CHAPTER EIGHT
Okay, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it’s strangely fitting, considering the way the night started out.
Dustin takes a deep breath when we step into the little dive bar he’s brought me to. “This is it,” he murmurs, looking over the room.
I’m lost already. “This is what?” Do I sound cool enough? I hope I do. I probably don’t.
He smiles anyway. “The real deal. This is life. Not some prefabricated band, not some orchestrated version of life created for cameras and reality television. This is it. This is what I missed for a long time.”
I get what he means, though I do sort of wish we could’ve gone someplace where my shoes don’t stick to the floor if I stand in one place for too long.
It’s dark in here, cramped, and even though smoking in public places has been against the law for years, there’s still a lingering odor of it.
It clings to every surface, and I guess it could be called atmospheric.
But come on. I’m out with Dustin, which is a freaking dream come true. It doesn’t matter where we are or if it smells like decades of old smoke in here.
“So, you feel more comfortable here than you do in that other world you just described?”
It’s not until we sit at a corner table, a high top, secluded from a lot of the room, that he answers my question, “So much more comfortable. I’m a real person here.
I missed that for a long time. You have no idea how it messes with a person’s head, being told they’re the best when they’re barely out of puberty. ”
I could eat every word with a spoon. This is the kind of stuff I want to know, not just for a book I’ve barely scratched the surface of writing yet, but for the fact that I want to know him.
This is the sort of real-life, intimate information I would’ve killed for back in the day.
Even hearing it now gives me a little thrill—which is weird because he’s talking about something that once made him very unhappy.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so thrilled, come to think of it.
“That must’ve been really hard for you.”
He turns his head as if giving me a skeptical look I can feel, even with the presence of those dark sunglasses he insists on wearing.
I mean, let’s be reasonable. Anybody who sees somebody walking around in sunglasses in the middle of the night, in a dive bar that’s already dark enough, is going to know straight up that he’s a celebrity.
Part of me wonders if it’s a little performative, designed to attract attention instead of repelling it.
Then again, what do I know? I don’t know his life. I don’t know what he’s been through. But I most definitely have heard him being heckled for no longer fitting into the little box a record company once put him in years ago.
He must decide I’m for real because all he does is sigh deeply while nodding his head.
“On the outside, things were incredible. Amazing, a dream come true. The money I earned back then bought my family a new house. It put my younger sister through school, and I was happy to do it. It would’ve put me through school, too, if I hadn’t thought I was hot shit and decided not to go past high school.
And even then, it was just tutoring. There was no way I could have gone to a regular school back then. ”
“You would’ve been torn to pieces on the first day.”
He snickers, lifting a hand to signal the nearest server.
“Something like that. But the real problem, according to the principal and all the faculty at my local high school, was the distraction I would pose to the other kids. In other words, it was their education that would get screwed up if I were around. And don’t get me wrong; I totally get it.
I’m sure they had a point. But at the time, it felt like a slap in the face. ”
“I can totally understand that.”
Of course, I can also understand their point of view too. Who was more important? One student or every other student who would inevitably forget all about schoolwork in favor of the superstar in their school?
A server who looks to be around my age approaches.
There’s a question in her eyes when she looks from Dustin to me, and I’m about ready to burst with the knowledge that, Yes, your assumption is correct.
It’s really him. He orders a whiskey, neat, and I decide it’s better to stick with wine since that’s where I started out.
I’m having a drink with him. I’m actually having a drink with him!
The server takes her time turning around, and by the time she goes to the bar and mutters something to the bartender, I get the feeling she’s onto us—or rather, onto him since I might as well be halfway across town for all she cares.
There’s a pretty decent band playing, and Dustin is getting into the music, his head bobbing up and down. “This is the kind of thing I want to be able to do,” he confesses as he nods toward the stage at the far end of the bar.
“Really? I mean, that’s great,” I’m quick to add when he looks at me. “But is that satisfying for you after everything you’ve already done? I know it sounds hopelessly naive.”
That earns me a smile. “A little naive. Not hopelessly, but a little. And yeah, I really mean it. I’ve had the fame and fortune.
I don’t want that anymore. I just want to play my music and be respected as an artist, not seen as a has-been or a failure—or worse yet, a warning to other musicians.
That’s the worst—when you’re held up as some sort of example of what not to do if you ever make it big. ”
I’m about to ask him what that means, what he did exactly—is that rude? Maybe—when we’re joined by our server and one of her friends.
“I’m so sorry,” the girl whispers, leaning in much closer than she needs to, “but are you Dustin Grant? Because you look just like him.”
When he smiles, a little sheepish, the other girl points. “The dimples! I told you. As soon as I saw the dimples, I knew it was him!”
He admits that, yes, he is the one and only Dustin Grant and even submits to having selfies taken with both of them.
Naturally, I’m not included in any of this.
One of them even bumps into me as she’s scrambling around, trying to get as close to him as possible.
She doesn’t even acknowledge coming into contact with me, too busy flipping out over him.
At least he looks genuinely pleased to be recognized.
He’s not a jerk about it the way I’ve heard some celebrities can be.
I’ve seen it before with my own eyes too—you don’t live in Manhattan without bumping into the occasional famous person.
I mostly try to play it cool because I’m afraid somebody will get angry with me for invading their personal space while they’re only trying to pick up a loaf of bread or something quick for dinner.
Clearly, neither of these girls cares very much about Dustin’s personal space, putting their arms around him and generally draping over on him like clothes on a hanger.
It’s hard not to laugh a little, but I stop myself by remembering how I giggled so hard that I almost passed out when we met less than an hour ago.
I have yet to earn the right to be smug over being the girl sitting next to him.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not a little smug, just the same.
“Do you get that a lot?”
We’re alone again—or as alone as we’re going to be for the rest of the night.
Now that word is starting to spread, things are getting interesting.
People are craning their necks to get a better view, whispering to each other, nudging each other.
Probably daring each other to approach him.
He seems to be taking it all in stride, accepting his drink with a murmured thanks.
“Something tells me I’m about to get a lot more of it.
I’d be the worst liar if I told you this was a huge inconvenience.
It can be, for sure, but this is nothing.
Your hair would go white if I told you just half of what I’ve put up with over the years.
Girls sneaking into my room, disguising themselves as hotel employees, trying to crawl through ventilation ducts—”
“No kidding!” I should totally be writing this down.
He nods slowly. “That’s nowhere near the worst of what I saw.
Honestly, for as young as they were, those girls were pretty creative.
It finally got to the point where I would have to send a bodyguard into my hotel room to sweep it for anybody hiding in the closet or under the bed before I even stepped in. ”
“That’s wild.”
“That’s fame.” He’s already through with his drink and signaling for another.
By now, the girls are practically clawing each other’s eyes out for the opportunity to be the one to bring him a refill.
I can’t help it. I’m feeling a little full of myself right now.
I mean, who wouldn’t? I’m the lucky girl sitting next to him.
The one having a conversation with him—not because I brought him a drink, but because he asked me out.
Me! He asked me out! Just thinking it is enough to make me want to start giggling all over again.
“What about you? You haven’t said much about yourself.”
He’s not wrong about that, but it’s because we’ve been talking about him since we arrived. Not that I mind. Even if I wasn’t writing a book about a rock star, I would want to hear all about him. I could drink him in with a straw and never get tired of it.
“Me? My life is extremely dull compared to yours.”
“That’s all in the past though. That’s not the present.”
“Those three women over at the next table who are trying to convince themselves to come over here is happening very much in the present moment.” I nod my head in their direction, where the three of them are giggling furiously behind their hands, trying to get a picture of him in the extremely low light.
“You are what I want to know about though.” He actually goes so far as to remove his glasses, and he leans in until we’re practically nose to nose.
Did I die? Is this heaven?
My laughter is a little breathless, a little giddy. “I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you.”
“I doubt you could ever disappoint anybody if you tried.”
“I’m afraid if you made a bet on that, you would lose.”
“I like my chances.” And then he touches my leg, and my soul leaves my body for a second. “What do you say we get out of here? There’s a little too much attention now that you mention it, and I wanna get to know you better.”
Oh. This is happening so fast. Why doesn’t my mouth want to work? I moisten my lips with my tongue since my mouth is now as dry as a desert. What do I say? What’s the right thing to say in a situation like this?
In other words, what is the non-Kitty thing to say?
He laughs softly, probably picking up on my immediate discomfort.
“I’m starving. Doesn’t look like they have any food here, and I haven’t eaten since lunch.
Eating right before a performance is never a good idea.
It’s bad enough that I’m trying to get back out there, but nobody wants to hear me burp in the middle of a song. ”
I can’t help but think back to Blake and how I ruined what could have been a beautiful evening with a rather bassy belch of my own. I don’t think there will ever be a time when I don’t cringe at the memory.
“Yeah, let’s get something to eat. Whatever you want.”
Anything so long as it means spending more time with him. It feels like this is such a magical night, the sort of experience that only comes once in a lifetime. I want it to last as long as possible.