Audrey, Wait!

by Robin Benway

  “Sshh!” My mother nudged my elbow and motioned toward Amy, who was apparently involved in the talent’s water fiasco and was chattering into one of her phones. “You’re gonna make that poor girl have a stroke right here in the dressing room.”

  “No, ‘the talent’ is,” I said, but when I tried to go out in the hall to find a bathroom, Amy flung herself in front of me and motioned me toward a door in the dressing room. That’s when I figured out that this girl was here solely to keep me from seeing Evan. I couldn’t help but think that if Victoria had been here with me, not only would she have gotten past Amy, but she’d be telling “the talent” exactly where they could get their damn water.

  And then the countdown started: “Sixty minutes to air!” “Forty minutes to air!” This must be why rock stars are so cranky, I figured. They have to get everywhere at o’dark-thirty and then cool their heels for hours afterward. No wonder so many dressing rooms have been trashed.

  At “Ten minutes to air!” Amy took me and escorted me down the hall to a holding area that was very cold and hushed. “’Bye!” my mom said as I left. “Remember, say hi to Grandma!” She had been reminding me to do that every five minutes, but seeing as how my hands had suddenly gone numb with terror, Grandma was the furthest thing from my mind.

  I glanced at Amy as we both stood in the holding area, surrounded by several other PAs and their useless clipboards. Everyone was watching the monitors that hung from the ceiling, and I could see the Do-Gooders getting interviewed and the in-studio audience laughing and listening at all the right spots. I recognized the interviewer as Dave, the guy who always asked the stupidest questions every time he interviewed a band.

  “Just remember, be natural, just like in real life,” Amy rattled on.

  “This is my real life,” I muttered.

  She didn’t hear me. “No gum and most importantly, no swearing,” she continued, but I tuned her out and focused back on the band. The only images I had seen of Evan since we broke up had been videoized and airbrushed, making the whole band look as pinuppy as possible. With no computer effects to change them, though, they just looked tired. Evan, especially, looked so much older than he had a year ago, and I unconsciously reached out and touched the screen as my anger toward him slowly eased. “Hi, Ev,” I whispered, but Amy didn’t hear me say that, because someone was handing my cue cards to her.

  Yeah, that’s right.

  Cue cards.

  Amy gave me a brief rundown. “The camera with the red light on it is the camera that’s on,” she said, which I already knew. “And these”—she hoisted the cards up—“are what you’re going to say.”

  “What I’m going to what?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s just some guidelines to make the interview run smoothly,” she said, her Kansas teeth practically blinding me with insincerity. “You know, just where your answers should go.”

  “But I thought I could say what I wanted to say,” I told her, as the numbness traveled from my hands to my arms. I wondered if I was having a heart attack. Wasn’t that a sign of a heart attack? Numb arms? When I wasn’t struck down by staggering chest pains, I shifted my focus back to what Amy was saying.

  “—like to have everything go as smoothly as possible,” she chirped again. “Don’t worry, these are just standard answers.” But as she flipped through the cards to show me, I realized that they were all things I had said in the L.A. Weekly interview, how I loved The Song, loved being famous, loved loved loved everything about my life! I was surprised no one had drawn rainbows and teddy bears on the cards.

  “Um, can I go to the bathroom?” I asked her. “I really have to pee.”

  Amy glanced at the clock attached to the monitor. “Six minutes,” she said.

  “I really, really have to pee,” I said, sounding like I was in preschool. “It’ll be fast.”

  “Okay,” she said, and since Evan was on camera I supposed, I was allowed to dash down the hall and into a bathroom. Once I checked to make sure that no one else was in there, I locked myself in a stall and started thinking fast. What could I do? I could refuse to go on air. I could play along with the cue cards and make everyone happy. I could say “fuck” on national television and shut the whole thing down in three seconds flat.

  “—so glad when this is over!” a woman’s voice suddenly said as two pairs of high heels clicked into the bathroom.

  “Tell me about it,” another woman said. “Believe me, we were not prepared for this. I haven’t had a free weekend in six months.”

  They sounded official and professional, and I had a feeling they didn’t know that I was in there. I had a feeling I wasn’t supposed to be hearing this conversation.

  So of course I stood on the toilet and eavesdropped.

  “Well, you know we signed them just because someone’s uncle or cousin or whatever knew their little manager, and it was this whole family-favor thing.” The first woman sighed. “And then this song came out and it was like, ‘Uh-oh, goodbye, free time.’”

  “Do you know how long it took me to media train them?” the second woman said. From the way she spoke, I could tell she was applying lipstick. “We practically had to beat the Southern California out of them. Everything was ‘dude’ or ‘fool’ or ‘stoked.’ It was terrible.

  “And now they’re like, ‘When are we gonna record our album? We wanna make an album!’ and I’m just like, ‘Kids, you’re lucky there’s a fuckin’ song! Grab your money and run!”

  “How was the contract they signed?”

  “How do you think it was?”

  Then they both giggled.

  Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.

  “But you know,” the first one replied, “it’s a good song. They’ll have their moment, they’ll be a VH-1 one-hit wonder or whatever it is. They’ll have a story to tell their grandkids.”

  I couldn’t believe this was happening. I had always seen the movies where the hero hides in the bathroom stall while bad things are being said, and I’d always be like, “Jump out! Confront them! Do something!” But now I totally knew why they didn’t do that: They were in shock. Just like I was. I couldn’t do things like burst out of the stall and say, “Aha!” because I was so surprised that it was all I could do to keep my balance. Forget confrontation. I just didn’t want to fall into a public toilet.

  But after they left, everything snapped into place. It was like someone had stretched out my brain and shaken off the dust. My arms lost their numbness, my vision was sharp, and when I climbed out of my stall and went to look in the mirror, I felt brave and clear and not scared at all.

  Since when have you been a spectator? my dad had asked me.

  “Not anymore, Daddio,” I said to the mirror.

  It was time to shake this game up.

  40 “Something glorious is about to happen!”

  —Bloc Party, “Positive Tension”

  THERE ARE A FEW MOMENTS in my life that I’ll never forget: meeting Victoria, kissing James for the first time in the freezer, and walking out on the MTV set to bright lights and the screaming applause of two hundred people I had never met in my life, but who all knew me. It was almost overwhelming. My breath did this weird hitching thing in my chest where it stopped and started and stopped again, and sparkles of adrenaline jammed into my heart and skin until I felt like I was shining.

  I had to walk across the stage, which I managed to do without slipping and killing myself, and the interviewer was standing there with his microphone, even though I had already been handed a mic backstage. Next to him was the band, and when I saw Evan, he gave me a smile that meant too many things.

  Hi.

  I miss you.

  Sorry about all this.

  The rest of the band was smiling at me, too, and when I got close enough, I hugged Evan and the audience went bonkers. “You saw it here, folks!” the interviewer, Dave, shouted into the mic. “Enemies no more!” Like he was the one who was responsible for us reuniting on the stage. What a tool.


  After the “Woo!” girls finally calmed down, Dave turned to me. “So, Audrey,” he said, “thanks for coming out today.”

  Was that a question? Was I supposed to respond? Was my response already written out on those stupid cue cards? Ten seconds in and I could tell that Dave would be a real craptastic interviewer.

  “I’m glad I could be here,” I said, and three thousand miles away, I could hear Victoria making gagging sounds at how fake I sounded. Judging from Evan’s face, he knew I was faking my enthusiasm, too.

  “So let’s jump right in,” Dave continued. “The song ‘Audrey, Wait!’ has definitely changed your life. How do you feel about all of that? What’d you think of the song?”

  There was a bunch of people standing off camera, looking both anxious and bored. Some woman was holding a stopwatch and wearing a headset, and next to her was my mom. Next to the camera that had the red light, I could see the cue cards that prompted me to answer Dave’s question. GREAT! they read. I LOVE IT! ETC. ETC.! SMILE! ENTHUSIASM!

  It was now or never.

  “I wanted to throttle Evan when I heard it,” I told Dave, “but he was onstage and there were too many witnesses.”

  The look on Dave’s face was priceless. If you’ve seen the tape, you know what I’m talking about, that sort of frozen grin that said I was next in line to be throttled. I just grinned back as Amy frantically jabbed at the cue cards off camera.

  “Throttle, hahaha!” Dave laughed, but his eyes were shooting death rays into my forehead. “It’s been quite a ride for you, hasn’t it? You dated Simon Lolita—”

  “Oh, Simon Lolita’s a liar,” I said, making sure the microphone was directly in front of my mouth. There was a ripple going through the audience that I couldn’t quite comprehend, and Amy was shaking the cue cards like there was no tomorrow. “We never dated. We kissed backstage at a concert while his tour manager hid in the bushes and made that video of us. And, you know, Dave, if you think about it, that’s a dirty thing to do. Don’t you agree?”

  Evan was so trying not to laugh, I could tell.

  “I mean, hiding out in the bushes to take pictures of a girl is pretty desperate,” I said. “And it usually means you’re not dating her. But you know, whatever. I guess the album’s not selling well and they have to make money off of something to pay for all that cocaine.” I shrugged and did my perfect imitation of a happy smile.

  Only I realized that it wasn’t an imitation. I was happy! In fact, I felt fantastic! Adrenaline was my new best friend! “C’mon, Dave, keep those questions coming!” I told him. “I’m having fun!”

  Without any prompting, the audience started to cheer.

  Off camera, my mom put her hand to her mouth.

  I hoped those cue cards were recyclable.

  “Well, ah, okay!” Dave said, and laughed toward the camera. I’ve seen the tape, and I can tell you that however panicked he looked on camera, it didn’t even begin to show how nervous he was onstage. In fact, what with the bedlam of backstage, the deer-in-headlights look of the Do-Gooders, and the flushed and hyperventilating fans, I seemed to be the coolest cucumber in the room.

  “So have you two talked at all since the song came out?” Dave said, and I could see a faint circle of perspiration spreading under his black thermal shirt. “Evan? What about you?”

  “Well, we’ve been touring and stuff,” Evan said before I could open my mouth. “And we haven’t been home at all and—”

  “And you changed your cell phone number, too,” I interrupted. “That made it a bit more difficult to catch up.”

  “Well, yeah, there’s that,” he admitted with a sheepish grin.

  “So you tried to call Evan?” Dave said, jumping on that new piece of gossip like a rat on cheese. “Was this recently or…?”

  “Oh, this was months ago,” I said with a wave of my hand.

  “So,” Dave continued as if I hadn’t said anything, “were you getting jealous of his success at all?”

  Good God. Was this guy desperate for a scoop or what?

  (Now, it should be noted here that due to adrenaline, jet lag, and delayed stage fright, I’ve forgotten most of what I said on camera. Luckily, a fan with a username of KatyWithAWhy from the “WeHeartAudrey” online message board transcribed the whole thing for a bunch of Connecticut fans, who lost their TV cable connection due to a freak snowstorm and missed the live telecast. So thanks to KatyWithAWhy for helping me fill in the blanks.)

  “Look,” I said to Dave. “Here’s the story. Me and Evan, we dated, we broke up, and he wrote a song about it that became really successful. That’s the story. That’s all there is. If I have fans”—and here I gestured to three girls in the front row who were wearing homemade AUDREY, WAIT! FOR US! shirts—“I hope it’s because they like me for being me. Or because they see me as someone who’s just trying to survive high school like everyone else, and not because I’m some crazy hero figure or something.”

  “Now can you really say that you’re like everyone else?” Dave said, one eyebrow raised. “Because this must have been pretty life-changing for you.”

  “Oh, believe me, I’ve changed,” I told him. “But I would’ve changed even if none of this had happened. Right? I mean, I’m sixteen. I do stupid things, but c’mon, everyone does stupid things. I’m supposed to change and make mistakes and kiss the wrong guy and the right guy and fight with my friends.

  “I’m a girl who broke up with her boyfriend. But I still have friends and parents and a really fat cat—”

  “Her cat’s huge,” Evan interrupted.

  “It’s a glandular thing,” I explained. “But I didn’t do anything special or interesting. I just broke up with my ex-boyfriend. That’s all. That’s all there is.”

  “Well, speaking of breaking up, that’s what’s being reported this week.” Dave was frantically flipping through his note cards and pulled out the right one. “Some media outlets are saying that you’ve broken up with your latest boyfriend, a guy named James? Care to shed any light on this? This would be the third boyfriend in six months, right?” Booyah! I could tell he wanted to shout at me. Take that for screwing up my interview!

  Evan and the rest of the band swished their heads to look at me. “You broke up?” Evan said, not even speaking into the mic this time.

  I took a deep breath, unsure for the first time since I had walked onstage. “I…I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. “I don’t know what we are right now.” Just thinking about James three thousand miles away was making me feel a little unbalanced, and then I thought of Victoria. Were they even watching?

  I took a chance that they were.

  “See, here’s why I’m not perfect,” I said, locating the camera with the red light. “I picked fights this week with two people that I really love, and it was all my fault. The biggest mistake I made in this whole thing was trying to be the same person I was before The Song came out. It’s scary, you know? Everyone suddenly knew who I was and they knew where I lived, so I was trying to stay the same. But that just made me change more, and then I got even more scared and screwed everything up. My best friend and my boyfriend are awesome, wonderful people, and I hurt them. A lot.

  “So, Victoria, if you’re watching, I’m so sorry. I was scared and stressed and I’m saying on national television that you were right and I was wrong and…yeah. I screwed up. And James…”

  My voice caught in my throat as I thought of how James’s hair smelled, how he had smiled at me one afternoon as he emerged from the back of Pierce’s car, how he had once whispered “I love you” when he thought I was asleep but I really wasn’t.

  “James…” I said again, and the whole studio was completely quiet. “I’m sorry. I really am. You were right, I’ve been playing into all of this, and I’m done. I’m coming home and I’m going to make it right.”

  “Fifteen seconds to commercial!” someone was saying off camera, and someone else muttered, “Thank fucking God.” My mom still had her hand over her mouth and te
ars were streaming down her face.

  Holy shit. I made my mom cry. At first I thought she was mad or something, but then she pulled her hand away and mouthed, “I’m so proud of you!” and I knew that I had finally made the right decision.

  And the clock was ticking.

  “The Do-Gooders are a great band,” I said quickly. “And from what I overheard backstage, their label’s gonna screw them over and not let them release a full album, so if you like the band, write in or do whatever you can to fix that. And just in case anyone at MTV wants to know, Amy is a great PA and had no idea that I was going to do this, so please don’t fire her. Oh, and I think my grandma is watching, so hi, Grandma! I love you! I miss you!”

  Then I looked at Dave and the Do-Gooders, who were now standing open-mouthed. Especially the Do-Gooders, who were just figuring out that their long-planned album was in danger of not happening. I walked over to Evan and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s a really good song, Ev,” I told him. “And I’m really proud of you.”

  And then I handed my mic to Dave, waved at my fans, and walked out of the spotlight for good.

  41 “As streetlights sing on Audrey’s song…”

  —Anberlin, “Audrey, Start the Revolution!”

  OF COURSE, though, the spotlight followed me for a while afterward. I mean, hello? You saw the scene at the airport when my mom and I landed that night. It was craziness defined, especially because one of the photographers ended up insulting another photographer, and then both of them went all macho and the police were called in. At least, that’s what I heard happened. I didn’t give two shakes about any of it—I just wanted to see Victoria and James and my dad. (And Bendomolena, too, just ‘cause I had missed her.)