Chapter Forty-Three Hello, Los Angeles
Chapter Forty-Three
Hello, Los Angeles
Griffin
I’m in the wings of the outdoor amphitheater as the vibrating hum of five thousand people carries backstage to where I sit. Stage managers race out and back, tuning our instruments and setting up mics. I watch in a haze, leaning against a black brick wall, staring out at the piano mid-stage.
Jimmy walks over with his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He lets out a heavy exhale. “She didn’t show up, huh?”
I lean forward to rest my forearms on my knees, linking my hands together and shaking my head.
“No,” I answer.
Jimmy runs a tongue over his teeth and sighs. “I’m sorry, big guy.”
It’s the last stop on our tour before we break for a couple of months, do some interviews, then go back out again for another tour to promote the new album.
I don’t know what I was hoping for tonight.
Maybe that Beverly would celebrate with us afterward.
Maybe that, after three months apart, I could see her for just a few hours.
Maybe talk to her. Tell her it was all a mistake. See where it lands us.
I love you.
I get it, though.
We’re complicated.
I’m complicated.
Who would want to be with someone perpetually on the road?
Dom, Poe, and Royce walk through the backstage door. Poe balances a small basket of fries in his palm.
“Last cheese fries of the tour, and honestly, I’m a little disappointed,” he says, grabbing a handful to shove into his mouth and then asking through full cheeks, “Griffin? Want one?”
I give a wry smile—the same one I’ve given at every single venue because it’s tradition for me to do so—and shake my head no. The cheese messes with my vocal cords, so I don’t eat them before singing for two hours straight. Poe, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about his voice.
“Suit yourself,” Poe says with a shrug.
I snort a small laugh. I’ll miss our little road traditions. I’m sure he’ll come up with something new for the next one, but thinking past tonight feels impossible.
Royce pushes the fries away when Poe offers them to him next. “Stop, man. Read the room.”
“What?” Poe looks to me; then his face falls. “Oh, shit.” He sets down the fries and brushes the crispy debris from his fingers. “Puppet girl didn’t come.”
“It’s fine,” I lie. “Just means I can get home to Ava sooner. I’m sure Nancy will be happy to have her night back.”
Dom groans. “Don’t worry me like that.”
I chuckle. I’m sure his teen daughter being on the loose in LA on a Friday night wasn’t his idea of a relaxing homecoming.
Poe’s jaw drops. “Wait wait wait, you’re not gonna go out with us after? It’s the end of the tour. We have to go out.”
Royce laughs. “Enough with the peer pressure!”
“It’s tradition!” Poe whines.
“Well, enough with the traditions, then.”
Dom, silently sitting across from me while Poe and Royce continue to bicker, leans forward on his forearms, leveling me with a look.
“You all right?” he asks.
I sit up, stretching out my back and crossing my arms over my chest. “I’ll be fine.”
Maybe if I say it enough, it’ll be true.
I have a massive crowd of fans out there, occasionally chanting my name, with phones out and lyrics banked to scream. It’s a heavy weight of baggage and fame that a woman who loves disappearing beneath feathers and felt would never crave. I don’t blame her for not coming. Not one bit.
“It’ll be good for you to take a break,” Jimmy says, clapping a hand on my shoulder and shaking it. “Build up that energy for the next tour, huh?”
I tighten my hold on my crossed arms.
“He’s not wrong,” Royce throws in. “Maybe take a small vacation in between.”
Poe grins. “Don’t worry, I’m already making a list of places for us to visit.”
“Let him vacation alone,” Royce adds, slapping Poe over the head. “Christ, man.”
I stand and pace to the corner of the table where my open guitar case sits.
Inside are the set list and ripped pieces of paper from notebooks—ideas and lyrics and a few tic-tac-toe games from the tour.
In the corner are Ava’s red car and the Birds on the Block sticker from set.
I close the guitar case and snap the lock shut.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say. “Maybe a vacation would be good.”
Dom side-eyes the case but doesn’t comment. I’m happy he doesn’t.
I’ll need time to relax while I can. I won’t have time to think once I’m back on the interview circuit.
The stage lights finally dim. The crowd explodes into cheers and variations of whooping as we’re handed our in-ear monitors.
Poe, Royce, and Dom make their way out first to take their places at their instruments.
The excitement is almost deafening, but the moment I tuck both my earpieces in, the sound calms to a muffle. I pull in a breath and let it out.
A hand presses against my shoulder as a stage manager conducts me onto the stage. Slowly, I make my way across to the piano. There are distant shouts. It’s just white noise, but I can feel the anticipation coursing through the crowd.
I slide onto the wooden piano bench and poise my fingers over the keys. When I press down a single key, muffled cheers erupt once more. A dull hum of excitement beyond my earpiece.
It doesn’t remotely compare to sitting at a piano in Elk Grove. Not even five thousand people can compare to the feeling of my thigh brushing against Beverly’s. Nothing can compare to Beverly’s beaming smile. Nothing sounds better than the off-key notes she sang in our terrible duet.
I lean toward the mic propped up on the piano.
Hello, Los Angeles.
But the words are lost on my lips.
Hola, Madrid.
Ciao, Milan.
Bonjour, Paris.
Over and over and over. It’s the same greeting every time.
Hello, city.
My body isn’t in it this time. My soul is still with her, back on that set yesterday. Maybe it always will be. So I murmur into the mic in a voice that feels distant to even me.
“This one’s for her,” I announce.
I look out past the stage lights, refocusing on the blurry mess of bodies and pinpricks of lights from cameras or flashlights shining back at me.
But suddenly they all start to move aside, as if someone were tracing an unsteady line down the middle of the crowd.
Each side splits like schools of fish, parting like the Red Sea for one single person.
That person makes their way toward the stage.
My heartbeat shoots up my throat. My fingers now won’t land on the keys.
Among five thousand people, I see her.
I’d recognize that green-eyed woman anywhere.