by RC Boldt
Then it dawns on me.
As soon as she gets to the spot with a large X marked on the stage floor in yellow reflective tape, she starts disrobing frantically, swarmed by two women and one man who assist.
Uncomfortable with the risk of glimpsing…something, I avert my eyes.
Someone steps beside me and nudges me. I turn to find her friend, Matthias, grinning smugly.
He nods, his smile widening to show his perfect white teeth. Wiggling his eyebrows, he leans in to speak loud enough for me to hear. “You’ve got a crush, huh?”
I stare at him—hard—without saying a word. He simply tips his head back on a laugh and turns his attention to where a changed Simone is now gliding back onto the stage. She has her guitar, the strap crossing over one shoulder, and she approaches a microphone stand near the center of the stage.
“Can I just say how awesome tonight’s been?” Screams from the crowd sound, and the enormous screens placed throughout display Simone’s flawless face. “You guys chose to spend your night with me when you had dozens of other options.
“Not only that, but do you know what you also did?” She grins up at her fans in the various levels of the arena. “You guys purchased all the tickets! That’s right. Each night we’re performing here is sold out.” Her features soften, and I can’t help but feel her appreciation. She’s either genuine or a damn good actress.
She’s in a movie that’s comin’ out soon, ya know? a cynical voice remarks in my mind.
“She’s never once taken this for granted,” Matthias says to me, voice raised but his eyes trained on his friend on stage. Blatant affection for her is written all over his face, and I tamp down the urge to ask him what the fuck their deal is. If they’re really just friends or—
Fuck.
“…for being so willing to spend your hard-earned money and take time from your night to hang with me. I’m so incredibly honored.” She plays a few chords on her guitar. “Now, I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to have someone special sing with me. Are you cool with that?”
A guy materializes beside us and hands Matthias his guitar. He slips the strap over his head and secures the instrument in place. Practically vibrating with excitement, he winks at me. “It’s showtime!” he says and jogs out on stage to join her.
The fans are screaming, and from the corner of my eye, I notice one of the cameramen showing the faces of a few fans on the large screens, and some even look like they’re crying tears of joy.
“How’s it going, Vegas?” he greets the crowd with a wide smile on his face. He sidles up next to Simone, nudging her with a hip. “Scoot over, bacon, make some room for me.” Laughter skitters amongst the fans.
“If you ask nicely, Matty, someone will bring you your own mic.” Simone’s voice is laced with amusement.
Within seconds, one of the crew runs out with a mic in a stand and sets it up a few feet away beside Simone’s.
Matthias’s voice booms as he continues to address the fans. “I think we should play a little song Simone and I did a few years ago. You probably know that this particular song kickstarted our friendship.
“So, what do you guys say? Should we play it?” Screams reverberate throughout the arena. “That sounds like a yes to me. What do you think, Sim? Did that sound like a yes to you?”
The camera focuses on her now, and her expression as she smiles at her friend seizes every ounce of breath in my lungs.
Holy. Fucking. Shit. This smile is just…indescribable.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d have to be blind not to notice Simone King’s beauty. But when she smiles like this, it kicks her up countless notches to a whole other level of gorgeous.
There’s lightness in those multicolored eyes that appear a mossier shade of green thanks to the form-fitting sequined mini-dress she’s wearing in the same color. Her mouth is stretched wide, and she looks so damn happy.
As she gazes back at Matthias Tobin.
Fuck me. What’s my damn issue? Why the hell do I even care? It’s none of my goddamn business if they’re fuck buddies.
Like the universe is just jonesing to screw with me, my cell phone vibrates in my pocket, startling me. No one’s called me—aside from my mom and sister, who routinely check in with me each month. The only contact from back in Fernandina has been from Fos with his text messages.
When I pull it out, my theory that the universe is hell-bent on unloading every ounce of fuckery on me is cemented. Because the sender of that text is none other than the woman who reeled me in only to reject me for another man.
Lucia.
Buzzfeed: Top Five Acts of Kindness This Week from Famous People
Number Two: Simone King gushes over fan with cerebral palsy at Vegas concert.
She might be called the “Ice Princess of Pop,” but it was anything but icy when the singer zeroed in on a special concertgoer.
According to Raven Jakowski, she tagged @SimoneKingSings on Instagram with the message: “My daughter, Shelby, has cerebral palsy and is confined to a wheelchair, so we’ll be in the handicap section of your Vegas concert tonight. She loves you and can’t wait to see you live!” Jakowski included a photo of her daughter.
“Simone came spinning past our section and stopped right in the middle of singing Stay,” said the mom, tearfully. “Then she called out, ‘Shelby! Hey, Shelby! Hey, Shelby’s mom!’”
The pop star explained that she saw the post on Instagram right before the show and was on the lookout for the mother and daughter. Flanked by security, King ventured to the handicap section to greet and hug Raven and Shelby Jakowski, taking a selfie with the daughter before signing the girl’s shirt.
“Simone made this experience a memorable one for my daughter and was so sweet and gracious. She’s a true class act,” Jakowski said.
10
Simone
Final Vegas Show
Matty joined me for two of my four shows just as we planned. I’d almost forgotten how much fun it is to sing with him in front of a live crowd. We both agreed to try to schedule more opportunities like that. He’s gone now, off to do a few smaller, more intimate shows he had scheduled, and I already miss him like hell.
I’m in the chair, attempting not to move while Erin, my makeup artist, finishes up now that she’s applied my face full of makeup. I dread having to remove all this crap later, but it’s a must for looking presentable on stage.
“Simone?” Rachel steps up behind me, our eyes catching in the mirror. “I’ve got the family here from Make-A-Wish.”
“Mmhmm,” I say, attempting not to move my lips while Erin touches up my lipstain. Once she’s finished and Camile, my hairstylist, has ensured my hair can’t be moved by anything less than Category 5 hurricane winds, they remove the smock protecting my clothing and I jump out of the chair, offering my thanks to both ladies, and smooth down my outfit.
Rachel quickly gives me the rundown about the young boy I’m about to meet, reading through the email on her iPad. “Eight-year-old Logan is battling a rare cancer that’s attacking his muscle tissue. His parents are accompanying him today, and he claims to be your ‘biggest fan ever.’”
She also mentions that, unlike the last few kids I met through the foundation who have declined to have any photos taken with me—which, even though it’s heartbreaking, I understand many of them don’t want evidence of how they look while battling cancer—he’s fine with having his photo taken with me.
Rachel’s eyes meet mine. “You only have twenty minutes until the show starts.”
I send her a sharp look and step out. I get that this is her job—to manage—but I refuse to allow anyone to limit my time with someone like Logan. I know my true fans won’t mind a few extra minutes of a wait for this sort of reason.
Immediately, I encounter Kane, who somehow appears more imposing than usual. Maybe it’s the severe set of his jaw. He barely offers me even the most cursory glance before his eyes go back to surveying the area.
A few times
, in my periphery, I’ve noticed him watching me in that studious way he tends to observe all surroundings while on the clock. The weight of the man’s eyes on me should feel oppressive with his ever-present stern demeanor firmly in place. Each time, however, his attention sends an odd thrill skittering through me.
Rachel approaches Kane, and I can’t help but notice how her voice takes on a breathless quality when she addresses him.
“Kane, Simone’s due to meet the Make-A-Wish kid—”
“Logan,” I interject quickly, shooting her a sharp look.
She at least has the decency to look apologetic. “Logan,” she corrects before turning back to Kane. “She only has a few minutes, but we need to be on top of security since the press got word of this.”
“No problem.” His no-nonsense tone holds a finality and confidence I find oddly reassuring.
He falls into step with Rachel as I follow through the maze that makes up the arena until we arrive backstage, where my guest and his parents wait.
I barely make it within a few yards when an earsplitting, “Simone! Oh my gosh!” rips through the air. Hell, it even turns the heads of some of the crew putting the finishing touches on the stage.
Logan wears a Simone King: Throwing Shade World Tour shirt and a matching hat fitting snugly over what appears to be a bald head. He looks closer to five or six years old rather than eight, his body frail and smaller in stature, but his eyes brim with so much excitement on his pale face that they rival the brightness of all my stage lights.
When I bend my knees, lowering myself to his level, and open my arms to greet him, he rushes me, nearly toppling me over with the force of his hug.
The firmness of Kane’s hand at my back steadies me, and his questioning eyes lock with mine, but I mouth “It’s fine,” to let him know I’m okay.
Logan’s mother rushes forward. “I’m so sorry, Miss King.”
“No apologies necessary,” I say with a smile, hoping to put her at ease. If she knew how few hugs I get these days, not to mention the lack of such an enthusiastic greeting as this, she’d realize I don’t mind in the least. Hell, more than that, I relish in it.
Logan releases me enough to lean back, and his eyes take me in, studying every inch of my face. “You’re even prettier than I expected.”
I laugh with a shake of my head. “It’s all this crazy makeup they put on me, trust me.”
He narrows his brown eyes on my hair. “Are you gonna dye your hair a different color again?”
“Well, I can’t say that I’ve thought about it recently. Unless there’s a color you think you’d like me to try?”
I’ve done various colors in the past: blue, green, and pink, all separately. But those were times I was acting out in my own way. Before I truly channeled all my anger and resentment into my music. Turns out, writing a few songs with catchy lyrics and beats about haters and people who spread rumors can end up being mega hits.
Logan’s brow furrows, and he studies my hair with so much concentration it’s a struggle not to laugh. Finally, he meets my gaze. “I think it’d be cool if you tried purple sometime.”
I nod thoughtfully. “I’ll keep that in mind.” With my palms braced on my knees, I offer, “What do you say I show you around? What would you like to see first?”
His eyes go wide. “Could I see your dressing room?”
“Logan,” his mother admonishes, “that might be private for her.”
“It’s fine, honestly. There’s not much to it except a few chairs, a small couch, and some snacks and drinks.” I straighten and peer down at Logan. “Wanna go check it out? Are you thirsty?”
“Do you have any juice boxes?”
I can’t help but laugh a little. “No, sorry. I have to stick to water or herbal tea for my throat, so that’s usually all I have.”
His eyebrows rise. “Oh, I’m not worried. I’m just excited to be here and meet you.”
I extend a hand to him. “Let’s head to the dressing room then, shall we?”
Logan grins and waves off my hand. “Put that thing away.” Instead, he extends his arm for me to accept like a formal little gentleman.
“Why, thank you, kind sir.” I lightly loop my fingers beneath his arm and lead him away, with his parents and Kane trailing us. Logan asks me all sorts of questions I normally don’t get, like:
If you could be any Marvel superhero, which one would you be?
Do you believe in reincarnation? Or angels?
What’s the toilet paper like in your house? Over or under?
I show him inside of the dressing room, which, let’s be honest, isn’t glamorous by any means since I don’t like to be that musician who requests a shit-ton of obnoxious riders like, “Absolutely no brown M&M’s” or stupid stuff like that.
Logan steps inside and turns in a slow circle, taking in the room. When he stops to grin up at me and says, “This is the best day of my life,” I feel it.
A little flutter in my chest serves as a faint signal, telling me that maybe, just maybe, I’m doing a little good in this world.
11
Kane
It’s happening again.
When this kid tells her this is the best day of his life and she smiles at him, it’s almost like her heart’s in her eyes, and my chest becomes uncomfortably tight.
Jesus. I reach up and pinch the bridge of my nose and force a slow exhale. What the hell’s wrong with me? All this over a damn smile?
“Are you able to stay for the entire concert since it’s past your bedtime?” she asks him.
He grins proudly. “I get to stay the whole time because I get to see my favorite lady sing.” Then he finishes it with an exaggerated wink.
Simone tips her head back on a laugh. “You’re smooth.” Addressing his parents who watch the exchange with a contradiction of emotions—happiness intermixed with sadness and grief—she asks teasingly, “Is he usually such a smooth talker?”
They both nod. “He’s always been a charmer,” the father says. Logan’s mother smiles, eyes glistening.
“Well, Logan, what would you like to see now?”
“I don’t need to see anything else. I just came to see you. To talk to you.” He blushes. “This is the most amazing day ever.”
“Aww, thank you, sweetheart.” Affection evident in her voice, Simone offers him a smile that reaches her eyes, lighting up her entire face. She turns to Logan’s parents. “If you’re hungry or thirsty or need anything, please let us know.” They thank her but politely decline.
Then Logan chimes in. “Since you mentioned it, I wondered when’s the last time you made your famous French toast. I totally saw when you posted that on Instagram, and my mouth literally watered.”
Simone grins. “I don’t make it too often because, well”—she gestures to her form-fitting outfit—“I can’t really gain much weight with all these outfits.”
He frowns, suddenly serious. “You’d still be beautiful to me even if you gained a little weight.” His eyes widen, appearing almost panicked, before he rushes on with, “Not that I think that’s all you have going for you. Your voice is amazing too.”
Her tone is gentle. “Thank you, Logan.”
“But I just really”—he ducks his chin and shuffles his feet shyly—“wondered if we could just sit and talk.”
Her features soften even more, and she answers, “Of course.”
His head snaps up in surprise. “Are you sure? Because I know you don’t have a lot of time, so I don’t want to—”
At that exact moment, there’s a quick knock on the door. I reach for the handle and open it to find Rachel. She sticks her head in to say, “Simone, you have five minutes.”
The immediate change in Simone’s demeanor is jarring. Her eyes narrow on her manager, and I get the urge to check the thermostat in the room because I swear it dropped to literal freezing temperatures just now.
She turns back to Logan, effectively dismissing Rachel. I glance back at Rachel, and she just
shrugs before exiting the room.
Simone asks Logan to have a seat on the large couch so they can chat. The boy’s face lights up, and he takes a seat on the couch. Settling on a plush cushion, curling legs encased in shimmery black tights beneath her so casually, she looks like she’s preparing to chat with an old friend. Logan’s parents choose two of the available chairs on the other side of the room, as if they’re trying to give the two some semblance of privacy.
Their conversation covers a variety of topics, including some of their favorite artists, his favorite song of hers, and, of course, more questions about her “famous French toast.”
Logan catches her a little off guard with his next question.
“Why the heck did you date that jerk, Jackson?”
Logan’s parents offer hissed reprimands to their son and embarrassed apologies to Simone.
Instead of being upset or put off, she tips her head to the side and peers at the boy with an amused expression. “Oh, Logan. I often wish I hadn’t, but then again…” She glances around before she leans in toward him and lowers her voice to a whisper. “Can you promise to keep a secret?”
He nods eagerly.
“I wouldn’t have written ‘Bad Love’ if it hadn’t been for him. So, it all works out, right?”
Logan’s jaw goes slack. “Are you serious? Wow. Bu-but,” he sputters as if in shock. “You never tell anyone who your songs are about.”
“I trust you’ll keep this secret safe.” She smiles gently and holds out her hand, pinky extended. “Pinky promise on it?”
Logan still appears stunned but reaches to link his pinky finger with hers. “I promise.”
Her lips stretch into an easy smile. “I knew I could trust you.”
“Can I ask you a question about Matthias Tobin?” Logan’s voice is hesitant.