by Matayo, Amy
She laughs. “I wish I could see that.”
“Maybe someday you will.”
The weight of the words I’ve spoken settles heavy because they imply I’ll be back onstage at some point. Maybe I will, but for now, I’m not ready.
“Mind if we stay here a while longer?”
“We can stay here until the show is over if you want to.” Her words have a ring to them, an outline that sounds a little like hope. I can’t deny the suggestion sounds appealing. I saw the crowd walk into the building; it might be nice to see them come back out.
“Let’s just hang here for a bit, and we’ll leave when we get tired of it.”
“Okay.” Jane sighs like she’s tired and settles into the seat. Unable to help myself, I pull her hand up to mouth and plant a light kiss on her knuckles.
“What was that for?” she whispers.
“For being here. For trying to help.”
“I’ll stay as long as you want,” she says. Then she turns her head away from me. I can’t decide if she’s staring out the window or just doesn’t want me to read her expression. It could be a little of both.
We stay until the end of the show, watching as people file excitedly out of the building.
Unharmed.
We stay another hour after that.
I’m fully aware Jane is giving me time to process what it all means. It works. Somehow, it works.
“Can you ask your friend if we can come to tomorrow night’s show?”
From the look on her face, I think I’ve done something good.
Chapter Nineteen
Jane
I call my friend Rick the next morning to let him know we’re coming, then spend the next hour alternately rummaging through the meager contents of my bag and cursing my utter lack of packing skills. No matter how many times I pull everything out, the outcome stays the same: I brought one pair of jeans, a pair of yoga pants, a sweatshirt and a sweater. There’s not a cute dress anywhere in sight, not one single outfit that conveys I’m Going To Save My Friend’s Career And Also Make Him Think I’m Cute. Not one. No one looks good in yoga pants unless they’re an actual yoga instructor or Cindy Crawford’s daughter, and I’m not either one. I’m more like Cindy Crawford’s part-time chef, complete with a ketchup stain on my sweatshirt. I ate hashbrowns this morning at the free breakfast buffet, but that isn’t the point. The point is there’s one less option for me to wear tonight because I packed stupid outfits.
I’m going shopping.
“Can you ask your friend?”
I still can’t believe he said that; can’t believe something I planned actually sort of maybe worked. So much could still go wrong tonight. A loud noise might set him back, a fan could get hurt in some way that has nothing to do with outside influence, the show could be bad. I’ve never heard of the band performing, but apparently, they’re popular in certain underground circles. Still, it’s a sold-out show, so I suppose that means something. But Teddy’s on the brink here; I may inflict physical harm to anyone who threatens his progress. Maybe not the best attitude under the circumstances, but it’s real. My phone rings from inside my bag. It takes a minute to locate it under all the loose change and—hey!—a flattened Milky Way chocolate bar I didn’t know I had. But I find it and answer. I peel back the wrapper and take a bite.
“Hello?” My mouth is full, and it’s obvious to whoever is calling.
“What are you eating?” It’s Rick calling, and he sounds grossed out.
“A Milky Way.”
“You shouldn’t be eating that garbage,” he says. “Also, I need you to bring Teddy around to the back entrance, side door B, okay? It’s the loading door, so there will be vans and trucks, it should be easy to see.”
I take a sip of water and swallow. “Okay, we’ll be there.”
“Good. Try to get there an hour early so we can get through security. It might take a bit longer tonight, so we want to be safe.”
I frown. “Why tonight? Is something wrong?”
“No, we’re just being extra cautious since the incident at Teddy’s concert. Everyone is. And this crowd…they aren’t known for being the calm, passive type.” Rick laughs a little. I don’t at all. Suddenly, I’m second-guessing everything.
“What do you mean? They’re violent?”
“No, not violent. Just usually a little drunk. Maybe strung out on one thing or another.”
I press a hand to my forehead and sink onto the bed. “Rick, I can’t bring him to a show with a bunch of half-crazed, stoned fans who need extra security. What if something happens?”
“Nothing’s going to happen, trust me. Just get there early, alright? I’ll take care of you. Just be prepared for this crowd. I doubt it’s like one you’ve ever seen before.” Again with the laugh. It’s tinny and high-pitched and perfectly matches the cold, pointy witch’s finger running down my spine. My pretties. I saved an apple just for you.
What have I gotten us into?
“Okay,” I say, “I’ll trust you, but don’t let me down.”
“I’m getting you in the doors, aren’t I? I won’t let you down.” He hangs up, and I fall backward, worried about much more than my outfit now.
Nothing about his words makes me feel better.
* * *
I turn in the full-length mirror, questioning the way I look in my black ripped jeans, leather vest, and boots, but it’s the eyeliner that really has me pausing at this newfound sense of deviant style. I’ve never worn this much eyeliner in my life, but the make-up artist at Sephora assured me it looked “hot”—his words, not mine. My hair was curled with a spirally-wand-thingy by the girl working one chair over, a veritable one-stop-shop-and-makeover just waiting to happen. Who knew mall beauty stores could be that efficient? Certainly not me, possibly because I hate to shop. I especially hate mall beauty stores.
On any other day, I consider a mall to be one of the many branches of hell. Others include nail salons, bid day on college campuses, Black Friday sales, any photoshoot that involves cheerleader poses or duck lips, and the hymn I’ll Fly Away, which should obviously not be considered a part of hell whatsoever because it is a song about Jesus. But to me, it is. In my defense, if it wasn’t for the old man I sat behind every Sunday who stood up and flapped his hands like a bird every time the organ played that song all those years ago in church, I wouldn’t consider it hellish at all. The man scared me to death with those dance moves every week, so the song is on my list. Apologies to the writer of what otherwise might be a beautiful hymn, who is most certainly penning more glorious hymns in heaven as we speak.
Anyway, my outfit. I’m not sure I should—
A knock on my hotel room door ceases all thoughts of my attire. Doesn’t matter anyway, I’m out of time now.
Looking longingly at my ketchup-stained sweatshirt and leggings left in a heap on the floor, I walk to the door and open it, smiling wide at Teddy to let him know I am not afraid, we are in this together, I will not leave his side, and I will help him heal.
He doesn’t smile back, just looks at me and frowns.
“What the heck are you wearing?” he asks. My left arm tugs on a lightning-bolt earring as I give myself a once-over and then take him in. That’s when I notice the small but very real difference in our fashion choices.
He’s wearing black jeans, a matching black sweater, and sneakers. We both went for the same color, but he managed to make it a thousand percent more comfortable. And he looks exceptionally hot.
“There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing. Don’t you think you should have dressed more appropriately? Their music is pretty hardcore, and the lead singer wears more eyeliner than I’m currently wearing. I looked him up on Wikipedia.”
“It looks incredible, by the way. Yours, not his.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
“I’m just not sure how I feel about the chain.”
My smile drops, and I glance down. There’s indeed a chain running from my vest to a belt loo
p, but I thought maybe it gave me a badassery vibe I was otherwise lacking. Clearly, I was wrong. I unhook the chain and fling it toward the bed.
“There. Better?”
“A matter of opinion. Though if you’d answered the door holding a whip in your hand, I might have suggested we stay in tonight.” He grins. My face flames red and threatens to melt off the carefully-applied eyeliner. I clear my throat with difficulty.
“I’ll ignore that comment.” No, I won’t. I’ll be thinking about it this time next year. “Are you ready to go?”
“Your chariot awaits. Sadly, all I brought was my car. Hope you and your biker-chick vibe aren’t too disappointed I don’t own a motorcycle.” He eyes my outfit again, then pushes the elevator button, and we step inside.
“Shut up, Teddy.” My face is still warm, and I’m fighting a smile.
“I still think it’s a shame you didn’t buy a whip,” he quips. I roll my eyes as we step off the elevator.
“If I had, I’d just use it on you.” It was meant to be a threat. That isn’t how he takes it.
“Baby, this isn’t the time to give me that mental image. Maybe later, after the show.” He laughs at his little joke and opens the car door for me.
I want to tell him to shut up again, but funny…I can’t seem to speak. When he closes the door and walks around to the driver’s side, I quickly blow on my face, trying frantically to cool it off.
* * *
Teddy
All jokes aside, by the time we pull up to the arena, I’m back to being terrified. A cold sweat has broken out on my upper lip, and my back feels clammy and uncomfortable. My hands shake, same with my legs. When Jane asks if I’m ready to go, I want to scream, “No.”
Instead, we climb out of the car. I’m not sure how she feels about me reaching for her hand, but I don’t ask, and it’s too late for formalities anyway. With her, it’s just what I do. I can’t be next to her without connecting physically; it’s been that way from the literal first second we met and will continue to be unless she changes things. I won’t, because Jane is my person.
Can someone be your person when you don’t even know their middle name? That’s weird, isn’t it?
“What’s your middle name?” I ask without giving it a second thought. With some things, you don’t think twice, much like that kiss I gave her in the closet. I need to know her full name almost as much as I wish I could kiss her. Honestly, I can’t kiss her again until I know it, because in light of everything we’ve been through, that just seems weird. And she has a boyfriend, so thoughts of kissing her need to get out of my brain ASAP.
“Jane,” she says. I frown.
“Jane’s your middle name?”
“Yes. My first name is Allison. So basically, I have two awful names, and my parents decided to call me the least bad of the two.”
“Your names aren’t bad at all.”
“Tell that to the kid called either Allison Smellyson or Plain Jane all through school. Not to mention G.I. Jane, by every other person who heard my name in passing. ”
“Smellyson? Kids really need to work on their insults. But I take exception with G.I. Jane. She’s a badass. Every boy in America thinks so, and all those boys turn into grown men who—I promise—think of G.I. Jane the second you say your name.”
“Like you did in the closet?”
I smile, busted. “Like I did in the closet. But in my defense, it was completely dark, so I had to rely on my imagination. You had a gun on your hip at first, and of course, I filled in the blank with black pants, combat boots, and the required vest. But I’ll admit, in my version, you had a buzz cut, bulging biceps, and a few tattoos.”
She laughs, and it sounds like music. I love her laugh. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Hardly a disappointment. When the lights came on, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Ben is a lucky guy.”
We approach the back door, and she knocks. “Ben is also a thing of the past.” She says it so quietly I almost don’t hear her. But I do. In fact, I hear her words so loudly they almost don’t register until we walk inside, shake a few hands, and get ushered to the band’s dressing room.
Jane and Ben broke up?
Good. That guy was a jerk.
But…now she’s free. Right? For a guy who should be nervous to be in this arena, Jane's words are all I can think about. She’s single. She’s single and she’s here.
That thought—more than anything else—is what gets me through the next hour.
Chapter Twenty
Jane
I’ve kept my eye on Teddy throughout the entire show, watching for signs of panic or distress, but I haven’t seen anything of note since the single incident at the beginning; two if you count the flinch.
When the lights first went off, he jerked backward and took my hand with him. It didn’t hurt, but it took him a second to calm down. After a breath or two, he settled into place next to me again, his side pressed to mine, and his hand clenching mine like it was a lifeline he might accidentally sever. His breathing remained tight and shallow, but he was okay. After a moment, he was okay.
But then the first set of fireworks went up, and he turned and walked away. We were standing off to the side of the stage where no one could see, so he had room to pace. Which he did, back and forth with his hands behind his head as I stood beside him and watched. It’s hard to see someone you care about melt down in front of you, but I stayed. I had to. When you really care about someone, you endure the good times and the ugly; you don’t leave when they need you most. Teddy needed me, and I wasn’t going anywhere.
“I can’t watch, I can’t watch,” he kept muttering to himself. But he did. It took a bit longer this time, but he came back to the edge of the stage and didn’t leave for the rest of the show. A few minutes into it, he began to relax. Halfway through the first set, I caught him singing along, surprised to find he knew every word to the songs. Teddy is country…or so I thought? Grunge doesn’t seem like his scene, but maybe I don’t know enough about him. A theory tested when toward the end, he began dancing in place. Let me tell you, the sight of Teddy Hayes dancing is something I won’t soon forget. Sexy doesn’t even begin to describe it. I’ll probably dream about it tonight. I’ll probably still be dreaming about it when I’m eighty, and I’ve lost all memories except this one.
The concert ended ten minutes ago, and we’ve been hanging out with the band backstage since then. And you know how the experts say not to assume you know people by what you see online? It’s a lesson we should all probably adhere to. How do I know this?
Because right now, as we speak, I’m watching a man with black spikey hair, gauges in both ears, an especially painful-looking lip ring, and two arms covered in tattoos that make me want to cry for all the hours he must have spent getting prodded with a needle…change a baby’s diaper while making cooing noises in her face. Every time he comes close, she kicks and babbles excitedly, and I feel a bit more put in place for my pre-conceived notions.
“How old is she?” Teddy asks him—the guy’s name is Steve, by the way. Not Viper or Stone or Jagger or any other array of dangerous names I could have come up with. Just Steve. Plain and simple like the long-ago star of Blue’s Clues, except his sidekick is an adorable newborn.
“Three months. She’s got Daddy wrapped around her pinky toe, don’t you sweet thing?” Pinky toe? I marvel when he picks her up and plants a succession of kisses up and down her neck. She squeals in delight, and my ovaries do a few somersaults inside my body.
“Can I hold her?” Teddy asks, sending those same ovaries tumbling down a hill and straight into a tree.
“Sure man, just remember to hold up her head a bit like this.” Viper slash Steve demonstrates while Teddy settles her into his arms. I look away to compose myself, overwhelmed by the sight of these two larger-than-life men fawning over someone so cute and tiny.
“You look like a natural, Teddy.” A woman who looks like a life-sized Teresa doll—you know, Barbie
’s best friend—comes in from the other room and wraps Viper in a hug. Sorry, I just can’t think of him as a Steve. “That was a great show, Babe. One of the best I’ve seen.” She links her hands around his waist and smiles big, and then she spots me.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Sarah, Steve’s wife. Are you a friend of Teddy’s?”
Steve and Sarah? What is this world I’ve walked into?
“Yes, I’m Jane, Teddy’s body—”
“Friend,” Teddy speaks up. “She’s my friend. Flew in from Seattle a couple nights ago.”
I nod, my mouth suddenly dry at his use of the word friend. I assumed he saw me as his bodyguard and nothing more. I guess I was wrong, something that’s increasingly clear tonight.
“It was a great show,” I say. “Thanks for letting us be here. Teddy knows all the words to your songs, just so you know.” I laugh, as does everyone else. But for a different reason, I quickly learn.
“He should. He helped write three of them,” Viper says. “Been a few years, but it’s good to know you remember them.”
My mouth falls open, because…Teddy wrote those songs? I thought he only knew how to write about beer and heartbreak. He sees the look on my face and laughs.
“I think you just shocked the heck out of my date. What—did you think I only knew how to write about beer and heartbreak?”
“Um…” it’s all I can manage to say, and everyone laughs except me. I’m still stuck on the word date. Just who is taking care of whom tonight? Because I can tell you for sure that I’m completely incapable of being much use to anyone right now. “Can I hold the baby?” I ask, more out of desperation than anything else. I need something to do with my hands so no one can see them shake. I need something to think about besides liking the sound of that word.
