Chapter Seven. Riley #2
I hope I didn’t royally screw things up.
I don’t see Luna the rest of the day; Ashley answers her door and takes the trays from me.
I do take care to give her a green juice with electrolytes and a cup of Pedialyte that I brought with me from the US.
Performing with a hangover seems like a nightmare.
But after I’ve finished cleaning the kitchen and left her postshow snack in her greenroom, I slip into the seats that are held back for staff and watch the show.
Seeing her up there, I would never guess that this is the same girl who was a crying mess seven hours ago.
She’s confident and sassy, working the crowd between songs and then absolutely blowing everyone away with her singing and choreography.
When I saw her on her last tour—which was in much smaller venues and only in the US—the show was mainly just her singing into the mic with her guitar and her band behind her.
And I loved every second of it. But this tour is a full-blown production, with ten backup dancers and intense choreography, sets, and outfit changes.
It’s a pop star–level tour, and her new singles are flashy and exciting to see onstage.
But I can also see the care she’s put into the performances for her most popular songs, which are more melodic ballads from her last album.
Despite the songs being stripped back compared to her new music, the sets are intricate, and her dancers incorporate graceful ballroom- and ballet-inspired moves behind her and build a world onstage that brings the songs to life in a truly magical way that’s like no other performance I’ve seen.
It’s breathtaking, and from where I’m standing alone, I spot several women crying as they watch her.
I hope she knows that all these people—the little girls with their moms and the teenagers and the young women who see their lives in her lyrics—they really are here for her.
After the show, I run back to the kitchen to grab my bag and double-check what ingredients I need to pick up at the market tomorrow morning.
I could have just kept more in the fridge, but having the freshest ingredients makes a huge difference in taste, and I don’t want to skimp on anything, especially at the first stop.
As I close and lock the door behind me, I suddenly hear a voice calling my name.
“Riley, right?”
One of Luna’s backup dancers is down the hall, where a group of them are grabbing their things from their dressing room, now wearing leggings and sweatshirts instead of sparkling bodysuits. I give an awkward wave. “Yes! Remind me of your name?”
I actually don’t know anyone’s name. The rest of the crew has been working together for months, and besides the local runners at each stop, I seem to be the only new person. “Rhia,” she says. “And this is James and Anya. Want to grab a nightcap with us?”
I hesitate. I have to get up at five tomorrow, and I’m still jet-lagged.
But right now I’m wired from the adrenaline of the day and watching the show, and I wonder if brushing off their invitation now will mean that I’m resigning myself to being a lone wolf the rest of the tour. So I nod. “Yeah, I’d love that.”
We pile into a cab that’s lingering near the back door of the arena, clearly waiting for people who are leaving after the show. “Bonsoir, oú aller?” the driver asks.
“Bonsoir, le Bar à Bulles, s’il te pla?t,” Rhia says. She turns to me. “I go there every time I’m here dancing. Since it’s so late, it’ll only take like twenty minutes to get to Montmartre too.”
“Cool,” I say, and cringe internally. After being around Rhia for about five minutes, it’s clear she’s way more sophisticated than me. “How long have you been dancing?”
“Since she could stand,” James chimes in.
Rhia rolls her eyes. “I started touring as soon as I turned eighteen. I’ve been a backup dancer for Samantha Stevens, Kala, Elvie Matthews, Smith Squad … honestly it feels like everyone on the radio at this point. Luna’s tour is great, though. She’s not a diva like some people.”
“Should we have invited her?” I ask, suddenly worried about leaving her behind.
Anya laughs. “Definitely not. She’s great, but we don’t exactly hang outside of, like, official tour parties and things like that. She’s the star, you know? Besides, she’s laser focused on her own success and definitely too busy worrying about herself to hang.”
Everyone nods in agreement, and I don’t say anything.
Clearly, it’s not typical for Luna to hang out with her crew, so I’m not going to bring up that we spent the flight together and then went to the Eiffel Tower.
I listen as they chat among themselves, hoping I’ll get insight into what touring is like, and before I know it, we’re arriving.
I step out of the car and am awestruck by what’s in front of me.
We’re standing in front of le Moulin Rouge, which is lit up and glowing red.
I follow them inside and we walk up to a bar entrance, and after Rhia kisses the host hello on each cheek, he leads us in and directly to a table that looks out at the side of the iconic giant glowing windmill.
The bar’s patio is full of plants and lit with glowing string lights around small bistro-style tables, and it’s absolutely gorgeous.
All four of us crowd around a tiny table and Rhia orders a round of boulevardiers and a bottle of wine for us.
Anya starts showing James the messages from some guy she’s talking to, and Rhia turns to me.
“So, Riley, how’d you end up on tour? What were you doing before this?
What happened to the old chef? Tell me everything. ”
“I didn’t realize there was an old chef,” I say, surprised, although I supposed I should have assumed as much. “Ashley messaged me on socials and invited me to audition, and then a week later I was on a plane.”
“What were you doing before this?”
I flush, and I’m glad that in the dim lighting and glow of red that’s emanating from the Moulin Rouge windmill, she can’t tell.
“I was getting my MBA. And I’ve always spent the summers working for my dads’ lobster shack in Provincetown.
But I love to cook, and I was making more elaborate recipes on social media. ”
Rhia raises her eyebrows, surprised. “I’ve seen your videos! I knew you looked familiar. But Luna only works with the best people. I’m surprised she picked you if that’s all you’ve got on your résumé. No offense.”
I nod, maybe too emphatically, but I can’t tell because the long days and the drink that I’ve somehow already finished are catching up to me. “Trust me, I know. I was shocked. But it was a blind tasting. Now I just need to keep things going well.”
Rhia nods. “Totally get that. I’m dancing my butt off every night because I want to make sure I’m booked again for the Asia and Aussie legs. There aren’t a lot of good gigs in the winter.”