Page 72 of Ex in the City
I can’t help but let my mind wander, letting myself get lost in the music, watching him out there. I imagine lots of people in the audience are doing the same thing, I’m certainly not the only one who finds Dylan irresistible.
The sea of fans before the stage is filled with hundreds of women who would love nothing more than to get their hands on him. Exhibit A: the pairs of knickers that have found their way onto the stage during the performance.
My mind drifts to the earlier events of the day, when the boys did their signing. The hysteria around them was as intense as ever – worse, even. It was a madhouse, with hordes of eager fans lining up to meet the band and, as always, most of them had eyes only for Dylan.
I watched from the sidelines, my heart heavy with mixed emotions. One after another, women approached Dylan, their flirtatious smiles and batting eyelashes impossible to ignore. I lost count of the number of phone numbers they slipped him.
It was torture – especially after last night. It’s strange because I rarely felt jealous when I was with Luke, in fact, I don’t remember feeling it at all. Despite the relentless attention Luke received from female admirers, I never questioned his loyalty. He was mine, and I was his, and we trusted each other. But then of course, on the first tour he went on without me, he slept with anyone who was willing, so I suppose I’m not all that trusting in these situations any more.
It is also probably worth reminding myself that Dylan isn’t mine because, wow, listen to me – already. We had one (incredible) night together, but the last time we attempted something like this, it ended in disaster. I can’t let myself get carried away again.
The Burnouts’ performance leaves everyone buzzing as they finally leave the stage. The echoes of their music are still reverberating in the air as we’re ushered outside, towards the tour bus, so that we can get out of here before the venue lets the fans out too. There is nothing freakier than sitting on a bus that is being swarmed by fans, hoping they can’t get in, knowing you can’t get out, the bus being unable to move an inch.
As we approach the waiting tour bus, we notice something – a crowd of women, largely in their twenties, who are dressed more for a night out on the town than for a rock concert. It’s not just that their revealing dresses and glamorous make-up makethem look less like most of the other fans, who all seem to be opting for band merch or nostalgic fashion – the kind of thing they were wearing last time around – it’s also the fact that real fans will still be in the building, if they were at the show.
I hang back, observing from a distance as the boys are immediately swarmed.
A confident blonde in a short red dress presents Mikey with her cleavage.
‘Mikey, will you sign my left boob?’ she asks him.
‘Of course, darling, I’d be delighted,’ Mikey replies playfully as he obliges.
‘Dylan?’ the blonde says.
‘Go on, bro, do the other one,’ Mikey says, nudging him.
‘Sure,’ Dylan says with a laugh, taking the pen, giving her his autograph.
I never understood the autographing of body parts. Surely it just washes off – unless of course you’re Cherry, the superfan, and you get it tattooed over. I always used to prefer getting CDs signed, but I appreciate that makes me sound old and outdated.
‘So, what are you doing now?’ the blonde asks them. ‘Are you going out-out?’
‘Nah, we’re throwing a huge party at the hotel, in Dylan’s suite,’ Mikey tells her. ‘He’s known for throwing legendary parties.’
‘Can we come?’ the blonde asks, trying her luck.
‘Of course you can,’ Mikey replies. He turns to Dylan. ‘Right, mate? The more the merrier.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Dylan says.
‘Okay then, but we need to move so, everyone on the bus,’ Mitch calls out.
Excitement fills the night air as the crowd of women excitedly piles on to the bus as Mitch herds them inside.
As I walk behind the boys, still a few paces away, I notice Mikey gives Dylan a knowing look.
‘I’m doing this for you, bro,’ I overhear Mikey encouraging Dylan with a wink.
I pile on with everyone else and find a spot on the sofa.
‘Do some of us need to go in the bunks?’ one girl suggests cheekily. ‘So that we all fit.’
‘There’s plenty of room, and the party is only a five-minute drive away,’ Mitch tells them with a laugh. ‘Let’s go.’
I slump back in my seat, like a moody teenager.
I can safely say that this aspect of tour life is one that I don’t miss, not one bit.
