9. Hailey
CHAPTER 9
HAILEY
“ D on’t do that,” said Mina.
I stiffened. “Do what?”
“Mess with your hair. No, wait, stand still.” She turned me by my shoulders and smoothed down my hair, tucking the flyaways back into place. “Let me call the stylist back.”
“We don’t have time.”
She tugged at my hair again, then glanced at her phone. “I guess we don’t. But don’t fidget, okay?”
Willing myself not to fidget made it harder to stop. It was like Jackson had said, about the pink elephant. I jammed my hands in my pockets, but they slid down my sides.
“Where are my pockets?”
Mina didn’t seem to hear me. She hustled me on. “The press will be waiting when we get outside, but you don’t need to say much. This’ll go quick. All you need to do is get on the bus, then turn around and say how excited you are. And give Seattle a shoutout. Don’t forget that.”
Seattle was the first stop on our big tour, eighteen hours’ drive up the west coast. I’d protested when Mina laid out our route — why not start closer, with Phoenix or Vegas? She’d snorted her disdain without looking up. “Because that’s not how the dates lined up. You don’t understand. Like, look at Vegas, if we started there, you’d be competing for ticket sales with Lana Dupree. It’s too much overlap, her fans and yours.”
We got on the elevator, and I felt again for my pockets. “This isn’t my coat,” I said.
“Huh?”
“There’s no pockets.”
Mina stared for a moment, then shook her head. “It’s from the stylist. And you have your purse. Now, smile! Look excited! Seattle, yay!”
She was being sarcastic, but my smile was real. I’d never been to Seattle, or anywhere. Well, besides Miami, and that didn’t count. I’d seen exactly two palm trees and one stretch of beach, from the studio break room where I took my lunch. Seattle would be a whole new adventure, the mountains. The Space Needle. The… what else was there? I had no idea. I couldn’t wait to find out.
Jackson met us in the lobby with two of his guys. He fell in just behind me and his men spread out, ready to block anyone trying to rush in.
“Breathe,” Jackson said.
I sucked half a breath and almost choked. My bus was outside, past the glass doors, on the other side of a huge, screaming crowd. It wasn’t just press, like Mina had said. It was fans waving signs. Thrusting phones in the air. They’d blocked off my exit, and my path to the bus.
“Don’t freak,” said Mina. “It’s better this way.”
Panic rose in my guts. Had she called them herself? Had she brought this crowd here for the sake of the press? Who were they, even? Actors? Gig workers? Or had she leaked my departure to summon real fans? They could be anyone. Dangerous?—
“You’re fine,” Jackson said. He touched my arm.
“But what if?—”
“Do you trust me?”
I glanced up at Jackson, huge, muscle-bound. He flipped up his shades to show me his eyes, calm as the ocean on a still summer day. Everything about him said relax, it’s fine , from the slant of his shoulders to his slow, gentle smile.
“I trust you,” I said.
“Then, let’s have some fun.”
His men strode ahead of us and out the glass doors, clearing a path for us through the boiling crowd. One fan tried to lunge for me as I stepped out the door, but Jackson was already waving her back. He walked me to the bus and handed me up the steps, and I resisted the impulse to run in and hide. I turned instead and waved for the crowd, and Mina nudged me.
“Seattle,” she hissed.
A circle of microphones bristled up from below, and a fuzzy gray boom mic swung over my head.
“How does it feel to be on your way?”
“Hailey! You excited?”
“Got some words for your fans?”
“ So excited,” I said. “So excited and blessed.” I felt myself flush — how corny was I? Mina nudged me again, and I slapped on a smile. “I can’t wait for Seattle. I’ve wanted to go ever since I saw…” What was that movie Mina had told me to say? Something romantic, with Tom Hanks, maybe? “ Frasier, ” I said, and I heard Mina groan.
The fan who’d rushed the door came at me again, this time with a notebook and a glitter pen. “Could I get an autograph? I love you so much!”
Jackson stepped down, then he ushered her forward, along with a few of her shrieking friends. They couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen, and they giggled and swooned when I signed Love you too . Cameras flashed, catching the moment, my fans going crazy. My wide-eyed surprise. I was actually enjoying this, knowing I was safe. Knowing Jackson was right there, and Mina at my back.
“Okay, you guys. Hailey needs to head out. But come see her on tour. She’d love to say hi!”
I signed one more autograph and held up my pen. “Whose pen was this?”
“Keep it! I love you!” The girl blew me a kiss. I pressed my hand to my heart and mouthed a thank-you. Mina took my arm and pulled me up the steps, and Jackson came after us, blocking the way. A couple of older fans tried to dart past him, but he steered them aside, gentle but firm. The doors hissed shut behind us, and I stood reeling.
“You did great,” said Mina. “You were a pro.”
Jackson took my arm. “You okay? Come sit.”
I let him walk me back down the carpeted aisle, my heart still pounding loud in my ears. The crowd was still yelling, milling outside. Bumping up on the sides of our brand-new tour bus. I paused to breathe, and spots danced in my vision.
“Are those beds back there?”
“You need to lie down?”
“No, but they’re beds. Beds on a bus.”
“Yeah, and check this out.” Jackson pressed a button by one of the beds and a white screen came down, blocking it off. “Totally private, and it muffles sound too. And here’s your phone charger, and a fridge full of snacks.” He opened a fridge I hadn’t seen, pulled out a yogurt, then put it back. I blinked at him, dizzy.
“How’d you know that was there?”
“Might’ve been on a few of these buses before.” Jackson stowed his duffel while I found a seat. I knew the crowd couldn’t see me through the tinted windows, but I ducked my head anyway and made myself small. I could see them , and I felt exposed.
“All ready,” called Mina, and I thought she meant me. Then the bus shuddered and the engine coughed to life. I sat up, surprised.
“Wait, are we leaving? Where is everyone?”
Mina half-turned in her seat near the front. “What did you say?”
“I said, where’s the band? Where are my dancers?”
“They have their own bus. They went on ahead.”
I sank back, disappointed. No Rashida? No Jen? No Constance to bug us if we slouched in our seats? I’d been looking forward to all of us packed on the bus, the summer-camp feeling of a road trip. Maybe we’d go from work friends to, y’know. Friend-friends. At least, we might have, but it was just me. A stab of envy lanced through me at the thought of that other bus, my entire crew crammed in like sardines. The backing musicians I’d only just met. They’d seemed cool in rehearsals, but I’d never know.
I leaned back in my seat and watched the city go by, glimpses of ocean as the buildings thinned out. It was exciting for all of about twenty minutes, then it sank in we had the whole day to go — the whole day, the night, and part of tomorrow.
I pulled out my laptop to work on some lyrics, but I was still too amped up from the press conference. Mina looked bored by herself up front, but when I went up to join her, she was neck-deep in work. She didn’t even glance up when I plucked at her headset, just brushed my hand away and turned her back. That left Jackson, who’d found a seat near the back, and looked to be dozing with his long legs stretched out. I thought about pretending to trip over his foot, an excuse to talk to him without being weird. Then a blue car whizzed by, and without thinking, I smacked him.
“Punchbuggy blue.”
To his credit, he didn’t jump, or look surprised. He just rubbed his arm. “Now, that’s not fair. You know, as your bodyguard, I can’t punch you back.”
I plopped down next to him. “Do you mind if I sit?”
“Looks to me like you are.”
“But I can go, if you want to sleep.” I halfway stood up, but he pulled me back down.
“No, I’m just teasing. I was awake.”
I smiled, thinking so far, this wasn’t too weird. “I was thinking this would be like the bus to band camp. But the rest of my crew got their own bus.”
“You get your own bathroom.” Jackson nodded to the back. “Guess it’s a fine line between private and lonely.” He frowned for a moment, then his face cleared. “This your first time on these cross-country drives?”
I nodded. “Yeah. First tour bus, first tour.”
“Well, there’s some tricks to it, like staying hydrated. People don’t drink so they won’t have to pee, but that’s when you get leg cramps. Or the dreaded butt cramp.”
I laughed out loud. “That’s not a thing.”
“Sure it is. Like an ass charley horse. It hits when you try and move, when you stand up, this gristle-deep clench from your thigh to your kidney. You go down like a sack of rocks screaming in pain, grabbing your butt cheek?—”
“No way that’s true.”
“Dry out, suit yourself. See what happens.” Jackson pulled out a bottle and took a deep drink. “You’ve got to move, too, even when you’re just sitting. Clench your thigh muscles, your toes, your ass.”
“You learn that in the Army?”
“No, before that.” He put his water away and made a show of flexing. “My dad used to come on my last day of school, and he’d pick me up and drive me all summer.”
“Like, on his hauls? You said he’s a trucker.”
“Yeah, on his hauls, but we did more than that. He’d plan his jobs so we’d stop off in places I’d like. Or we’d take detours to see weird road shit. We’d go from one weekend, we’d be at Disney, then two days later, we’d be covered in bees. Or we’d be feeding carrots to Sasquatch. You never did know, with Dad, where we’d?—”
“Wait. Did you say, feeding carrots to Sasquatch?”
Jackson grinned. “Yeah. Man , that was weird. I still, to this day, can’t say it wasn’t.”
“Wasn’t what? A real sasquatch?” I rolled my eyes.
“I mean, not a sasquatch, but some kind of, uh…” Jackson sat forward, his eyes lighting up. “Okay, so listen. We were on a deadhead run back from Seattle, heading for Oregon for our next job. I was ten at the time, or maybe eleven. Dad pulled up at this truck stop in bumfuck nowhere, and he woke me up and said ‘wanna see Bigfoot?’ And me being ten, of course I said yeah. So we rented this car, this janky old beater, and the next thing Dad said was, ‘You wanna drive?’”
“What? You were ten!”
“Yeah, but listen.” Jackson’s eyes twinkled, coming alive. “It was just this old backroad, this bumpy dirt track. You couldn’t do more than twenty or your muffler’d fall out. So Dad let me drive, and I was in heaven. I mean, he had one hand on the wheel the whole time. I was barely big enough to see up ahead. But he kept saying, ‘steer between the trees,’ and that’s what I did, and it was the best. But then we pulled up on this… you like Stephen King?”
I cocked my head. “Yeah?”
“Well, we pulled up on this Stephen King farm. I can’t even tell you how creepy it was. It hadn’t rained in a week, but the yard was all muddy. The house was all green and collapsed on one side. There was this horse where the front room had been, eating hay from the fireplace, out of the grate. These rednecks came out, identical twins?—”
“I don’t believe you. You’re making this up.”
“I’m not. Pinky swear.” He crooked his pinky. “These rednecks came out, and they go ‘here for Sasquatch?’ And my dad goes ‘yeah,’ and they took us round back. They opened this door built into a hill, and the smell that came out of it…” His face twisted up. “It was worse than an outhouse. Worse than a zoo. It was like if orangutans broke in your house, and then they just lived there for five or ten years. And there were these stairs leading down into darkness. This one naked lightbulb. Huge spiderwebs.”
I tch ’d, disbelieving, but I didn’t tell him to stop. The way he told his story made me want to hear more — the way he gestured to illustrate the tight, breathless space. The way his nose wrinkled when he described the smell.
“So, Dad went ahead of me down those old stairs. The wood was so springy I thought he’d fall through. But he didn’t, and we made it down, and he pulled back the curtain?—”
“The curtain?”
“Yeah, like this old, rotten red velvet curtain. Dad pulled it back and there was this cage, and this thing flung itself wham at the bars.” Jackson slapped the window so hard I jumped. “I had these carrots to feed to it, and I flung them all at its face. Dad grabbed me and ran, and he was yelling, like aaaah! He picked me up like a little kid, and I was five-nine by then. But I could see it, and it was a man. Or, it was man-shaped, but its teeth?—”
“No way.”
“I swear, it had dog teeth. Or, like, ape teeth.”
“Maybe it was an ape.”
“No, it stood straight. And its arms were human-length, not long like an ape.” Jackson stretched out his arms and hooked his fingers like claws. “At least, that’s how I remember it. Of course, I was ten.”
“And what did your dad do? Once you were safe?”
Jackson laughed. “Well, the rednecks wanted more cash. But Dad was in full-on bulldozer mode. He slammed straight through them with me in his arms, and he had us back in the car before they got up. We had burgers after, extra pickles, no cheese, and we shared a huge chocolate shake. Best day ever.”
“ That was your best day?”
Jackson’s smile softened. “Yeah. It was great. Dad’s not perfect by any stretch, but he’s, I don’t know. Dad . I always knew he’d be there for me, no matter what. No matter how big I got, he’d still scoop me up. Still run like hell with me from redneck Bigfoot.”
I’d been laughing till then, caught up in his story, but I felt my smile fade, my guts curdle up. Jackson couldn’t have known, but I’d called home last night. Called to invite my folks to come see me sing. I’d blocked out my number and Dad had picked up, but I hadn’t got past Hi, Dad when he’d cut me off.
“Are you coming home?”
“I could, if you want. After my tour, we could?—”
Click.
Jackson touched my shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”
I swallowed thickly, my throat gone dry. “I wish mine were here, is all. My parents, I mean.”
“I’m sure they’re still proud of you.”
“They’re really not.” I pressed my lips together, feeling small. Sad. “Mom thinks I’m a spinster, and Dad… he’s the same. They think music’s all sex and drugs past 1950, and dancing on stage is what strippers do. When ‘Night Dancing’ went viral, my dad called Mina and cussed her out for ‘selling me off like meat.’ Then he cussed me out for selling myself.”
Jackson winced. “Ouch. But you know you’re not, right?”
I nodded. “I know, but…” But I wished I had his dad. How great must that be, knowing you were loved? Knowing you could screw up and you’d be okay?
“They might come around one day.” Jackson caught my eye. “People soften with time. You never know.”
I made myself smile, but I didn’t believe it. People might soften, but my folks never had. Not when it came to me, anyway. More than anything, I wanted to curl into Jackson, burrow into his arms till the hurt went away. Would it be so weird to ask for a hug? Just a quick hug to take the edge off?
We can’t , he’d said. We need to keep it professional while you’re my boss .
I faked a yawn and stretched out. “I should get some sleep.”
Jackson pulled out a blanket and passed it to me. I pulled it up to my armpits and lay pretending to sleep, all the while aching for one long, tight hug.