14—Little Rock （M&GMeet & Greet）
Well, that went well.
I’m not sure what I was expecting when I decided to lie to Larinda and break both of our hearts, but it wasn’t that. In the moment it seemed like the right choice. Now, not a single thing feels right. Worst part, I may have inadvertently made her even more intent on breaking up with Jarvis and playing into his devious, manicured hands. I have no choice anymore. I’ll have to tell her about the plot—once she’s willing to talk to me again.
As if losing Larinda (and probably everything else) isn’t bad enough, my parents just sent a follow-up message looking for a response to their previous email. Since I haven’t fully processed the first one, I have no idea what to do with this:
Dearest Perceval,
You keep us in agony with your silence. We beg of you to partake from the fountain of forgiveness and bestow upon us the mercy of your RSVP.
Lovingly yours,
Mummy and Papa
What nineteenth-century ghost is writing this shit for them? Guess this is what happens when you attempt your first ever apology in your fifties.
The day got worse when Chad recruited me for “an initiative” minutes after I returned to the bus to hide and regroup. While I had no interest in any “initiatives” orchestrated by the genius behind ten-dollar fish-themed pubic coverings, I was very interested in learning more about the plot against Larinda, even if she hates me now.
I guarantee it’s not more than I hate myself, though. Leave it to me to screw up an entire trope by letting my “grumpy” snuff out the sunshine in our fairy tale.
“You know how famous people do the M and Gs,” Chad whispers.
Why is he whispering?
“Meet and greets? Yeah, what about them?”
He shakes his head while referencing something in his zip portfolio. “No, it says M and G. ‘Jarvis M and G Initiative.’ See?”
Yep, “Jarvis Mamp;G Initiative”is typed in nearly unreadable font at the top of a blank page. Also, the way he keeps pronouncing “initiative” has me regretting everything about this.
“Ninety-nine percent sure that’s referring to a meet and greet,” I say.
“Fine. Whatever. Whether or not it means that?—”
“It does.”
“—is irrelevant. The point is, we need to find an octopus. A real one, if possible.”
Oh.
He continues walking as if there might be an unclaimed octopus on our path to wherever it is we’re going.
I’m a hundred percent sure there won’t be.
“Can I ask why we need an octopus?”
“For the skit.”
He checks something off a list, and I scan the empty corridor trying to determine what we just accomplished.
“We’re doing a skit?”
“Not us, silly. The fans.”
“At the meet and greet?”
“The M and G, yes.”
“With an octopus. Possibly a living one.”
“I said real. Doesn’t have to be alive.”
“I… okay.”
It’s not like we’ll encounter an octopus in any state of health.
“So have you been working with Jarvis for a while?” I ask.
“Since the beginning.”
“Of his career?”
That seems unlikely.
“Since his partnership with Sandeke Telecom.”
Way more likely.
“What are your thoughts on the guy?”
“That’s a great question, Val,” he says.
“Thanks.”
“What do you know about killer clowns?”
Not enough, apparently.
“Um… They generally should be avoided?”
He pulls to a stop and spins toward me. “Precisely. How did you know that?”
“I guess, movies? And common sense?”
He pats my arm. “Well said. You’ll make a great spy one day, Mr. Andrews.”
Hopefully, that day is today. “So… killer clowns?”
“Ah! Right. You know what happens before they bite you?”
“They… grab you?”
“No, Val. They give you a balloon. Sometimes a balloon animal, but most aren’t that skilled.”
Hang on. Is he suggesting what I think he’s suggesting?
“So, you’re saying Jarvis?—”
“Shh! Never use names. Rule number one. Autumn Blaze. It’s Autumn Blaze.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Apology accepted. Larinda is Hummingbird in case you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t. Thanks. Do I have a code name?”
“Of course.”
“What is it?”
“Labor Day.”
I think he’s joking? He doesn’t look like he’s joking. He’s not joking.
“Huh. Okay. Good to know. So Autumn Blaze gives you a balloon animal, but really he wants to kill you?”
“It’s looking like we’re on the same page, my friend.”
He winks, thus ending the conversation.
Are we? Maybe. At the very least he’s validated my stance on accepting balloon animals from strangers.
“Do you want to run the skit or should I?” Chad asks as we approach the massive line of fans.
“I don’t understand what the skit is,” I reply.
Not that I’d be able to do it even if I did. I can’t seem to concentrate on anything other than the giant red backdrop in the distance. Behind it is a photographer, security detail, and two country stars posing with people who paid a fortune for a signed tour poster and grainy snapshot with their idols.
On this side of the curtain are scores of impatient fans waiting for their turn, several irritated employees managing them, and an overzealous talent liaison posing as a spy. (Or is it the other way around? Still haven’t figured that out.)
And this is the side I’d rather be on. I have no interest in watching Larinda play engaged couple for an endless string of photos that will get plastered all over social media and embedded in people’s “Best Of” life moments. I saw the “garish” ring on her hand when security escorted her past a few minutes ago. She saw me too, but pretended not to. Guess she’s still pissed. And engaged.
“Excuse me! May I have your attention, please!” Chad shouts. When that doesn’t work, he waves his arms above his head. When that doesn’t work, he starts jumping. When that doesn’t work, he does both until the loud chatter fades into quiet bewilderment.
Say what you want about the guy, but his methods are remarkably effective (with the exception of selling concert merch).
“Before we begin, I have to make an apology,” he says in a grave tone. “Unfortunately, I was unable to secure an octopus for this event, so we’ll have to proceed sans octopi. Unless… Does anyone happen to have a spare?”
“A spare octopus?” I mumble. “You think one of these people brought an octopus with them?”
He returns an annoyed look. “It’s worth asking, right? Little Rock is known for…” He scrunches his brow as he realizes he doesn’t know what Little Rock is known for. I don’t either, but I know it’s not octopuses.
“Okay. Well, we can still make this work. May I have a few volunteers?”
Inexplicably, several people raise their hands. Then I remember:
They don’t know Chad.
They’re bored as hell.
They probably errantly think their participation will benefit them in some way.
“Lovely! You, you, you, and you.”
The four volunteers take one step, then look around uncomfortably.
“It’s okay. Come forward,” Chad coaches.
They don’t move.
“They’re worried about losing their place in line,” I tell him.
“Oh, right. It’s okay. I guarantee you will keep your spot.”
I’m not sure he has the authority to do that, but people trust anyone with a clipboard (or zip portfolio, in this case).
“Excellent. Have you ever been in a skit before?” he asks the first fan with an eager grin.
“Yeah,” the guy says.
Chad deflates but manages to brush off the setback. “Well, I’m sure you haven’t been in a skit at a Jarvis McKinnley and Larinda Scott concert, correct?”
That’s a safer bet.
Sure enough, the guy shakes his head.
Chad beams. “Excellent. Then let’s begin. What is your name and what’s your favorite Jarvis or Larinda song?”
“Uh, well, my name is Bill, and my favorite song is ‘Ain’t No Day Like Today’ by Jarvis McKinnley.”
“A true classic! Did you all hear that?” Chad shouts. “This is Bill and his favorite song is ‘Ain’t No Day Like Today.’ Who else likes that song?”
A spattering of applause trickles in, but mostly people aren’t sure what’s happening… which is fair.
“Excellent. Thank you, Bill. You may return to the line. What about you?” Chad asks the next person.
Bill hesitates for a moment, staring at Chad, then returns to his spot in line. Thankfully, the couple behind him let him in because I already have a bad record with concert security and want no part of enforcing Chad’s guarantee.
The next “actor’s” name is Jen and her favorite song is “Billboards and Billiards” by Larinda.
She returns to the line.
Kris likes “Treehouse of My Heart” by Jarvis.
Ed likes “Moonlight Musings” by Larinda.
Wait. Is this the skit? And where would the octopus have come into play?
“Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Chad exclaims with a clap. “Who’s ready for a sing-along?”
Hell. No.
Thankfully, I’m rescued from the musical version of this “skit” when Bruce approaches and pulls me aside.
“They need you behind the curtain.”
“Me? Why?” But we’re already walking.
“Not sure. Jarvis asked for you, specifically.”
Any relief at being spared Chad’s weird theater production fades. This can’t be good. I have no idea why Jarvis would want me with them for any reason other than to rub the engagement in my face and provoke me into trouble.
Okay, yeah. That’s why Jarvis asked for me.
Anger mixes with dread as we walk, but I have no idea what to do. I can’t exactly refuse the request without causing drama and making myself look like the asshole. I’m out of time anyway, and we duck around the curtain to see exactly what I was afraid of: Jarvis with his arm around Larinda, and Larinda wearing her perfected stage smile.
I’ve seen her use that smile while walking on four-inch heels with painful blisters. I’ve seen it while she was deathly ill with the flu. I’ve seen it while having her heart broken from a brutal review, while being told time and again to be what they want, not who she is, and while her world crashes down on an international stage. She’s the quintessential professional and can plaster that smile on her face through incredible pain, so this smile means nothing other than she’s playing her role to perfection.
My fists clench with resentment at Jarvis for what he’s doing to her, at Larinda for letting him. At this entire situation that is wrong and complex and completely impossible. At myself for making it worse and not knowing how to get us out of it.
“Next!” the assistant managing the line says as another one ushers the current fan away. The person is still starstruck as they stagger out of view with an expression that’s the opposite of what mine must be.
Larinda looks surprised when she sees me, so whatever this is wasn’t on her radar. That is not surprising.
The next fan is already being wedged between them for the photo op, so Larinda doesn’t comment as Bruce leads me behind the photographer.
“Oh, Valerie. Excellent,” Jarvis says. “One sec. Babe, maybe come a little closer.”
He tucks his arm around Larinda and pulls her against him. That move was solely for me, and my nails dig into my palms.
I fire a glare at him but remain silent. What can I say?
“Do you think we should get a kiss shot?” Jarvis asks. Larinda snaps a look in his direction, but he plays innocent.
No chance in hell that’s happening. I don’t care about blowing up my career.
“You asked for Val?” Bruce interrupts, already annoyed—and he doesn’t even know Jarvis made him a recruiter for a petty pissing match.
“Right, yes,” Jarvis says. At least he’s distracted from the idea that was about to earn him a fist to the face. “You’re so good with technology, being a producer and all.”
He holds a cell phone in my direction.
Yep. This is more confusing than Chad’s skit.
“Um…” I glance at Bruce, but his shrug doesn’t help.
“Photos, Valerie,” Jarvis says in an irritated tone. “Hurry up. We need to move this along.”
“You want me to… what, exactly? And my name is Val.”
“Whatever. No one cares. I need you to take photos for my pages. We’ve been so busy with being famous and engaged that I haven’t had time for fun BTS shots for my millions of fans.”
Only I can see Jarvis’ targeted sneer before his expression morphs into pleasant supplication.
“You want me to take photos for your social media pages? Don’t you have a social media manager?”
Probably a whole team of them.
“Yes, but they’re busy, and besides, I’ve seen your work. You’re so good with pushing buttons and pressing on things. Thanks so much!”
Yep. He’s taunting me. This entire thing is a pathetic A-list power play, because the fact that he holds every card, the box they came in, and the plant that manufactures them isn’t enough, apparently.
“We really need to move this along,” the photographer snaps at me. At me, as if I’m the reason for any of this. I’m still trying to understand what this is.
Either way, with a dozen witnesses and multiple careers in the balance (including my own), I have no choice but to take his phone as he tucks himself beside Larinda again. Her perplexed expression turns apologetic as it lands on me. The rock in my throat lodges in my stomach.
“Oh my goodness. Congratulations!” the new fan says as she’s positioned between them. “You two are, like, the perfect couple. You can totally tell you’re meant for each other.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” Jarvis says with an oily smile. Larinda’s is more of a stiff lip-twist.
“So nice of you to say,” she manages.
“This would be a great shot, Valerie. You mind?” Jarvis says. “Be sure to get her ring. It’s so lovely. Did you see the twig?”
I’m burning from the inside out when Larinda’s pained gaze brushes mine. Her stage fa?ade is slipping. As much as I want to scream right now, I have to pull it together to keep her from losing it, which could lead to losing a lot more.
I laser a cold stare at Jarvis and force down the ache in my chest.
He wants photos? Fine. He’s fucking getting photos.
Jarvis looks damn proud of himself for his clever game as he resumes his role and poses for the real photographer. I snap a picture of his shoe.
Next, I get a close-up of the pole supporting the right side of the backdrop. Actually, the rivet halfway up would be so beautiful juxtaposed against the fabric beside it. Strength and softness, you know? He’s right. I’m so friggin’ good at this.
I crouch down to get an artistic view of the stunning bolt and take eighteen shots of it from the same angle. Shifting slightly to the right, I get another twenty or so. The lighting is better from here. Bet it would be amazing about six inches higher. I straighten a little to get twelve more. Maybe he’ll frame one of these masterpieces.
Jarvis shoots me a silent critique, but since he wouldn’t know what I’m photographing, his ire must be from the fact that I’m smiling.
Yes, that’s right. Two can play at this game.
And that’s when it hits me. It’s not the power that fuels him. He already has more of that than he can ever play with. His sadistic game is extracting it. He loves watching people fall into his traps and accept his reign over them.
So what’s the best way to strip away that fun? Give it freely.
“Lovely,” I say, lining up beside the photographer. “Larinda, can you turn your hand a fraction to the right? Other hand. Yes! Perfect, don’t move.”
I feel the real photographer’s aggravation at my interference, but Jarvis unwittingly gave me a license to do whatever I want right now.
He’s pissed as I snap a few more shots with exaggerated “photographer” posturing. On one knee, then the other. Tilting forward, leaning back. I’ve never conducted a photoshoot in my life, but I’ve witnessed plenty. I can play the part all day if he wants.
Now this is a skit. Where’s Chad when you need him? God, I’d love to have an octopus right now.
“Beautiful! I need more from you, Jarvis,” I instruct. “Stop asking if you’re a rockstar and tell me.”
Jarvis returns a look that’s telling me something very different, and I bite back a grin.
“What’s your name?” I ask the new fan that rounds the corner for their turn.
“Me? Um, R-Reece?”
I nod and motion toward Jarvis and Larinda. “Great. Just stand between them. Give us your best smile, Reece. This is going on Jarvis’ social media pages.”
“Really?” the person asks, eyes wide.
Jarvis fires a furious look at me, but what’s he supposed to do? He literally told us that’s the reason for this charade.
I pretend to be oblivious as I snap a few more photos, this time careful to stay out of the real photographer’s way. I’m only interested in annoying one very specific individual.
“Be sure to check back later to see your picture on his page!” I call to Reece as the guy leaves. “Who knows? He might even make it his profile pic!”
The guy returns a giant grin.
“I’m serious,” I say to Jarvis, angling the screen toward him. “It’s a good one. You look divine. So, who’s next?”
“Actually, I think that’s plenty of photos. Thanks,” he grumbles, motioning for his phone.
“Oh, you sure? I really don’t mind. You were right, as always. I’m so good at this. Wait until you see the magic I captured on the curtain frame behind you.”
I’m no expert, but in my opinion his current expression does not seem very camera friendly.
He shoots out his hand, and I approach with a sigh.
“Well, let me know if you need my help again. It was fun,” I say with the brightest smile I can muster.
Larinda is holding back a laugh, and a burst of warmth shoots through me when our eyes meet. There’s no doubt she caught what just went down. She has a reputation for being shallow and clueless, but that’s just one of the many ways in which she’s misunderstood. This woman is deep and complex, and peeling back her layers this past year to find the intelligent, creative person inside has been an honor and aphrodisiac. There’s nothing sexier than brushing the secrets of someone’s soul for the first time.
But my efforts to dramatically return Jarvis’ phone are thwarted by her sudden squeal.
Alarmed, I follow her excited jog-jump toward… Nash and Paige? Guess they made it. I probably have a message on my phone that I missed since I was so busy with Jarvis’.
“Hey, Larinda,” Nash says with a huge grin. “Surprise.”
She’s still “squeeing” as she throws her arms around him and does an adorable hug-hop thing. Even his girlfriend (AKA my uptight sister) looks on in amusement.
“You’re here!” Larinda cries. “How did you get here? Wait, why are you here?”
She’s still bouncing as she steps back to hold him at arm’s length and scan him. Forget protecting her from Jarvis’ plot. I’m glad we surprised her for this moment alone. She could use a win.
“We were in town and thought we’d stop by,” Nash says. “Steve was able to get us in.”
Larinda laughs and shoves him. “Whatever, rockstar. Like you needed to be on a list to get through the door.”
He shrugs. “Hey, you’re the rockstar. I’m just?—”
“A soon-to-be Oscar-nominated artist, blah blah blah. Yeah, we know,” Paige mumbles. Nash tosses her a grin that draws an eye roll from my sister.
“Hi, Larinda. It’s great to see you,” she says. “Sorry for interrupting. Nash insisted on crashing your meet and greet.”
“It’s fine! I’m just so glad?—
“Actually, we really do need to be getting back to it, baby,” Jarvis says, coming up beside Larinda.
Wow. Talk about a superpower. His ability to sour every drop of positivity is remarkable. If Jarvis earned a spot in comic book lore, he’d be The Rancid Wrangler. Wait, no. That’s too cool of a name. The Curdler. Yeah, that’s it.
Nash’s expression is what mine must look like whenever Jarvis is in visual range.
“Of course,” Paige says, taking Nash’s hand to calm him before there’s an epic clash of celebrity forces. Bike Boy versus The Curdler. Coming to a meet and greet near you!
(I still don’t understand why Nash jokes about being called Bike Boy, but even Paige calls him that when she’s feeling particularly annoyed… or frisky. Ew. Back to the present nightmare.)
“We’ll catch up with you later,” she says to Larinda. “Let us know when you have some downtime. Maybe after the show tonight?”
“That would be great!” Larinda says. “We should have plenty of time to catch up before we roll out.”
Her gaze brushes me, and I wilt under the silent message. My secret girlfriend is available since I won’t be taking up her downtime anymore.
We need to resolve this mess quickly. I’m not sure how much longer I can take this tension between us. It’s been two hours and I’m ready to fold.
“Great,” Nash says. “Kill it tonight. We’ll find a place to crash until then.”
“You’re welcome to hang out on my bus,” Larinda says. “It should be empty.”
“Really? You don’t mind?” Paige asks.
“Not at all! I’d love that. I’ll meet you back there as soon as I finish my set.”
“You’re not gonna watch me tonight, babe?” Jarvis asks with a pout.
Larinda’s brow creases, and once again this man triggers a violent gene I didn’t even know I had.
“Oh, do you watch her sets?” Nash asks in an innocent tone that is far from innocent. He must know he doesn’t.
“Actually, maybe you’re right. It would be good for you to rest and spend some time with your friends,” he says to Larinda. “You have my blessing.”
Nice recovery, asshole.
He moves in to kiss her cheek, but she shrinks back with an awkward smile. Yep. I’m going to be a murder suspect before this tour is over.
Paige grabs my arm so it doesn’t happen right now. “Mind if we borrow him for a little?”
“Please,” Jarvis says, guiding Larinda back toward the curtain. “We’re not even sure why he’s here.”
Larinda winces, and I return a glare, but a firm hand drags me away before violence can ensue. I don’t even have a superhero name but it wouldn’t stop me from taking on The Curdler.
Wait. I guess I’m “Labor Day,”right? Maybe I could talk Chad into Captain Labor Day, at least.
“Everyone’s watching,” Paige mumbles as her grip tightens around my bicep.
I glance back for one last look at “the happy couple.” Only Jarvis looks happy, having won again. Of course he won. He always wins. Even when he loses he wins.
“Seriously. Not worth it, man. We’ll figure it out,” Nash whispers, joining Team Paige on this one.
I hate that they’re right and I have no choice but to let them lead me out of the VIP area. I also can’t help but notice that they’re wearing their all-access passes. Good for them. The security on this tour is stellar.