Chapter Four
C hristine woke and sat up, hit her head on the ceiling, and fell back to the pillow.
“This is like being in a coffin,” she said to herself.
She hit the overhead switch and turned on a small light, found her purse, rummaged through it, and did her best to apply a little makeup.
She wasn’t a vain person in general but didn’t want raccoon eyes if she was going to run into guys first thing in the morning.
She climbed out of her bunk and joined the parade of half-awake bodies heading out of the bus.
The tour buses and trucks were parked in a gated lot behind the venue.
The gate had a security shack and two guards were already posted.
The lot was a mini concrete city with a basketball net in one corner and a kiddie pool in the other.
One of the crew guys had already set up a workout area with benches and weights.
She saw two women on mats doing yoga outside one of the buses.
She envied their energy and vowed, once again, to find a fitness regimen she could enjoy.
She found Matt at the security check-in. Austin was still sound asleep, so Matt led her to the “touring ladies’ dressing room.”
“You’re lucky Jackson’s tour sets aside a separate room just for the ladies. Not all of them do.”
“Then where do the women go?”
“Unisex bathrooms.”
“Ugh. No offense, but most of you guys can’t aim at all. You leave the floor filthy.”
“Yep. Guilty as charged.”
She waited for her turn to get a shower and use the facilities.
One glance in the mirror told her that her makeshift makeup application had been a failure.
She tried to hurry, knowing others needed to clean up, but the hot water cascading down her back and through her hair made her want to stay.
She lingered a few extra minutes before drying off and dressing.
Next came the hair. First, the anti-frizz gel, followed by twenty minutes with a blow dryer and fifteen minutes with a flat iron.
And then a quick prayer for clear skies and low humidity. Forty-five minutes later, she emerged.
The backstage area was large and confusing. A sign said “E VERYTHING ” with a finger pointing to the right. Matt had told her to meet him in Jackson Williams’s production room. If she didn’t want to get accosted by security guards, she needed credentials to walk around backstage.
After making a few wrong turns, she found it.
Matt motioned with his hand for her to come in.
Two long tables faced each other and six people sat around them typing on computers.
Starbucks cups sat by their computers along with remnants of other vices from cigarettes to gum to Skoal.
Matt introduced her to the various members of Jackson’s production staff, including the tour manager, tour coordinator, Live Nation rep, production manager, and security guards.
They all looked up and greeted her with a smile.
“If there’s anything else you need, let me know. I assume Matt showed you where the ladies’ dressing room is,” Rachel, the tour coordinator, said.
“He did. Thank you. I had a nice shower.”
“It’s a perk having a ladies-only room. Anytime you need it, or anything else, please feel welcome.”
Christine appreciated the sentiment but felt like she was in the way.
This was a major production. Tori was typing on her computer, Drew was stuffing envelopes, and Jake took a phone call.
Christine thanked them for their hospitality and turned back to Matt, bumping into him.
Chill bumps raised on her arms. She smiled.
Something about this man made her feel both comfortable and stimulated.
He handed her two laminates. One was All Access for Austin and one was All Access for Jackson.
“Why both?”
“Austin’s identifies who you’re with. Jackson’s allows you access backstage,” Matt said, his musky scent dancing around her nostrils.
Focus.
“Makes sense.”
“Austin will probably sleep until noon, so you have a couple of hours . . .”
With you? Christine imagined the two of them roaming the grounds holding hands.
“Catering is open if you want breakfast, or I can ask a runner to go get you something. I have one about to go to Starbucks if you need anything.” Matt ushered her out of Jackson’s production room, the crew’s polite nice to meet yous trailing behind them.
“I’d kill for a chai latte,” she said to Matt, very aware of how close he was.
“I think we can handle that without a murder charge,” he said, putting his hand on her back. She reached around and placed her hand over his. Their eyes met. Was he feeling what she was? She thought maybe he was. Then he broke eye contact and took his hand away. Maybe he wasn’t.
“Our production room is down this hall,” he said. They walked into a much smaller room with one round table and two chairs. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, and there was a floor lamp in the corner that didn’t work. The floor tiles were cracked and the walls needed a new coat of paint.
“Cozy,” she said.
“That’s a nicer word than I would use. Feel free to kick back in here. Sound check is at three o’clock. Otherwise, I’m just getting things set up this morning.” Matt laid out his computer, files, and envelopes.
“Can I help? I know very little about the touring world but would love to learn.”
“Sure. When you’re the opening act’s tour manager, you’re a one-man show.
I’ll take the help.” Matt gave her a stack of tickets, meet-and-greet passes, and envelopes.
Directions were printed on the envelopes explaining where people needed to line up to meet Austin.
Matt then gave her a list of names designating who got tickets, who got passes, and who got both.
Christine stuffed the envelopes accordingly. She was meticulous, not wanting to mess up. After she had checked and cross-checked every item, she handed them back to Matt. It was eleven o’clock when Austin stumbled into the room.
“What’s up, Matt? Chrissy?”
“Christine,” Christine and Matt said in unison. Her eyes met Matt’s. He seemed to really get her. It was as if he knew the name thing was important to her, so it was important to him, too. That had to mean something.
Austin grinned. “How about we go to the bus and listen to some songs?”
“That’s what I’m here for. Matt, I think I have everything taken care of.”
“You’re the best,” he said.
She blushed and then felt stupid for it. A woman shouldn’t blush over a simple statement, even when it comes from her crush.
“Thanks for your help. I like this one, Austin. Can we keep her?” Matt leaned back in his seat and put his hands behind his head.
He looked so sexy. Like he was just waiting for her to sit on his lap.
Her stomach did a flip and her heartbeat raced.
The feeling spread to areas south. It was something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Hands off! She’s mine,” Austin said. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. His eyes danced, making it look like a joke, but she wasn’t sure it was.
Christine’s head snapped around.
I’m his? Is that how he and Matt saw her?
“Yeah, yeah. Aren’t they all,” Matt said.
Christine wanted to argue the point of Austin’s ownership but didn’t know how.
She didn’t want to offend Austin or make it sound like she preferred Matt.
In her head, she responded with, “I’m no man’s property.
” She even saw herself doing the finger wag, but felt it was like saying, “Oh no you didn’t.
” In her head, neither fit. Besides, the opportunity to speak up was gone.
Matt had turned back to his computer, ending the discussion.
Austin and Christine had just gotten settled in the back lounge of the bus, ready to listen to some of Austin’s new songs, when a text caused her phone to chime.
It was from Phoebe. Are you out with Austin?
Christine replied, Yes. How’d you know?
Phoebe texted back, Socials are blowing up again.
She pulled up Austin’s accounts and saw a comment from AGFan: The video awards date is with Austin again. And she’s on his bus. I don’t get what he sees in her.
AUSTIN4Ever replied, I just saw that pic too. WTH?
AGFan said, I don’t get it. He could have anyone. Why her?
AUSTIN4Ever said, Have you seen her thighs?
Every comment was like a knife sawing through her. She regressed to her teenage self and the negative feelings came rushing back. She shook them off. She was a successful, professional, adult woman. She needed to act like it and rise above this.
A third person, COUNTRYFANGIRL, said, In fairness, she’s not fat.
Well she ain’t thin! AUSTIN4EVER said.
Christine clicked on the link to the pictures.
In one photo, she was getting off the bus in her big ol’ sweatpants and oversized T-shirt.
Her hair was twisted up in a sloppy bun.
Not a cute Victoria’s Secret model sloppy bun, either.
It was a hair-sticking-out-all-over-the-place sloppy bun.
The next photo showed her walking beside Austin.
She looked better after a shower, but whoever had taken the picture must have been sitting down.
It was taken from a lower angle, making her look like she had elephant thighs.
Her legs weren’t twigs, but they weren’t that large, either. They were solid, average thighs.
Someone out here had taken these. But who?
“What’s wrong?” Austin asked when he looked at her.
She showed him her phone.
“This again?” he said.
Christine nodded.
“What is wrong with people? I’m going to tell them they can all go to hell.” He grabbed his cell phone and started typing.
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re Austin Garrett. If you do that, you’ll lose fans. Just leave it alone. It’s not a big deal.” Christine had to think of Austin’s career and the fact that hers was tied to it.
“Bullshit it’s not. It’s a big freaking deal if people are posting crap about you.”