I wasn’t prepared for my plan to slide into place perfectly. I mean, one hopes that happens, but, just like on tour, plans often go sideways and you have to plan for contingencies. Not this time. It kind of worried me that I’d missed something that was going to come back to bite me in the ass.
What I also wasn’t prepared for was the guilt. I had put my plan into action on my own, not telling anyone. I knew that was going to piss off all parties involved (plus Sandy who was going to freak out that I hadn’t included her) but keeping it on the down-low was going to ensure it didn’t get out in time for someone to put the kibosh on it. Despite my anxiety over what I was doing, it was all for the greater good.
Unless it fell apart, in which case, I was going to deny, deny, deny. And if that didn’t work, then I’d just beg hard for forgiveness.
But I didn’t like the roiling pit in my stomach which wouldn’t go away until after everything went down. And I couldn’t blame it on the banana pancakes—those had been digested hours ago.
It was going to be a rough twenty-four or so hours, I thought as I half-listened to the crew chatter back and forth in my headset over the muted concert out on stage. The techs knew their jobs and did them well under the leadership of the production manager, so unless I heard my name, I wasn’t on deck for anything during the show.
“This is so cool,” Lindsay said, drawing my attention back to her and Chris who were standing in the wings just behind me, watching the show.
Chris’s eyes were fixated on the stage as he seemed to be absorbed in taking mental notes, but Lindsay had the wide-eyed look of a fan.
I took a step back so I was beside her and leaned close “They’re good, huh?” I said. “I wish he could have played for a hometown crowd and so you could see him in action with them. I’ll make sure Sandy gets some good footage of him once he starts, though. It’s going to be surreal for you, seeing Chris up there with them.”
“Totally,” she said. “I mean, I’ve always known he was good, but this is...” She shook her head.
I looked into her eyes and said, “Has he prepared you for everything? The ugly parts, I mean.”
She swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. As much as he can, I guess.”
“You have to assume that anything that doesn’t come from one of our feeds probably isn’t true. There will be crazy fans calling themselves his girlfriend. Propositioning him constantly. You have to trust him and know crazy fans will say anything. If they can get recognized for it, even better.” I glanced over at Chris but he seemed very focused on watching the band. I turned back to Lindsay. “Better yet, stay off social media. It’ll just make you crazy and no good ever comes from following what fans say.”
“I want to see what’s going on, though,” she said. “With the band...”
“If you just subscribe to Sandy’s YouTube channel, you’ll get the highlights. Plus, Chris will be in contact with you, I’m sure. There’s Wi-Fi on the bus, though don’t get offended if he doesn’t message you every night—it’s exhausting work. If you don’t hear from him, it may be because he’s face-down in his bunk, not off with some groupie who’ll trade favors for tickets.”
Her eyes widened. “Is that what groupies do?”
I nodded. “Some. But not on this tour—my father is serious about keeping it clean. This is what the guys sign on for.”
“Chris showed me the contract,” she said. “So I know those are the official rules, but...”
“With my dad there’s no divide between official rules and what really goes down. He’s not a babysitter, but he won’t allow that kind of thing to go on. Chris couldn’t find a better manager who will make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”
“Which is exactly the way he wants it,” she said. “He wants to be a star, but he doesn’t want to do it at the expense of the rest of his life.”
“He’s on the right path. He can make it,” I said. “But it’s still going to be a challenge. It’s a lot of work and rehearsal. Not to mention the bus gets smaller every day you’re on the road. It’s not the glamourous life everyone thinks it is.”
She nodded. “Thanks for the reality check. It’s going to be hard for both of us.”
I darted my eyes at Chris again. “It will be hard. But he’s obviously devoted to you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right now, I think he’s devoted to that stage.”
I smiled. “You’re right. But he’ll be on that bus for no more than ten minutes before he starts missing you. The novelty does wear off—trust me, the guys live, breathe, and sleep the music and thoughts of home.”
She shrugged. “We’ve talked about this a lot and while I’m going to miss him, I’d never hold him back from his dream. If we’re meant to make it as a couple, we will.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” I said. “I’ll make sure to remind him,” I added with a wink.
Just then, Sandy walked up to me. She’d been in the green room, cutting some video last time I’d seen her.
The look on her face made my stomach roll over. “What’s wrong?” I said, by way of greeting, stepping away from Lindsay out of earshot. If I was about to get handed my butt by my friend who was pissed about my not including her in my secret plan, better to have it done in semi-private.
“Probably nothing,” she said, holding her phone toward me. It took me a second to realize whatever it was, it didn’t have anything to do with me.
Her Instagram app was open to a hashtag search for the band and it showed a picture of Max on stage playing, reposted from his own account.
“Okay,” I said, looking from the screen up to her. “So?”
“Look at the caption.”
I did and read it out loud. “Max Lindstrom, hottest member of hashtag Wiretap. Hashtag survivor, hashtag boyfriend, hashtag one true love.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, so she’s a bit obsessed. Not the only fan to post stuff like that, Sandy.”
“No,” Sandy agreed. “But she posts a lot. Like, hourly. Her entire feed is filled with stuff about Max.”
“Just Max?” I asked.
“Yeah. The first few were the whole band, but she seems to have zeroed in on him.”
“She must have a type—the broody, tortured guy.”
Sandy nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”
“I’m sure she’s harmless.”
“I know, I just...something about it feels off.”
“You’re just paranoid because you can’t understand why anyone would be into him.”
She rolled her eyes and said, “You’re probably right—it is surprising anyone would think his scowls are sexy, especially after living with him. Anyway,” she paused, looking at Chris before she lowered her voice and asked, “He going to play tomorrow night?”
“No,” I said. “Dave—sorry, Will—will finish out tomorrow night as they open for Zen Garden and then Chris can start in San Francisco if he feels ready. If not, then Salt Lake, but I think he’s chomping at the bit to get started.”
“And he’s good with that?”
I nodded, looking out toward the band because I didn’t want Sandy to read anything on my face. “Yeah. He said he doesn’t mind being flexible for a few days.”
“Too bad he doesn’t want to stick around,” she said, drawing my eyes back to her. “Your dad must be so upset he turned him down.”
“How did you know he asked him to stay?”
“Please,” she said with another dramatic eye-roll. “That is a small bus, Nessa. Way too small for secrets.”
She was wrong about that. I hoped.
“Anyway,” I said, clearing my throat.
“Tomorrow will be good, though,” she said, looking out at the stage. “I can’t believe it’ll be his last concert.”
I really hoped she was wrong about that, too.