Page 4 of Whirlwind

Grin.

Grinnnnnn.

Hugs.

Sign this. Sign that.

Giggles exploded over me through the haze, hands clamped on me, minty gum scented breath flared in my face. I stiffened, cocooned in my beer and vodka fog. I grabbed a bottle of something.

“The fan girls are waiting for your cock, Becky.” Myles’s lips twisted. He enjoyed taunting me with that nickname. “You’re a free man now. You don’t have to say no anymore like a good boy. Last night of the tour, show ‘em what they’ve been missing.”

He always used to tease me about what I was missing because I’d chosen to not fool around like a wild man on tour, except for that crazy night in Madrid. I knew I could screw around if I wanted to, but I realized the usual groping and grabbing free-for-all had become tedious.

I’d thought that once the tour was over, maybe Mae and I could re-think the open relationship thing. We’d go on a vacation together and…something.

Mae had been a singing sensation since she was eighteen. The All-American girl next door with her positive lyrics and catchy tunes and pink lip gloss. The past few years, she started dressing in revealing clothing, wearing dramatic makeup, and making really sexy video clips and provocative photo shoots to go with her suddenly grittier songs about personal freedom and identity. Her fans loved us together. Her post tonight, the photo, the accompanying lingo, really brought her new “brand” home, didn’t it?

Glad I was useful. Buh-bye. Next.

Champagne bottles exploded along with cheers and applause. The cold booze sprayed everywhere. I wiped at my damp face with my cold hands. Lights flashed. Hooting, clapping led by our manager, Ford, frothing champagne bottle in hand.

Ford licked at the neck of the huge bottle, laughing as he raised it up in the air. “You guys are amazing. All of you. Every single person on this tour stood up and got it done! This has been one spectacular ride. Here’s to all of us making it happen. And here’s to the next album and the next tour!” His eyes bulged, a sharp laugh ripped from him and he drank.

My heart constricted with his words.Next album. Next tour.Not excitement, anticipation. Only….weariness.

A deafening cheer went up, rattling the walls. Whistles and hoots. A heavy, icy cold champagne bottle got smacked into my hand, the froth gushing over my fingers, and I brought it to my lips and drank.

We posed for pics with the fans who had won backstage passes, visited with a couple of local country music stars and their teenagers. Ordinarily I enjoyed this stuff, but tonight I smiled through a clenched jaw and drank, drank.

Naomi cut in front of the blur, her arm reaching out for my bottle. “Give that to me, for God’s sake, not while you’re talking to the kids.”

“Don’t be a killjoy.” I held onto the bottle, but my PR rep managed to peel my fingers off it and take it away.

“Come on, we have a final question and answer with Music Daily.”

Somehow we got through the interview, the way we usually did, laughing, making snide comments, stupid jokes which led to teasing, more laughing. But tonight there was a new agenda.

Me.

The journalist leaned closer over the table. “Did you have any idea Mae was cheating on you, Beck? You’d introduced the two of them, hadn’t you? How does that make you feel? Looking back on it, were there signs you misread?”

“That was some pretty big sign, huh?” Myles thumped a hand on the table, laughing.

“Hey now—” Naomi piped up. “We agreed, no personal questions.”

I growled at the mass of phones reaching out at me. The cameras. The flashing lights quickened, and I blinked. Shots and soundbites that would make them all money.

That’s all.

Money and their ride on the fame train.

Off of me.

Naomi shot the journalist a cold smile. “We’re done, thank you.” She ushered him along with the fans out of the room.

Myles glared at me. I glared back. Here we go again. I’d come into this band already famous. Already familiar with the celebrity game, already wealthy. Already had a healthy following on social media. He didn’t.

I had a rock star dad, I was personally familiar with the highs and lows of fame. Yes, I had connections, which helped Freefall get attention in our early days, but we’d worked it. Hard. I’d made sure of it. We’d toured constantly. And we’d finally broken through and had mainstream success now.

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