When I got to my room, I discovered a bouquet of flowers with a handwritten note that read, I can’t wait to see you after the show. Adam.
My ticket and backstage pass sat in an envelope next to maps of Paris Adam had apparently faxed. He’d used some clunky paint software to draw lines and mark places I should visit. He’d typed at the bottom, Thursday morning. Follow the route and text me from each of the places. It will be like taking a tour of the city together.
Since the boys were in London Thursday night, I had the day to myself. I woke up and was about to go for breakfast with the map tucked in my purse, but when I checked the first stop, I noticed he expected me to have breakfast at a specific restaurant. So I grabbed a taxi and had them deposit me near the base of the Eiffel Tower.
When I went in to order, the cashier asked if I was Eden. He told me to select anything. It was all paid for. I took a picture of my Nutella crepe and sent it to Adam. I couldn’t believe he was awake that early, but he texted, That looks amazing!
I sat outside, staring up at the massive steel structure on the edge of the Seine. I would’ve liked to go to the top, but my tour didn’t leave room for a side excursion. I promised myself I’d come back the following morning and go up.
The rest of the morning was filled with a similar mix of delight and frustration. I loved that he’d planned for me to see so many sights, and if he’d been with me, I’m sure we would’ve deviated from the plan. Besides, if I was honest, I would’ve holed up in the hotel, or, at most, I’d have spent the entire day hanging around the Eiffel Tower if he hadn’t encouraged me to sally forth.
And on Friday, I made my way back to the places I’d wanted to explore further. All in all, I was proud of myself for familiarizing myself with a foreign city. And I bought a new skirt to show off that night.
Back near my hotel, I found a street vendor selling long baguette sandwiches and Coca Light, which looked a lot like Diet Coke. The Bercy sports arena sat across from my hotel, directly on the Seine. It was a crazy modern building with grass growing along the angled outer walls. I ate while walking around the outside of the stadium, trying to see if the tour buses had pulled up.
My phone buzzed, so I had to find a bench to set my drink on. Swallowing as much of my bite of sandwich as I could, I slid my knuckle across the screen. “Hi, Stacy. What’s up?”
“It’s lunchtime here. I wanted to hear about your trip.”
I filled her in on the romantic scavenger hunt and sent her a picture of my new skirt.
“I approve. Very chic. So you see him tonight, right?”
“After the concert. Yes.”
She made a sound that reminded me of a frightened pig. “That’s so exciting. I’m so jealous. And please take pictures!”
“Go online, Stacy. There will be plenty of pictures and video.”
“Not of the concert, Eden. You got backstage passes right?”
“Uh-huh.”
A semi with the Walking Disaster logo on its side turned the corner and passed right in front of me. I peered into the cab windows, but the truck passed by too fast. Sun glinted off the glass, and I put my hand across my forehead to shade my eyes, squinting.
“I think their gear just arrived.” I got up and walked down the sidewalk, but a metal barricade had been erected between the street and the area where the buses would park. I wondered if Adam’s bus would soon arrive.
Stacy had kept talking, but I missed what she was saying. I put the phone back to my ear. “What?”
“Are you going to tell him?”
The trailer doors swung open, and a large man wearing a black T-shirt, with sleeves rolled up to better display oversized muscles, stepped out. I didn’t recognize him. Someone handed down a long black case. Probably a guitar.
Stacy broke into my mesmerized rubbernecking. “Eden?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m gonna tell him.” I hadn’t decided, but I was distracted by the imminent arrival of my boyfriend and his entourage.
“Tonight. Okay? Don’t wait or you won’t do it.”
More equipment descended through the open truck door. “Good advice,” I muttered. The buses would have to come this way. I watched the entrance to the street, disappointed at every car that turned toward me, forgetting to speak to Stacy.
She got the hint. “I’ll talk to you later. There’s something going on here anyway. They’ve been really weird whenever they see me on the phone.”
Remembering how they freaked out on me for drawing a reporter’s attention, I figured I’d brought on a police state. “I’ll call you after the show. Or whenever I can.”
When I hung up, a man wearing a badge around his neck approached me and said something in French. I shook my head. “English.”
“You cannot stay here,” he said with a heavy accent.
He looked anxious, like I might cause a scene and have to be forcibly evicted. God, how embarrassing. “No problemo.”
I walked back to the hotel to change into my new skirt and pick up my ticket and backstage pass. Nervously excited, I headed toward the arena a little early. I thought about trying to skirt the barricade by the buses, but after my run-in with one guard, I didn’t think I should risk it. Besides, crowds already streamed in from the street, and so I fell in line.
My outfit had two immediate drawbacks. First, I hadn’t realized how chilly an October night in Paris would be, and I had to wait in a long, slow line to get through the security checkpoint. Second, while the middle-aged woman ahead of me passed through the entry with a quick peek inside her purse, I was the recipient of a full-body pat down accompanied by a wink.
Once inside the arena, I scanned around the sides of the stage and saw an entryway backstage, but it had taken me so long to get through the checkpoint that the lights had begun to dim, and I hurried to find my seat. I couldn’t wait to see Micah’s band perform in this huge arena. My excitement matched the growing enthusiasm of the fans cheering in anticipation. The seats around me remained mostly empty as Micah’s band came out, one member at a time, starting with his drummer, Shane.
Shane started a beat, solo, and the audience clapped in rhythm. Then the bassist came out and laid down a riff. He was a replacement bassist I’d never met, but he sounded great. The guitarist, Noah, came in with a crazy lick. Finally Micah walked out.
Even though I was fairly certain nobody there had ever heard of Theater of the Absurd, the crowd cheered as Micah started playing rhythm guitar behind the center mic. I sang along with all their songs, so excited to see him in this huge venue. He knew how to work the crowd and had everyone on their feet by the time he introduced his last song.
“Thank you, Paris! We’re so glad to be here in support of Walking Disaster! How excited are you for them?” The decibels in the place doubled. “We’re Theater of the Absurd. This is our last song tonight. Thanks for being such a great crowd!” Cheers again.
People had slowly trickled in during their performance. Two men squeezed past me and took the seats to my right. They stood back up again since everyone else was on their feet. One of them pressed far closer to me than he needed to, and I threw him a warning glance.
As Micah left the stage, people sat. The man to my right leaned over and said, “Eh, bonsoir, madame.” His eyebrows raised a little. “Ou mademoiselle?” He flashed what might’ve been a toothy grin, if he hadn’t been missing molars on either side, giving him the appearance of a horse in need of a bit.
How obvious was it that I’d come alone? The couple to my left huddled together over one of the colorful concert programs I’d seen for sale when I came in.
The horse-faced man continued his efforts to engage me in conversation, though I couldn’t understand a word. I interpreted his aggressive lechery easily enough. I gave Mr. Ed one dismissive shrug and kept my eyes focused forward on the empty stage. In a minute, Adam would be there. I craned my neck around to take in the entirety of the arena. People in the upper deck had hung poster-board signs professing their love for t
he band or their desire to marry Adam.
Without warning, the lights shut off completely, and the screaming hurt my ears. Phones lit up all around, and shadowed silhouettes appeared on the stage. If anyone in the band had uttered a “one-two-three-four” intro, it was lost in the white noise of the crowd. The drum and bass started playing in time. Everyone in the stadium, already amped up on adrenaline, immediately clapped and stomped along with the beat.
A spotlight illuminated Adam at the exact moment he came in with the guitar. I’d been watching concert footage all week, so this did not surprise me, but the audience ate it up. He stepped up to the mic and went right into a crowd favorite. I’d become familiar with all of their songs from following them, and I sang along with the band and thousands of other strangers.
Adam was a god. All the video in the world couldn’t have prepared me for his stage presence. And he’d let his facial hair grow into a rapscallion scruff that made me want to throw my panties at his feet.
Up on the jumbotron, he seemed to gaze down on me personally. I knew it was an illusion, but one shared by many. The stage jutted out into the audience, and Adam used that walkway to surround himself in the outstretched arms reaching out to touch him. He approached the edges, but the moat created by the venue prevented anyone from reaching up onto the stage.
The man to my right ground into me, and I took a step to my left. The jostling increased with each song, and the people in the audience were beginning to move out of their seats and push toward the stage. People jumped up and down along with the rhythm. I worried about my safety. The man to my right put his hands on me.
I lurched away from him out into the aisle and pushed through the crowds, out into the hall. I found some stairs going up and walked all the way up to the highest nosebleed back row seat in the arena. The stage looked tiny from there, but there was nobody around me. I sat down and propped my feet on the seat in front of me.
The crowd below pulsated and swelled. The number of men at the show dwarfed the number of women. I knew women came because they posted about Adam on the fan forum. But the guys dominated, and no wonder. This music wouldn’t have appealed to me at all if it weren’t for the fact that I wanted to get into the leather pants of the lead singer. Along with all the other women here.
So it was a surprise when the band left the stage and Adam sat down alone at the mic with a classical guitar and plucked an arpeggio. The song he played wasn’t just soft for Walking Disaster, it was soft for AM radio. He hadn’t done this at the previous shows.
As he struck the opening chords, he spoke to the crowd, saying, “I wrote this song earlier this week. And Paris, I knew you were the only crowd I could play this for. This song is called ‘Compulsion.’” If the crowd was about to turn ugly from the sharp left turn into light rock, this statement brought them back to him, and the phones came out, lights waving over heads.
He played four more bars and then came in with the vocal.
Wandering alone in the desert
For forty days and forty nights
A mirage in a short skirt
Led me back
Back to the garden’s delights.
The chorus came in, and then he repeated it.
Two weeks in paradise
Under October skies
Drawn to the tree of life
For one more bite
I didn’t need to hold my phone up because my blush had to be lighting up the entire top row. I let my head fall back against the concrete wall behind me and hugged myself.
There would be no doubt who that song was intended for. Adam had essentially outed me to anyone with more than half a brain cell. The fan forum would be active tonight. It occurred to me that some of those fans might be in the audience below. I was so glad I’d moved up above the crowd, where nobody would recognize me, where I could drink in the thrill of hearing a song written for me without worrying. I couldn’t wait to get Adam alone and show him how much that forbidden fruit liked him right back.
On the second verse, a female voice wove in with Adam’s. The figure of Adrianna LaRue appeared on the edge of the stage as she sang her way to the front and placed her mic into the stand. The crowd screamed, while I slumped into my seat. The duet sounded great, but I couldn’t understand what she was doing there. Why was he singing that song with her?
In a heartbeat, my elation turned into irrational jealousy. I told myself it didn’t mean anything. She was just singing with him, but they had some kind of history. The green monster whispered in my ear, He wrote that song for her, you fool. But reason prevailed. He knew I was going to be here. He wouldn’t shove another woman in my face. There was an explanation. I’d ask him. I relaxed, thinking about how fun it would be to find him backstage in a short while.
Eventually, the concert came to an end, and after calling the band back for an encore, the crowd began to stream out. I fought my way down the stairs to find out how to get backstage. A number of other people stood at the barricade, begging the security guards to let them have access. I fished out my pass and showed it to one of the guards, and he let me through. The fans around me grabbed at my clothes, as if they could hitch a ride.
My heart raced as I stepped across the boundary between the fans and the musicians.
The corridor running behind the stage wasn’t narrow, but it was constricted with all the people moving around. Several large men in black carried equipment around, but there were others with less obvious associations to the band. I passed through this crowd, looking for some sign of Micah or Adam.
I caught a glimpse of Adrianna coming out of a doorway and started in that direction. When I saw Adam’s unmistakable mess of hair, I called out after him. At that exact moment, many other female voices shouted his name. I turned back to see a group of fans corralled at the end of the hall, peering down the corridor toward where I stood.
A hand landed on my shoulder, and I thought I was about to be groped for the second time that day.
The tall bald man stepped in front of me. “Where are you going?”
I showed him my pass. “I’m looking for Micah Sinclair or Adam Copeland?”
He shook his head. “Sure you are. Along with all of the others. Let me show you to the meet-and-greet room.”
I stopped him. “What’s your name?”
“Paul.”
“Paul. I’m Micah’s sister, Eden. He’s expecting me. I’m trying to find Adam.”
“So are half the other girls here.” He blocked my way and herded me back the way I’d come. “Look. I’m sure you are who you say you are, so it shouldn’t be a big deal to wait until one of them comes out. If they recognize you, then you’re good to go. I hope you can see my point of view here. I can’t let every girl who has a pass wander back to the dressing rooms.”
I gave up. It made sense, and I was glad to know that the fan girls wouldn’t be rushing in on Adam while he was changing after a show. I let Paul take me down to the waiting area to crowd in with the fans exuding simultaneous excitement and impatience. They all held programs or CDs or T-shirts. Every one of them clutched a Sharpie. I sent texts to Micah and Adam and tapped my foot anxiously, but with all the commotion, they probably weren’t fixated on their phones.
After about thirty minutes, a stadium employee led us into a small room, and we lined up behind a red velvet rope. A door opened, and necks craned. Adrianna walked through first, followed by Adam. Everyone, including me, stood taller and pushed forward a little. The rest of Adam’s band came through the doors, and they all sat down at a table to start signing autographs. With every group, they’d have to stop long enough to take a picture with the fan. Then the line inched forward.
I couldn’t wrap my mind around the ridiculous fact that I stood in a meet-and-greet line, waiting for a chance to get closer to Adam. Fans shoved me from behind, and I shuffled along, hoping Adam would eventually see me. It might’ve been a mark of bad character, but it would’ve done my pride a world of good to get plucked fro
m this line before I found myself in the presence of Adrianna.
But while I hid among the fans, I got to spy on Adam interacting with strangers who thought they knew him. He took his time, asking people their names before signing whatever they’d brought. With one eye on his signature, he kept up a steady stream of questions or responses depending on the situation. He was completely adorable.
A pair of girls managed to talk him into coming around the table to give each of them a hug. They giggled and squealed, then hugged each other as they left the meet-and-greet room with a story to tell their friends.
Eventually, when there were only a few fans left ahead of me, his eyes landed on me. He broke out in a huge smile and stood up from the table.
“How’d you get in here?” He stepped past the waiting fans and grabbed my hand. “Come back here.”
I walked behind the table and leaned against the wall. The remaining fans looked up at me, perplexed for a moment, but then focused back on getting their own time with Adam. He signed and smiled and posed and chatted for a little while longer. His T-shirt clung to his body. I inched closer, hoping to smell his sweaty concert musk. My fingers itched to touch the exposed skin on his neck.
Stacy would have lost her shit, standing behind the band at a meet and greet. I grabbed my phone out and snapped a picture of the back of Adam’s head and texted it to her. Look where I am.
A few minutes later, she wrote, Swoons! followed by, Did you tell him yet?
I wrote back, Just got here. Haven’t had time to. I will.
But Adam smiled back at me so sweet, with eyes lined with unhidden desire. I caught my breath. Would he look at me like that if he knew?
Finally, the line dwindled. The band stood and stretched and made their way through the door.
Adam grabbed me and wrapped his arms around my back. “Why were you in here?”
I breathed him in. He must’ve been sweating pheromones stronger than anything Thanh could concoct. “Ask Paul. He brought me here.”
Some Kind of Magic Page 18