Strong (Stage Dive 4.50)

“You know, I bet I could.”

He grinned. “That would be awesome. Ah, think I got all the noodles. There’s a bit of sauce in there you’ll need to wash out.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Look, I haven’t really given serious thought to managing you. But let me mull it over, all right?”

On the other side of the table, Adrian’s face had turned an unfortunate shade of purple. “You want Martha to manage you? Are you out of your mind? She’s a secretary, for heaven’s sake.”

“Executive personal assistant, thank you,” I snapped. “And an extremely experienced one. So if you think during the years I worked with the band I wasn’t all over everything the guys did making sure they weren’t getting ripped off or messed around with, you are kidding yourself.”

“What exactly are you insinuating?”

“Oh, don’t get litigious,” I said. “You’re a great manager, Adrian. I’m not denying it. But you’re not necessarily the best fit for every performer. No manager possibly could be.”

The man’s eyebrows merged into one flat pissed-off line.

“Whatever Adam does, he needs to take the time to ensure he’s well informed as to his responsibilities and the consequences of any contract he signs.” I crossed my arms. “Wouldn’t you agree, Adrian?”

“W-well, of course no one wants to take advantage of him.”

“Of course not.”

“Right. Okay,” said Adam, exhaling hard. “I’ll read through it all and get some legal advice then get back to you. Thank you.”

Adrian just grunted. Talk about being an unhappy camper.

I, however, smiled with delight and Adam seemed much more relaxed. Doing good deeds didn’t suck nearly as much as I’d thought it would. Besides, maybe I would make a good manager. Serious thought about the idea was definitely required.

The problems associated with possibly dating (or whatever we were doing) a bodyguard became very clear four days later. Four days during which I hadn’t seen Sam. Not even once.

Rumors about the new album were running rife. And paparazzi had taken to following the band members and their partners, trying to get the gossip. To make things even worse, Jimmy’s old flame, a big-time Hollywood actress, had just announced her engagement. So they wanted a statement from the singer about that too.

One ov

erzealous paparazzo in particular had been a thorough pain in the ass. The guy was way too gung-ho about his job, if repeatedly grabbing the back of David’s shirt and stepping in front of cars to try and get a picture were any indication. Spread thin trying to keep an eye on the still lurking photographer/stalker, more security came on board. Things turned intense.

Something I could have dealt with just fine, if Sam hadn’t up and completely disappeared on me. Apart from a text. One damn text.

“Wat den?” asked one of Jimmy and Lena’s twins. Not sure which one. I could never keep their names straight.

Me, the children, and one idiot drummer were sitting among a wide assortment of toys in the corner of the band’s practice room again. Meanwhile, Ben and Jimmy were busy inside the studio. David sat on one of the couches with a guitar resting in his lap and paper and pen at his side. He was lost in his own little world, which tended to happen when he wrote songs.

Since each other’s houses were considered some of the only safe places to visit, we’d all been hanging out together often. Fine with me. It kept them all happy and occupied to play together. The children and the band members.

Gib removed his thumb from his mouth. “Pwada.”

“That’s right,” I said, giving the child a high five for excellence. “Then, the Super Puppy team put on their new season Prada sunglasses and ran off into the sunset to frolic and play or whatever. Knowing that through their awesome styling tips and quite adequate life-saving rescue mission, the hamsters would all happily live to see another day. The end.”

The questioning twin just blinked at me. Guess she wasn’t used to my style of story-telling yet.

“Have to admit,” said Lena, studying her state-of-the-art camera, flicking through shots no doubt, “I was really worried there for a while when the hamster couldn’t decide what cut of jeans to get.”

“Flares was a daring option, but I really do believe they’re making a comeback,” I agreed. “Harry the hamster’s going to have all the street cred.”

Mal nodded, finishing up doing a third tiny plait on the head of one of the twins. “Your story had me on the edge of my seat, Marty. Which isn’t easy considering I’m sitting on the ground. Okay, another successful hairdo. Let’s hear it for Uncle Mal!”

All of the children clapped their hands.

“M-A-L, he’s the best. Yes, he is.” The drummer had a full cheer routine with hand motions and all going on. “Yay for Uncle Mal!”