Текст книги "Cardinal"

Автор книги: Sara Mack

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter Nineteen

“Stop!  Stop!  Stop!”

Dean waves his arms like he’s directing air traffic. My hands still and my guitar goes silent.

“Jen!  Move!”

I look up just in time to see a huge inflatable heart falling toward my head. Paul’s big hand wraps around the top of my arm and yanks me out of the way.

“Sorry!”  I hear someone from backstage shout. “The rigging on that one is a bitch!”

I watch as the heart hits the ground and bounces back up. I was almost attacked by one of Ariel’s stage props. I look above me again to see a sea of hanging hearts in various sizes, colored red, pink, and purple. She’s certainly going all lovey-dovey for one of her numbers.

“We should move,” Paul says. “It’s not like we don’t know our fucking places. We’re not jumping around like fucking River Dance.”

Ah, Paul. If I’ve learned anything about him in the last ten days, it’s that he doesn’t hold back.

“Sure,” Drew huffs from behind us. “Move farther away and leave me lost in the goddamn glitter.” He brushes his head and sparkles go flying. “Tell me why we’re here again?”

“We’re here,” Dean’s voice echoes through the speakers, “because we need to be. They said we could rehearse, so we’re rehearsing.”

I take a step away from Paul and stare out into the empty abyss of the Staples Center. The tour begins tomorrow night, and Roxanne secured us some stage time while the crew runs through Ariel’s set changes. What sounded like a great idea at first has turned into a comedy of errors. In addition to the falling heart, we’ve been blinded by stage lighting and bombed with glittery chunks of confetti. The pyrotechnics that exploded a half hour ago almost made us piss our pants. As I look around, I start to wonder if we should cut our losses and call it quits.

“Now what?”

Drew’s groaning question makes me turn around. The hearts above us start to ascend and large tie-dyed panels are wheeled into place around the stage. They surround Drew, and he tosses his drumsticks over his shoulder, defeated and annoyed.

“I feel like I’ve stepped into some trippy dream,” I say to Paul. “Hearts and tie dye. Is Ariel sixteen or twenty-five?” I’ve yet to meet her or any of her people, but I am familiar with her music. To me, she seems like a mix of Britney Spears and Katy Perry. Sexy and sweet with a little raunchy thrown in.

Just then, the lights go out and black lights illuminate the stage. Everything glows, including us.

“Your dream just got a fuck-ton trippier,” Paul jokes and starts to pluck a familiar bass line. It’s “Purple Haze” by Jimi Hendrix. I laugh and try to join in, but I’m terrible.

“Guys. Let’s focus,” Dean says. “Let’s take it from the top of “Out of the Blu.”

“I need out of the black,” Drew says. “I can’t find my sticks.”

Dean lets out a frustrated sigh. “Take five.”

I walk back to my side of the stage to wait out the latest special effect. Standing in place I rock back on my heels, thinking about the last week and a half. It’s been a blur and my fingers are blistered, but I wouldn’t trade this crazy experience for anything. I never thought I’d be standing on stage in an arena that can hold 18,000 people, yet here I am. Playing tomorrow both excites and terrifies me. It’s a heady feeling. I’m still nervous, but not as much as I was when I left Chicago.

When the lights come back on, movement off stage catches my attention. Roxanne is headed our way with her arms full of paper.

“How’s your rehearsal?  I hope you’re putting in quality time.”

I want to tell her if she’s worried she should stay, but I don’t. Even after a week and a half I still can’t read her very well. Is she our friend?  Our boss?  I’m still not clear on whether she works for the record label or Dean.

Roxanne shifts what looks like posters in her arms. “I brought the final product of your last photo shoot.” She stops walking and stands near the front of the stage. “I think you’ll be pleased.”

We all walk toward her, and she hands us each a copy. The glossy posters are longer than they are wide with a sepia-toned background. Each of us is pictured in black and white, and we’re standing side by side but looking off in different directions. We never posed this way, so I know the photographer took our individual shots and Photoshopped us. Dean is first in line and he stands casually. He’s holding the neck of his guitar with one hand and looking down at the ground with a smile. Drew is next, and he wears a more serious expression. He has his arms crossed and most of his back to the camera, so you can see his drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket. Paul wears his usual cocky smirk as he holds his bass over one shoulder, and then there’s me.

I’m last in line, but I wear the biggest grin. My eyes are closed as I hold my acoustic in front of me like I’m playing. My hair whips around my face, but it doesn’t obscure it. I think I remember this shot. At one point during the session, the photographer’s assistant turned on a big fan and it felt like I was stuck in a hurricane. I started laughing because I thought it was silly; a stylist spent an hour meticulously curling my hair only to have it ruined in an instant. Plus, I’m not a model. The fan reminded me of a fashion shoot.

Paul reads aloud from the top of the poster and embellishes the band name just a little. “Dean McCarthy and the motherfuckin’ Union.”

A small smile plays over Dean’s lips as he looks over the design. “Joining Ariel Allyn on the Renegade Tour,” he adds.

“Here.” Roxanne starts to hand out equal stacks of posters. “Every one of you needs to sign all of these.”

“Why?” I ask as I receive mine.

“We’ll be shipping them to radio stations and doing online giveaways through Dean’s website. People who purchase a VIP ticket to the show will also get one.”

I look over the picture again. Cool. I get to autograph something.

When Roxanne’s hands are empty she reaches into the over-sized canvas tote she always carries and pulls out two packages of Sharpies. She hands them to Dean. “I’m giving the swag to you now because I have a dinner meeting with Ariel’s manager. We need the posters signed by tomorrow and there’s five hundred here.”

“Okay.” Dean juggles the items in his hands. “I say we set this stuff down and –”

“PA-SSSSSSHHH!”

A pop followed by loud hissing noise makes us all jump and duck. I turn around and see plumes of white smoke being shot into the air at the back of the stage. There must be twenty air-pressured jets shooting the mist sky high. It’s so loud we can’t do anything but stare until the test is over. When the jets stop, a damp fog drifts over us.

“All these effects can’t be safe for the dancers,” I think out loud. “Someone is going to fall and kill themselves.”

“That’s why they make more money than you,” Roxanne says matter-of-factly. “They’re trained for this.”

I meet her eyes and frown. The woman doesn’t have a filter.

“Let me explain why.” She holds both hands in front of her, palms up, and shifts them like a scale. “Headliner, opening act. Established musician, former guitarist starting over. Practices that have taken place since the tour was established, one week of rehearsals. Do you see a theme here?”

Way to make me feel small, Rox. “Thanks for clearing that up,” I say sarcastically.

She doesn’t react to my tone. “Well,” she claps her hands together, “I’m off. I need to meet Mason and discuss uploading your merchandise to the tour store. I also want to add a link on Ariel’s webpage. I swear, you’d think these things would be easy, but ...” She drifts off. “Anyway, I’ll see you all bright and early. Remember you have a radio interview at ten. I need you alert and happy, so turn in early, okay?  This could be the last decent night of sleep you get for a while. Call me if you need me.”

She walks away and our collective group of eyes follows her. Once she’s out of sight, tense voices can be heard from the opposite direction. Our attention shifts to the left, and we see some arguing crew. Drew clears his throat.

“I say we ditch this joint. Let’s find some drinks, sign this shit, and celebrate. The tour starts in twenty-four hours.” He looks around the group. “Who’s with me?”

Paul’s hand shoots up first and mine follows. Dean gives us an exasperated look. “Guys. I think we should run through the set at least one more time.”

I walk over and nudge his arm with my elbow. “We got this.” I sound more confident than I am, but I think a break is in order.  I can tell we’re starting to stress, Dean more so than the rest of us. We’ve been going non-stop since we flew into L.A. “Let’s relax,” I say. “All of these stage surprises have us on edge.”

Dean remains silent.

“C’mon.” I give him an exaggerated pouty face before Drew and Paul do the same.

“Fine,” Dean concedes. “I could use some Jager.”

“Hell yeah!” Drew throws his fist in the air. “I dub this the first official party of the Renegade tour. Let’s go.”

It doesn’t take us long to leave our instruments and find the exit. As we step out into the summer night Drew says, “There’s a restaurant Mona told me about near L.A. Live. The Yard House. She said they have good food and it’s in walking distance.”

Paul looks doubtful. “You want to go somewhere our stylist recommended?”

“Would you rather pay for beer or cab fare?”

“Beer,” Paul says.

“That’s what I thought.”

Drew and Paul lead the way as we walk up some stairs and round the side of the Staples Center. Across the street is the Nokia Plaza. It’s lit up like Times Square by a huge LED screen and multiple smaller screens attached to six tall pillars. Latin music spills into the air from the open doors of a bar named The Conga Room and, after we walk across the space, we pass a Starbucks. My stomach growls for a Frappuccino, but I keep moving. Soon, I spot awnings printed with the Yard House name.

Glancing at Dean, I ask, “Is it weird we’re carrying our own promo material through downtown L.A.?”

He laughs. “If we were smart we’d start handing it out.” He looks at the people milling around. “Roxanne might kill us if we returned less than five hundred posters, though.”

“She’s …” My voice fades. “Are all managers like her?”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You mean direct and to the point?”

“I would have said crass and bossy, but yeah.”

He smiles. “I wouldn’t know. My only other manager was Audrey, and she was family.”

We arrive at the restaurant doors where the logo boasts “Great Food, Classic Rock, and the World’s Largest Selection of Draft Beer.” We follow Paul and Drew inside. After Paul flirts with the hostess, we end up seated at two small tables side by side. Dean and I are at one, and Drew and Paul are at the other. A waiter arrives to take our drink order, and I opt for a Gin and Ginger. Drew high-fives me over the back of my chair. “First official party.” He winks.

“Is this you guys?” The waiter eyes our posters.

“Yep,” Dean says. “You coming to Ariel’s show?”

“As a matter of fact I am. I got my girlfriend tickets for her birthday.”

“Great. What are your names?  I’ll give you a shout out tomorrow night.”

“You will?” The waiter looks surprised. “That would be awesome. I’m Chris and my girlfriend’s name is Whitney.”

Dean smiles. “I’m Dean. Nice to meet you.” He shakes Chris’ hand, then looks back at the menu. “I’ll take a Surly Furious, please.”

“Got it,” Chris says as my eyes dart to an ad on the table for the hoppy beer.

“What?  No Jager?” I tease, remembering the liqueur Dean said he needed.

“Not when there’s decent ale around.”

The waiter leaves to get Paul and Drew’s order, and Dean reaches for a package of markers and rips it open. “Better get started,” he says and flips me a pen. We spread out the posters and start signing them. I follow Dean’s lead and scrawl my name above my head. After signing a few, I find my cell and take a picture. I caption it #signingswag and send it to Latson. Then I post it to Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, and Twitter. I have to remember to do all four, since Snapchat and Twitter are new to me. Roxanne made me get the apps, so I was available to potential fans.

When Chris brings our drinks, he tells us they’re on the house. I surprised the drinks are free and accept mine with a grateful “thanks.” Dean thanks him as well before answering his vibrating phone. “Hey.” He takes a drink of his beer. “Yeah. Where are you?” He waits for their answer. “The Marriott by L.A. Live?  We’re across the street, at the Yard House.” He sets his glass down and picks up a pen. “Sure. We just got here.” He signs his name. “Okay. See you in a few.” He hangs up.

“Expecting someone?” I take a sip of my drink.

“Just Heidi.”

I nearly choke. “Heidi?  As in red-haired, bitch-face Heidi?”

Dean smirks. “Gunnar told me about your confrontation in his hallway. Did you not expect to see her on tour?”

I’d forgotten about that part of the conversation. “Does she know I’m here?”

“I didn’t tell her.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s none of her business who’s in my band.”

This ought to be interesting. “She’s going to be pissed when she finds out. You might lose a groupie.”

Dean shrugs. “It’s nice to have the girls around, but they’re not necessary. I let Heidi and her friends tag along because their reaction to the band stirs up interest. If she wants to play dirty, however, she can go. It makes no difference to me.”

“It might get dirty,” I warn him. “She hates me. I don’t know what I did but –”

“You stole my brother’s attention.” Dean talks as he autographs. “Heidi’s been after Gunnar since his voice changed. I think she thought the two of them would bond over Audrey’s death, but it didn’t happen. No matter how hard she tries, he doesn’t want her.”

I think about what he said. She does act like a spurned lover.

Dean continues. “You know why I call Gunnar my brother, right?  I was a foster kid.”

“I know.” I smile. “Latson told me. He told me about his – your – mom, too. I’m sorry she’s sick.”

“You and me both.”

“Hey.” I feel a tap on my shoulder. “Can we get some of those pens over here?”

I grab a few and turn around to hand them to Drew. “Thanks,” he says. “Oh, and here’s a tip. The more you drink, the less you’ll feel the carpal tunnel.”

I laugh.

Dean and I continue to sign until the Eagles “Hotel California” comes on. He starts to sing and I join him, until footsteps and laughter interrupt our duet. I look up to see Heidi and her entourage approaching. They’re wearing tight, skimpy outfits with little strappy tank tops and heels. Heidi’s all big smiles and swaying hips until she sees me. Her eyes narrow and her walk slows, yet she makes it to our table. She looks down and picks up one of the band posters.

“What the hell?” she hisses and turns to Dean. “Please explain why this bitch is here.”

“I think it’s obvious.” Dean remains nonchalant. “She’s in my band.”

“Since when?”

“Since I asked her.”

“She has no talent!”

“Says who?”

“Says me!”

I pick up my glass and take a drink. This is entertaining.

“You must not have ears,” Paul says from behind me. “She’s fucking talented. And, hey, by the way, long time, no see.”

Heidi shoots him an evil glare. “You didn’t call me, remember?”

My eyebrows shoot up.

Heidi turns her attention back to Dean. “I didn’t sign up to watch her on stage.”

“Then look past her and at me,” Drew says over my head. “I’ll be the one behind the drums.”

“Or,” Paul stands, “you could not show up at all. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings any.”

Heidi scowls and focuses on me. “You’ve got them all wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?”

I shrug. I refuse to get riled up. Instead, I grab a Sharpie and remove the cap. I sign another poster and ask, “Should I make this one out to Heidi or do you prefer another name?”

She slams her hand down on the table and leans into my space. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“I’m sorry. I guess I don’t. Do you want me to sign your hand instead?” I move quickly, getting a J and an E on her skin before she yanks her hand away.

“You …” she seethes. She points at me and looks at Dean. “I’m not putting up with this!”

“No one said you had to.” Dean raises his glass. “Why don’t you take a seat and relax. Jen won’t talk to you if you don’t talk to her. Right, Jen?”

I nod.

“Ugh!” Heidi huffs and stomps off to an empty table. One of her girlfriends follows her, while the other three remain by us.

“Wow.” A nameless woman steps forward. “Hi. I’m Brooke.” She extends her hand to Dean. “I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot. I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m super excited to hear you guys play. So are Kate and Lisa.” She looks over her shoulder at the other two girls.

Dean shakes her hand. “That’s good to hear. Are you familiar with our music?”

Brooke blushes. “Um, no. Not really. Heidi just said she was following a band and we could come along. Maybe meet the guys and help out and ... I don’t know. Have fun, I guess.”

“Well, ladies, you’ve come to the right place.” Paul grins and pulls over two empty chairs. “You’re more than welcome to join us.” He looks around. “I don’t see another empty seat. One of you will have to sit on my lap.”

One of the girls, Kate or Lisa, I’m not sure who, happily volunteers. Jesus, I think. So it begins. I’ve yet to see any “rock star” behavior out of any of the guys; I suppose it had to start sometime. As Paul plays Bad Santa, I roll my eyes and go back to what I was doing. I silently wonder how interesting things will get once we’re out on the road. I have no idea how big the tour bus is. Should I invest in sound-proof headphones?

“Don’t worry about Heidi,” Dean interrupts my thoughts.

“Do I look worried?”

“I don’t know. You’re making some kind of face.”

I laugh. “I’m just thinking, that’s all.”

“About?”

I glance back at Paul, Drew, and the girls. Their flirting makes me miss Latson. Not that I haven’t missed him every day, but this kind of throws it in my face.

“Hellooo,” Dean says. “What are you thinking about?”

I sigh. “That there’s only one lap I’d like to sit on.”

Dean gives me a knowing smile. “You guys will be together before you know it.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

~~~~

“God, I wish you were here.”

I stare at my reflection in the dressing room mirror as I hold my phone to my ear. I’m trying to remain calm, but we go on for the first time ever in about an hour.

“You’re going to be fine,” Latson reassures me through my cell. “I know it. I can feel it from two time zones away.”

I let out a heavy breath and blow my side bangs off my face. Mona, our stylist, intricately curled my hair to the left, since I decided to grow a zit on that side of my forehead. I know it’s from stress, but come on. Did it have to show up on opening night?

“Take a picture of yourself and send it to me,” Latson says. “I want to see you before L.A. does.”

“Okay. Hang on.” I put his call on hold and do as he asks using the mirror. I send the picture as a text message and then go back to the call. “Done,” I say.

It takes a minute before he receives it. “You look amazing,” he says. “Where’s the sign that says your mine?”

I laugh. “It will be spelled out in lights over my head on stage.”

I have to admit that Mona did a great job despite my new friend Zitty McZit. She gave me cat eyes with thick, black liner, and she made my lips look pouty with two shades of lipstick and some sort of gloss. My cheeks look perfectly pink, and the clothes she picked out are cute ankle boots, tight jeans, and a sheer white peasant blouse. I’m wearing a black mid-riff tank underneath it, and my hair falls in waves down my back.

“I miss you,” I say. “I could use a kiss for encouragement right about now.”

“If I was there to kiss you I wouldn’t stop. You’d be late for the show.”

“I’d be willing to risk it.”

Dean gags from behind me. My tone must give me away. “Are you two getting all mushy?  We’re taking good care of her, G!”  He yells so Latson can hear.

“Tell Dean to worry about himself,” he says.

A guy wearing a headset knocks on the open door. “D.U.?  You have five minutes until meet and greet.”

“Thanks,” Dean says.

I meet his eyes. “D.U.?”

“It’s short for the band name. It’s easier.”

“Oh.”

“Still learning the ropes?” Latson asks.

“Yeah. They don’t give all the secret codes to the new kids.”

Roxanne comes speeding around the corner. “Why are you all still in here?  Meet and greet. Now. Walk.”

“Gotta go,” I say to Latson as I hop off the stool. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it,” he says, “but break a leg anyway.”

I fall in line behind Rox, Dean, Paul, and Drew. We make a few turns down a couple of hallways before we’re led into a small conference room. There are no tables or chairs, just a group of about twenty people wearing lanyards and holding stuff like cameras and papers. Roxanne stops us before we get too close.

“These are the VIP people who paid extra for close seats. They get to meet you now and Ariel after the show. So be nice, smile, and sign whatever it is they want you to sign.”

We nod and she releases us. The guys wave and greet the fans like the pros they are, while I do my best to fit in. A few cameras flash and Dean’s name is shouted before Roxanne and another attendant start to let people forward. The first two ladies look like sisters and wear huge grins as they ask Dean to sign t-shirts. They each pose for a picture with him and then make their way down the line. We each sign their shirts and they want pictures with all of us, which surprises me. I mean, who am I?  They haven’t even heard me play.

At the end of the session I meet a girl who came to see the show with her mother. She looks about twelve years old and asks me to sign her backstage pass.

“Sure. What’s your name?”

“Amanda.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Amanda.” I sign my name next to the words “Renegade Tour.” “Are you excited to see Ariel later?”

She nods. “And you, too.”

“Me?  No one knows me.”

She blushes. “I didn’t know girls could play in rock bands. I always thought they had to be pop singers.”

“Oh, no,” I say. “Girls can be band members. They can play any instrument they want.”

“What do you play?”

“The guitar.”

“That’s cool.” She looks at her pass I just signed and smiles. “Thanks. I haven’t heard any of your music yet, but I’m sure I’ll like it.”

“I hope so,” I say as her mother asks us to stand together for a picture.

We finish the meet and greet with time to spare since not everyone who purchased a VIP ticket showed up. Roxanne explained some people buy the tickets just to meet the headliner, but she hopes that will change the longer we’re on tour.

“You have half an hour before show time,” she announces. “Make the best of it.”

Without consulting the guys, I decide to go back to the dressing room to busy my hands. I need something to pass the time to keep my mind off what I’m about to do. Even though I’m using another guitar on stage courtesy of the label, I brought my own with me tonight to keep me sane. It’s comforting to hold something familiar before doing something that’s the exact opposite.

I’m almost to the room when the same guy wearing the headset from earlier stops me. “Are you Jen Elliott?”

“Yes.”

“There’s someone waiting for you in your dressing room.”

Immediately my thoughts jump to Latson. “Thank you.” I grin and pick up my pace. Maybe he was lying when he said he was two time zones away. When I make it to the room, I expect to see him standing there with his lopsided smile and open arms. Instead, who I see stops me dead in my tracks.

“So.” Ariel Allyn flips her hair over one shoulder. “You’re the one dating my ex.”