leads us to Ryder's dressing room. He knocks on the door and we hear him shout 'enter!' and the whole time, I can't help it. I don't give a crap if it's Ryder Telling or Elton John or Michael Jackson back from the goddam dead behind that door... I just care whether Noah really has got a new thing going on with Courtney Lentini. And I really can't let it go.
Ryder Telling beckons me over into a seat beside him. I put my camera down on the dressing table and he motions for the make-up artist fussing around him to leave the room. I struggle to find my focus as she leaves, taking note of the bright bulbs dotted around the mirror, the yellow and gold painted walls, the red velvet chair he's sitting on and the vase of flowers with a tag on them. I can read the words 'Love Max xxx.'