She hadn’t fussed with her appearance, not that she had many options from her suitcase – jeans, shirt and jacket. As she was going to spend the evening playing games with Kate, she only swiped on some lip gloss and mascara.
She couldn’t help the buzz of excitement at the thought of going to the concert, though. It had been years since she’d been to one – her budget didn’t run to such extravagant events.
Kate was positively bouncing with energy as they walked out to the car. She carried a backpack, which Libby assumed was filled with books and assorted games. Adrian was still dressed as himself, and none of Kent Downer’s fans waiting impatiently outside the hotel for a glimpse of their hero recognized him as they walked past.
Libby was amazed. No wonder he needed an alter ego.
Inside the waiting car she met George. She’d obviously been watching too many movies, because he was not what she was expecting. Instead of being older, slightly overweight, long-haired, chain-smoking and on the verge of a heart attack, he was young, tall, broad-shouldered, short-haired and wearing a suit. In fact he looked like he’d stepped out of one of the high-rise buildings next door. The one expectation he did meet was that he looked harassed.
His greeting to Libby was perfunctory. As he pulled out of the hotel, he said to Adrian, “After you left this afternoon, the shit hit the fan.”
Kate giggled.
“Shoot, ah, things stopped working,” George amended.
“What kind of things?”
“Fuse blew, lighting crashed to the ground and the damn –” He stopped himself and his gaze skimmed to Kate. “The support band came down with gastro.”
“Lucky I wasn’t there,” Adrian said.
George snorted.
“Is it all sorted?”
“Of course.”
Adrian gave him a lazy smile. “That’s why you’re the details man. You feel any better?”
The stiffness faded from George’s shoulders. “Yeah.”
Libby listened to the interchange in fascination. They were obviously close and it seemed Adrian knew George needed to vent.
“George, you can play the shooting game with me and Libby if you like,” Kate said. “It helps to let off steam.”
“Thanks, Shorty.”
They pulled up at the backstage entrance of the venue and piled out. The fans yelled and then decided there was no one interesting in the car and went back to their waiting.
Adrian, Kate and George hustled into the building with Libby hurrying to keep up. Once safely inside George turned to Libby. “So you’re the writer.”
“Yes. And you would be George the grump.”
George lifted an eyebrow as Kate giggled. “You’ll keep.” He turned back to Adrian. “Do you want to give them the tour or shall I?”
“You do it. I’ve got to get ready.” Adrian turned to Kate. “Be good tonight and listen to George and Libby.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Yes, Uncle Ade.”
“George will be able to answer any questions you have,” he said to Libby, and with a wave, walked off.
She felt a twinge of disappointment.
“Right then, ladies. This way.”
For the next half an hour, George took them around backstage, answering all of Libby’s questions and explaining what was going on. Kate stopped to chat with a couple of roadies, greeting them by name and introducing Libby to them. Then the newly hired support act began and it was hard to hear anything. George made Kate wear earmuffs and Libby wished she had some. The band wasn’t great.
Kate tugged on her arm and indicated that they should leave. Libby followed her and George to a dressing-room with a Kent Downer sign on the door. Kate knocked and it wasn’t long before Adrian answered in his full Kent Downer outfit.
The change was incredible. He stood taller, his chest puffed out and the gesture he made for them to come in was large and theatrical. He caught Libby staring and winked at her.
Libby gaped at him, refusing to step back though she wanted to distance herself. The lovely and shy Adrian of this afternoon had been replaced by this cocky, confident man. A man who reminded her of her ex. She suppressed a shudder.
She couldn’t quite believe Kent and Adrian were the same person, despite the fact that she’d seen Kent the night before. Did he have some sort of personality disorder? Which was the real man?
Libby entered the dressing-room with its mirror-lined walls and big, comfortable brown couches. Kate dumped her backpack on the wooden coffee table and pulled out a board game.
“What are you going to play tonight?” Adrian asked her.
Kate looked up. “Are you playing, George?”
“Sure, Shorty.”
“Then we’ll play Clue. Do you have time for a round, Kent?”
Libby was surprised as Kate referred to her uncle by his stage name. Adrian checked the time. “If it’s a quick one.”
Kate deftly set up the board game and Adrian waved Libby onto the couch next to her. He and George sat opposite them.
“What time do you go on, Adrian?” Libby asked.
He glanced up. “Call me Kent when I’m in costume. I don’t want anyone to associate Adrian with Kent.”
It made sense to separate the two – they were so different.
“In about an hour.” He scanned through his cards and marked something off on his score sheet.
Kate rolled the dice and whooped as she moved her piece around the board. “I suggest it was Colonel Mustard in the library with the knife.”
Libby checked her cards, showed one to Kate and then rolled the dice. She’d forgotten how much fun it was to play board games. Growing up, her family had never bothered with ‘bonding activities for the mundane’, as her father put it, but her best friend Piper’s house had always been full of laughter and games.
She’d spent every free moment she could with Piper, and Piper’s family had welcomed her and made her part of their own family. Libby felt far more comfortable with them than she did with her own family. They had wanted her. Libby had been devastated when they’d moved back to Texas.
This game was the same: full of suggestions, jokes and laughter. Libby relaxed and let the mood infect her. If she ever had children, this is what she’d want it to be like. Finally Kate said, “Ah ha! I know who it is. I accuse Miss Scarlet, in the kitchen with the lead pipe.” She pointed an accusing finger at Libby, who was using the Miss Scarlet piece.
“Go on then, kiddo,” Kent said handing her the envelope from the middle. “Check if you’re right.”
Kate snatched the envelope and cautiously peered at the contents, one card, then the next and the final one. She threw the three cards down onto the board. “Told you!”
“Good one, Kate,” George said as he dropped his cards on the table. He checked his watch. “It’s almost game time. We’ll play again after Kent hits the stage.”
Kate stood. “Kent needs quiet time before he starts,” she explained to Libby. “I’ll show you the best spot to see the stage.”
Kent flashed Libby a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He drummed his fingers on the table as she stood.
Nerves again.
She’d not detected any when they were playing the game, but the moment they stopped, they were there. “Break a leg,” Libby said, and then paused. “Do they say that to singers?”
“You can, as long as it doesn’t come true,” George said and ushered them out of the room.
Kate held Libby’s hand and moved toward the stage. The support band had finished and roadies raced back and forth to set up for Kent’s band. Kate weaved in and out, dragging Libby with her. Libby checked to make sure George was following. She didn’t want to get in the way.
“Hold it there, Shorty,” George called and Kate stopped so suddenly that Libby bumped into her.
George caught up and pointed to an alcove in the wings. “You and Libby wait there until they finish setting up, otherwise you’ll get trampled. I’ve noticed something t
hat needs my attention. You’ll be all right here for a minute?” His eyes were focused on the other side of the room.
“Sure,” Kate said.
George didn’t wait for Libby’s response. He turned and walked toward one of the roadies, calling out as he did. He might be a grump at times, but it was obvious he cared for the young girl.
And why wouldn’t he? Kate was a sweet girl. But why was she touring with her uncle? Maybe Kate’s parents were like Libby’s own, happier when she wasn’t under foot. At least Kate had Adrian.
Around her the roadies moved in a sequenced dance, moving equipment, avoiding each other and transforming the stage into a rock star’s lair. They were a team, obviously experienced and certain where each item should go and what should be done. Only once did Libby see two men almost crash into each other. They swore at each other good-naturedly and continued on their way.
Libby itched to get her notebook out and write down what she was seeing. It was such a different atmosphere. Though the lights backstage were bright, every surface was black, making it seem dimmer than it was. There was electricity in the air, the hum of expectation and tension. The drone coming from the audience on the other side of the curtain was deep and primal.
Every now and then a chant would start. “We want Kent. We want Kent.” It would carry for a moment and then lose momentum. A couple of girls screamed as if they couldn’t keep the excitement bottled up any longer.
Next to Libby Kate scuffed the ground with her feet, looking bored.
“Do you like watching your uncle perform?” Libby asked.
Kate shrugged. “It’s weird ’cause it doesn’t seem like him performing. He’s much nicer than Kent.”
Libby had to agree. “I wonder why he doesn’t go out as himself.” She didn’t mean it as a question but Kate answered it anyway.
“Dad told Mama it was because he was too nervous to be himself. He needed to pretend to be someone else.” Kate looked up at her. “Do you think that’s weird?” Her brow was furrowed and her nose scrunched up. She was obviously concerned.
Libby covered her surprise and considered her answer. “There are a lot of people who get stage fright,” she said. “They each deal with it in their own way. Besides, isn’t that exactly what actors do each time they go on stage – pretend to be someone else?”
“But that’s their job.”
“Perhaps this is the only way your uncle can do his job. He’s a very good singer.” She remembered his performance the night before. Very good didn’t begin to describe his gift.
Kate seemed satisfied with the answer. “Kind of like when a basketball player suits up to play ball. Oh look. He’s ready to start.” She pointed to Kent, striding toward the stage.
He was in cheetah mode now. The same intense focus Libby had witnessed in the green room the night before. His gaze was on the stage and he acknowledged no one as he walked by, not even Kate.
Libby checked to see how Kate reacted.
“He’s in the zone,” Kate said and grinned in satisfaction, not the least bit bothered.
It would seem this was the norm.
He stopped in the wings of the stage and nodded once at something George said to him. One of the roadies handed Kent a microphone and George signaled someone off stage.
The lights went out.
Libby gasped as the pitch darkness swept over her and Kate clutched her hand. The audience roared in approval. Libby’s heart pounded in her throat. Shit. Kent was afraid of the dark.
What could she do? She couldn’t rush out there to help him. She would likely be more hindrance than help, but this couldn’t be happening to him twice in two nights.
The noise from the crowd was deafening. She crouched down to yell into Kate’s ear. “We have to find George.”
“Why?” Kate yelled back.
“Because the lights have gone out.” Kate mustn’t know her uncle was scared of the dark.
Kate squeezed her hand. “Wait.”
Suddenly the thrum of a guitar rang out over the screams of the crowd. The yells reached a crescendo as the next note played and the lights came on with a bang. Kent’s voice belted out the beginning of a rock song.
Libby blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. Kent swaggered around the stage, singing his song, flirting with the audience.
It was incredible. Libby had been expecting to see him in a quivering puddle on the floor.
Kate tugged on her hand. “Did it scare you? He starts every concert like that.”
Libby absently shook her head. On stage Kent was confident, smiling, picking someone out of the audience to sing to. She couldn’t quite comprehend it. Kent was terrified of the dark and yet he faced his fear every night at work. She had to admire him.
“Where are your earmuffs, Shorty?”
George appeared in front of her and Libby jumped.
Kate looked guilty. “I left them in the room.”
“You know the rules. No muffs, no music.”
Kate sighed. “Yes, George. Come on, Libby. Let’s go play a game.”
Allowing herself to be pulled away from the stage toward the dressing-room, Libby couldn’t resist peeking back at Kent.
“He’s something, isn’t he?” George asked as he followed behind her.
Libby nodded, not able to phrase any words. George must have known of Adrian’s phobia. He was Adrian’s manager and his close friend.
They entered the dressing-room and closed the door. The music receded to a reasonable level.
“Hell of an opener, don’t you think?” George asked as he settled down on one of the chairs.
“I think Libby was scared.” Kate laughed.
Libby debated what to say. “No, I was concerned how Kent would get on stage in the dark.”
George squinted at her, as if wondering whether she knew something. “He paces it out before every show so he’s in the right place.”
“It takes some guts.” Even without being terrified of the dark.
“Yes, it does.” George paused. “But Adrian’s that kind of guy.” There was obvious admiration in his tone.
“Let’s play Snap,” Kate said.
“Sure, Shorty. Why don’t you deal and I’ll get us some food?” George stood and left the room.
Kate held up the pack of cards to Libby, questioning.
Libby nodded, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
What kind of guy was Adrian really?
Chapter 3
“Libby, can I ask you something?” Kate had dealt the cards and they were waiting for George to come back with the food. Kate picked up her pile, tidied them and put them down.
“Sure.”
Kate fidgeted, patting her cards into place again. “Is it hard to write a book?” She didn’t look at Libby as she asked.
“Sometimes.” Libby answered. “Getting started is the easy bit. I get a great idea and I write down an outline and have fun creating characters. Then I start writing.”
“So when does it get hard?”
“Some days the story isn’t flowing or something doesn’t work right and it takes time to work out what’s wrong. And sometimes, if I’ve been writing the story for a long time, I get tired of it and want it to be magically finished.” She waved her hand about like she held a wand.
Kate giggled and then became serious. “Do you think I could write a book?” She glanced down at her hands and then back up at Libby with hope in her eyes.
Libby considered her answer. She didn’t want to make it sound easy, but she didn’t want to discourage her either. “It can be hard work, but I don’t see why not. Have you got a good idea?”
“I think so,” Kate said. “It’s about a kid my age who has super powers and is able to save people, like if their car is going to crash, I could swoop down and save them.” Kate stopped. “I mean my character could save them.”
Libby’s heart wedged up into her throat. Is that what had happened to Kate’s parents? Had they died in a car crash? Libby
didn’t dare ask because Kate was obviously uncomfortable. “What would your character be called?”
“Lilly Lionheart.”
“Great name,” Libby said. “And would she wear a cape?”
“Yeah, with a big ferocious lion on it.”
Libby reached into her bag and drew out her notebook. “Okay, so name is Lilly Lionheart. Wears a cape.” She wrote down the details. “What color?”
Kate gaped at her. “You’re writing it down?”
“Of course. There’s no time like the present to get started.”
“Really?” Kate bounced up and down on the couch. “Hang on. I’ll get my laptop.” She dashed across the room to her bag and drew out a small laptop, which she dumped on the table and turned on.
Libby tucked her notebook back in her bag as George walked in with a platter of food. “Ready to get your butt kicked at Snap?” he asked Kate as he placed the platter on the coffee table.
Kate waved him away. “Not now, George. I’m writing a book.”
Libby suppressed a smile at the surprise on George’s face.
“A book?” he asked.
“Yeah. Libby’s helping me.” Kate pressed some buttons and began typing, her tongue stuck out between her lips.
“Well then,” George said and took a piece of sushi from the platter, biting into it. “I’ll just amuse myself.” He raised an eyebrow at Libby.
Kate was too absorbed to even respond. When she’d finished typing, she asked Libby, “What else do I need?”
“Have you described how Lilly looks? Hair color, length, style, eye color, height, age. You need to be able to picture her completely in your mind.”
Kate went back to typing.
Libby chose a smoked salmon hors d’oeuvre from the platter. She could tell George wanted to say more about Kate’s writing, but he didn’t dare in front of the child. Libby couldn’t see what harm would come of it. It would keep her busy for as long as she was interested.
***
An hour later Kate’s yawns were getting bigger and closer together, though she tried to stifle them with her hand over her mouth.
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