Page 9 of Oops Baby for the Rockstar
Is this what Tamsin meant to do to me when she kissed me outside that stadium three months ago? Is this what she meant to leave behind when she snuck out of my room before dawn?
A ruined man.
A husk.
Well, if so, she can pat herself on the back for a job well done, because it’s been three months since the night I met Tamsin; three months since the night I loved and lost her. And with each passing day, I’m sicker with wanting her. More desperate to see her again.
And make no mistake: Iwillsee her again.
I have to.
Else I’ll lose my goddamn mind.
Four
Tamsin
Another day, another venue. It’s early in the morning, with clear, bright sunshine lighting up the city park. Green grass stretches in all directions, and leafy trees rustle in the breeze. Above are blue skies and puffs of cloud.
A special stage has been built here for the summer festivals and touring artists, and we’re the latest group to rock up and drive onto the grass with all our big trucks. There’s no one else around, but dried-out tire treads in the earth mark where folks have come before. Over by the first truck, a city official is hurrying around with a high vis and a clipboard.
“Damn.” Patty whistles beside me, tugging on a spare pair of men’s work gloves. The canvas is all baggy and threadbare, and they’re about three sizes too big for her, but they’ll do the trick. “This place isnice.”
It really is. After what feels like an endless parade of concrete parking lots and sports stadiums, this leafy park is a patch of paradise. Birds chatter over in the treetops, flitting from branchto branch, and in the distance, there are even fish ponds and flower gardens.
“Yup.” I turn and grin, squinting against the sunshine. Patty snorts and flicks my sunglasses down onto my nose for me as I tug on my own gloves. “Ready to sweat?”
The photographer has started picking up crew shifts for some extra cash, though she also says it’s a great workout and an excuse to spend time with me, her bestie. I got all flustered the first time she said that, blushing and stammering, because I’ve never really had a best friend in my whole life—but Patty has said it again since then so I guess it must be true. Wild.
And she’sactuallydragging herself off the crew bus at the crack of dawn in these new venues with the rest of us suckers, then sweating and grunting through the day until all the cases are unloaded and the noise boys can set up the sound. It’s not just talk. You’ve gotta respect that.
Someone somewhere calls out for us to start, and then the first truck doors are cracked open and a ramp hooked from the truck to the grass. Inside, black flight cases are packed from floor to ceiling, their metallic edges glinting in the sunshine, all heavy as hell and crammed with expensive equipment.
“Let’s do this.” Patty holds her baggy-gloved hand up for a high five, then joins the line of crew waiting to unload. I follow, but my steps are a little slower. I’m dragging already.
It’s crazy—for the last few months, I’ve been so tired during these shifts that even lifting my arms up to tighten my ponytail feels like a monumental effort. My muscles feel heavy and slow, and my lower back twinges if I bend over wrong. I’ve been guzzling bottles of water and crashing into my cubby bed as early as I can every night, sometimes stealing an afternoon nap too, but it’s never enough. I’mtired.
Maybe I’m burned out. Maybe I need more than a single day off.
Or maybe I’m just too freaking sad, and I need to get over Jett Santana.
“You’re up, Tams.”
Leonard, the bearded, graying guy who’s leading the crew this morning, calls me up the ramp to collect a flight case. My boots thud against the metal floor, and when I grit my teeth and pull a case off the stack, I’m praying for a lighter one.
No such luck. The heavy weight slides into my arms, and it takes all my core strength not to get knocked off balance. Cheeks hot with effort, I set the case down and wheel it down the ramp, hurrying to keep up with it and steer.
Ahead, Patty’s trundling her own case along the temporary paths to the stage, her platinum blonde bob pulled back into a stubby little ponytail. Head woozy, I follow.
It takes us three hours to unload all the trucks, all of us working flat out with occasional sips of water. After the trucks are empty, we get exactly fifteen minutes to breathe before we start the build, where Patty drags me into the shade beneath a tree and props me up against the trunk then fans me.
“I’m worried about you, Tams,” she frets, resting the back of her knuckles against my forehead and then clucking about how overheated I’m getting. “Maybe it’s all this sun. Do you need to go lay down on the bus? Do you need to eat something?”
“I’m fine.” I bat her off, but offer up a weak smile. “Seriously, I’m fine. It’s been like this for a few months now.”
Patty blinks at me. “For a fewmonths? That’s not a good thing, Tamsin! That makes it way worse!”
“I’m fine.”
