Whether it was because Brenda was on the scene, or because the crowd had finally picked up on the fact that they were being recorded as part of the nightly webisodes on YouTube, the energy at the Pavilion the following night was unlike anything Lacey had experienced at any of the Dante shows she’d attended, all the way back to the very beginning. The band was on edge, railing through their songs with an unholy intensity, even though she could tell by the grins and the shouts of exulted laughter that they were enjoying this new, amped-up tone of the crowd quite a bit.
Lacey might as well have been one of the groupies for as much as she’d been crowded, jostled, and squashed tonight—they’d increased security, but it still was touch-and-go. Then her bra jangled, and she groaned. Brenda again. The woman had been a nightmare the entire day, treating Lacey as her personal flunky—sending her to fetch water, champagne, fresh fruit, even new shoes that she’d apparently forgotten to pack into her overnight bag. During the show Lacey had been legitimately able to avoid her, but only because Brenda had preferred to text her than to have an actual conversation with her. Instead, Brenda had been holed up with the camera guys and in the editing room, plotting God only knew what.
Now Lacey fished out her phone and scowled down at the message. ::Out of champagne::, it read. ::get us more::
Lacey rolled her eyes. It was almost midnight and the show was almost done! What did Brenda expect? Still, she fought her way through the crew and below stage, flashing her myriad collection of badges at each gatekeeper, until she made it down to the harried supply runners. She’d barely gotten out her order to the exhausted crew when the doors banged open again.
“We need more champa-agne!” crooned a high-pitched voice, and Lacey turned to see a redheaded groupie tiptoe into the room, wearing stunning high heels and a minidress that looked fabulous, if a bit too snug.
“Excuse me?” she asked, and the groupie turned to her. The woman was strikingly pretty and she possessed an amazingly lush body … but she was getting hard around the edges even at that tender age of what—twenty-five? Twenty-eight? She couldn’t be that much older than Lacey, but there was something about her that looked like she’d screamed at the world—and it had screamed back.
“You’re too slow, they said,” the woman said, pouting at Lacey. “I’ve been sent down to do your job.”
“Oh, good heavens. You had to walk all this way in those heels? Let me get it—”
“No!” The groupie burst by Lacey and picked up the small case of champagne that had already been prepped by the handlers, holding the insulated box to her chest. “You think you’re so smart and so classy. Your boss is way more fun than you are, and she has connections. She can get things done.”
Lacey stared at her. “Um, okay,” she said at last, the tiniest sound of alarm pinging in the back of her head. What was this woman talking about? “Is there anything else they need?”
“I’ve got it all handled.” The groupie sneered, and once again her face looked too hard, too brittle under the fluorescent lights. “I’m gonna be the star of the show.”
She tottered off, and Lacey exchanged a bemused glance with the crew members. They seemed to shrug: groupies would be groupies.
By the time she got back to the stage, however, the final strains of Paradiso’s last encore were ringing through the air as the Jumbotron flared to life. The crowd bellowed its approval of watching the latest webisode live, willing the celebration to go on forever. True to expectations, Brenda’s beautiful face was featured in a snippet for a future show, along with teaser clips culled from “a day on the road with Dante Falcone.”
Hardly a day, of course. More like four hours, in all, and most of that had been carefully scripted to show off Brenda to perfect effect. Lacey frowned. She didn’t think that was the point of Brenda coming down here—but what if it was? What if the Barracuda really was trying to horn in on the tour? It made a certain sort of sense. The tour was moving along, and they didn’t have much left to do but spend some sun-drenched days and warm summer nights along the beaches of Virginia, Georgia, and Florida. Lacey knew she should care more, but—
“Watch out!” screamed a laughing crowd of twentysomething fans, their T-shirts soaked with what Lacey hoped was water but was probably champagne. Someone had snuck in a Super Soaker and she got blasted full in the face before security finally swooped in and hustled the rowdy partiers toward the parking lot, confiscating the gun. They probably had enough toys and paraphernalia to fill an entire dumpster, she thought ruefully as she held her T-shirt away from her body. Thank God she was wearing black, as usual. White would have been outside of enough.
“Hey, pretty girl.” Lacey looked up to see Steve Gwynn leaning over her. Steve could lean over everyone—he was that kind of tall—but he got such a kick out of doing it that Lacey didn’t even mind as he swayed toward her. She looked at him in surprise, though—she could smell the alcohol on his breath, but also something sharper, tangier.
“Steve, are you okay?” she asked. God only knew what they were passing around in the pit for this show.
“I’m fine.” Steve hiccupped. “You done mooning over Dante? Because there’s a pool on how long it’ll take before you hit on one of the other members of the band.”
“A pool!” Lacey repeated, aghast. “Tell me you’re kidding. Who started that?”
“One of the groupies,” Steve offered, his grin going a little lopsided, but still goofily endearing. “She doesn’t seem to like you very much, but she’s not a bad girl.”
“Uh-huh.” Lacey reserved judgment on that, since she knew just the groupie to whom he was doubtlessly referring. “Well, I’m not mooning over anyone, Steve. I’m here to do a job for another week and change. That’s it. After that, I go away, and you go back to everything you normally do. Whatever that is.”
“Good!” Steve said, and Lacey felt a quick, hot jab of embarrassment, until Steve clarified with flapping hands. “No, no, no, I mean, good that you’re not mooning over Dante. He’s great, don’ get me wrong—I love him like a brother. But he always gets the girls. I mean, that’s sort of his job, but c’mon.” He splayed his hand on his chest. “I got feelings, too, you know?”
Lacey watched him with growing concern. “Steve, are you feeling okay?”
“I feel great, but you …” He paused to get his wind again, the conversation taking nearly everything out of him. “You’ve been doing sussh a good job with us, and we don’ think it’s fair that Dante have all the fffu—”
Steve pitched forward and Lacey caught him, then realized belatedly that even thin guys still weighed a ton. She staggered back under the load, Steve’s arms flopping, just as a high-pitched giggle sounded out over the corridor. “Oh, Lacey!” Brenda’s tones of indulgent disapproval sent ice pricks down Lacey’s spine, and she stiffened, trying to get herself stable under Steve’s weight. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were, um, involved with the band.” She tittered at her own joke, and Lacey tried to pull herself upright.
“I’m not,” she gurgled, gritting her teeth as she shifted her weight under Steve.
“What was that, dear?”
The next words she heard crystallized Lacey’s mortification. “She’s not involved with anyone in the band.” Dante’s words were clipped and final. Lacey pulled her head away from Steve’s lolling body and thought seriously about disappearing on the spot. For all of his words, Dante was staring at her with something very close to outrage. “Let her go, Steve—”
“He’s not holding me,” Lacey gasped. “I’m holding … him up. A little help, please?”
Dante sprang to her rescue, and Lacey didn’t miss the shrewd gaze that Brenda leveled at them both, as Dante lifted the lead guitarist away from Lacey and she reeled off to one side. “What in God’s name is all over you?” Brenda sputtered, looking perfect and predatory in stiletto heels and matching haute couture. “Did you throw up on yourself?” She giggled at Dante and tried to look stern at the same time.
“Fans Super Soaked me,” Lacey said, struggling to recapture her eager-intern cadence. “It was an amazing show—you being here helped take everything to a new level!”
Brenda narrowed her eyes at Lacey as Dante shifted beside her, easily handling Steve’s weight as the guitarist grinned at them both. “Hi, how y’all doin’?” Steve asked. He swiveled his gaze to Brenda. “Aren’t you pretty,” he slurred.
Brenda thinned her lips. “Lacey, I think we need to meet tonight to go over the rest of the tour. Count on being my shadow until I leave for Boston tomorrow, got it?”
“Absolutely,” Lacey said, every last hope of seeing Dante alone dimming in her mind. Brenda could not leave a moment too soon.