by Anna Edwards
I lift my head up off the table and catch the eye of the guy sitting quietly in the corner of the room. Leo Nash is our inspiration, and our mentor since he discovered us five years ago. He’s the lead singer of the world-famous band Nash, and he’s got one of the best voices I’ve ever heard. He’s what I aspire to be, and I trust his every word.
“What do you think?” I nod in his direction.
“I wasn’t sure at first. Publicists annoy me, most of the time, with their constant ‘you can and can’t do that’ bullshit. But…”—he pauses to emphasize the last word—“get a good one, and they’ll be your savior. I trust Fred will have found the right person for you because he knows I’ll come down on him like a ton of bricks if he doesn’t.”
Fred coughs nervously in his seat when Leo smiles at him. Austin and Liam giggle like a pair of schoolgirls talking about boys.
“Where will this person stay?” I ask.
“On the bus with you,” Fred replies, and Cameron’s eyes go wide.
He’s my best friend in the band. We grew up together and were in the same class all through school. Liam and Austin are a year younger than us. We met in middle school and started the band shortly after.
“No way,” Cameron protests again.
“Non-negotiable.” It’s Fred’s turn now to fold his arms across his chest in a gesture that shows he’s not going to be persuaded against this decision.
“What are you afraid of, Fred?” I ask as I push my chair back, get to my feet, and start pacing around the room. All the rest of the details of the tour were finalized months in advance. So why this, and why now? “Has something happened?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. Honestly, I just want to protect you as my clients. This is a huge opportunity, and you’re all young still. Leo, explain to them the pressure of world-wide fame.”
We all cock our heads toward our mentor, and he laughs at the intensity of the stares we give him.
“Our first world tour was a bit of a blur—I’d be the first to admit that. Many things happened. It was hard to keep up with it all. Not just the concerts, but the drink, the women, and all the other aspects of the lifestyle. It was all thrust upon us, and the longer the tour went on, the more it became impossible to stay away from temptation. People wanted us to fail because it sold tabloids. Yes, Austin, newspapers. I became famous in a time before everything was accessed via the internet. People did actually read about it on paper as well.” Leo winks at my friend.
Austin loves technology. He’ s a wiz with anything to do with computers. He even built the laptop he brings on tour and uses for gaming with his fans all around the world.
“Paper?” Austin jokes, pretending to sound confused. “Isn’t that the strange stuff Tate uses to write down all our songs on? I gave him an app on his iPad so he could store them all on there. I didn’t want him to lose them or have them stolen by rivals, but I don’t think he’s ever opened it.”
“iPads are for watching Netflix on,” I respond.
“Porn,” Liam and Cameron say in unison and then cough simultaneously.
I give them the middle finger.
“Yes, paper is what us creative oldies use.” Leo joins in. “Jesus, I bet you guys have never seen porn in a magazine.”
“What the fuck?” Austin fakes being astonished, and we all chuckle.
Fred coughs to bring us back to the matter in hand.
His babysitter.
“Anyway,” Leo continues. “It’s hard when everyone wants you to fail. You get caught up in things, and before you know it, there are a couple of bad headlines, and people are predicting your downfall. Thankfully, it didn’t end up like that for Nash. We were able to work around it all, but it was hard for a bit back then. If Fred has the right person for you, then in all honesty, you’ll be fine with this publicist, or babysitter as you put it, Cameron. Fred’s not going to choose someone who’ll be a mini Hitler and stop you from having any fun. There won’t be any news headlines coming out of the tour if you’re all behaving like monks, and that’s a bad thing. You’ve just got to find the right mix, and I think having a full-time publicist with you, catching you at your most intimate moments will allow the world to see that. It’ll be like having a documentary made about the tour in some ways. I think you should say yes, but that’s only my opinion.”
Pausing my pacing, I turn to the other three guys in Saving Tate. I’ve never felt like I needed to be saved. But the other band members knew my father wanted me to become an accountant, and so by becoming world-famous rock stars, my friends believed they were saving me.
“Band vote. Majority wins.”
They all nod in agreement.
“Those against having a publicist on tour with us, raise your hands.”
Liam, the joker in the group, lifts his hand half-way, and then frowns as if he’s weighing up his decision. I raise a pierced eyebrow at him.
“Only joking.” He places his hand back down in his lap.
“And those in favor of having a publicist on tour with us.”
All four of us raise our hands.
“Motion carried.” Cameron flicks his tongue stud against his teeth.
“On one proviso,” I add, just as Fred starts to celebrate. “If we don’t like them after a week, then they go. I’m not sharing a bus with someone if they are a slob and smell.”
“Deal.” Fred bangs his hand on the table, and I can’t help wondering what I’m getting myself into.
Chapter 3
Zoey
#IThinkIHaveFallenDownARabbitHole
My day turns a little brighter when I get to work. There are no bad headlines I need to work hard to suppress for any of our clients. In fact, they’re all good ones, especially from the client who normally causes us the most trouble. Evidently, he spent yesterday helping out at a local children’s fundraiser. Now to figure out how the hell I’m going to pay for the electric without selling my body—that’s where I draw a line. I’m not a whore, and I never will be. We can freeze in the dark if we have to because that won’t be happening.
Checking my bank account, I find the sum total of three dollars in it. It won’t be paying for anything anytime soon, and it’s not payday until next week. Shit, shit, shit!
Ok, think Zoey.
Maybe I left some change tucked away in my work desk. In retrospect, that would have been a more sensible option than keeping my money at home. Even though I’d hidden it at the back of a cupboard, behind a load of cups we never use, my mom still managed to find it.
Opening my drawers, I begin to search through them for any money I can find. I retrieve a few coins, and a banana, which has seen better days—it’s probably the source of the funny smell that’s been surrounding my desk lately. There’s no million dollars conveniently stashed away in case of emergency, though. I shove everything back in and dump the banana in the wastebasket.
That didn’t work.
Have I got anything I can sell?
I don’t own any jewelry apart from the small pair of gold studs in my ears, and they aren’t worth very much. I’ve got a second hole in both ears but no earrings after I sold them six months ago. I’m sure the holes have closed up by now.
I need my phone and my laptop for work, so I can’t sell them. Besides they’re paid for by the firm. I think I could get into trouble for selling their equipment.
We do have a television at home, gathering dust because we don’t have cable. I’ll see if I can sell it later. I don’t think it’ll make enough money, but hopefully the electric company will accept a down payment. I’ll need to leave work a bit early so I can talk to them about it.
I lean my head back and let out a long frustrated sigh.
Breathe, Zoey.
At least you’re alive and haven’t been hit by lightning today…yet.
It’s a good day—something positive will happen.
“Danson, my office,” my boss shouts at me.
He doesn’t call people by their first
name unless they are a client, and if he calls, you need to jump. Scrambling quickly from my desk, I grab a pen and paper to make notes and head into his office.
Fred Wilder is the typical music producer from the eighties. He’s stuck in a time warp with his comb-over and pudgy stomach. He’s a lovely man, though. He knows his stuff, and I’m grateful he gave me a chance with this job. It’s one of the reasons I work so hard—I want to show him his faith in me was justified.
“How can I help you, sir?” I give him a warm smile and wait for him to resume his seat at his desk before I take mine. When my mom was sober, she taught me courtesy, and I’ve never forgotten it.
“I’ve got a job for you. It’s a huge responsibility, but I think you’re up to it. It’s for one of our biggest clients, and it won’t be easy. How are you fixed for the next few months?”
My heart races. My hard work is paying off. It seems mercenary, but I have to wonder if the job comes with a pay rise. God knows, it would come in handy right now.
“I’m at your disposal. I’ve nothing planned.”
I don’t usually bother taking any leave. There’s no point, because I can’t afford a vacation, and I’d only be sitting at home. When I do take any time off, I use the opportunity to collect coupons so I can reduce our food bill as much as possible. That’s the level of fun I get up to.
“Good. Then on Monday, you’ll be joining Saving Tate on their world tour. Your official title is Publicist, but in reality, you’ll be their babysitter because I don’t want any bad headlines coming out of the tour. They’re on the verge of worldwide domination, and it’ll be your job to ensure they achieve it.”
My mouth drops open. I’m sure I look like one of those silly cartoon characters with my tongue lolling out.
“World tour,” I repeat. “Saving Tate…” Now I’m just sounding plain stupid as well.
“Yes.” Fred smirks at me, finding my response amusing.
“World as in different countries?” I clarify.
“Yes—Europe, Asia, Australia as well as South America and Canada. I believe they even have a concert in South Africa. The proceeds are going to the AIDS Foundation out there.”
“Not America.” I’m still dumbfounded.
“They have concerts in America as well. All in all, the tour is six months long. It’s going to be grueling, but you’ll learn loads, and it’ll be an opportunity to launch your presence onto the scene. It’ll do wonders for your reputation as long as no bad news gets out.”
“Bad news?” I question.
God, I wish I could string more than two words together. Come on brain think more clearly. You haven’t worked this hard only to appear dumb when presented with your biggest opportunity to date.
“Yes,” Fred confirms as he pushes his chair back and walks over to his door. “You know, the usual: drugs, drunken exploits, fights, sexual encounters.” He opens his door as I process everything and calls to his secretary, “Mrs. Fisher, can we get two coffees in here, please? Make Miss Danson’s black and strong.”
“Of course, Mr. Wilder,” she responds.
“What was I saying?” Fred shuts the door and turns back to me.
“Sexual encounters,” I repeat back to him and want to hit my head on the desk in front of me. Seriously brain, kick it up a level.
“Yes, that’s right. You can share all the good news, make it seem like the band is having fun, but keep anything too risky away from the press. Use this tour to promote the positive things the band do as well. Like the concert in South Africa.”
He returns to his seat at his desk before continuing. “It was an opportunity like this that gave me my big break in the industry. The band came to rely on me, and I traveled with them everywhere. I developed links with other bands, establishing a network, and my business was born. I’m not prepared to give just anyone this responsibility, but I saw something in you when you first came here for your interview. You have a determination to succeed and a passion for what you do. I’m giving you this opportunity, and I hope you can take it.”
I let out the long breath I’ve been holding while he spoke. It really is an amazing offer, and I’d be stupid to turn it down. I can still manage the household and the bills while I’m away. That won’t be a problem with the internet and Wi-Fi available all over the world. But can I really leave my mom alone for six months? What the hell would I come back to? She can barely dress herself some days. Maybe I could get the neighbors to check in on her. They’ve been brilliant in the past when she hasn’t made it back into the house, having passed out on the street. They’ve helped her to get home, not just left her lying in the gutter.
I have to do this. I can’t continue with the way my life is. It’s not fair to me or Mom. I’m drowning in a sea of nothing, and this is an experience that will only come once in my lifetime.
Shit.
What do I do?
Six months is so long.
“Will I get to come home at all during the tour?”
“There are some scheduled breaks that will allow you to return to Seattle. All flights will be paid for, and you’ll still be entitled to leave as well. I’m sure you’ll also want some downtime to look around the cities you’ll be visiting. I know the guys will be doing their own sight-seeing. I’m not a hard taskmaster. What do you say, Zoey?”
Zoey. Not Miss Danson.
“Where will I stay when on tour?”
“Originally, you were going to stay on the bus the roadies use, but I don’t think it would be appropriate. I agreed with the band this morning that you’ll be traveling with them.”
“As in, stay on the bus with the band members?”
“Yes, you’ll be close enough then to ward off any potential disaster before it happens. These are four grown men, so it could get a little smelly and messy, but I’m sure a schedule could be set up for cleaning. To be honest, they’re total pigs.” Fred chuckles, but my stomach is churning.
Live with four men! I’ve never even lived with one, having never had a father.
I don’t know if I can do this.
Fred coughs into his hand. “There’s one more thing. All expenses will be paid, of course. You don’t have to worry about that, but this is a personal gift from me.” He reaches into his drawer and pulls out a wad of ten and twenty dollar bills. There has to be at least three thousand dollars there. “I don’t know about your situation at home, but I’m guessing things must be tight. I used to shop at Goodwill myself.” He winks knowingly at the secondhand suit I’m wearing. I want the floor to swallow me up. “But you’ll need to look the part. Go buy some new outfits with this.”
He slides the money across the table.
“Call it an advance on the raise you’ll be getting for your new position as Head Publicist for Saving Tate.”
Almost frightened the money will go up in a puff of smoke, I reach out and touch it. I’ve never seen so much in all my life. It’s so green. God, that’s a stupid thing to think. There’s a load of money here. I’ll be able to get some new outfits to last me for the tour and pay off the electric—maybe put down some advance payments on other bills to tide me over while I’m away. Hell, I could even hire someone to come and check in on Mom each day. This new job could give me so much experience in life and enough money to be able to do whatever I want.
I have to accept.
I can’t say no.
Living with four men is going to scare the life out of me.
It’s going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
But hey, if they get drunk like rock stars are supposed to, it’s something I’m well qualified to deal with.
I lean forward and wrap my hands around the money.
“Thank you, Mr. Wilder. I won’t let you down.”
Chapter 4
Tate
#GiveUsAllThePussy
“Come on let’s get this show on the road.” Liam taps his drumsticks on the slick black marbled table surrounded by leather chairs. It’s one of tho
se U shaped seating plans that fits loads of us together in one place.
The tour bus is amazing. We’re only on it for a week before we travel to Europe, but it’s state-of-the-art in luxury with televisions, games consoles, a full oven, microwave, coffee machine, and a shower that’s beyond powerful—it actually massages as it cleans you. The decor is dark with blacks, grays, and blues. It’s incredibly masculine. I’d be tempted to say it’s better than my home, except my house is less than a year old and custom-built to my exact specifications.
“Yeah, let’s rock and roll.” Cameron head bangs, and at the same time he sticks his hand in the air, making the rock and roll sign.
Austin pipes up from where he’s already logging onto the games console, “We can’t go anywhere until the babysitter arrives.”
“Fuck, why did we agree to that?” Cameron kicks his shoes off and lays back on the chair he’s sitting on.
I’m standing by the kitchen, staring into the open fridge. It’s fully stocked with every drink we could possibly want and a load of fruit and vegetables.
“We’re also not going anywhere until we get a couple of pizzas in this fridge for my midnight writing feasts.”
Liam sprints from his chair and pushes me out the way of the fridge.
“They better have my chocolate in there as well.”
We both peer into the fridge.
“Nope looks like beer, fruit, and vegetables.”
“That’s it, stop the bus,” Liam calls toward where the driver is seated.
“It’s not moving, jackass. We’re waiting for the babysitter.” Austin laughs.
Meanwhile, Cameron closes his eyes, and I don’t need to guess he’ll be asleep in a few minutes. He can sleep anywhere.
When we first started touring, I always needed a bed because I’m a grumpy ass if I don’t get a good night’s sleep. Cameron, however, would save the band money by bringing a blanket and pillow with him and sleeping at the wheel of the run-down van we drove ourselves around in. Mind you, sometimes I think he had the right idea—at least he didn’t wake up in the morning covered in flea bites from the rat infested places we could afford to stay in. My father may be a rich accountant, but he wanted me to stand on my own two feet. Still, I always knew he’d be there if I needed him.