Always (30 page)

“Uh, I think I’m good here,” he said to the handler.

“Very good, sir.” He smiled and disappeared. Dillon pulled out his phone and texted Justine.

This set-up is insane. You shouldn’t have.

She replied an instant later.

You’re here?? Of course I should have. You’re my most important guest. Have fun and someone will come get you after the show.

He smiled as he typed a reply.

Knock ‘em dead.

There were a couple of other guests there. One was her drummer’s father and another was a sick teenage girl with her parents. She’d requested to meet Justine through a make-a-wish charity, and when Justine heard about it, she arranged a full VIP event for the girl and her family.

He got a plateful of the delicious food and made small talk with the drummer’s dad until the show started. The opening act was pretty good. He’d heard of them, a trio of guys out of San Diego. The lead singer had the right dreamy boy-band looks to appeal to Justine’s rabid fangirls, which he suspected was at least part of the reason they got the slot.

There was only half an hour of downtime between acts as Justine’s crew reset the stage for her. She’d always hated headline acts who waited hours after the opening set to start playing. She’d felt it was disrespectful to the fans. She ran a tight ship now she was the headliner.

Dillon watched as curtains were raised and video screens positioned. The stage itself was massive, with sets of shiny silver stairs leading to upper levels and a long walkway extending out into the crowd. It was way more impressive than anything Outlaw Rovers ever had, even at their peak. But then again, they’d never crossed over to the level of popularity Justine knew. They’d had one certifiable hit and an album that sold really well. The label might have sunk this kind of money into them if they’d proved themselves with a strong follow-up album. Instead it was a flop and Outlaw Rovers faded from the fans’ memories like any one of a thousand one-hit wonders who came before them. Justine, on the other hand, had three hit singles off her debut album alone. There were an additional two hits off the follow-up and she was nowhere near done releasing singles from it. What was happening to Justine, her level of fame, was as rare as being struck by lightning. She’d gone way past being a successful recording artist and into certifiable cultural phenomena territory. He could scarcely conceive of what her life had become.

The second the lights went out, the arena erupted in screams. It didn’t let up, a solid wall of sound and energy, all focused on the stage, and on the one girl they were breathlessly waiting for. Dillon found himself leaning forward in anticipation, his forehead almost touching the glass. The band started playing the intro to her first song and the screaming grew louder. Then her voice materialized out of the darkness, the slow, eerie entrance to one of the songs Dillon had written for her. The instrumentation on the intro was spare, letting her voice take the focus, and the staging of her intro was doing the same thing. It was just her disembodied voice, floating out into the darkness over the screaming crowd. When she finally appeared, it wasn’t on the still-dark stage where everyone was looking. It was on a
swing
, high overhead, picked out by a single spotlight.

She kept singing, her sparkly silver dress throwing reflections everywhere like a disco ball, as the swing slowly lowered through what had to be fifty feet of space. The closer she got to the stage, the louder the crowd screamed, all with their hands stretched overhead, as if they could reach up and touch her if they wanted to badly enough. No one did, though. Justine stayed the dream forever out of reach.

The lights onstage came up to reveal her band, already grinding out the beat, and a dozen hot, shirtless dancer boys in tight pants, engaged in heavy choreography. When Justine was finally within reach, the dancers clustered around her, hands stroking her arms and legs while one of them invisibly freed her from whatever safety harness she’d been clipped into.

The instant the song blew apart into the wild, blistering chorus, she stepped clear of the dancers and strode down the walkway out into the crowd. Her silver dress was cut away in front, revealing her long, shapely legs and perilously high platform heels. She ate up the stage, her hair and dress billowing out behind her, tearing up the lyrics, not holding back an ounce, either with her voice or her performance. Pyrotechnics went off behind her. Her name flickered across the LED screens overhead. Silver confetti rained down over the crowd. The dancers flew across the stage in furious motion.

The song was all about power, a scorned woman taking back her life, and Justine owned it. The over-the-top stage show was probably enough. She could have sung to a track for all it mattered. Plenty of pop stars at her level did it all the time. But not Justine. When she reached the soaring high notes at the end of the chorus, she stopped moving and planted her feet so she could push out a sound that shook the rafters. It took Dillon’s breath away. She was magnificent.

He heard a gasp at his side and tore his eyes from the spectacle on stage. The teenage girl with leukemia watched with her hands over her mouth and tears streaming down her face. Her eyes were filled with wonder and adoration. To his surprise, Dillon felt himself choking up, too, seeing the effect Justine’s performance had on her fans.

The rest of the show was just as over-the-top. Hot dancer boys picked her up and carried her as she sang, she danced in sync with a trio of dancing girls, she disappeared into the floor for several lightning fast costume changes, and the show concluded with her riding her swing back out of the arena. Through it all, she sang her heart out and left it all on stage. An hour and a half after the lights came up, they finally came down to thunderous applause. The girl knew how to put on a show.

Twenty minutes after the show ended, a different security guard appeared at the door to escort them backstage. It was back down the private elevator and through a series of concrete hallways while the sound of the exiting thousands echoed through the walls. After the security guard swiped his ID at several doors, he deposited them in another plushly-furnished room. The drummer was already there, waiting for his dad, who he whisked away. Moments later, several assistants, representatives and liaisons appeared to greet the sick teenager and her parents. Dillon settled into an armchair out of the way to wait and watch. Fifteen minutes later, in a flurry of advance activity, Justine arrived. She’d changed into jeans and a hoodie, but still had her stage makeup and hair in place. Her eyes found his the second she came into the room, but she could only flash him a quick apologetic smile before the press reps were calling her away. Dillon waved her off, perfectly content to wait while she dealt with someone much more important than him.

The teenage girl became star-struck and speechless as soon as she was confronted with Justine in the flesh, but Justine took it in stride, shaking her hand and introducing herself to her parents. She was relaxed and easy, asking the girl how she liked the show and which song was her favorite. It was only a matter of minutes until she’d put the girl at ease and gotten her talking. Then it was twenty minutes of tearful thanks and heartfelt gushing. Justine patiently posed for a million pictures.

Dillon watched her the whole time, silently aware that he was as much in love with her as he’d always been, despite her months away. He’d gotten quite adept at working around it, and never letting it rear up and get in the way of their friendship, but it didn’t mean his feelings had gone away.

A few months earlier, shortly after Grace had been born, he’d decided he wasn’t ever going to move on from Justine as long as he was still living like a monk. In his early days of sobriety, Keith had encouraged him to stay single, explaining that the emotional volatility of a new relationship could strain his recovery. But it had been well over a year, and the only reason Dillon was still single had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with Justine.

So even though he had about zero experience with normal dating, he’d asked out Kerry, a girl he knew from the shop where he had his bike serviced. She was a lawyer who rode mountain bikes in her spare time. She knew absolutely nothing about him or his band, which had been refreshing at first. Less explaining. She didn’t even listen to all that much music outside of the radio in her car during her commute. Dillon tried to keep an open mind about her lack of interest in music, but it was hard. She was smart and attractive and she liked him. After a handful of bike rides together, a few dinners, and one or two goodnight kisses which failed to light more than a meager fire in him, he had to admit his heart wasn’t in it, not even a little bit. It was still too full of Justine. Maybe one day he’d be over her, but clearly that day was still a long way off.

Half an hour later, the publicity people ushered the teenager and her parents out to a waiting limo and Justine exhaled for the first time he’d seen. She turned to look at him, seeming her ordinary human self. The pop star had vanished with the crowds and now she was simply his Justine again.

“You did good there, Justine,” he said.

“You think?”

“Yeah. That girl… her face when she was watching your show…. It meant more to her than you’ll ever know.”

Justine waved a weary hand. “It was the least I could do, you know?”

“Plenty of people wouldn’t have bothered. Good for you.”

She smiled, almost bashfully, at his praise and he wondered at it— why his opinion would still matter so much to her after all these years and the utter reversal of their places in the world.

“Come hug me,” she finally said, holding her arms out for him.

He came willingly, loving nothing more than an excuse to hold her, even for a moment. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmured into her shoulder.

“You are? I was worried you wouldn’t like it. I know it’s not rock, and it’s really flashy and commercial—”

He gripped her shoulders and crouched until he could look into her eyes. “It was amazing.
You’re
amazing. I always knew you were destined for more, but you blow me away, Justine. Truly.”

To his shock and horror, her eyes welled with tears and her face screwed up with her effort not to cry.

“Hey, hey, hey. That was supposed to be a compliment! Jesus, don’t cry!”

She sniffed and took a huge breath. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just… You have no idea how nice it is to hear that right now.”

“I’m sure people are telling you you’re brilliant every minute of the day.”

She forced a smile through her tears. “Yeah, just not always the people that matter most.”

Even though he doubted the wisdom of getting so intimate with her, she seemed to need it, so he gave himself permission. He reached up to cradle her face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m in awe of you. Every single day.”

She closed her eyes and sighed into him. He didn’t know what could be happening to shake her confidence so badly, but it was clear she needed him to make her feel better again. He hoped his paltry words were enough, because she should never doubt herself. She wouldn’t, not if he could help it.

February, 2013

“Do you want me to carry her, Justine?” Meggie asked as she shouldered one of the carry-on bags.

“No, I’ve got her, if you can get the roll-aboard.”

“No problem.”

Justine shifted Grace to her left hip and kissed her cheek. “Ready to see Daddy, Gracie?”

It was late and Grace was totally off schedule, but she smiled and waved her chubby fists in delight. They’d never get her to sleep tonight, but at least they were on solid ground and not in a hotel.

They’d planned to spend the night on the bus driving to the Philadelphia gig, but at the last minute, Justine decided there was no point to all the money she was earning if she couldn’t do something impulsive and self-indulgent once in a while. So she booked a private jet to fly her, Grace and Meggie to New York as soon as the last show finished. They’d catch up with the tour the day after tomorrow and in the meantime, she’d get an extra night with her family all in one place. It was sad how rare that was becoming. Thankfully there were only a few more weeks of the tour to get through and then it was back home to LA for good. By then Ian would have wrapped up his projects in New York and he’d be there again full-time, too. Maybe then they could start fixing what was going wrong between them.

The doorman at the apartment building took the larger suitcases, leaving her and Meggie to deal with the smaller bags. It was almost all gear for Gracie anyway. Grace made faces at herself in the polished brass walls of the elevator as they rode up to the fifteenth floor. This had been Ian’s apartment when they started dating, and they’d kept it after they’d gotten married because it was nice to have something to call home on her frequent trips to New York. They’d looked at a couple of much larger, luxurious places in Tribeca, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to maintain two complete households on opposite coasts. Ian’s old bachelor pad was really more a place to crash, but it was enough for now. It had been useful for him to have an east coast place as he worked on his big magazine piece.

Outside the door, she had to dig through her bag to find the keys to the New York apartment.

“God, it would suck if I booked a jet to get us here early and I forgot my damned keys!” she joked to Meggie as she searched the pockets.

“Should we just buzz? It’s nearly midnight. I bet Ian’s here.”

“Got ‘em!” Justine pulled her keys out in triumph and flashed a smile at Meggie as she unlocked the deadbolt and the door lock.

As she stepped inside, Ian was rounding the corner out of the kitchen holding a wine glass. He stopped dead in surprise and his expression went flat.

“Justine. What are you doing here?”

Justine went still, too. Things had never really righted themselves since the huge blow up they’d had last fall. It was hard to fix anything when they only saw each other for a day or two every three or four weeks. Justine did her best to put the hurtful things he’d said behind her, chalking it up to growing pains due to her radically different new life. It would be hard for anyone to adjust. Ian seemed better, too, never again giving any hint he was resentful. But his decidedly less than enthusiastic response to her appearance set her on edge. At the very least, she thought he’d be happy to see Grace. Instead, he looked hunted.