Kind of Famous (Flirting with Fame Book 3)

by Mary Ann Marlowe

  If I ever had a chance to.

  As questions rolled in, I called Eden. She passed the phone to Adam so I could walk him through the registration. I made his account unavailable to private messages, because come on.

  “Can you get Eden to record you sitting at the computer with the fan site up? Some idiot’s going to think you’re an impostor.”

  As I’d expected, someone called bullshit on the authenticity of Adam’s participation, so as soon as I got the video from Eden, I posted it at the top of the answer thread. That ought to shut up the majority of them. There’d always be some spoil sport.

  The next hour was amazing.

  I started the Q&A with a softball lob. AdamFannn asked: Describe yourself in three words.

  Adam took forever to write a response, but eventually he wrote:

  Hard-working, loyal and uh . . . I’ve always wanted to be referred to as erudite. Can I go with that? Eden is sitting here saying nobody will believe that, so I’ll say kind. I like to think I’m kind.

  Thankfully, the Q&A was a madhouse that demanded my attention and pushed Shane from my mind. We ended up going over the hour, and Adam allowed us to go on another thirty minutes, promising to come back and do it again some time.

  Once I knew he was done, I called Eden back to thank her for getting Adam to do the Q&A.

  “No need to thank me or Adam. Really, it was long overdue. He was just going to sit here and veg out flipping channels anyway.”

  I laughed. “Please don’t ever say that to the fans. You’re killing my image of him.”

  “I’m pretty sure he’ll do that himself over time.” It amazed me that she seemed to assume that there would be time for me to come to that conclusion. She snickered, probably aware that despite how normal he was, he was still sexy as fuck. “I’ll see you at Jo’s tonight, right? Rom com night?”

  “Oh, yeah. See you then!”

  In a million years, I never would have thought I’d one day be friends with them. If I had, my fantasy of it wouldn’t have met at all with the reality. I would have imagined myself as a totally different person first of all—witty and cool, clever and interesting. The first night I’d met Adam, I was wearing a borrowed T-shirt and I told him about my dad’s band. Yup. uber cool.

  I should have been over the moon, but everything was a fucking mess.

  It would have been easier if I could have stayed mad at Shane, but after a couple of days apart, my initial outrage had subsided, and I remembered little things about him that I missed already. His laugh. His smell. His rock-hard body. His endearments. I wanted him to come home and call me Star Shine and I’d tease him with Cuddle Rock. Or maybe Star Shane. For once, I’d have a real-life relationship that didn’t turn to shit.

  Except it already had. Unless he could suddenly morph into someone who didn’t try to take control of me, I was rationalizing away some major flaws to allow myself to accept less than I deserved. My parents had taught me to value myself and trust my gut.

  They were wrong about that though. My gut was a stupid traitor. No, I needed to listen to reason and carry on with my plan to move out and move on.

  To do that, I needed to ignore my heart, though it was breaking.

  It was around one or two in the morning. Eden had long since gone home, but Jo and I had moved to her backyard patio to enjoy the cool night air and talk. After watching a romantic comedy where everything went south, but then despite all the odds, the couple had worked things out again, I was wallowing in my own despair, wondering if Shane and I might find our way through.

  “I don’t know what I’m hoping for. An apology? A declaration of love?” It felt easy to talk into the darkness. Jo was kind enough to listen. “I’m beginning to wish I never met him.”

  “I doubt that. But—”

  As if I’d conjured it, my phone rang with an incoming call from Shane. I hesitated. “Should I answer that?”

  “Up to you.” She started to stand, but I held up a finger. I wanted solidarity.

  I hit Answer and put it on speaker. “Hi, Shane.”

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  Nothing. Then some scratching sounds, muffled.

  A voice came through, “—but he chickened out.” It sounded like it came from several feet away. There was a heavy rumbling sound beneath the other sounds, like they were on the bus.

  “I didn’t chicken out.” That was Shane, much closer. Much clearer. “It’s complicated.”

  I looked over at Jo, eyebrow raised. She put her hands over her mouth. “Butt dial.”

  “Should I hang up?”

  She shook her head and scooted closer to my phone when a different voice that sounded like Micah said, “It’s not complicated. Do you want the girl?”

  Shane: “You know I do, but—”

  Micah: “But nothing. You do realize you’re the one who fucked up, right?”

  Shane: “Did you read what she wrote today? She got what she wanted.”

  The other voice. Noah? “You know, Shane. I tell you this all the time, but you are your own worst enemy.”

  Shane. “No, you are.”

  Micah: “Stop it, both of you, or I’ll turn this bus around right now.”

  Jo and I just stared at each other, eyes wide, as we listened in. “Should I hang up?” It seemed obvious I shouldn’t be eavesdropping on them. “I should hang up.”

  My thumb hovered over the End button, but she lifted a hand. “Wait a second.”

  She took out her phone and typed something. A ringtone sounded through my speaker, and she grinned. “That was my text to Micah.”

  A second passed before we heard Micah saying, “Shane, check your phone.”

  The ruffling sound increased, and then Shane’s voice came through, loud and clear. “Layla? What the—”

  “I think you accidentally called me.”

  “What? When? How long ago?”

  “Just a second ago. I couldn’t hear much. Are you on the bus?”

  “Yeah, we just left Baltimore. It’s only a couple of hours to D.C., so we’re pressing on. I guess we get to sleep in tomorrow for a bit once we get to the hotel.”

  “How was your show?”

  Jo stood and patted my back.

  Shane’s voice continued out the speaker. “We had a good crowd.”

  Jo pointed toward the house with a tilt to her head, clearly wanting to give us privacy. I nodded, and as she slipped through the sliding door, I switched the speaker off and held the phone to my ear. I wanted to listen to his voice like he was right there with me.

  “Glad to hear it.” The hitch in my voice gave away the emotion I wanted to hide.

  Maybe he heard it because he added, “To be honest, it wasn’t as fun without you here.”

  Should I tell him I missed him, too?

  “So, does that mean you’re no longer mad at me?”

  “I’m not mad, Layla. I’m hurt. There’s a difference.”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “Am I? I told you I needed more time, and not three days later, I get this email with links to pages filled with every single thing I’ve told you freaks me out.”

  “What do you mean you got an email?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It should have come from you. You could have warned me.”

  He was right about that. “I know. And I’m sorry.” I sighed. “But you also said you were going to try and trust me. At the first bump in the road, you demanded I sever all ties with your friends. That’s not an overreaction?”

  “I shouldn’t have asked that of you, but at that precise moment, I needed some certainty that you wanted to be with me. Only me.”

  “And it wasn’t enough for me to tell you that?” I leaned back and stared at the pitch black sky, repressing a scream. “What did I tell you about your
own mistrust being the very thing that was going to break us apart?”

  “I know.” His exhale came through, matching my own pent-up frustration. “But do you know how many times my mistrust has been well founded?”

  “You’re projecting your fear onto me, and I don’t know what I can do to convince you that you’re delusional, short of acquiescing to abusive demands.”

  “Abusive? I’m not—”

  “Yes, Shane. You wanting to control me is abusive.”

  “I’m trying to convince you I’m not delusional. I’ve had girlfriends dump me the minute they thought they had a chance with Noah.”

  “Noah stole your girlfriend?”

  “No. Not exactly. Noah’s just . . . Noah.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, you’ve met him. Imagine having him come tell me that my girlfriend tried to seduce him.”

  “That’s awful, Shane.” I understood where he was coming from, but that didn’t solve our issues. “Still, I’m not the girl who broke your trust. I didn’t try to seduce Noah. Whatever I said about him on a fan forum years ago isn’t reality. I never wanted to actually be with Noah.”

  “What you wrote about Adam wasn’t years ago. That was today.”

  I wanted to throttle him. “That was an article for fans. I wrote it as a fan.”

  “There’s a magnitude of difference between being a casual fan and running a fan site.”

  “Not really. It’s just a hobby. It’s not a criminal enterprise.”

  “It’s more than just a ringtone of your favorite song. It’s an obsession.”

  “Says the guy who collects specialty bacons.”

  “Funny.”

  “Come on, though. Guys get football and comic books. You get to actually be in a band. I wanted to learn how to code and talk about music. Where’s the sin in that?”

  “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it. What I said was it’s impossible not to wonder if you might want to parlay your connection to me into a chance to get closer to Noah or Adam or . . . I don’t know, absorb the atmosphere of the band. Or maybe gain some notoriety. Can’t you see this from my point of view?”

  “Do you honestly think I’d be talking to you right now if I’d already gotten what I wanted? Wouldn’t I be done with you?”

  “How the hell should I know? I could still be your permanent connection to the world you’ve been watching from afar for so long. I don’t want to be that person.”

  Ugh. “Shane, it’s not my responsibility to make you trust people. I don’t want to spend my life trying to prove myself to you. You want assurances that simply don’t exist outside of a dictatorship. Is that really the kind of relationship you want to have?”

  “Of course not.” His voice dropped low. “I want you, Layla. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. But I’m afraid.”

  “I’m afraid, too, Shane. I’ve never experienced anything like this with anyone. For what it’s worth, I have doubts and trust issues, too, but I was hoping time might be the key.”

  He sniffed, and I realized he was crying. Shit. “That’s what I’ve been asking you for. Can you give me that?”

  “I don’t know.” Even if he got over this incident, I’d always have an uneasy feeling he was watching over my shoulder, checking up on me, questioning me. Where that might lead, I didn’t think I wanted to know. I needed him to be someone else. I needed him to stop making me feel like an opportunistic maneater, and he hadn’t managed to.

  “I’ll be back next Sunday. Can we talk then?”

  What more was there to say? I didn’t want to have this argument over and over. “I’ve moved my stuff out of your place. I’m looking for someplace permanent to live.”

  “Right. You don’t need me anymore.”

  “Jesus, Shane.” I welcomed back the anger. It was an easier emotion to endure. “Goodnight.”

  “Night, Layla.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Throughout the weekend, I kept getting nice messages from people reaching out to remind me of times we’d interacted.

  Jaclyn, the Theater of the Absurd fan site admin sent me a message titled: Congrats and a question.

  Hey Pumpkin,

  Now that you’re a big celebrity, it might be fun if you’d be willing to come over to my board and do a quick Q&A. I understand if you’re totally busy, but maybe when you get some free time. Everyone over here has tons of questions they’d love to ask you.

  Let me know,

  J

  It cracked me up that she thought I was suddenly an interesting enough person that anyone would want to interview me, but then again, if our positions had been reversed, I probably would have done the same thing. The fans would be happy to talk with anyone who had connections to the band.

  A couple of people I’d never spoken to in my life directly, though their screen names and avatars were familiar, contacted me with invitations.

  Hey, I see that you’re friends with Adam. My band will be playing a gig in Queens tomorrow night. It would be awesome if the two of you came. Let me know and I’ll send you the deets.

  As if I could drag Adam out to see any random band perform. Nice try though.

  On my way into work on Monday, my Walking Disaster notification went off, and I checked the text from Ash.

  I’ve got to be in NYC this weekend. Can we meet up?

  I stopped and pondered her question. NYC was a long way from Portland. Especially on such short notice.

  What’s going on? Business?

  Family thing, actually.

  Sure. I can swing by wherever you’ll be staying. I’d love to finally meet you.

  Actually. I don’t know where I’ll be staying yet . . .

  I couldn’t exactly invite her to stay with me since I didn’t have a settled place myself. The housing search had stalled, but I felt the pressure to figure things out. Shane would be home Sunday, and I couldn’t be homeless when he got back. I didn’t want to be at a disadvantage when he’d already shown a willingness to coerce me.

  Speaking of my strange online relationships, my private message queue on the site had become untenable. No matter how many times I cleared it out, I’d come back to dozens more. I’d stopped trying to read them and instead skipped over anything with Congratulations in the subject which meant almost everything I read was an invitation to hang out or a request for a favor. Was every single poster going to try to contact me now?

  Apparently so.

  Most of the messages were innocuous. It wasn’t until mid-morning, after my developer meeting that I received the first private message that really creeped me out.

  Subject: Sneaky

  I met you at a show in South Bend. I can’t believe we didn’t figure out you were *the* Pumpkin before with that hair. Very sneaky of you. Do you think you’ll be able to get the band to come this way again?

  What was going on? How would anyone know what I looked like?

  I started scrolling through the forums until I saw a thread titled: Fan Blogger article you guys should see. I’d heard that name recently.

  I didn’t bother scanning what was copied in the forum and went straight to the source. The article was titled Rumor Mill. It was dated Friday and had several paragraphs of random gossip about different minor celebrities. I got halfway down the page and saw why it had made it to my forum. Right in the middle of the article were four pictures, side-by-side.

  They were photos of me.

  A couple of weeks ago, I took a walk through an area of Brooklyn where the band Theater of the Absurd rehearses, trying to get some pics of Noah Kennedy after his girlfriend left him for front man/guitarist Samuel Tucker of Whiplash.

  I noticed this girl (see photo #1 below) heading into the rehearsal with Shane. I pegged her for management, agent, sister, groupi
e, or girlfriend.

  No big deal and not noteworthy.

  Except.

  Curious, I staked out Shane’s apartment, and guess who should emerge? (See photo #2).

  But what really sparked my interest was the discovery of a couple of photos an anonymous source sent me from Boston Calling last week. That same redhead can be seen fraternizing with Noah Kennedy. (See photo #3 and #4).

  Draw your own conclusions about the relationship status of this apparent groupie, but I can confirm that the redhead in all of these pictures is a certain Layla Beckett of the Rock Paper and newly admitted fan forum admin at a prominent Walking Disaster fan site.

  I’d never had to defend my own relationships online, and I understood now why Eden had been so thankful for my protection of her. Objectively, I knew this was just par for the course when dealing with adjacent fame. But Jim Bone—his actual name—had stalked me and exposed me. It made me feel vulnerable, and it hurt. He’d gotten close to the truth, but I hated that everyone always immediately assumed I’d been using Shane, just like he feared.

  I thought about my parents reading that, or what few friends I had, or the forum denizens. With no recourse to fight back and deny it, a story like this should have reduced me to tears. Fortunately, I did have experience. I knew that almost nobody paid attention to fan forums except the hardcore fans themselves. I thanked my lucky stars I only had to deal with this backwater bullshit.

  Plus, I did have recourse. I had an army at my disposal. And a blog which gave me a voice. I could have fought back if I wanted to. I could have asked my posters to flood this Fan Blogger with angry comments and force him to take it down. I could have contacted him myself and worked out a deal. I could have even run a blog series about a certain stalker who hung out spying on the apartments of private citizens instead of providing anything useful.

  None of it seemed worth the trouble. So what if my identity was blown? The only person that information could hurt had already assumed the worst. What more damage could be done?