Rock It

by Jennifer Chance

  “Absolutely!” Lacey smiled hard enough to split granite, and Dante cocked a glance at her before Brenda dragged him away, cameras filming the whole time.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Whether it was because Brenda was on the scene, or because the crowd had finally picked up on the fact that they were being recorded as part of the nightly webisodes on YouTube, the energy at the Pavilion the following night was unlike anything Lacey had experienced at any of the Dante shows she’d attended, all the way back to the very beginning. The band was on edge, railing through their songs with an unholy intensity, even though she could tell by the grins and the shouts of exulted laughter that they were enjoying this new, amped-up tone of the crowd quite a bit.

  Lacey might as well have been one of the groupies for as much as she’d been crowded, jostled, and squashed tonight—they’d increased security, but it still was touch-and-go. Then her bra jangled, and she groaned. Brenda again. The woman had been a nightmare the entire day, treating Lacey as her personal flunky—sending her to fetch water, champagne, fresh fruit, even new shoes that she’d apparently forgotten to pack into her overnight bag. During the show Lacey had been legitimately able to avoid her, but only because Brenda had preferred to text her than to have an actual conversation with her. Instead, Brenda had been holed up with the camera guys and in the editing room, plotting God only knew what.

  Now Lacey fished out her phone and scowled down at the message. ::Out of champagne::, it read. ::get us more::

  Lacey rolled her eyes. It was almost midnight and the show was almost done! What did Brenda expect? Still, she fought her way through the crew and below stage, flashing her myriad collection of badges at each gatekeeper, until she made it down to the harried supply runners. She’d barely gotten out her order to the exhausted crew when the doors banged open again.

  “We need more champa-agne!” crooned a high-pitched voice, and Lacey turned to see a redheaded groupie tiptoe into the room, wearing stunning high heels and a minidress that looked fabulous, if a bit too snug.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, and the groupie turned to her. The woman was strikingly pretty and she possessed an amazingly lush body … but she was getting hard around the edges even at that tender age of what—twenty-five? Twenty-eight? She couldn’t be that much older than Lacey, but there was something about her that looked like she’d screamed at the world—and it had screamed back.

  “You’re too slow, they said,” the woman said, pouting at Lacey. “I’ve been sent down to do your job.”

  “Oh, good heavens. You had to walk all this way in those heels? Let me get it—”

  “No!” The groupie burst by Lacey and picked up the small case of champagne that had already been prepped by the handlers, holding the insulated box to her chest. “You think you’re so smart and so classy. Your boss is way more fun than you are, and she has connections. She can get things done.”

  Lacey stared at her. “Um, okay,” she said at last, the tiniest sound of alarm pinging in the back of her head. What was this woman talking about? “Is there anything else they need?”

  “I’ve got it all handled.” The groupie sneered, and once again her face looked too hard, too brittle under the fluorescent lights. “I’m gonna be the star of the show.”

  She tottered off, and Lacey exchanged a bemused glance with the crew members. They seemed to shrug: groupies would be groupies.

  By the time she got back to the stage, however, the final strains of Paradiso’s last encore were ringing through the air as the Jumbotron flared to life. The crowd bellowed its approval of watching the latest webisode live, willing the celebration to go on forever. True to expectations, Brenda’s beautiful face was featured in a snippet for a future show, along with teaser clips culled from “a day on the road with Dante Falcone.”

  Hardly a day, of course. More like four hours, in all, and most of that had been carefully scripted to show off Brenda to perfect effect. Lacey frowned. She didn’t think that was the point of Brenda coming down here—but what if it was? What if the Barracuda really was trying to horn in on the tour? It made a certain sort of sense. The tour was moving along, and they didn’t have much left to do but spend some sun-drenched days and warm summer nights along the beaches of Virginia, Georgia, and Florida. Lacey knew she should care more, but—

  “Watch out!” screamed a laughing crowd of twentysomething fans, their T-shirts soaked with what Lacey hoped was water but was probably champagne. Someone had snuck in a Super Soaker and she got blasted full in the face before security finally swooped in and hustled the rowdy partiers toward the parking lot, confiscating the gun. They probably had enough toys and paraphernalia to fill an entire dumpster, she thought ruefully as she held her T-shirt away from her body. Thank God she was wearing black, as usual. White would have been outside of enough.

  “Hey, pretty girl.” Lacey looked up to see Steve Gwynn leaning over her. Steve could lean over everyone—he was that kind of tall—but he got such a kick out of doing it that Lacey didn’t even mind as he swayed toward her. She looked at him in surprise, though—she could smell the alcohol on his breath, but also something sharper, tangier.

  “Steve, are you okay?” she asked. God only knew what they were passing around in the pit for this show.

  “I’m fine.” Steve hiccupped. “You done mooning over Dante? Because there’s a pool on how long it’ll take before you hit on one of the other members of the band.”

  “A pool!” Lacey repeated, aghast. “Tell me you’re kidding. Who started that?”

  “One of the groupies,” Steve offered, his grin going a little lopsided, but still goofily endearing. “She doesn’t seem to like you very much, but she’s not a bad girl.”

  “Uh-huh.” Lacey reserved judgment on that, since she knew just the groupie to whom he was doubtlessly referring. “Well, I’m not mooning over anyone, Steve. I’m here to do a job for another week and change. That’s it. After that, I go away, and you go back to everything you normally do. Whatever that is.”

  “Good!” Steve said, and Lacey felt a quick, hot jab of embarrassment, until Steve clarified with flapping hands. “No, no, no, I mean, good that you’re not mooning over Dante. He’s great, don’ get me wrong—I love him like a brother. But he always gets the girls. I mean, that’s sort of his job, but c’mon.” He splayed his hand on his chest. “I got feelings, too, you know?”

  Lacey watched him with growing concern. “Steve, are you feeling okay?”

  “I feel great, but you …” He paused to get his wind again, the conversation taking nearly everything out of him. “You’ve been doing sussh a good job with us, and we don’ think it’s fair that Dante have all the fffu—”

  Steve pitched forward and Lacey caught him, then realized belatedly that even thin guys still weighed a ton. She staggered back under the load, Steve’s arms flopping, just as a high-pitched giggle sounded out over the corridor. “Oh, Lacey!” Brenda’s tones of indulgent disapproval sent ice pricks down Lacey’s spine, and she stiffened, trying to get herself stable under Steve’s weight. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were, um, involved with the band.” She tittered at her own joke, and Lacey tried to pull herself upright.

  “I’m not,” she gurgled, gritting her teeth as she shifted her weight under Steve.

  “What was that, dear?”

  The next words she heard crystallized Lacey’s mortification. “She’s not involved with anyone in the band.” Dante’s words were clipped and final. Lacey pulled her head away from Steve’s lolling body and thought seriously about disappearing on the spot. For all of his words, Dante was staring at her with something very close to outrage. “Let her go, Steve—”

  “He’s not holding me,” Lacey gasped. “I’m holding … him up. A little help, please?”

  Dante sprang to her rescue, and Lacey didn’t miss the shrewd gaze that Brenda leveled at them both, as Dante lifted the lead guitarist away from Lacey and she reeled off to one side. “What in God’s name is
all over you?” Brenda sputtered, looking perfect and predatory in stiletto heels and matching haute couture. “Did you throw up on yourself?” She giggled at Dante and tried to look stern at the same time.

  “Fans Super Soaked me,” Lacey said, struggling to recapture her eager-intern cadence. “It was an amazing show—you being here helped take everything to a new level!”

  Brenda narrowed her eyes at Lacey as Dante shifted beside her, easily handling Steve’s weight as the guitarist grinned at them both. “Hi, how y’all doin’?” Steve asked. He swiveled his gaze to Brenda. “Aren’t you pretty,” he slurred.

  Brenda thinned her lips. “Lacey, I think we need to meet tonight to go over the rest of the tour. Count on being my shadow until I leave for Boston tomorrow, got it?”

  “Absolutely,” Lacey said, every last hope of seeing Dante alone dimming in her mind. Brenda could not leave a moment too soon.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “So you have to spill everything. And I mean everything, without holding back.”

  Lacey smiled as she curled up in a pool of pillows, reveling in what had to be the first moment of peace she’d experienced in what seemed like years. They’d rolled into Virginia Beach early, and the crew had been given the night off to roam the beach, party, whatever. The next night would be one of the biggest concerts of the tour, and they deserved the break.

  Lacey felt herself relax another inch. She liked having her own room for another reason, too. She’d gotten used to the cameras being around, but in the few days since Brenda’s impromptu Baltimore appearance, they’d seemed to be everywhere she was. Especially if Dante was even remotely close. Maybe they were running out of footage, maybe suddenly everyone was fair game. Lacey was just glad to hole up in her room for a while. Even the bus trips hadn’t proven useful—too brief for any real privacy, and Harry had caught a ride with them down to Virginia, using the time to go over some plans for the fall tour with Dante. Everything just seemed—off. Wrong.

  “There’s silence on the other end of this line,” Anna went on, plaintively. Lacey heard Erin’s giggle and imagined both of them sitting in the quaint kitchen of the brownstone, Erin with her hair sporting whatever remnants of oil color she was using that day, Anna mainlining what was most likely her fifth cup of coffee of the day. She switched to flavored coffees at night because of their weaker caffeine punch, so the kitchen probably smelled of English Toffee or Mocha Nut Fudge. Lacey closed her eyes just thinking about them. She missed them both—hell, Dani, too. The life of a rocker was interesting, but if she was really honest, it was also exhausting. It was good to have a place to call home.

  “What do you want to know?” she asked into the accusatory silence. “Have you been watching the show? Is it any good?”

  “Is it any goo—of course it’s good!” Anna jumped in. “Even the gang at the firm are talking about it, and believe me, we’re all super boring. But everyone’s usually up at midnight when these damn things air, working on one job or another, so it’s become kind of a ritual break for us. I know it’s all going to end in—what, a week?—and that’ll bum people out. They’ve gotten used to it just that quick.”

  “They’ll get unused to it, too, just as quickly, I’m sure.” Lacey yawned, but she couldn’t help feeling a prick of excitement. “But yeah? They talk about it the next day?”

  “Yup, and those who didn’t catch it find themselves out of the loop and having to scroll through message boards to get all of the nuances of the story. That Brenda woman is hot! I had no idea she and Dante almost got engaged last year.”

  Lacey frowned at the phone. “They said that?”

  Erin laughed, the sound surprisingly robust from such a small woman. “They did not say that. Anna is just pulling your chain. Although now that I’ve seen Dante’s bare ass, thank you very much, I can appreciate the finer artistic points of your interest in him.”

  “Ah … yeah. It’s definitely worth a repeat viewing.” Lacey would have given any amount of money to see Dante’s naked backside herself, in person, but for now she’d have to settle for the YouTube playback. “Come to think of it, he wasn’t around to watch that particular video go live. So maybe he finds his own ass boring.”

  “He’d be about the only one,” Anna said dryly. “How goes it with the crew?”

  “Eh, it’s okay,” Lacey said. “I think they like me for the most part.” Most of them, anyway. “But I’m still not one of them, you know?”

  “But you’re doing so much!” Erin put in with earnest outrage. You could rely on Erin for that. She was the one who gave to panhandlers even if she only had one dollar left in her pocket, even if she knew they were just going to use the money to buy their next drink. She was the one who collected strays and found their owners. She was the one who taught kids how to paint for free, rather than even put her own work up for sale, when she could barely keep up with the bills on her gorgeous old brownstone. “They have to see that you’re trying to make things go as smoothly as possible!”

  “And it’s good experience, no matter what,” Anna observed, while Lacey found herself nodding as if she were sitting in the kitchen with them, not hundreds of miles away.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’m learning a lot about running a tour, managing schedules, dealing with last-minute SNAFUs—”

  “What about handling the talent?” Anna pushed. “Tell me that you’ve also been brushing up on that aspect of your experience. Please. I can’t be the only one suffering from a severe lack of sex.”

  “Well, since Dani isn’t here yet, I’ll say it: It’s your own fault, Anna,” Erin put in, and Lacey could picture her earnest frown as she chastised Anna. “You can’t expect to find guys to date if you’re locked up with your computer in the basement of some office building until two A.M. every morning.”

  “Oh, right,” Anna scoffed. “This coming from a woman who goes to Shaw’s with globs of Cadmium Blue still stuck in her hair, completely oblivious that she’s buying milk wearing mismatched Crocs and an inside-out shirt.”

  “What? We were out of milk!” Erin protested, but Anna cut her off.

  “Focus, Erin. Lacey is spending her days and nights with the rock star of her dreams. That’s who should be having great sex.” Pause. “Tell us you’re having great sex.”

  “Well … sort of.” Lacey threw herself back on the pillows. “We’ve gotten really close a couple of times but even the close shots are hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced before.”

  “Ahhhh,” Anna sighed. “Hot like how? Like you guys made out?”

  Lacey grinned into the semidarkness. “Sort of like that,” she said, feeling her cheeks warm as she thought about her impromptu voyeur tease, the shower stall, the hotel room. “He, um—he’s really great at kissing, by the way.” He’s really great at everything, in fact.

  “Hey, it’s almost go time for the web show,” Erin put in. “You have your laptop handy, Lacey? We could watch it together.”

  “I never thought I’d be saying this, but I look forward to a day when I won’t have my laptop handy. Or my iPad, or my phone.”

  “Never the phone,” Anna laughed. “How could you live without my texts to keep you company? Hey, Dani.”

  Lacey heard rumblings in the background and grinned at the flat, sardonic tone that could only belong to Dani Michaels. She called out her own hello, and Dani grunted back. Lacey yawned, and Erin giggled over the phone.

  “Are you going to even stay awake long enough to get through the video tonight?” Erin teased her. “You sound like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

  “Yeah, well, no rest for the wicked, hey?” Lacey fumbled her fingers onto her iPad, bringing up the YouTube channel for the Dream It tour webisodes. Her Wi-Fi connected with the hotel’s system, and she was typing in the code when Erin’s voice floated over the phone again.

  “Oh my God, that’s so cute,” Erin said.

  “What the hell is it?” Dani cut in over her. “What’s all that purple frill
y crap all around—what in the—Lacey, is that your name?”

  Lacey’s fingers froze on her keyboard. A well of sharp, sudden hysteria opened up within her, threatening to swallow her hole. No, she could hear the scream emerging from her innermost being. No, no, no.

  A million images flashed in front of her eyes. Snippets, scenes. Her office back at IMO. The scrapbooks, locked in her drawer. Brenda suddenly showing up in Baltimore, clearly with an agenda that Lacey hadn’t been able to figure out. The camera crew, filming her with more intensity. Suddenly interested in her every movement. No.

  “It’s a scrapbook!” Anna crowed. “Oh my God, that’s got to be the most darling thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

  But she was talking to dead air.

  Lacey was already bolting out of her room and down the hallway. The crew always gathered in Harry’s room—generally a suite—to watch the YouTube thing when they didn’t have a live show. She had to get there, had to stop them. She couldn’t—

  No. Not the scrapbooks. She knew the exact one that Dani had been talking about. It hadn’t been the first one—it had been the fifth. The fifth of fifteen. Fifteen scrapbooks that chronicled the life and times of Dante Falcone from his very first mall and Disney Channel appearances to his emergence on the scene as the most incredible rocker ever born. Lacey had knocked it off when she’d hit her twenties, thank God, but she didn’t think that was going to save her.

  The early ones had been the worst. True to her nature, true to her name, she’d festooned each of them with glitter and lace and scrapbooking embellishments—she’d cleaned out whole aisles at the craft store just to make each book its own teen-dreamy work of art. She’d started the summer of her fourteenth year, and … she’d just never stopped. The books had become more sophisticated, but the emotion behind them hadn’t. It was pure, unadulterated, wide-eyed fangirl adoration. And now they were … now they were—