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“Thanks. Enjoy the show,” he replied, making his way inside.

“You know,” the Queen said. “Daniel’s driving a red car with New York plates.”

Lily blinked. “Oh. Really?”

“He’s staying not far from here,” the Queen continued, oblivious to the way Lily’s eyebrows rose and Colette’s eyes widened. “The Festival has some apartments the actors rent while they’re working here.”

Lily noted that none of the Queen’s ladies looked surprised that the she knew this. But before Lily could press her on it, the woman glanced over and smiled.

“What do you two think of all those rumors about him and . . . You Know Who?”

Lily and Colette barely suppressed the urge to roll their eyes. “You Know Who” was a willowy young actress with hazel eyes and hair the color of coffee with cream who had appeared in a handful of episodes of
In My Life
. In them, she portrayed a co-ed Preston briefly dated while he was apart from his long-term love interest. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but the chemistry between them leapt off the screen. It was the kind that was so intimate it was almost uncomfortable to watch. The kind that was so realistic, you wondered if they even realized there were cameras around. The kind that made people think the couple were either two of the most incredibly talented actors in the world . . . or they weren’t acting at all.

It hadn’t taken long for the backlash to start. They had been photographed out together, and the paparazzi—and fans—had taken notice. Photos began appearing on gossip blogs and in the rags. They billed this girl as Daniel’s next young plaything, even though the shots were completely innocent. Most people took the rumors with a grain of salt. But the reaction among Daniel’s fans varied.

Lily quickly realized they fell into three distinct categories. There were the “shippers” who believed they were a couple. In that group, the extent of their relationship ranged from they’d just officially become an item to they were secretly married.

In the middle were the fans who didn’t care either way. They shrugged at reports of whom Daniel Brighton was (or wasn’t, as the case may be) dating. These fans usually steered the conversation back to what was important—Daniel’s career.

And then there were nonbelievers—those fans who angrily and bitterly denied any relationship between her and Daniel. They claimed the photos were set up by the studio, or argued that she was clinging to him. Among this group, she became known as “the famewhore.” The tenacity with which this group held on to their beliefs, and the nastiness they spewed while sharing them astounded Lily.

She shrugged at the Queen’s question. “I’ll be the first one to admit that I’m curious. But they don’t owe me an explanation.”

A teal car parked in a spot in front of them. The passenger door opened. And there was Daniel Brighton. Right in front of them. In fact, he would have to pass right beside them to get to the door. Lily could feel the lump quickly forming in her throat and didn’t try to speak. But the Queen wasn’t silent.

“Daniel!” she yelled. “Can we get an autograph?”

“Hi, guys,” he said in a soft, low timbre. “I’m sorry. I’m actually running late.”

Lily forced herself to pay attention. She wanted to remember every detail of this moment in the same high-definition his show had been broadcast in. She thought she was close to Daniel last night. But those four rows seemed like miles as he jogged past her now. He glanced her way, and she responded with a sincere smile.

“I hope you enjoy the show,” he said as he reached the door. He tried to open it, twice, then cursed under his breath. “Shit! It’s locked.” He sighed, looking toward the girls. Then Lily heard the camera clicks. She could see his eyes darting around, trying to find a way around them. He had no choice but to go past the girls. He lowered his head and took off toward the front door.

The Queen shouted after him as he disappeared around the corner. “Break a leg, Daniel!” The rest of the group stared after him.

“Wow,” breathed Colette. “That’s the closest I’ve ever been to a real-life celebrity.”

“I can’t believe we were that close to him,” Lily said, still dazed by what just happened. The others nodded their agreement.

The Queen folded her hands under her chest. “Well, I can’t believe he didn’t stop to talk to us. It’s not like there are that many of us out here.”

“But he said he was running late,” Colette said.

The Queen sighed heavily, not buying the explanation. “Maybe he was. But what’s another five minutes when you’re already late? I don’t think it would have been too much to ask, considering the money I’m spending to see him. But since the opportunity has passed, I’m going to go on inside.”

“And we’d better get on the road. Have fun,” said Lily.

She and Colette walked to the main parking lot. When they arrived at Lily’s car, she paused at the trunk.

“Hang on a second.” Lily opened it and rummaged around in her luggage. “I want to make a couple of notes about this in my program before I forget.”

Colette smirked. “Somehow, I don’t think you’ll forget this anytime soon.”

Lily scribbled a couple of quick notes in the few blanks spots left in the packed program. She shoved it into her purse, just in case she needed to make any other notes, closed the trunk, and unlocked the doors.

“Colette,” Lily said, grinning as she got into the car, “did Daniel Brighton just run past us?”

“Yeah. He did,” Colette replied as she closed the passenger door. “And I can’t believe I’m about to say this . . . but he is freaking gorgeous.”

Lily laughed and started the car. “Gee, you think? He’s even better looking in person. Even if it is running by, trying like hell to get away. You know, I’d be willing to bet that Bottom and Oberon locked the door so he would be forced to deal with us.”

Colette laughed. “You’re probably right.”

Lily looked back one last time at the theater as they exited the parking lot. “Do you think it’s weird how much that woman knew about Daniel?”

“Not just weird. Creepy. In a stalker kind of way. And what was with her bringing her DVDs?”

Lily shrugged. “I have no idea. I mean, I own the DVDs. I watch the DVDs. But I don’t feel the need to have them with me at all times.”

“Had you read any of that stuff about his car and where he’s staying online?”

Lily shook head. “Nope. Just reviews. But, you know, it makes me wonder . . . what else does she know about him?”

“That’s just scary,” Colette said. “No wonder he doesn’t want to be around his fans.”

Lily sighed as she turned onto the interstate that would take them home. “It is scary. She wasn’t there to see him in the play. She was there to try to meet him. And I’ll be the first to admit that I’m bummed that I’m leaving without an autograph. But I also understand that he’s a person with his own life and commitments.”

“You’re right. She didn’t seem to understand the concept of boundaries.”

“Exactly! In all honesty, he could have been lying about being late just to get away from us. But I have no reason to think that was anything but the truth.”

“I’m not so sure she sees it that way.”

“I know. That’s what aggravates me. She makes the rest of his fans look like voracious stalkers. The huge majority of us just want to support him and his work.” She thought for a moment. “Do you think there was anything wrong with what we did?”

Colette’s reply was pensive. “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever done anything like that before or will do anything like that again. But, no, I don’t think we did anything wrong. You’re never going to know unless you ask. And once he said he was running late, we were respectful enough to let it go. Not accepting his explanation would be wrong.”

Lily was still thinking about the behavior she witnessed over the weekend when she walked into work on Monday morning. She had her program with her so she could finish her column and bring some order to her jumbled thoughts.

“Therein lies the difference between fans such as myself and fangirls—that contingent of admirers who are almost rabid in their devotion. Fangirls want him. Fans, like me, want him to be happy. For me, getting an autograph has nothing to do with professing undying love and everything to do with professing my endless gratitude. It would be a small moment in time when I might be able to say, ‘Thank you. Your work has struck a chord with me, and I wanted you to know how much I appreciate what you do,’ and have something to remember the auspicious occasion,” Lily wrote.

Once it was finished, she printed it and handed it to Colette for editing.

“Let me know if you think there is anything missing or something you want to add,” Lily said as she left Colette’s cubicle.

Colette brought it back to Lily’s desk an hour later. “If I hadn’t been there, I don’t think I would believe what happened. You realize you’re going to have fangirls after you now.”

Lily laughed. “I’m sure they’ll think they’re defending Daniel’s honor. I guess if it keeps them from following him around, then it’ll be okay.”

The afternoon her column was posted to the newspaper’s website, Lily got two responses. The verdict was split.

“Your insight on the ‘fangirl’ phenomenon struck a chord with me, as I have seen these young, giddy ladies and older, supposedly mature women descend on him like crazed locusts. On the other hand, I have met and come to know personally numerous individuals who fit your description of ‘fans such as myself,’ ” the first e-mail read.

See! Daniel has nothing to fear from most of his fans
, Lily thought as she opened the second e-mail.

“Calling normal fan behavior ‘stalking’ is not helping the situation. It only reinforces his dislike of the people who are investing in his career, and that doesn’t help anyone. You were blessed to be able to be there, but he should have made your trip more memorable. Don’t put the blame on yourself or the other fans for his bad behavior. There’s no excuse for not signing autographs,” the author wrote.

Since when is stalking “normal fan behavior,”
Lily wondered.

She sighed and walked to Colette’s desk with a printout of that e-mail. “You’ve got to read this response to my column.”

“Good Lord,” Colette said with a laugh. “She has no idea that you’re actually talking about people like her.”

“Obviously. I just can’t believe she’s under the delusion that Daniel’s refusal to sign an autograph constitutes ‘bad behavior.’ ”

Later that week, Lily logged on to the “News and Updates” section of her favorite Daniel Brighton website. She blinked slowly when she saw the first entry.
Nashville News-Journal
Reporter writes about her experience with Daniel at the Alabama Shakespeare Festival. Heart hammering, she clicked on the link to the full story. Sure enough, there were her words. She couldn’t believe it. With this one column, Lily had infiltrated the inner fangirl sanctum.

She wondered if the column was posted elsewhere, and a Google search of her name provided the answer. It most certainly was. There were links to her column on fan sites throughout the globe, including an Australian site, and a German translation of her words on an international site.

Lily smiled to herself as she sat back in her chair, taking it all in. This was a better afternoon pick-me-up than any cup of coffee. Her mind raced with excitement, but she kept coming back to the same thought.

This is the writing I want to do
.

Chapter Three

The excitement over Lily’s review eventually wore off. The fan sites went back to speculating over Daniel’s next role and the nature of his relationship with his former costar.

When she read that Daniel was doing a play off Broadway later in the year, she knew there was no way she could miss it. Lily never needed an excuse to travel to New York City. It had long been her favorite city and the one place she craved returning to as often as possible. She drew energy from the constant hum and vibration that flowed through the streets like the neon that lit the signs above them. She loved that the city was filled with endless possibilities and a constant supply of new things to see and do.

The plan would be simple enough. Get tickets for a Saturday night show. Fly to New York City that morning. See the play. Fly home Sunday. It made perfect sense . . . at least to Lily.

So she mentioned the play to Colette at work the next morning.