Page 14 of Feral Touch
Jen flung her arms around me, squeezing tight. “Just think about how happy he’s going to be when he finally sees you again.”
Her reassurance helped calm some of my irritation, the tension in my muscles slowly unwinding.
Unfortunately, as my anger dwindled, anxiety took its place.
“What if he doesn’t want to see me?” I asked, muffled into her shoulder. “What if it’s all a mistake? What if he never even saw my video and I was chosen by some random staff member? What should I even say to him?” My voice rose in pitch with every panicked word.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Jen said. “Let him do the talking. You told him what you wanted to say in your video. Ball’s in his court now.”
The tightness in my chest eased bit by bit.
“Okay.” I straightened my back and forced a determined expression on my face. “There’s nothing to be worried about. This is just a meeting between friends. We’ll chat and catch up and everything will be fine.”
“Hey, can you do me a favor?” Natalie asked.
“Of course.”
She flushed a little. “When you see Morris, can you tell him thank you for taking a picture with me? I know he doesn’t always like doing selfies.”
I let out a small laugh. “Sure Nat, I’ll tell him.”
She looked embarrassed and pleased at the same time.
As I left the apartment, it struck me for the first time that Natalie and Jen were probably jealous I was going to get so close to their favorite band. They hadn’t said a single unkind word or shown any resentment, though. I would have to find a way to repay their kindness and understanding.
I used the GPS on my phone to find out where the fan meeting would take place. It was downtown somewhere in an area I wasn’t familiar with. To my surprise, the map was leading me to a swanky part of town where all the rich executives lived in their multi-million dollar condos.
I arrived at the address to find a nice restaurant with a sign outside indicating I should head upstairs. The sign didn’t have the band’s name on it, just the words “VIP Attendees Please Proceed to Second Floor.” I guess they didn’t want uninvited guests to crash the party.
With every step, the butterflies in my stomach took wing and flapped around madly. I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up. At the top of the stairs stood a very tall and intimidating looking woman with a clipboard and an earpiece. I gave her my name and she made a mark on her paper before pushing open the door and letting me inside.
The top floor had been set up to look like a lounge, with comfy seating and tables full of hors d’oeuvres. There were already several dozen people milling around, some chatting to each other, some sitting alone staring at their phones.
I was surprised to see a wide variety of people—men and women even as old as their thirties and forties. I’d half expected to find the place full of hyperactive squealing teenagers. There were a few of them, of course, all crowded together in a corner giggling and shrieking at random, but for the most part the atmosphere in the room was calm and orderly.
It made sense. Of course the fans that attended concerts and waited for them backstage were going to be younger. Most people eventually outgrow the desire to stand for hours to get eardrums blasted and end up smelling of smoke and beer. One could enjoy a band’s music without following their every move. Feral Silence was a hardcore rock band after all, not a teenybopper boy band.
I stood awkwardly in the doorway and surveyed the room before making a beeline for the food. I wasn’t hungry, but it would give me something to do. I spent a few long moments pretending to decide which snack to get, hoping to stall long enough that I wouldn’t need to actually talk to anyone.
It didn’t work. A young man soon approached me from behind, nearly sending me jumping into the ceiling.
“Hey, sorry!” He held a hand up to indicate he meant no harm. “Just thought I’d make small talk with another fan.”
Great.
He looked to be a few years older than me, definitely not in his thirties. Floppy brown hair fell over his forehead, almost covering his light blue eyes. His earnest smile gave him a boy next door look. He was pretty cute in his green collared shirt and dark denim jeans. He stuck out a hand for a handshake that I accepted.
“I’m Mark.”
“Ivy.”
His eyes widened.
“NottheIvy?”
I tilted my head, confused. “Um…?”
“The one everyone’s been talking about. It’s all over the internet. Some girl named Ivy made a move on Ren after one of his concerts. Basically threw herself at him. The bodyguards had to jump in and save him.”
