by Rowe, Lauren
Laila
One month later
Well, there’s no turning back now.
Not that I’d want to turn back. I’m just saying I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Today is the start of my tour with Fugitive Summer. One of my favorite bands. And the beginning of a whole new, exciting chapter of my career.
I’m sitting in the backseat of a large SUV with tinted windows, alongside my assistant, Katrina, plus the security guy assigned to me for the tour. Which is super fancy. We’re driving to Van Nuys Airport outside of LA, rather than LAX, because we’re flying private. Also, super fancy. At the airport, I’ll board a private jet headed for Philadelphia, where the tour will kick off tomorrow night. After that, we’ll spend three months zigzagging the entire country in a fleet of buses before ultimately winding up back in our hometown of LA.
Shortly after that, the new season of Sing Your Heart Out will begin shooting, at which point I’ll find out when my one-episode stint as Aloha’s mentor will begin. And once that happens, all bets will be off. According to Reed and Daria, the one-two-three punch of my second album, this tour, and, ultimately, my stint on the show, will catapult my career to staggering new heights. Fingers crossed, anyway. I’ve learned that “success” is out of my control. All I can do is work hard, do my very best, remain professional and humble at all times, and let the universe take it from there.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text from Malik. He’s wishing me safe travels and says he hopes it’ll work out he’ll be able to catch my show in New York. I reply and tell him, “Yeah, I hope it works out! Have a great game tonight!” And leave it at that.
Malik’s been fairly persistent since Reed’s party. But I’ve been super busy and also wary of his reputation as a manwhore. So, nothing much has happened between us this past month, since he slid into my DMs immediately after Reed’s party. At Malik’s invitation, I did go to one of his games a few weeks ago—the hometown Lakers vs. Malik’s team, The Knicks. I sat courtside at The Staples Center, in the front row, and cheered Malik on. Which meant I was cheering a lot, since he was the high scorer in the game.
But afterwards, I only kissed Malik and thanked him for having me, at which point it became clear he’d been assuming we’d go back to his place to bang after the game. I didn’t see the point in pursuing something with him, though. Not with me leaving for three months and Malik’s schedule being packed with games and events. Not to mention, Malik is based in New York and I’m in LA. Even if Malik does wind up coming to my show in New York, what could really happen between us, after that? The whole thing seems pointless to me.
I shove my phone in my purse as the SUV stops at a security kiosk at the airport entrance. The driver shows his credentials to the guard, along with mine, my assistant’s, and the bodyguard’s, and then, away we go, toward a private jet parked on the tarmac.
“Are you so excited?” my assistant, Katrina, asks, poking my arm.
“So excited,” I confirm. But that’s all I can muster, thanks to the pounding of my heart. I’d never admit this to Katrina, or to anyone. But I’m almost as excited about finally getting to meet Adrian Savage as I am about starting the actual tour.
By now, I’ve met all the other members of Fugitive Summer. Two of them—brothers Kendrick and Kai—approached me at the party. The other two—twin siblings, Titus and Ruby—were more than gracious and welcoming when I approached them. Also, Kendrick and Ruby both gave me their numbers at the party and told me to contact them if I had any questions before the tour. I never did initiate any texting with either of them, however. First off, I wanted to play it cool. But, also, I’ve been crazy busy this past month, finalizing my album for a rush release in time for the tour and rehearsing with my backing band. But, still, it was incredibly sweet of both of them to make me feel so welcomed and appreciated. Especially Kendrick, who was sweet enough to reach out a couple times to ask about the progress of my album.
And then there’s Savage, who didn’t speak to me at the party, even once. But, rather, made it abundantly clear, through his glares and body language, he was a) not happy about me joining the tour, and b) way too busy chasing tail to stop and say a single word to me.
During my performance with the Goats and Aloha, I looked for Savage in the audience, but didn’t see him. And that pissed me off. Everyone else at the party had the decency to watch our performance, as a show of camaraderie. But Savage couldn’t be bothered?
When I got offstage and looked around for Savage, I realized he hadn’t seen the performance because he’d already left. My guess? He cut out the nano-second he settled on whichever lucky lady he was going to bang that night. Predictable.
It was in that moment I made a vow to myself: I wouldn’t speak a single word to Savage during the tour, unless and until he spoke to me first. Which means this five-hour flight I’m about to take with him could turn out to be an interesting, and extremely quiet, standoff between us.
The SUV parks on the tarmac. My door flies open. And a blonde woman greets me with a big smile. “Welcome, Laila!” she says. She introduces herself as Tracy, our tour manager, and says she’s thrilled I’m here. I thank her and express my excitement, as someone swiftly attends to my luggage in the trunk.
A moment later, I’m climbing the staircase of the private jet, alongside my assistant and bodyguard, while preparing myself mentally to maintain a poker face when I see Savage for the first time. Don’t stare at him, I tell myself. Don’t drool. Don’t blush. And for God’s sake, Laila, look away first.
I enter the plane, my heart crashing, and I’m immediately greeted by a flight attendant who smells like roses. A staffer whose name I don’t catch introduces himself. And then another.
As I speak to everyone, I look around but don’t see the members of Fugitive Summer. Which makes sense, now that I think about it. Surely, I was given the first arrival time, to minimize their waiting-around time. Because that’s how it works in this business. Everything is geared toward the headliner’s comfort and convenience. Aloha never treated me like an underling on our tour. She always treated me like an equal, from day one. But I have to remind myself Aloha is the outlier in this industry. Maybe, one day, I’ll be the headliner who’ll treat my opener the way Aloha treated me. But in the meantime, I’m happy to be here on Fugitive Summer’s tour, and to wait around for them, whenever necessary.
I get settled into a window seat, while my assistant heads to the back to chat with an assistant for Fugitive Summer. I check my phone and find out my band of musicians are already in Philadelphia, since they’re based out of New York. I text excitedly with them for a bit, saying I can’t wait to see them soon. After that, I text with my mom and sister, with lots of emojis, about how excited I am. And, finally, when there’s a commotion at the front of the plane, I look up to find the famous faces of Fugitive Summer boarding the aircraft. There’s Kendrick, Kai, Titus, Ruby, and . . . some bodyguards. Some staffers. And that’s it. No Savage?
Fuck a duck, man. I’ve been girding my proverbial loins all morning in anticipation. No, all week. All month! And he’s not here?
The famous foursome heads into the heart of the aircraft, each one saying hello to everyone they pass. When they get to me, they’re gracious, but polite and calm, with nobody mentioning Savage. And that makes me lose my freaking mind. Is nobody going to mention the fact that the most famous face in Fugitive Summer isn’t here? Because . . . he’s kind of important.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” Ruby asks, motioning to the empty seat next to me.
“Please do.”
Ruby flops down next to me, her pink hair tied into two adorable buns on top of her head. She says, “I’m so excited to finally have another girl on tour with me!”
“I couldn’t be more excited,” I reply. And it’s the truth.
Ruby begins pulling items out of a backpack, getting herself settled with various devices and chargers. A pillow. Some fluffy socks. And as she does her thing, I admire her adorab
leness. She’s attempted to harden her pixie vibe with piercings and tattoos. But somehow, on Ruby, all of her adornments only accentuate her innate sweetness. The tougher she tries to look, the sweeter she appears.
After shoving her backpack underneath her seat, Ruby leans back and exhales loudly like she’s in a Jacuzzi at the spa. Her eyes closed and her head pressing against a pillow, she says, “And so it begins.”
I laugh. “And so it does.”
She opens her eyes. “During the international leg, Alexa Play Music opened for us. Do you know them?”
“I know of them.”
“Four more boys,” she says. “So, with our boys and theirs, it was eight boys and me. Good God, I’m a saint.”
We both laugh.
“What I’m trying to say, Laila, is I’m elated you’re here.”
“I’m elated I’m here, too. I’ve never toured with boys. My last tour was with Aloha. So, you’ll have to show me the ropes.”
“Just don’t let them steam-roll you. They don’t even realize they’re doing it.”
“Good advice. But I’m the opener, so I kind of have to let them steam-roll me a bit. It’s part of the gig. Or so I’ve heard. Aloha never hazed me. But I’ve heard stories about headliners doing that to their openers, as a regular thing.”
“Yeah, the guys did some of that to Alexa Play Music. They tend to feel like openers need to know their place in the pecking order, you know? It’s stupid, but whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “Something tells me that won’t happen to you. You’ve got a knack for making people want to roll out the red carpet for you, Laila.”
“I don’t expect any special treatment,” I say. “I’m just happy to be here.”
“I don’t think the boys will be able to keep themselves from treating you with kid gloves.” She flashes me a snarky look. “Boys are very visual creatures, Laila. And you’re a very pretty visual.”
I laugh. “Well, thank you. So are you.”
She smiles. “It kind of sucks, though, doesn’t it? Everyone should be treated with respect, no matter what. Not just pretty girls.”
“I agree.”
“Good. I’ll let the guys know you insist on being treated exactly the same as any other opener.”
“Well . . . I don’t know if that’s necessary.”
She laughs, and I join her. And just this fast, I know we’re going to be great friends.
A noise at the front of the plane attracts my attention and makes my heart lurch. Is Savage here? But, no. The sound is the front door of the plane closing, without Savage appearing. And even though I swore to myself Savage’s name wouldn’t pass my lips during this entire tour unless he broke the seal and spoke to me first, I can’t resist asking Ruby what’s going on.
“No Savage?” I ask.
Ruby shakes her pink head. “He’s been in Chicago this week, visiting family. He’s flying to Philadelphia today on his own.”
“Ooooh.” I smile. “That’s good news. This whole time, I was thinking he was pulling a ‘rockstar’ by making an entire flight of people wait on him.”
“Oh, trust me, Savage is perfectly capable of doing that. That boy is many, many things, but punctual certainly isn’t one of them. It’s really annoying, so brace yourself.”
“If you’re constantly annoyed by his lateness, why don’t you ever slap the shit out of him for it? You’re not the opener.”
“Meh. We pick our battles with him. In the end, it’s hard to say which parts of Savage’s personality contribute to his mad genius. So, we let him be, in case messing with the shitty stuff will mess with the amazing stuff. We all benefit from Savage being happy and carefree and left alone. That’s when he’s at his best.”
“So, you think if you slap the shit out of him, you might slap some of his genius out of him?”
“Exactly.”
I smile and nod. But I’m not sure I could hold my tongue like that with a bandmate. Aloha is a genius in her own right, too. An icon in the music industry. But during my tour with her, she never kept anyone waiting. In fact, she was usually early for everything. I remember Aloha telling me, early on, “We’re the lucky ones who get to go onstage and experience all the adulation and praise, but never forget it takes a village of crew and staff and musicians to make a tour happen for the thousands of fans who pay their hard-earned money to watch you perform. So, in the end, even if it feels sometimes like it’s all about you, never forget you’re there to create happiness for your fans and hundreds of jobs for your crew and staff. Make art when you make your album, Laila. Make happiness for the fans and money for the machine when you’re on tour.”
I distinctly remember Aloha’s words blowing me away. They were a revelation to me. A whole new way of looking at things. And to this day, I’ve kept them close to my heart at all times. Has nobody ever sat down Adrian Savage to give him a similar speech? Obviously not, based on what Ruby said a moment ago. And that’s a shame. I bet Savage would benefit from hearing Aloha’s thoughts on the importance of humility and professionalism in our industry.
About twenty minutes after the plane takes off, as drinks and food are served, Ruby and I settle into an easy, interesting conversation.
“Is it weird being the only girl in your band?” I ask.
“Nah,” Ruby replies. “You know Titus is my twin brother, right? So, being in a band with him feels totally natural to me. And then, with Kai and Kendrick being brothers, they feel like a single unit, too. So, I don’t really feel outnumbered there. And then there’s Savage, who feels like an extension of Kai and Kendrick, because he grew up with them. So, I guess I don’t often feel like one girl in a band with four boys. I feel more like part of a duo that’s merged with a trio.” She makes a cute face. “Does that make sense?”
“It makes perfect sense. Does Savage have any siblings?”
“No, he’s an only child.” She snorts. “Which, trust me, will make perfect sense to you once you get to know him. If you get to know him. He’s a tough nut to crack.”
I bite my lip. I haven’t exchanged a single word with the man and I already knew that. Which, unfortunately, is only making him more intriguing to me. Savage is a tough nut to crack? Well, guess what? I just so happen to consider myself an expert at busting balls and cracking nuts.
“Hey, ladies.” It’s Kendrick. With a huge, handsome grin on his face, he plops himself down across the aisle from Ruby.
I take in his surfer-boy handsomeness, his wavy blonde hair and bright eyes, and, immediately, I’m filled with warmth and happiness at the sight of him. It’s the same way I felt when I met Kendrick weeks ago at Reed’s party. Warm and safe. The same way I felt when we exchanged texts these past few weeks, regarding the progress on my album.
“I hope you don’t mind me hanging out here with you ladies,” Kendrick says. “Kai’s already annoying the fuck out of me.”
“We’re happy to have you,” I say.
“Speak for yourself,” Ruby says. But it’s clear she’s joking.
“So, Miss Fitzgerald,” Kendrick says. “Congrats on the release of your album last night.”
“Thank you. Phew! It was a tall order, but we did it.”
“I’ve already listened to it twice and it’s a-maaaazing.”
I’m floored. “You bought it? You didn’t need to do that! I have it on my laptop.”
“Of course, I bought it. And then, I stayed up late listening to it, twice. And I can honestly say it’s a masterpiece. I loved your first album, but this one is next level.”
Squealing happily, I get up from my seat and give Kendrick’s neck a little hug, making him chuckle. “That means so much to me, coming from you,” I say. “Thank you.”
He talks into my shoulder. “I’ll be shocked if you don’t win a bucketful of awards this time. Not just nominations, but wins.”
Flushed and smiling, I return to my seat, where I proceed to talk excitedly with Kendrick for the next twenty minutes about the album. And, quickly, it’s
clear Kendrick is anything but a bullshitter. Based on his questions and comments, it’s obvious he really did listen to my musical baby twice—and genuinely believes every word of praise he’s giving me. As the conversation progresses, however, I begin to realize something I hadn’t understood before. Specifically, that I think Kendrick is . . . into me. Like, totally flirting with me. And not just being welcoming and friendly. Shit.
The thought is flattering to me, of course. Kendrick is a beautiful, talented, lovely person. Truly, he’s as sweet as can be. But, the thing is . . . if I’m going to sleep with someone in the headliner during this tour—which Aloha has repeatedly advised me against doing, by the way—then it’s not going to be Kendrick Cook. Or Kai Cook. Or Titus Connolly. Obviously, I’m not proud to admit this, but if I’m going to sleep with anyone, it’s going to be Adrian Savage. Obviously. I’ve had a crush on him forever. As wonderful as Kendrick is, I’d never blow my chances with Savage by sleeping with his bandmate, let alone the one who’s apparently his very best friend.
“So, when will the world have your next album, guys?” I ask, trying to change the subject and deflect from the flirtatious vibe I’m feeling.
“We’ll probably start recording in earnest right after the tour,” Kendrick replies. “We’ve all been on fire writing new songs during the tour. Savage, especially. He’s been churning out some amazing stuff—pure gold. So, I’m sure we’ll jump straight into the studio when we get back.”
“That’s so exciting,” I say. “If you guys ever give friends ‘early listener’ copies of your albums, I’d love to be on that list.”
“Hell yeah,” Kendrick says. “It’d be great to get your feedback. I loved the mix on your new album.”
“Thanks so much.”
Kendrick smiles broadly, and I return the gesture, simply because that’s what Kendrick Cook does to a person. He makes them want to smile. But a little piece of me knows I’m playing with fire here. Is Kendrick interpreting this smile as encouragement of something more than friendship? Because, if so, I’ve got to figure out a way to tactfully steer him into my friend zone, as soon as possible.