Chapter 17
I sleep deeply, unlike any sleep I’ve had in a very long time. Anne and I have to be at Madison Square Garden an hour earlier than usual, so I miss my morning run with West.
Anne and I work the whole morning alongside Ford, getting things set up, and around noon my cell buzzes.
West: Hey, Blue Eyes.
My pulse flutters.
Me: Hi.
West: Miss me?
I beam a smile.
Me: No.
West: Liar
I respond with a smiley emoji.
West: See you at sound check.
Me: Okay, see ya…
After that, I stare at my phone, but nothing else comes through. The anticipation of seeing him at sound check nearly undoes me, so when Ford comes up to me and says, “I’m sending you and Anne on errands,” I nearly argue. That means I’ll miss seeing West.
I almost text West to tell him, but then decide that’s probably too much.
An hour into our errands, my cell buzzes. I nearly rip it from my pocket.
West: Where are you?
Me: Errands with Anne.
West sends me a frown emoji that inordinately pleases me.
West: See you after the show?
Me: Absolutely!
Nothing else comes through after that, and I finally slip my phone back into my pocket.
“You two have it bad.” Anne snickers.
“What?” I ask, though of course I totally know what she’s talking about.
“Puh-lease.” She snorts, giving me a playful shove. “Kidding. Dude, I’m so happy for you. I love seeing you like this.”
“Like what exactly?” Because I can’t quite put my finger on it, but whatever this feeling is, I want it to continue.
“Happy.”
Happy. Yes, I am happy. But happiness is foreign, like I’ve borrowed the feelings of someone normal and stuck them in my body. It’s light and fizzy and feels so good it scares me. “We’re just friends,” I automatically say, using the word I continue stressing.
She snorts again. “Whatever you got to tell yourself.”
By nine o’clock that night all the other bands have come and gone, and I stand beside Ford at the soundboard. A sea of bodies fills The Garden. Their excited roar vibrates through me. In my craziest dreams, I never thought this would be me.
“Bus Stop! Bus Stop! Bus Stop!”
“Cue smoke and lasers,” I hear in the headset Ford gave me to wear.
Colored smoke shoots up from hidden shafts, lasers beam down from the ceiling, and spotlights crisscross the crowd. Excited screams fill the air as the fans jump to their feet, craning their necks, trying to catch a glimpse.
“Cue sound.”
Ford slowly slides the channel bars into place. “Sound cued,” he responds into his headset.
Hidden behind the smoke, the guys begin to play the opening number, then West steps through first, and the crowd goes from wild to insane.
People jump up and down screaming and flailing their arms. A girl in the first row faints.
Some eager fans push toward the stage. Handmade signs pop up proclaiming undying love for their favorite band member.
Ford puts his hand over the mike attached to his headpiece. “Good, raw music. No fancy moves. Just the four of them jamming out. It’s the way it should be.” He cocks his head. “Hear that?”
I listen. “The reverberation?”
He points at me. “Good job, and the mid is off, too.” He reaches over to the EQ rack, makes some adjustments, and nods.
I observe his every move, hoping he’ll let me do some of that soon.
He makes a few more tweaks, then takes a step back to survey the stage.
Large flat screens sit perched on either side showing close-ups of the guys.
They each have their own unique style: leather, jeans, T-shirts, boots, sneakers.
Only Toby, the drummer, wears his hair long, and in my opinion, he needs a major cut.
West’s image flashes onto the screens, and my belly does a slow roll.
His head sways from side to side as he strums the chords. Dark strands curl in spiky messiness all over his head. The top four buttons of his white shirt are open, showing a bit of chest hair. A silver necklace hangs around his neck with an emblem on the end. I’ve never noticed that before.
“What the hell is going on?” Ford snaps.
“What’s wrong?”
“West’s mike is out.”
What?
West stands a few feet away from his mike playing his guitar. To the audience, nothing appears wrong. He’s jamming out instead of singing.
“There’s a mike box stage left,” Ford calmly speaks into his headset. “Have a roadie grab cordless number two and make the switch.”
Someone signals West from off stage. He grabs the bad mike and shoves it in his back pocket, and while continuing to play, he strolls toward the awaiting roadie.
A girl throws a bra and West snatches it out of midair, gives it a little twirl and tosses it back, all while making the swap and seamlessly continuing with the lyrics.
Ford looks over at me. “I thought you tested all those?”
His tone takes me off guard. “I did.”
“Well, a perfectly good mike doesn’t just go bad.”
I go through things in my mind. I had checked all the mikes, hadn’t I?
He sets the EQ for the next song and turns to me. “If I give you a job and you’re not sure how to do it, then you need to ask questions.”
“I did know how to do it.” The last thing I want to do is disappoint Ford.
“You can’t overlook anything in this job, Eve. It’ll get you fired.”
Fired? I stop breathing for a second.
He shakes his head. “I want you to go through everything after the show and figure out what happened.”
“Yes, sir.”
After the show, we break things down, the semis are loaded and en route to the next city, everyone heads off to a party, and I sit on the floor backstage studying the mike that had gone bad.
“You sure you don’t want me to wait on you?” Anne asks.
“Just go.” I wave her on. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.” There’s no way I’m telling her Ford threatened to fire me.
“I’m probably going to hit that party on Tenth.”
I wave her on again, just wanting to be left alone so I can figure out what went wrong with this mike. Plus, Anne likes to party, and I want her to have fun. I’m not her responsibility.
She finally walks off, and I go back to the mike. I run my fingers over the metal head, testing for looseness. I jiggle the transceiver and find it good, too. I get a screwdriver from a toolbox, quickly disassemble the mike, and find one single frayed wire. What the heck? How did this happen?
My cell buzzes, and with an irritable sigh, I pick it up. I swipe my finger over the screen and find a Google Alert for Grayson.
“Hey, Blue Eyes.” West emerges from the shadows. “We were supposed to hang out.” West puts his hand over his heart. “How quickly you forget.”
Between the bad mike, Ford’s “fired” threat, and now this alert I need to read, I’m not in the mood right now. “How did you know I was still here?”
West doesn’t answer at first, probably picking up on my irritableness. “I saw Anne as she was leaving. She said you were back here.”
I toss the screwdriver back into the toolbox. “Well, I’m fine. Can you just leave me alone?” My words come out meaner than I intend and looking at West’s confused expression confirms that. He has nothing to do with this. Why am I taking it out on him? I sigh, trying to make it right. “West…”
“Fine, whatever. Just thought I’d see where you were and if you still wanted to hang. In case you haven’t heard, that’s what friends do for each other.” He takes a defensive step away. “But, hey, you want me to back off? No problem.”
He turns and disappears into the darkness, and with every step he takes away, sorrow burrows through me. I didn’t mean what I said. I owe him a huge apology. Grabbing my phone, I start to text him to come back, but read the Google Alert instead:
Grayson Kader makes a surprise visit to NYC.