Best Friend's Ex Box Set

“Oh em gee! It’s really you!” One charged toward me, phone already up for a picture. “Can I please get a picture with you? I can’t believe you guys are finally getting back together!” She let out another squeal. I winced, but smiled and nodded, putting an arm out to let her come over to me.

Apparently, Aubrey had gotten our press release out last week. For the past few years, I had been able to come into this sandwich shop with no problem, but putting Bleeding Heart back out in the public light had probably brought had a hand in bringing on situations like this.

The girl came up beside me, hugging me as one of her giggling friends took her phone. I politely hugged the girl back and posed with her as the other girl took the picture. They switched places, and her friend hugged me just as tightly. At one moment, I was pretty sure she sniffed my t-shirt, and it was all I could do not to laugh, although over the years I'd gotten used to this kind of attention from fans and all the weirdness that sometimes came with it. And believe me, there was a lot of weirdness at times. I posed for another photo with her before a few more girls crowded around wanting their pics taken with me.

This went on for a good twenty minutes, and a couple even lingered to watch me eat my sandwich with enthralled attention from a nearby table, giggling the whole time. Instead of annoying me, it made me smile and reminded me just how fun that aspect of touring had been. Meeting the fans had always been great, even if it did get a bit exhausting and overwhelming at times.

I was amazed we still had the number of fans we had, but we had done pretty well for ourselves back in the day. I guess it really shouldn’t have been too much of a shock that some were still following us. A number of our shows for the tour were already sold out, after all.

It was nice having fans. That façade, that false sense of being desired, sometimes helped dull the sting of loneliness that came with the territory. Hell, I’d take what I could get.

While I had everything else, I did feel quite alone some of the time. Even if I didn’t have a problem getting laid, it wasn’t the same as having someone there that you cared about on a consistent basis. A real relationship. I’d never been able to find that. Maybe between the band and the record company, I’d just kept myself too busy to find anyone. Maybe I was a little picky or lacked the trust that they liked me for me instead of because I was Owen Young, rock star extraordinaire.

I waved to the girls as I left, causing another outbreak of giggles. I smiled and winked at them as I walked out the door and headed for the agency, still feeling that pleasant buzz of rock stardom tingling across my skin.

It was just before three when I arrived, and Mike was there waiting for me.

“Long time no see, Mr. Rock Star! How you doing, Owen?” He patted me on the back and smiled at me with a toothy grin.

“Good, good. You know how it is, man. With this record company, and now getting the band back together for the tour, things are crazy. I feel like I'm going nuts sometimes; there's just so much to do and almost no time to do it. Anyway, though, how are things here?”

“Oh, same as you I guess. Busy, busy,” he countered with a smile. “But, I was able to make time to schedule the three applicants you requested interviews with. They are already here and waiting. You can use my office. Let me know when to send the first one in.”

“You can go ahead and send her this way,” I told him, settling into his chair. “Thanks a bunch, man. I really do appreciate the help.”

“No worries. Glad to help. It's always a pleasure working with you, Owen—you represent the best of the music business, you really do. I wish a lot more of my clients were more like you; it'd certainly make my life a lot easier. Anyway, for these candidates, each of their resumes are right on my desk for you to go over with them. I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared out of the office, and a few minutes later, a mousy-looking girl walked in. I stood to greet her, stretching my hand out toward her.

“Owen Young, and you must be Felicia,” I said.

“Yes, hi,” she giggled. Oh God, I thought. She had to be a fan. Fans were great when you were on tour, but definitely not so much when part of the operations aspect of the tour. Nonetheless, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and sat down to get on with the interview. It was only fair to give her a chance, after all.

“So, you have experience in managing music tours?” I asked her.

More giggles. “Yes, mostly with up-and-coming, unsigned, indie rock bands, kind of like how you guys started out.”

“Oh, that’s cool. We need someone well versed on locations and venues for bigger shows, though. Do you feel confident doing that?”

More giggles. Her giggles were like tiny pinpricks in my head and, to be honest, I was struggling to deal with it. Especially since she was just staring at me and not answering my questions.

“Felicia?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I just can’t believe I’m actually sitting here talking to you.” She blushed...and giggled once more. Why me, I thought. I hoped the rest of the interviews weren’t going to be like this. Otherwise, I’d be ready to toss myself off the top of the building by the time I was done.

“Could you please answer my question?” I asked, no longer hiding my annoyance. This seemed to strike her as mean because her eyes misted up a little.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m blowing this, aren’t I?” she sniffled, which only led me to believe that she might be one of those emotional roller coasters, as well. Another red flag for a bunch of guys on tour.

“Do you not have experience booking larger scale tours?”

“No, just with smaller venues and smaller indie bands,” she finally answered. I let out a sigh. This girl was, unfortunately, not at all what I was looking for.

“Thank you, Felicia. I do appreciate your time, but I think that will be all.” I didn’t look her in the eyes, but I could already tell that she was, in fact, crying in earnest now. I sent Mike a text to summon him back over to the office. Mike came in and looked from me to Felicia, his forehead wrinkled as he made his way to the desk where I sat.

“Mike, I need someone that fits the profile I gave you. Please don’t waste my time,” I said quietly. Not quietly enough, though, because the girl got up from the chair and rushed out in a flurry of tears.

I honestly felt bad, but there wasn’t much I could do. We were a multi-platinum selling band with millions of fans all over the country, not a bunch of amateurs playing the dive bar circuit for beer money on weekends. Maybe once, but not anymore. We had to have someone who had enough experience to be professional around bands of our caliber; there was simply no getting around that, as hurtful as it may be to any of the hopefuls.