Beat (Life on Stage 2)

Dylan was supposed to take me back to the hotel after the sound check this afternoon. Instead, equipment problems and an issue with the acoustics in the arena kept us here straight through to tonight’s show. Apparently, the amphitheater had recently undergone some construction that was supposed to be completed, but defective materials caused a delay. The contractor tried to put a Band-Aid on a bullet wound, temporarily sealing up the ceiling with wood, but it isn’t absorbing the sound correctly, instead sending unbalanced reverberations scattering all over the room.

“Sorry, babe.” Dylan comes up from behind me in the lounge backstage. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“It’s fine. Jack kept me company.” I turn and wrap my arms around his neck. My speech might be slightly impaired.

“Who’s Jack?” There’s an edge to his voice.

I squint at him. It might also help me focus in my intoxicated state. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy from the man who has panties thrown at him every night?”

“You know I don’t share, Lucky.”

“Relax. Jack isn’t a man, silly. But if he was, you’d certainly have some competition. He makes me feel warm all over.”

“How much did you drink?”

I hold up my pointer finger and thumb to demonstrate a small amount. “Just a smidgen.”

“A smidgen, huh? I think you and Mr. Daniels may have gotten a bit more intimate than a quickie. Fuck,” he groans. “I might be jealous of a bottle of Jack.”

I giggle, even though I tend to not be the giggly type. It’s the alcohol making everything seem funnier than it is.

Dylan pushes my hair behind my ear. “I have to drop by the after-party tonight. The label has some of our bigger sponsors going. But we don’t have to stay long. Then I’m all yours for twenty-four hours.”

“Not quite twenty-four. My flight is at four tomorrow.” Since I just started a new job, it’s a very short visit. I can’t miss work on Monday.

“We’ll see about that,” Dylan says cryptically as he leans in, his mouth finding my neck. We already argued on the phone about my leaving on Sunday afternoon. He wanted me to stay until the band pulled out of Atlanta on Monday night, but my new job is important to me. I’ve got a happy buzz going and have no desire to ruin it by rekindling the fight we already had, so I save it for tomorrow. Plus, Dylan’s mouth at my neck is leaving me with little resolve.

Dylan and I watch the opening act from the side of the stage. Resin is a British band that has gained popularity since the beginning of this tour. They’re huge in Europe already, and the US radio stations are starting to give them more and more play time. It’s no surprise they’re choosing to leave when the Wylde Ryde tour begins six months of additional show dates. At least this time when Flynn pops into my head, there’s a reason he should. In Like Flynn is taking over for Resin in less than two months. My eyes fly up toward Dylan at the thought…as if he could see me thinking that I’m looking forward to those show dates.

Dylan Ryder puts on a pretty amazing show. Normally, I can’t help but watch in awe. When he sings on stage, a little piece of me still feels like the fourteen-year-old girl who idolized him from afar. The girl who lay in bed at night, staring at his poster. But tonight I only last two songs. The music is piped in all throughout the backstage, so I don’t miss that—but I opt not to watch him sing.

I fix myself another Jack and Coke and take a seat on the couch in the band’s lounge. All the band members except Dylan share one big room backstage. Dylan, of course, has his own.

A handful of groupies mill around, waiting for the guys to finish. It makes me wonder whose job it is to pick the women who are allowed backstage. Does a security guard wander through the audience with a list of requirements? 36D, check. Short skirt, check. How’s your gag reflex, honey? Check.

I swallow the thought along with half the contents of my glass. I’m definitely feeling no pain. My mind again wanders to Flynn. The alcohol clouds my judgment and I shoot off a text before I can think better of it.

How did Laney like her gift? At least my text doesn’t come out slurred.

He responds within a minute. She loved it. My sister…not so much.

You can’t make all the girls happy.

Now that’s a shame. Bet I know one girl I can make smile?

He doesn’t know I’ve been smiling since his first response. Long distance smile promises. You must be pretty confident, Mr. Beckham.

Oh. I am. You ready?

A huge smile hasn’t left my face. Can’t wait.

My phone is quiet for a minute. I’m growing anxious he might not respond again. Finally, my phone pings. But it’s not a text, it’s a video. I press play. The camera focuses on a little girl holding a microphone. She’s wearing a princess tiara, plastic high-heel shoes and a skirt made of purple tulle. A half dozen strands of beads hang from around her neck all the way down to her tummy.

Flynn’s voice prompts her from behind the camera. “Who are you dedicating the song I taught you today to, Laney?”

“This song is dedicated to…” She scrunches up her face and takes a step toward the camera, whispering loudly. “I forgot her name, Uncle Sinn.”

Flynn chuckles off-camera. “Lucky,” he whispers.

Excited, Laney steps back in place and holds up the microphone. “This song is dedicated to Lucky.” Then she lowers the microphone and says, “That’s a funny name, Uncle Sinn.”

Flynn laughs. “It’s no funnier than Laney.”

“Yes. But my real name is Helaine. What’s Lucky’s real name?”

Even though I can’t see him, I know he’s smiling. “I don’t know, Laney. I’ll have to ask her. Can I get back to you on that?”

She nods with exuberance.

“You ready now?”

She nods again.

Flynn leans forward and pushes play on the Disney Frozen karaoke machine. The machine he carried for more than a mile on the walk from FAO Schwarz to my apartment. Warmth spreads through me when I hear the first note. I’m smiling ear to ear while Laney sings “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

All. Five. Verses.

I think of the little princess sitting on her tatted rockstar uncle’s lap while he teaches her the song. My ovaries might just explode.

The video ends. I really want to watch it again, but I can’t wait to respond to his last text.

My smile is HUGE.

I might have cheated. She’s sort of irresistible.

She takes after her uncle.

I’ll have to take you over to meet her when I get back into town.

My stomach does a little drop. He’s leaving? For how long? I didn’t have any plans to see him, yet knowing he won’t be in the same city disappoints me for some reason. Going away?

Hitting the road. Gone for a month.

A month? Why does that bother me? We exchange a few more texts and then Easy Ryder has finished their show, and the entire lounge swirls with excitement.

Dylan finds me. “You disappeared halfway through the set.”

“I was feeling sort of queasy,” I lie.

“You spent too much time with Jack and didn’t eat. Come on, there’s food in my dressing room. Let me feed you before we have to go to the after-party.”