Tell Me No Lies

by A. V. Geiger

  At least she had a security detail. She didn’t have to do this alone. Eric couldn’t get her out of this nightmare publicity assignment, but he’d ordered his personal bodyguard, Clint, to stick by her side through the whole ordeal. The former NFL linebacker normally doubled as Eric’s limo driver, or the man who carried Eric’s umbrella on rainy days, but today he served the role of human shield. People got out of the way in a hurry when they caught sight of his towering bulk. Clint had to be close to seven feet tall and three hundred pounds—double the size of most concertgoers in this auditorium. No wonder he had trouble finding a blazer that fit properly.

  “You still back there?” Clint peered down over his shoulder.

  Tessa squinted up at him, nodding, but she couldn’t tell if he said anything else. The overhead TV lights blinded her, turning his face into a featureless blob. Tessa had to cup her hands around her mouth to be heard over the shrieks of the fans. “Can you get me closer? I need to be right up against the stage!”

  “You got it, boss.”

  He gave her a thumbs-up and resumed his slow progress forward. Tessa did her best to ignore the dirty looks of the people they displaced. She pulled the brim of her black baseball cap down until it nearly touched her nose. She couldn’t allow herself to think about how many people might be looking at her. How many sets of eyes…

  Anyone could be watching. He could be here in this room, watching from a thousand different vantage points.

  Tessa gritted her teeth, swallowing against the sour taste in her mouth. “That’s a distorted thought,” she said out loud, although she couldn’t hear her own voice over the crowd noise. Blair wasn’t here. He couldn’t be. Tickets weren’t available to the general public. Everyone in the audience had entered a lottery last fall, and resales were strictly prohibited. Tessa had spent the past twenty minutes scouring eBay and StubHub to reassure herself that no last-minute auctions were taking place.

  There was zero chance that Blair had a ticket. Zero. It was impossible. Illogical. Irrational…

  So she only had to worry about the millions of people streaming tonight’s broadcast from the comfort of their homes.

  Don’t think about that, she commanded herself. She willed herself to ignore the cameras that swooped and glided overhead, suspended above the crowd on giant cranes. She wouldn’t allow them to capture an image of her face. Between the baseball cap over her eyes and Clint’s formidable presence in front of her, she couldn’t possibly end up in a crowd shot.

  Tessa ducked her head and kept her eyes on Clint’s heels. Think about something else. Good thoughts. Happy thoughts.

  Like, maybe, the fact that she was living out a dream come true.

  How many times had she imagined this scenario? Only a few months had passed since she lay on her bed, staring up at her Eric Thorn concert poster and picturing herself pressed against the stage at one of his shows.

  Tonight it was happening for real. She would watch Eric perform live for the first time. She knew that he’d be searching for her face in the sea of fans. He’d probably make eye contact and cast a secret smile in her direction.

  And his performance onstage was only the beginning. A pulse of electricity coursed through her as she remembered Eric’s promise.

  We’ll make time. Just you and me. Tonight. Come find me after the show…

  Finally, she thought. Tessa pushed away her fears. She wouldn’t give in to the anxiety. Tonight, she would enjoy herself. Even if it killed her.

  Clint stopped. Tessa nearly crashed into his back, but he shuffled sideways. She found herself at her destination, pressed up against the railing at the edge of the round center stage.

  Eric would perform his five-minute set from here. If Tessa dared look up, she might catch his last-minute preparations in the rafters overhead. She knew what to expect from the dress rehearsal this afternoon. Eric would descend on a hydraulic platform as he sang the opening verse of “Snowflake” in a thick down parka. Then, once he hit the chorus, he’d whip off his winter coat to reveal his shirtless torso beneath. He’d break into his breathless dance choreography while lip-synching his way through a montage of older songs.

  Tessa felt in her pocket for her phone. She pulled up Snapchat and tested her camera angle. Clint had positioned her well. Her plan was to record Eric interacting with a fan between the second and third song change. She knew the exact moment when the choreography called for him to drop to his knees at the edge of the stage.

  Tessa used the phone to block her face, as she swept it back and forth. Which fan would Eric pick? Maybe that one? She was cute. Or no…her. A face came into view. A Kim Kardashian look-alike in a pink tube top, screaming and waving toward the TV cameras. Tessa frowned. Was she a true Eric Thorn fan? She looked more like a model. Maybe she was… Maybe Maury planted her there on purpose.

  Or maybe Eric found himself surrounded by drop-dead gorgeous superfans every time he looked out into a crowd.

  The girl caught sight of Tessa’s phone aimed in her direction, and Tessa quickly swung it away. Just then, the lighting shifted. A hum of excitement washed over the audience as the telecast came back from commercial break. The whole stage and VIP section went dark. The concert lights skimmed across the faces in the risers farther back as the opening piano chords of “Snowflake” sounded.

  Tessa didn’t look upward to watch Eric’s descent. She kept her eyes trained forward, but a shy smile sprang to her lips as she hummed along with the lyrics.

  I watch the snowflakes falling.

  Too many for me to see.

  Each one just like the others.

  Not special or unique.

  Then I opened up my window.

  One snowflake fell inside.

  I saw that it was beautiful…

  He was almost to the stage, but the brim of Tessa’s cap blocked her view. She longed to lift her head, to see the look on his face as he sang. She had a feeling she would see him looking back.

  Would he be disappointed if she didn’t meet his eyes? Tessa gathered her nerve. The TV cameras wouldn’t be showing crowd shots right now. They’d all be directed at Eric, up there in his spotlight.

  With a deep breath, Tessa slowly lifted her head toward the place where Eric floated.

  But her eyes didn’t land on Eric. The lighting shifted again, and for one brief moment, Tessa caught sight of something in the crowd behind his platform.

  Or not something.

  Someone.

  Tessa gasped. She’d only seen it for an instant, but she knew that face. She would have recognized it anywhere. That hoodie sweatshirt. Those hollow eyes and sunken cheeks that still haunted her in her sleep.

  It couldn’t be…

  Her ears filled with the sound of a thousand screams as Eric hit the stage. Was one of those voices her own? Tessa couldn’t tell. Her eyes remained fixed on that spot in the crowd, now cast in total darkness. But even if the lights came up, she wouldn’t have seen Blair’s face. She couldn’t see a thing. The tunnel vision had taken over, and the world was lost in shadow. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t hear. She couldn’t breathe.

  Tessa turned and thrust her phone toward Clint as her knees gave way beneath her. Only the railing and the press of the crowd kept her from sinking to the floor.

  • • •

  Eric pushed his way backstage, scanning the dim hallway for any sign of Tessa. He hadn’t seen her in the audience. Between the blazing lights and the manic choreography, it was hard to get a clear look. She must have been there with Clint. He’d noticed his bodyguard at the front of the crowd, holding up a cell phone. A figure stood beside him in a baseball cap, leaning over the railing with her head in her arms. Was that Tessa?

  Eric pulled on a clean T-shirt to cover his bare torso. He had a bad feeling. She should have been the one holding the camera phone, not Clint. And both of them should have been back here to meet him after his set. Instead, Eric caught sight of his manager shuffling over.

  “Maury, have
you seen her?”

  “Who?” Maury asked with a wink. “Ariana Grande? She goes on next.”

  Eric glared. “You know who,” he said, dropping his voice. “Where is she?”

  His manager’s grin transformed into a tight scowl. “I dunno, Eric. I’m not her babysitter.”

  “Can you get hold of Clint?”

  With a sigh, Maury pulled out his phone, pressing his Bluetooth into his ear. Eric bounced on the balls of his feet, his eyes searching. He had too much nervous energy to keep still.

  Maury clapped him on the shoulder. “No worries, kid. The big guy took her back to her room.”

  “Is she OK though?”

  “She’s fine. Clint says she took a pill and went to sleep.”

  Eric nodded. He turned in the direction of the elevators, but Maury’s voice rang out behind him before he could take a step.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Eric stopped short. He knew what Maury was going to say. He hadn’t finished his performance for the night. Eric had to do press now, followed by an appearance at the after-party. For the next two hours, he was contractually obligated to look like he was having the time of his life—all within eyeshot of the paparazzi.

  Eric rounded on his manager, eyes blazing. “Maury, I can’t! Make up an excuse. Tell them…tell them I had a medical emergency.”

  “You can’t go to her room, Eric.”

  “To hell with my contract! Let the record label fine me. I don’t care!”

  His manager gestured for him to lower his volume. Maury’s own voice fell to a near-whisper. “Listen to me. You can’t go up there if you want to keep this thing with Tessa quiet. The whole hotel is crawling with paps.”

  Eric looked down at the floor. His manager had a point. He didn’t know what was worse—exposing Tessa to the prying eyes of those hyenas or abandoning her in the middle of a panic attack.

  “Let her rest,” Maury said, patting his arm. “She’s asleep. You’ll see her on the plane in the morning. You want me to go check on her?”

  Eric ground the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. He had a monster headache coming on. What would Tessa want? Not Maury. If she was having a panic attack, she probably wanted to be alone. Better to leave her in peace. Get through his obligations. Then find a way to check on Tessa himself before he went to bed. “Forget it,” he said to Maury. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

  With that, Eric stalked off. He couldn’t keep the gossip reporters waiting. They needed to shoot their mug shots and interrogate him about his make-believe love life. A stylist pulled him aside before he reached the podium. Eric faced her silently, chafing with impatience as she swabbed his face with a towel and blotted him with powder. She reached for a compact of bronzer, but Eric pushed her hand away.

  “Enough,” he muttered. He stepped past her through the curtains and braced against the onslaught of flashing bulbs.

  “Eric! ”

  “Eric! Over here! ”

  “Hey, Eric! Eric! Can you tell us what’s up with you and Ariana?”

  12

  INDIRECT MESSAGES

  Eric staggered into the darkened hotel suite and collapsed onto the couch. His body cried out for sleep, but he fought the feeling. He couldn’t give in to the urge until he’d checked in with Tessa.

  Could he sneak over to her room without anyone noticing? Not likely. The hotel was sealed tight with security to keep the creepy stalker-fans away, but members of the media were allowed. There were bound to be paps skulking around the hotel corridors, keeping an eye out for any late-night celebrity trysts.

  He couldn’t risk it.

  He didn’t dare call or text her either. Not over an insecure cell network. Ever since that exchange with Dorian Cromwell, he’d been extra cautious. Could cell phone transmissions be monitored? Intercepted? Would his number be recognized and linked back to him? Or was that pure sci-fi paranoia? Eric didn’t know, but he and Tessa had agreed to keep their communication face-to-face.

  That rule might have to bend tonight. Surely, a text message would be safer than going to her room.

  Eric slipped his phone out of his pocket, thumbing through his contact list. He’d filed her under S for social media.

  Wait a minute, Eric thought. Social media…

  Had she posted the concert video? That might give him some clue whether she was OK. Eric closed his contacts and flicked open Snapchat instead.

  A crease formed between his eyebrows as he took in the minimal display. A white ghost floated above the only two options on the screen.

  LOG IN

  SIGN UP

  Eric scratched his nose. No auto-login? He’d forgotten this was a new phone. He had his Twitter password memorized, but not Snapchat. At least, he didn’t know the password for his official account: RealEricThorn.

  Eric paused as he realized that he had another option. “Of course,” he said under his breath. Even better.

  Snowflake734

  Tessa had set up this account, but Eric could guess the password. “Totally unhackable,” he said under his breath, as his thumbs picked out the sequence of letters and numbers that only the two of them would know: the license plate number from their van.

  TEXASjf97bv

  Eric hit Enter. He sucked in a shaky breath as the account sprang to life on his screen. Why did he feel like such a cyberstalker? He wasn’t doing anything wrong. This account belonged to him as much as Tessa. No reason not to use it…even if he was using it to spy on his girlfriend.

  Eric shook the thought out of his head. He needed to check on her, and this was the safest option he had.

  The app logged him in, and Eric stared blankly at the screen. He had no idea how to use this thing. Had they purposely designed Snapchat to baffle anyone over the age of thirteen? There were practically no words anywhere.

  Search…

  Chat…

  Stories…

  He swiped at random. First up. Then down…

  There, he thought, as a new set of options appeared. Add friends. That sounded promising.

  RealEricThorn

  “Now what?” Eric muttered, growing more impatient by the second. There had to be some way to see what RealEricThorn was up to. What was it Maury told Tessa to do? Post a… What was it called? A story?

  At last he found the option he needed.

  Stories

  Eric tapped and let out a grunt of satisfaction as his own name slid into view.

  RealEricThorn

  5m ago

  “There we go!” He rocked forward on the hotel couch, resting his elbows on his knees. His clock showed a quarter past two in the morning, but someone was awake and active. Tessa? Or someone else on his team?

  Eric opened the story and studied the video clip that played. It showed him midway through his set, sliding across the stage on his knees. He wound up in front of a screaming teenager and reached out to grasp her fingertips, singing earnestly into the mic. The clip ended, and a still shot popped up in its place—a close-up, cropped to look like a selfie, with a caption that contained a bald-faced lie:

  To my snowflakes, I love you all. Great to be back onstage!

  But it was mainly the time stamp at the top of the screen that captured his attention:

  Yesterday from Camera Roll

  Had Clint saved this footage to her phone? Tessa was supposed to stream the story live during the show. Instead, she must have woken from her medication-induced sleep five minutes ago and threw it up on Snapchat. Better late than never, right?

  Which meant that Tessa could still be online right now. She might be watching the responses pour in from fans around the globe.

  The story ended, and Eric hit Replay. This time, his gaze landed on the option at the bottom of the screen:

  Eric hesitated. Should he do it? If he sent RealEricThorn a message from this account, he would blend in with all the other fans—but maybe Tessa would recognize the handle. Maybe if he messaged something that only she w
ould understand…

  For a moment, his mind drifted back to the first words he ever tweeted her, when she was @TessaHeartsEric and he was @EricThornSucks. Perfect. He broke into a crooked smile as he composed his message, complete with Twitter-esque @’s and #’s.

  @EricThorn What a narcissistic pretty-boy douche nozzle. Get over yourself #EricThornSucks

  He hit Send and settled back against the couch cushions to wait. She might not see it. The messages must be coming at her by the thousands. And here he was among them—one snowflake in a blizzard. He should probably Chat again…

  Eric couldn’t deny the sense of irony as he tapped another message into his phone. This must be how his fans felt all those years, trying to get his attention over Twitter. Message after desperate message with no hint of a reply. Why would anyone subject themselves to the soul-crushing futility?

  He should probably give up and go to bed, he thought. Instead, he entered messages, as fast as he could tap them into his phone.

  Snowflake734: Hey, Eric, personality quiz. If you were an animal, what kind of animal would you be?

  Snowflake734: You know what kind of animal Eric Thorn would see, if he ever noticed you existed?

  Snowflake734: Hint: five letters, rhymes with peach.

  Snowflake734: And then he would flick you off with his fingernail and go about his day…

  Snowflake734: You know there’s a word for this. It’s called projecting. You should look it up.

  He was just finishing that last one, when something interrupted him. A reply had popped up at the bottom of the screen.

  RealEricThorn: Who is this?

  “Yes!” Eric pumped his fist. He stood and paced across the spacious hotel suite as he considered his next move. Was that Tessa running the Eric Thorn account? He couldn’t be sure. Probably, right?