Chapter 9
NOELLE
The tears dripped through my fingers, and I think I cried out a contact.
Shanice, my new best friend, handed me another tissue. “I don’t get it, Noelle. Conor and Ashley are supposed to be into each other. That’s your whole PR scheme, isn’t it? What were the questions before the whole lip lock thing? Did he just walk up and lay one on her?”
“No.” I blew my nose and crumpled the tissue in my hand.
After watching Conor and Ashley kiss, I had to scurry away from the press conference before the tears started flowing.
I barged into this trailer, not noticing Shanice crouched on the floor unplugging her makeup mirror and curling iron, and I dissolved into wracking sobs. I don’t know why it hit me like that.
Last night on the phone, I assured Ashley that Conor and I were talking business, and the planes were so loud, we had to get close to hear each other. Not that she gave a shit about Conor—she didn’t, but she also didn’t want people to think Conor was cheating on her with...the publicist.
When the reporter asked that question about the pictures, I knew it was trouble.
I turned to Shanice, whom I didn’t even know ten minutes ago, and plucked another tissue from her fingers.
“Some fan posted pics of me and Conor at In-N-Out yesterday, and everyone got the wrong idea—including that reporter. When he asked Ashley about the pictures, I could tell she was about to go off. Even if the relationship is fake—nobody cheats on Ashley Bennett.”
“Wait. Didn’t that car guy cheat on her?”
“Nico Ferrari?” I rubbed my nose. “Yeah. That’s just it. Nico’s public hookups hurt her image. She’s not doing that again...and I don’t blame her.”
“I don’t either. So, Ashley was about to expose her relationship with Conor as a PR stunt, and Conor dipped in and saved the day. I don’t know what you’re crying about, girl. He just rescued your whole PR campaign.”
I hiccupped and covered my mouth. “I guess you’re right. He sort of did it before, at the AM LA appearance.”
“He saved your shit twice, and you’re in here bawling your eyes out. Makes no sense to me.” Shanice rolled her eyes and slumped back in her chair. “I guess my role in life is to console lovers of boybanders.”
“Lovers?” I tossed a used tissue at the trash can and missed. “I never said anything about lovers...and who else are you consoling?”
“I’m not consoling Kayla Prescott anymore because she’s living with Sam Slater in England now in almost-wedded bliss, but there was a time...”
“You’re Kayla Prescott’s friend, right? Someone mentioned you’d be on the tour, but I didn’t make the connection.” I nibbled on my fingernail. “So, did you give her good advice?”
“Usually. Did she take it? Not often.” Shanice stretched her long legs and propped her red cowboy boots on the table. “Look, I know what it’s like to see an ex every day at work.”
“Y-you do?”
Shanice’s mouth tightened briefly. “My ex Tomo Tanaka is one of the backup dancers on this tour. We met on the set of an awards show, but our work got in the way of the relationship. I had no idea he was working this tour. It’s not easy watching him bump and grind with the other dancers—even though I’m so over him. ”
“At least you don’t have to watch him in a fake relationship.”
“A real one would be much worse, so I suggest you get your shit together and be happy that Conor is so eager to support you and your lame PR stunt.”
“I guess you’re right. I mean, I’m not even in love with him anymore. Don’t know if I ever was.”
Shanice held up her hands. “Save that bullshit for someone who has her head up her ass—and that’s not me.”
“Thanks for listening and...consoling. If you ever need to vent about Tomo, I’m your girl.” I patted my chest.
“Got it.” Shanice got up and stretched. Then she grabbed her tools of the trade and picked her way to the door through the small space.
“Shanice?”
She stopped with her hand on the handle. “Yeah?”
“Which one is Tomo?”
“The hottie with the long black hair and tattoos.”
I nodded and smiled, but the smile dropped from my face as soon as the door slammed behind her. Of course, I’d noticed Tomo...and so had Ashley Bennett.
It might be my turn to comfort Shanice sooner than she realized.
***
Two days later, I drove myself to the concert in my own car, by myself. The knots in my gut disqualified me from trying to engage in any social patter with anyone else.
My clammy hands gripped the steering wheel as I pulled into the preferred parking area behind the stage—right next to a few Escalades and a stretch limo—had to be Ashley’s.
When I slammed my car door, I sniffed the air detecting smoke. The scent of weed that usually hung over this outdoor concert venue had yet to make its arrival, but tobacco had gotten an early start.
Ashley stepped out from behind one of the trailers, flicking her cigarette to the ground and tamping it with the toe of her stiletto. As she glanced up, she flashed a grin.
“Hey, Noelle. Conor really saved the day with his act, didn’t he?”
“He did, but honestly, Ashley, nobody with an ounce of sense would believe from those In-N-Out pictures that Conor was cheating on you...with me, of all people.”
“Ludicrous, I know.” She rubbed her finger across her front teeth as if that could remove tobacco stains. “But like I told you on the phone, Noelle, I’m not going to be anyone’s punching bag—not even a pretend punching bag.”
“Conor and I will definitely keep our distance, so it won’t happen again. I want the stunt to benefit your image, not harm it.”
“Yeah, because even when Nico was cheating on me, I got the blame when I dumped him. People scolded me online for not standing by my man when he went to rehab.” She sniffed, and I almost felt sorry for her. “And he didn’t even need rehab. He did that to get the pity vote. Prick.”
Placing my hand over my heart, I said, “My friends and I all thought he was a prick.”
“Thanks.” She tossed back her blond mane. “Now let’s go kick some ass tonight.”
Shanice burst from the trailer behind us and gave me a quick wave. “Ashley, take those heels off, kick your feet up after the sound check, and stop chain smoking if you hope to have a voice tonight.”
Ashley jerked her thumb at Shanice. “Can you believe this bish? She’s supposed to be my stylist but acts more like my mother.”
“Well, fuck you, too, and get back in here so you can swap those heels for something soft. I don’t even care if it’s a pair of those hideous bunny slippers. And pick up that cigarette butt. I know it’s yours.”
“Oh, alright. Don’t let them start the sound check without me, Noelle.”
“I don’t think they’re even ready.” A guitar riff made me eat my words. “I’ll tell them to hold off.”
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I hurried to the stage. At least Ashley seemed to be in good spirits. Shanice wasn’t kidding—she was the diva whisperer.
I jogged up the steps and stopped Jermaine, the stage manager. “Can the band wait for Ashley?”
He scowled. “They’re just...”
I put my hands together as if in prayer, and Jermaine stopped.
“I got you.”
He crossed in front of the band, shouting out directions to delay them, and I blew out a breath. Problem number two solved already in a night that promised about 568 more.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I swung around, ready for problem number three.
Conor crossed his hands over his chest. “I didn’t do it.”
“Do what?” My gaze flicked over his fit—especially the white tank beneath his open denim shirt. I managed not to drool.
“I’m just taking the piss, Noelle. You looked so fierce when you turned around.”
“Big night. I’m a little on edge.”
“It’ll be fine.” He lowered his voice. “Did I do something wrong at that press conference after rehearsal the other day?”
“No.” I gripped the strap of my bag with two hands.
“I sent you a couple of texts you didn’t answer. I thought I’d see you before the first show.”
I heard Ashley’s voice behind us. She couldn’t find me and Conor in deep conversation again. I took two steps back from him. “Sorry, a bit busy. You did great at the presser. That kiss with Ashley sealed the deal.”
I dove behind the curtain just as Ashley started to climb the steps to the stage. Problem number three. Check.
I almost stumbled into several dancers warming up, including Jade, the dancer who had twisted her ankle at the first rehearsal. Tomo caught my arm.
“Whoa, we don’t want a repeat of that first rehearsal when you almost brought down the entire set.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and I understood how hard it would be for Shanice to resist another go-around with him.
“Ugh...” I covered my face with my clipboard “...am I ever going to live that down?”
“Before the...crash, your moves were heavy on the beat. Maybe you should think about changing careers.”
I peeked at him over the top of my clipboard. “Okay, yeah. Now you’re just taking the piss.”
He threw back his head and laughed, his man bun almost coming unraveled. “I like that phrase. You must’ve picked that up from Conor. You two seem...close.”
Oh no. Not another one.
“I worked with Five2Go in England about a year after they first formed the group. I was with them on their first big UK tour—right when things got crazy. So, I know all of them well...or I used to. I’m sure they’ve changed since then.”
Conor sure had.
“That explains it.” He nodded toward the stage. “We’re going to work out a few staging issues.”
“Good luck tonight. You guys are killing it.” I nodded at Jade. “The ankle doing okay?”
She stuck out her leg and rotated her foot. “Perfect. Make sure Ashley knows it, so she doesn’t threaten to can my ass again.”
Then she followed Tomo onto the stage with a lot more gracefulness than I had, her phone in front of her. “Hold on, Tomo. I’m going to record this.”
Jade could dance and record at the same time? A lot more talent than I had.
I poked my head from behind the curtain to make sure the path was clear of landmines and then scurried off stage to check the press area.
I chatted with security, who assured me that the space could accommodate enough people and cameras to guarantee we got some good shots of the stage.
Jackson, the head of security, smacked the side of the stage. “One thing we can’t police completely is people recording with their cell phones. It’s gonna happen. It does happen.”
I held up my phone and tapped the record button, catching a few of Ji-yoon’s vocals. When I played it back, Jackson loomed over my shoulder to watch and listen.
Flicking my fingers, I said, “It’s pretty bad. I can’t imagine someone recording an entire concert or set and then uploading that to YouTube. I mean, they can try, but I don’t think it’s going to hurt ticket sales or anything.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly why we don’t do much to monitor it. Just wanted to make you aware.”
“Thanks, Jackson. It’s all good when a few concert pictures get out on social media. Creates a buzz.”
The noise surging from the back of the venue signaled the gates opening to the fans.
I said, “Let me know if you have any problems with the press. I’ll be just off stage during the show.”
Jackson and I bumped fists, and I returned to the stage to set up camp for myself off to the side of the action. Comfy chair, a few bottles of water, snacks, plastic cup filled to the brim with...white wine.
Wait. What?
Conor leaned over the top of my chair, and I had to tip my head back to look into his face.
He squeezed my shoulders. “I had one of the stage crew bring you a wine. You seemed so stressed, I thought you could use a little alcohol to calm your nerves. Once the show starts, it’ll be clear sailing for you. Sound check was great.”
I snapped my head forward, my gaze darting around the stage. If Ashley saw this little exchange, her sound check would blow out the speakers.
“Thanks, Conor.” I grabbed the wine and took a gulp. “But you shouldn’t be seen out here.”
Especially with me. Especially by Ashley.
“Go back to the trailer and relax through Ji-yoon’s set.”
“I will do that, boss lady. Enjoy the show and the wine.”
I raised the glass to him. “Thanks, and good luck.”
When he disappeared in the back, I took another swig of wine—not a bad idea, after all—and settled in to watch the show.
Ji-yoon’s set was flawless. Her vocals, which sometimes receded in her K-Pop group just like Conor’s had with his group, soared through the amphitheater, her low notes surprisingly gruff and edgy. The crowd ate it up.
I loved this unproblematic queen even more. Ashley could learn a lot from this newbie.
When the stage went dark, the crowd rustled, and a few women screamed—getting their vocal chords ready for Conor. Some genius had chosen Ian Pope’s latest hit for bumper music, and I clasped my hands together hoping the entire interlude wasn’t going to be Five2Go songs or solos.
I whistled under my breath when Jay’s first hit came on next.
The fans loved it. Wasn’t that the point? Give the fans what they wanted and make money. Wasn’t that what all the boys wanted when they joined Five2Go? Fame. Fortune. Bitches. They never admitted that publicly—too schooled for that—but they joked about it privately in that bus, and I heard it all.
But they grew up and figured out that other aspects of their lives mattered more. They all had struggles...Conor too. He hadn’t talked to me about it yet, but I read in interviews that he had trouble leaving his house when the group split up.
I read it and cried. For all of them.
The bumper music stopped and the screaming grew in intensity. The band played the opening chords of Conor’s biggest solo hit and as he jogged onto the stage, Conor brushed my arm with his fingertips.
For the next forty-five minutes, I put the past behind me and vibed to Conor’s music. His voice had matured, and his stage presence had leveled up. Yeah, he did get the most intense crowd response when he sang the Five2Go song, but the overall degree of excitement for his performance never waned.
His set ended, and he bounded off the stage, but the crowd wanted more. They chanted, “Co-nor, Co-nor, Co-nor.”
Wiping the sweat from his forehead he gave me the type of smile that could light up and power New York City without a grid.
My lips curved up. “I think they liked it.”
“Did you? Did you like it, Noelle?”
“Perfection.” I blew a chef’s kiss. “Go, give them another song.”
He walked back on stage, adjusting his guitar strap over his shoulder. The band gave him the floor, and Conor started strumming familiar chords, but I couldn’t place the song. Not one of his singles. Maybe something from the first album.
When he started singing, goosebumps pebbled my arms. I knew this song—"No Contact.” As he continued, the words insinuated themselves into my brain, and my heart slammed against my chest.
His words on the bus the other day flashed in front of me. Noelle Martine’s burning ambition.
That’s what this song was all about—a girl who went no contact with her lover because of her burning ambition. Conor turned slightly and sang those words right into my heart.
Holy shit. This song was about me.