Page 47 of Ticket to the Stars: Part Two

“We have to wait for Angel,” Priest told him. “She’s talking with our manager right now.”

The guy’s eyes widened. “How long do you think she’ll be?” When none of us had an answer for him, he sighed. “I’ll come back for her. Let’s just get you guys ready. It’s do or die—and by die, I mean postpone.” Under his breath, he muttered, “And we don’t want to postpone, trust me. It’s a headache for everyone.”

I didn’t want to leave Angel, but this guy seemed super stressed out. For his job to rely on other people, I understood where he was coming from, why he wanted to get us ready. At least part of his job would be done.

So, even though I didn’t want to, I followed the guy. Priest and Deacon came with.

The Greenbay Stadium had a grassy area before the moveable theater, and that’s where the crowd was gathered. Big flat screens hung on either side of the stage, so anyonein the back could have a view of what was going on. We were ushered out, told to stop near the side curtains.

We didn’t go on stage; we were waiting for Angel, but from just a quick glance, I could see how packed it was.

We’d drawn quite the crowd. It was the biggest crowd Black Sacrament had ever seen. Having Angel, having Priest kiss her in front of a live audience; all that really did up our fame. Who knew?

Having a show at a stadium where the weather could make or break it did suck. Nobody wanted to cancel. Canceling made a headache for everyone, it was true.

“Man,” Priest mused as he stared out at the crowd from around the corner of the side stage, “this is nuts. Is Black Sacrament going mainstream or something? Because we’ve never seen a crowd like this.”

Going mainstream. Maybe that was the reason. Having Angel opened us up to a new audience. Plus, we’d trended for a while. Streaming of our older stuff and our downloads had increased after that, so it could very well be that we weren’t just in the alternative rock scene anymore.

Maybe things were changing for Black Sacrament. Maybe things were changing for the better. I used to think kicking Pope out was the first step into a downward spiral, but Angel had reinvigorated my love for the band and brought us new opportunities I’d never dreamed of.

Minutes passed, and the guy with the headpiece reappeared, a frantic look on his face. “She wasn’t there,” he said, looking like he was going to be sick.

“Who wasn’t where?” Priest asked, but the face the guy wore told me exactly who he was talking about.

“Angel wasn’t there? What do you mean?” My heart constricted. If Angel wasn’t in her dressing room, then where the hell would she be?

I couldn’t take my eyes off the guy, watching as he grabbed his mouthpiece and said, “If anyone finds Angel, bring her to the stage immediately.Immediately.” To us, he asked, “Can you call her, see where she is?”

“On it.” Deacon was ready to call, and he held up the phone to his ear, waiting as it rang. Silence stretched between us, and as the moments ticked by, it became clear that no one was picking up the call. “She’s not answering.”

“I’ll call Ramona,” Priest said as he pulled out his phone to do just that. Unlike Angel, Ramona must’ve picked up instantly, because he said, “Ramona? Yeah, we’re at the stage, about to go on. No one can find Angel. Are you still with her?” He put her on speaker so we could all hear.

Ramona’s voice came out agitated and annoyed, “What? I left her in her dressing room. Did you look there?”

At hearing that, the guy with the headpiece nodded, and then he must’ve realized Ramona couldn’t see his nod, because he took the phone from Priest and said, “Ramona, it’s Rob, the stage manager. I have everyone looking for her.”

“Maybe she got lost in the halls somewhere?” Ramona’s next possible explanation came without prompt, but itdidn’t make much sense, since Greenbay wasn’t known for its vast inside networks of hallways and rooms. There really weren’t many spaces where Angel could get lost.

Deacon was still trying to call Angel—futilely, I might add—while Ramona and Rob troubleshooted where Angel could’ve gone. Priest and I exchanged glances. The last thing we knew, Ramona had asked to speak to her privately.

When I remembered that, I snatched the phone out of Rob’s hand and asked, “What did you say to her when you had us leave?” I didn’t think Ramona could tell Angel something to make her leave without letting us know what was going on, but I guess you never knew.

“You think this is my fault?” Ramona’s voice hardened. “All we talked about was how happy the label is with her. They want more of her. They want her to stay on longer than a year for an album and a tour. They want her to be a permanent member of Black Sacrament.”

Priest’s brows furrowed. “Why couldn’t you say that in front of us?”

“Because,” she hissed out the word, “I wasn’t sure how she’d take it. She’s still new to this whole thing, remember? I didn’t want to have you three looming behind me, pressuring her or anything. If she wants to stay, she needs to make that decision on her own.”

But right before a show? Why tell her that right before our first show at the stadium? Ramona could’ve waited until tomorrow, or in a few days, once our spotlight here was done and all our shows here were in the rearview mirror.

Ramona sighed. “I was heading to my car, but I’m turning around to help look. We’ll find her. Call with any updates.” And then, without saying another word, she hung up with a huff.

I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what to do. The guys didn’t know, either. We stood there, none of us saying a word, for at least a minute, while Rob talked furiously into his headset.

“Should we… split up and go look for her?” Priest asked.

Deacon was slow in stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “Whatever we do, we gotta do it fast. Her phone’s going straight to voicemail now, like she’s…”

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