Lost in You (2 page)

“When’s the show?” I ask while rolling my eyes. She knows it’s pretend and that I’d do anything for her.

Her face lights up and she starts clapping. I can’t help it. I smile too and look away from her so she doesn’t see it.

“The show’s ton
ight, but don’t worry. I stopped by your mom’s office and asked her if you could go and she’s okay with me driving us to Jackson.”             

Dylan is like the daughter my mother always wanted and never had so I’m not surprised she said I could go. Had it been anyon
e else she would’ve made me ask my dad and that is usually an automatic no.

I look at my alarm clock and cringe. My dad will be home in twenty-minutes; my mom not for another hour. I don’t have any money for dinner if I go to the concert.

“I haven’t gotten paid yet, D. I don’t have any money.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I got it. You can pay me back later.” She says this too eagerly. I owe her a million dollars already.

“We should go before my dad gets home. Is what I’m wearing okay?”

Dylan jumps off my
bed, heads to my closet and pulls out one of my Sunday church shirts. Fear creeps up my spine – if I ruin it, I’m in trouble. She hands it to me with a huge smile on her face. Sometimes I wish she knew exactly how things were in my house. No, I take that back, I wish I had the carefree attitude and the ability to do whatever I wanted that she has. I wish that my check went to me and not my parents. Most of all, I wish my life was different.

Hadley

Alex
braids my hair. She does this because she knows it pisses off
Anal Anna
and loves to watch her huff and puff while she’s trying to get out the kinks. I don’t understand why I can’t perform in a braid. It would be so much easier and would keep my hair out of my face. But what do I know? I’m just the talent surrounded by people paid to know what’s best for me.

Alex moves from my hair to my shoulders and massages them. My head falls forward as she works the muscles in my neck. Having my best friend on tour has
so many perks, this being one of them. And I have someone to talk to when I'm lonely. Which is all the time. She ends up being my everything – my confidant, my shopping buddy and even my date to the movies when I want to see something. I lean on her for everything.

She taps me on the shoulder to let me know I’m done. I open my eyes and look at her. The bright lights surrounding my vanity mirror are making her dark skin pale. I hate that because her dark complexion and caramel-colored eyes are beautiful.

Alex and I switch spots and I do her make-up. This has become our ritual. Not that anyone is going to see us like this. She’ll remove the make-up before we leave the bus and head into the arena. This is the only time I can be a kid again, even though at twenty-two, those days are over. I just missed them by performing and sometimes I want them back. I miss the days where I didn’t have to do anything. I didn’t have to be “on”. When I could go to the mall and hang out, eating at the food court and not having to worry if paparazzi are lurking in the dressing room next to me. Those days have been gone for so long, I wish for one moment I can be normal again.

A knock on the bus door makes us both groan.
Sometimes performing every other night and traveling in between is too much
. I long for my soft bed and stuffed animals. Yes, I know, I’m too old for stuffed animals, but every so often I need them.

Alex goes to get the door. She sashays as she walks, flipping her hair over her shoulder every few steps, mimicking
Anal Anna
. It’s something we’ve practiced night after night either on the tour bus or in our hotel room.

“Oh look, if it isn’t the hair dresser.” Alex walks back toward me, rolling her eyes. When Anna spots my hair braided she sighs heavily causing Alex to
laugh. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

They have a love/hate relationship. Actually, I think it is more hate/hate because I don’t remember them every really loving each other.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

I don’t answer her. I fall into
step behind her, Alex behind me. Outside my bus is a security guard. He’s not mine, but someone that the venue hired to stand here and block my door. He looks me up and down and smirks. Not sure why. Maybe he’s a hard-core rocker fan or something. Alex mutters something under her breath and starts laughing, earning us a look from Anna. I swear she thinks we’re twelve years old.

The venue is bursting with people. The opening act is about to go on. They are an up-and-coming boy band that has been traveling w
ith me for a few months now. One of them, the lead singer, Smith Michaelson, hits on me after every show. At first I was flattered, but it quickly got old. If I don’t buy what he’s selling, he moves on to some bopper that somehow made it into our after-party. I’ve been with only one musician and that was enough to last me a lifetime. They're nothing but trouble. Pure heartbreak waiting to happen, that’s what it is. When men have women throwing themselves at you night after night you seem to forget about the commitment you made to someone else. I swore off relationships like that, which is why I’m single. I want “normal” but “normal” definitely isn’t knocking on my door.

He’s persistent though. I’ll give him credit for trying, but if seeing him talk to me and
then walk to the first willing girl is supposed to make me want him more, it doesn’t. It makes me feel sorry for him. I’ve taken to carrying handiwipes with me so after he touches my hand I can disinfect my skin.

Anal Anna
opens the door to my dressing room. I have a bouquet of sunflowers sitting on the table along with magazines for Alex. My rack of possible outfits sits in the corner and all of Anna’s make-up is stacked on the table in front of the full-length mirror. I sit down and plaster on a fake smile so Anna knows I’m ready. The last thing I need is for her to tell my uncle Ian, who doubles as my manager, that I don’t have my game face on. A lecture from him is something I can do without.

There are more flowers, roses this time, on each side of this
vanity, no doubt set up by Ian. I don’t know why he insists on having more flowers. They go to waste each and every night. It’s not like we can take them with us when we leave, so why have them here? This is supposed to be my sanctuary.

Alex lounges on t
he couch, reading the newest
People
magazine. I’m in this issue as one of the top one hundred most beautiful people. I wanted them to use Alex, but she’s not famous enough. She mocks me when she comes to my page and reads the quote from Smith, “
Being with Hadley on tour has been an amazing experience. When we aren’t on stage, we are together. She’s such a lovely and sweet girl.
”

I glare at her through my mirror. Anna has my hair in big rollers, the pins digging into my scalp. While my hair sets, she does my
make-up. She’s only been with me for two months. She was highly recommended by some tart that was dating my uncle. When the tart got kicked to the curb, Anna stayed. I suspect she's doing my uncle, but I don’t ask. I think if I knew, I’d fire her and that would piss him off.

Anna picks out my outfits for tonight. A couple of dresses, which I love because I can wear my cowboy boots with them; a pair of jeans with rhinestone tank tops in various colors; and my least favorite is an uncomfortable leather numbe
r with stiletto heels. I hate the leather outfit, but Ian says it gives me sex appeal, which apparently I need. I refuse to have my shows staged. I hate it. I want my fans to expect the unexpected and that includes my clothes. Wearing the same thing over and over, night after night, is boring and lacks creativity. I want my shows to be fresh.

When Ian walks in, he’s on his phone. He doesn’t say hi to Anna and her face drops. If they aren’t doing it, she wants to or they did and he’s ditched her. That's usu
ally how he operates.

He hangs up and looks at my outfit, very Sandy from
Grease
. I want to fire whoever suggested this idea. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, I am. Are the contest winners here?”

He rolls his eyes. He hates the contest winners, but I love them. They make this all worth it. To know that they’ve won tickets by repeatedly calling a number to enter a contest shows a lot about a person’s character. Ian thinks it’s too charitable and Alex says it’s not enough so she usually invites them to an after-party. This just pisses Ian off even more because he says he’s stuck babysitting all night when he should be able to enjoy himself.

“Yes, they're here, are you ready?” he sighs heavily. He’s frustrated and angry about something. What else is new? Ian is good at
his job, but his interpersonal skills need a lot of work.

“Where are they?” I need to know because I like to focus on them during the concert.

“Front row and one girl answered all your trivia questions right so she has a backstage pass.”

“Did you—“

Ian puts his hand up for me to stop talking. “I told her she and her guest can come and go as they please, but to wait until after the show is over before approaching you.”

“Perfect.” I kiss him on the cheek, earning a tiny smile from him. I know deep down he
loves me, but loves the money and power he has more.

He opens the door. I take a deep breath and step out. I’m flanked by my bodyguard, Jones, and the rent-a-cops as they push us through a wall of reporters who all have press passes. They never get it. I d
on’t do interviews before a show. This is my rule, not Ian’s. I hate having my fans wait. They expect me on the stage at eight and that’s where I’ll be.

Alex holds my hand as we walk the long hallway. The chanting gets louder the closer we get. She squeeze
s my fingers. She gets so excited before each show. Me, I just get nervous. Not the butterfly nervous – no, I’ve never felt that – but the I’m-going-to-hurl nervous.

We stand on the side of the stage and I can see some of the fans. There are signs that sa
y
I love you, Hadley
hanging from the second floor seats. Little girls are standing, looking for any sight of me. Sometimes I just want to run out there and sit on the stage and talk to them. Each and every one of them, but I’ll never get that opportunity.

The lights go down and the crowd gets louder. ‘Hadley, Hadley’ echoes throughout the venue. My band starts up and that’s my cue in this tight leather contraption and hair sticking out everywhere to get on stage, all for my first three songs.

I kiss Alex and give her a hug before doing our secret handshake. I can barely see it’s so dark. I count the steps I took earlier, remembering my movements so I don’t trip or walk off the front of the stage. When I’m in center, I take a deep breath and count to three. My foot starts moving to the beat of my song.

When the spotlight comes on, it’s just me and the light. I sing with my eyes closed. When the first verse is over all the remaining lights come on and I can finally see my fans here to sing with me, and I’m r
eminded why I’m up here.

I love it.

Ryan

The things I do for friends. Well, actually just one friend. If anyone else had asked me to attend a concert where there are five men – or are they boys? – dancing around and gyrating their junk in our faces, I would’ve given them a resounding
hell no
.

Yet I stand here, for Dylan, while she paws at these dudes in white pants. What guy wears white pants anyway? She freaks out each time one of them touches her and yells loudly in my ear that she’s never
washing her hand. I want to remind her that she has other peoples’ germs on her because they’ve touched a lot of people and themselves throughout their performance. Watching Dylan sing the lyrics while I stand stiff-legged, being jostled between her and the girl on the other side of me, is a bit annoying. I should step out into the aisle and allow them more space to get closer, but Dylan would freak.

It’s times like this that I want to be different. I want to be in the center of the crowd, jumping up and
down and singing along. I want to be able to walk out to the concourse and buy a hotdog or even a t-shirt to remember the night like every other teenager in the country. Why my parents are so strict about money, I’ll never know. Both of them work, so where does all their money go to?

When the group leaves the stage, Dylan grabs my hand with the hand she said she was never going to wash, sharing the boy band germs with me. She pulls me through the crowd, saying “excuse me” each time we bump into someone else
. Once we clear the row, she turns and faces me.

“Are you having fun?”

“Of course,” I lie.

“Isn’t the front row the most amazing thing ever?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” I will give her that. Being in the front row at a packed concert is definitely an experience. Something I would’ve never had the opportunity to do if it wasn’t for her. “Are you thirsty? You were singing your little heart out.”

“I am,” she says, pulling us through the entryway. Instead of turning left where the concession stands are, she turn
s us right and we smack into security. She shows him the lanyards that hang from our necks and he signals for us to go through. She drops my hand as soon as we come to another door with another security guard. With our lanyards shown again, we enter.