Page 24 of Wild Fixation
Falling into the routine of these kinds of tasks settles me, but that can only last so long. Soon enough, I’m standing outside a closed door, drawing the occasional curious glance as I lean against the outside wall of the TV station.
My body goes cold when the car pulls up to the curb.
I busy myself checking the door. Still unlocked. Then I force myself toward the car, opening the door so the guys can pile out.
The others come out first, Dan and Levi and Keannen. Then Shawn, who gives me a little nod, his usual scowl unreadable.
Lastly, Jacob emerges.
I stand behind the open car door like it’s a shield protecting me from him. He slips out of the car and quirks a smile at me. He’s not done up yet, but he couldn’t possibly look better than he does like this, with his hair wild and wavy, his face unadorned. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, and he looks absolutely perfect.
He holds my gaze for a beat, an unmistakable, charged beat. The smile doesn’t leave his lips, and my mouth buzzes with the memory of how those lips taste and feel, how warm and good they are. I forget everything but his mouth as it stretches around the words “thank you.”
I clench my teeth to keep my breath from shuddering. All I have to offer him in response is a curt, cold nod. I’m clinging to the door like I’m trying to crush the metal in my bare hands, and if Jacob keeps looking at me that way, maybe I will.
Thankfully, he moves on. I throw the car door shut and hurry to get him and the band inside the station.
It’s going to be a long damn day.
Chapter Thirteen
Jacob
WE SPEND HOURS IN hair and makeup. Apparently, it takes a long time to make five ordinary dudes look like rockstars.
I still struggle to think of us that way, even as the money and attention pours in. We at least look the part after the hair and makeup people are through with us. They smoothed out every imperfection on my face, added subtle eyeliner beneath my eyes so the hazel stands out brighter, did up my hair so the waves are more pronounced and dramatic. I look like a version of myself who actually belongs in front of all those hungry, greedy cameras.
They dressed us as well. Our clothes from home weren’t good enough, so now we’re mostly all wearing black. Keannen and Shawn are the most done up, of course, their tattoos on display thanks to ripped jeans and cut-off sleeves. They pulled back Shawn’s hair into a stubby ponytail to show off the undershave as well.
They put me in a sleek black jacket with a silvery shirt underneath. I’m the only person in the band who gets close to wearing actual colors, and it’s a reminder of what they want me to be,needme to be. The frontman, the face of the band, the guy who smiles and charms. It’s not that I’mnotall of those things. I am, naturally and easily, but my propensity to act that way feels stiff and strange now that it’s part of a label-endorsed persona I’m supposed to don every time I’m in public. The real Jacob is in here somewhere, I’m sure, but I struggle to find him as I stare at the guy smiling at me in the mirror.
“Okay, you guys are up,” a stage manager says.
She ushers us out of the greenroom and down a hall. We reach the edge of the stage and stand there hidden by curtains and shadows.
“They’ll bring you out one at a time,” the stage manager says. “Make sure you go all the way across to the couches on the other side of the desk.”
We do as instructed. Dan goes first, then Levi, then Shawn, who gets a big reaction from at least one highly dedicated fan in the crowd. Then Keannen goes, and I’m alone in the dark, palms sweaty with nerves. This isn’t like when we go out on stage to perform. Then, I know the rules. I know what I’m meant to do. This time, I’m supposed to answer weird, prying questions in front of an audience so they can feel like they know me better than they do. It’s a strange sensation, one I don’t get to confront before the stage manager is pushing me forward and hissing, “You’re up.”
The audience roars. I swear the cries are louder than they were for the others, but maybe that’s ego and disorientation talking. The glare of the lights turns the crowd into a faceless blur, even as I smile and wave. I get past the desk where the show’s host sits, then take the last open spot on the couch. Dan and Levi sit behind the couch on tall stools, while me, Keannen and Shawn crowd together on the cushions. The arrangement places me the closest to the host’s desk.
The crowd is still yelling, and the host has to wave to settle them down, chuckling as he does.
“Clearly, my guests today need no introduction,” he says with a toothy smile, “but for anyone who’s been living under a rock, this is Baptism Emperor, the hottest new band from the Seattle area. Great to have you guys here today. How are things going now that the tour is over?”
I smile with genuine relief at this easy start to the interview. Beside me, I can feel Shawn’s unease wafting off him in waves. Fortunately for him, the persona the label chose for him is “broody silent type” so he doesn’t have to say much. His quiet scowling is part of the marketing plan for him. Not that he wouldn’t be quietly scowling anyway. I’m not sure the guy could fake it no matter how many zeroes they attached to the end of that contract. Shawn’s always been like this, introverted and stiff, lighting up only when you throw a guitar over his shoulders.
Thankfully, Keannen and Dan are a bit more willing, and equipped, to help me so that I don’t have to field all the host’s questions on my own. The queries start out simple enough, questions about how the tour went, our first album, what we plan on doing next.
“We’ve been trying to catch our breath after everything that’s happened,” I say in answer to that last one, “but we’ve also been working on some new music.”
“Must be a whirlwind,” the host says. “Meanwhile, everyone wants a piece of you. We’re lucky you’re local boys or we might never have gotten a chance.”
The host and audience chuckle, and I smile obligingly.
“Okay, I have to ask the question everyone is dying to know,” the host says.
I’m not next to Keannen, but I know he’s tensing. Emmett warned us about this one. Keannen pushed back, said it was no one’s business, but Emmett wouldn’t budge. “If they don’t ask it, someone else will. So get used to answering,” he said. And that was that. I was angry at the time, but in this moment, I’m strangely grateful for pragmatic, unflinching Emmett. If Keannen had to improvise his way through this question, it would go even worse.
