This is my second time at LAX, and both times I’ve been beyond nervous. Finding a taxicab is easy - the driver tells me he knows the club and we’ll be there in about a half hour. My mind is traveling a thousand miles a minute as we drive down the freeway. I stare out my window, trying to catch as much of the city life that I can. I hate this place for what’s it’s done to me.
When we arrive, there’s a line of people wrapped around the block. I want to surprise Liam, but have a feeling this was a mistake. I should’ve called him, or at least Harrison or Jimmy, and asked to be put on the list. If Jenna were already here I wouldn’t have a problem, but she decided to visit her parents for a few days before flying out here to be with Jimmy.
I pay the cab driver and step out into the nightlife of Los Angeles with my suitcase behind me.
“Now who’s the cliché?” I say to myself. I look like the poster child for wayward travelers. The people in line, mostly women, glare or snarl at me. I get it, I’m older and carrying a suitcase. I look like a fruitcake. My surprise for Liam is not well thought out and I have a feeling I’ll be standing outside until I can get ahold of him.
As I approach the door, I can hear him singing. I wanted to be here for his show and it looks like I’m going to miss it. There’s a large man at the door with a clipboard. I know from stories Liam has told me that there will be a list of names on it. What are the chances he’s put my name down? I think I have a better chance at winning the lottery tonight.
“Hi, I know this is going to sound silly –”
“End of the line is down there somewhere.” He points down the block without making eye contact with me.
“Right. Look, my husband is Liam Page and I’m trying to surprise him.”
“Uh-huh, and I’m the Pope. End of the line.”
“Look let me show you.” I pull out my wallet and flash my driver’s license. I know he’s appeasing me when he flashes his light on it.
“Your last name is Westbury.”
“So is Liam’s,” I tell him, wondering how he doesn’t know this.
“End of the line, ma’am.”
My last ditch effort is to show him family photos. I hate that I have to let him see moments that we’ve shared together, but I have no other choice. I pull out my phone and open my photo app.
“Here, look through my phone. Liam’s my husband and I’m really trying to surprise him.”
To my surprise, he flips through the images, studying each one. He speaks into the radio that’s hooked to his shirt as he hands my phone back me. He doesn’t say anything, just continues to look at his clipboard.
“Is she cutting?” The voice belongs to a blonde with an all too small dress on. Even in her heels she’s shorter than me.
“No, she thinks she’s Page’s wife.”
“I don’t think, I am,” I snap back.
“Huh, he didn’t say anything about a wife last night.”
I see nothing but rage and wonder what a night in jail will feel like. I’m about to punch her lights out when my name is called. I turn sharply toward the door to find a short woman with jet-black hair and bright red lips. The girls in line start calling her name, Trixie, but she and I are having a stare down.
“Come with me.” She turns back in the club, leaving me on my own to meander through an angry mob of women.
The second I step in, people are dancing and drinking around me. I can hear Liam on stage, but can’t see him. I try to follow Trixie, but she’s too short and I’ve lost her. It’s okay, though, because I needed to be inside and now I am.
People are glaring at me as I work through the crowd, hitting them with my suitcase. This isn’t ideal, but right now nothing in my life is. I’m finally in a spot where I can see and I wish I wasn’t. In this moment I wish I were home, snuggled up in bed with my son and watching a movie.
My husband is hot, I agree with every woman - and man - who says it. The sex appeal grows when he’s on stage. His shirt is sweaty, sticking to his body. I know from experience that the people in the front row can see the outline of his muscles and his six-pack. They can also see the faint outline of my name tattooed on his chest. It’s not a small tattoo either. Jojo is spread across his chest in large letters with swirls all around it. He’s proud of that tattoo. Hell, I am too. Every woman that has been with him knows my name.
But he loses a lot of sex appeal to me when I see him on stage with a cigarette hanging from his fingers. I know he smoked for a while, years ago, but he quit when Quinn was born. At least, I thought he did. Maybe I’ve been blinded by love all this time and didn’t realize he still smoked. If that’s the case, I’m stupid.
I move closer, pushing my way through the crowd. I want to be up front. I want him to see me. He needs to know I’m here. The jostling between bodies makes me nauseated, but I’m determined. I’m almost there when a female voice starts singing. The people around me calm down and start swaying.
The singer stands next to Liam, angling her body so his arm is pressed against her chest. He doesn’t move it. Instead, he looks at her as he strums his guitar. After a few lines, he’s singing, but he’s not looking at the crowd, he’s looking at her. I glance over at Jimmy and Harrison and they’re both lost in the music.
Liam lets go of his guitar and it hangs there, slightly behind him. He’s moving with her around stage, exchanging lyrics that call for love and sex. She sings about falling love, and he sings about just needing sex. When he returns to his mic stand he pulls his shirt up a little, flashing his stomach to the crowd, much to their delight. I’ve never seen him like this. He doesn’t perform like this when he’s at Ralph’s or even the café. I’m not sure I like him a whole lot right now.
As soon as the song ends, the crowd parts and I’m able to work my way up front. He’s never going to see me because he’s too busy music fucking his stage partner so I turn my focus to Jimmy. I stand near him, calling his name every time he gets close. When he finally sees me, his eyes go wide. I grimace knowing he knows Liam has fucked up.