Charmer

by Loring, Kayley

  “I certainly hope you will be,” she says, in the way that only a mom can. “Wouldn’t want to screw things up so early on in the tour, now would we?”

  It’s moments like these that I’m most grateful for my years as an actor. There is no way she can tell from looking at my face that I’m still thinking about getting her daughter naked. But she’s not wrong. I’m just not going to dwell on this subject while we’re fleeing the scene of a toilet crime. “Nothing to worry about,” I say. “We’re halfway there…livin’ on a prayer.” I hold my hand out to her. “Take my hand. We’ll make it. I swear.”

  Her pinched face dissolves into a smile as she swats my hand away. “Oh, you. How’d you know I like Bon Jovi?”

  “More than like, is what I heard.”

  And just when I think I’ve got the mom situation under control, Louise stops in her tracks, blocking me. She lowers her voice and says, “I’m not Bon Joking, Mr. Todd. You seem like a very good man. It’s impressive that you like to clean up after yourself at home, and we are all extremely grateful for this opportunity you’ve provided for us. But—you fool around with my girl without considering the consequences, and your prayers won’t be enough to save you from my wrath. Know what I’m saying?”

  I immediately straighten up, looking her straight in the eye. “Yes ma’am,” I say.

  ‘Yes ma’am?’ I haven’t yes ma’amed anyone in earnest since Grams caught me trying to sneak out of the apartment to meet a girl when I was sixteen.

  Middle-aged Jersey Girls with matching lipsticks, nail polishes and purses are not to be messed with and neither are their loved ones. I get it. Message received. Louise pinches my cheek, says “Good boy,” and we climb into the bus. The engine’s running, my heart is racing, and my dick is on lockdown.

  I’m thinking about what Kat asked me at the bar a few weeks ago: Is there an off switch for the flirting?

  I guess we’re about to find out.

  Now all of a sudden, I’m wondering how the hell I’m going to survive two months of this.

  Now, all of a sudden, I’m picturing Kat in a snowsuit.

  She still looks hot, though.

  THE CHARMER TOUR UNEDITED FOOTAGE – Phoenix

  KAT: So, Debbie. You are Shane Miller’s mother. Tell us how you know Nico.

  DEBBIE MILLER: Should I look into the camera?

  KAT: You can look wherever you want to. Act natural. We’re just having a conversation that I happen to be filming.

  DEBBIE MILLER: Okay well, yes. I’m Shane Miller’s mother. Shane and Nico have been best friends since they were about fifteen years old. Ever since they started playing best friends on That’s So Wizard. The fans called them ‘Shanico,’ which I thought was very cute. I was staying with Shane in LA during that time, so I’ve known Nico Todd since he was fifteen and we’ve stayed in touch since then. He’s like family. Well, I mean he actually is family now that Shane’s married to his sister! But he’s felt like a nephew to me, I suppose, for a long time. He’s very loyal, once he’s made the decision that someone’s important to him, I think.

  KAT: That’s sweet. And you drove out from Sedona to see his show tonight?

  DEBBIE MILLER: Oh yes, I wouldn’t miss it. Nico called me up last month and invited Hank and me. He absolutely insisted on paying for a hotel room for us so we wouldn’t have to drive back at night. That’s just how he is. A good boy… (laughing) A good boy who’s nothing but trouble, mind you.

  This is the first time he’s done a show in Arizona on his own. I got to see him perform a song at Shane’s wedding last year, and it was so wonderful. But this is a little different. So many young women. They’re almost buzzing with excitement, don’t you think? You can feel the electricity in the air! Even though they’re sitting down, it feels like there’s going to be a feeding frenzy as soon as Nico walks out.

  KAT: (clearing throat) Indeed.

  DEBBIE MILLER: You know, it started to get like this pretty early on during the shooting of That’s So Wizard. Things were more innocent, of course, because it was The Disney Channel and their fans were young girls. And their mothers. And aunts. And babysitters. At least it seemed fairly innocent, as far as I could tell. But there were just always girls around. Not hundreds of them like tonight, mind you. At a certain point, Nico’s grandmother and I just got used to seeing that kind of estrogen-induced mild fervor around our boys.

  But this is…this is different. Maybe because they serve alcohol here. Or I suppose women feel more of a personal connection to Nico now that he’s a singer instead of just playing a part.

  KAT: Uh huh. Did Nico sing or play the guitar at all when he was doing That’s So Wizard? Did you have any clue that he’d quit acting to become a singer-songwriter?

  DEBBIE MILLER: You know, I remember at some point, maybe Season Two or Three, all of a sudden you could always hear him practicing guitar when he was in his trailer. But I think it was just a hobby back then. Something to do when he was waiting around on the lot, if Shane was busy.

  I remember when he first started, he was always complaining that his fingertips hurt. From the steel strings. I’ve never played guitar, so it’s not something you really think about. He developed calluses, and eventually the skin on his fingers just toughened up, I suppose. But at one point the director joked that they’d have to hire a hand double! There were some episodes where you can tell he’s holding his wand funny, so you can’t see his fingertips.

  What was your other question—oh did I think he’d quit acting to do this? It didn’t surprise me. My son had been very serious about honing his craft and gaining acting experience, since he was little. But Nico, I think, he was kind of a natural and acting was just fun for him… Maybe just a way to meet girls!...

  I suppose I was surprised that he became this kind of performer, though. I wouldn’t have pegged him as a romantic singer. Just him and his guitar, for the most part. He could have been a rock star. You know? The lead singer of a band. Up on stage with all the lights and smoke in a stadium or what have you. It’s interesting that he’s chosen something more intimate. But no matter what he’s doing, Nico will always attract the ladies. That will never change.

  KAT: (pause) Okay, great. That was so insightful, thank you. I’ll let you get back to Hank and your seats.

  DEBBIE MILLER: Are you alright, sweetheart? Did I say something to upset you?

  KAT: Oh my goodness, no! Not at all. I think I’m just dehydrated. That was perfect. You painted a perfect little picture of him. Just perfect.

  14

  Kat

  It has already been the longest day ever and I’m happy to finally be able to do the work that I was hired to do.

  Right now, Ricky’s taking a nap on the bus, after filling up the tank and checking the tires. It’s Tate’s bedtime so hopefully he’s asleep and not playing video games. Who knows how my mother’s keeping busy. I just hope she’s not murdering our bus driver—I’ve never seen her have such a weird dynamic with anyone. Of course, I’ve also never seen her face the prospect of more than a few days in a place that she doesn’t either own or pay for. When she stays with her sister in New Jersey they don’t speak to each other for about a month afterwards. Even hotel managers find it difficult to keep their cool with her after a few days. Louise Dempsey prefers to be in control of her environment. I mean, who doesn’t? But I’m not sure who I’m more worried about right now—my mom or Ricky. Or Nico. Or me.

  And we haven’t even been on the road for one full day yet.

  After tonight’s show we head for New Mexico. Ricky’s plan is to drive the two and a half hours to Flagstaff, Arizona right after the show because traffic will be light. Then we spend the night at a motel in Flagstaff, getting back on the road for the five-hour drive to Albuquerque, with a stop in the Petrified Forest on the way. I think that was Nico’s idea, for Tate and Lou’s benefit, and I appreciate it very much. But it’s a pretty grueling travel schedule. We won’t have any leisure time at a hotel until Dallas in
five days. I honestly don’t know how some bands do this for months at a time. But I can already see how grateful the audience here is that Nico’s in town.

  Mrs. Miller was right about the buzzing electricity in the air. The opening act is on stage. This place is filled to capacity with over four hundred people—mostly women. While almost all of them are listening politely to this local band, it is obvious that almost everyone is here to see Nico. Even after spending over six hours on a bus with him, I’m anxious to see him again. And despite everything, I can’t stop imagining what his callused fingertips would feel like all over my bare skin. Or stop thinking about what Mrs. Miller said about him probably becoming a performer as a way to meet girls.

  He had insisted, once we pulled up to park behind the venue, that I should have dinner with my mom and Tate while he went in for soundcheck. When I asked if he wanted me to get shots of him backstage before the show, he said “not tonight.” He’d suddenly stopped looking at me while we were with Louise and Tate, aside from polite acknowledgments whenever I’d asked him a question. We’re talking from the time we got back on the bus after Toiletgate, including our lunch stop at a Denny’s, to the moment he disembarked in the parking lot. I figured either it freaked him out that we had pretended to be a couple in front of that realtor, or he had already gotten tired of having my family around.

  But once he finally retreated to the back lounge of the bus, and my mom arched one of her perfectly groomed eyebrows at me, I knew why he was acting so weird. “Mother.” I lowered my voice as I sat down beside her. “Did you say something to Nico?”

  “It’s a mother’s prerogative to tell a man not to mess around with her daughter without considering the consequences.”

  “Oh my God!” I whisper-yelled. “I cannot believe you did that. It’s rude and humiliating and completely inappropriate for you to be saying something like that to my employer—the man who is paying for the three of us so you can get out of your little rut, I might add.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to lose your job over it, hon.”

  “Mother. You can’t talk to him like that. You need to think of him as my boss.”

  “And so do you.”

  “I do. I’m a professional.”

  “Obviously. That’s why it was so important for you to get a professional bikini wax before we left.”

  “Shhh! How did you even know about that?”

  “I’m your mother, I know everything. Or do you hold hands with your boss at the coffee shop too—is that something I don’t know about?”

  “We were just pretending to be interested in that house so the realtor wouldn’t realize you and Tate were upstairs taking a dump. And I can’t believe you’re giving me grief about this after encouraging me to dress like a stripper the last time I went out in LA.”

  “I was encouraging you to either have fun or attempt to find a suitable mate. You can’t do either one of those things with Nico right now.”

  I can’t believe I spent one minute worrying about how I’d be able to keep my hands off of Nico on this trip when we have the world’s greatest cockblocker on tour with us. Unless, of course, I decide that I never ever want to have anything to do with him. Then she’d lock us in the back lounge together and force us to play seven minutes in heaven.

  I opened my mouth to argue with her, but I couldn’t. She was not wrong. I hated hearing her say it, but it’s true.

  Still.

  “Do not talk to him like that.”

  “Fine. I’m sorry. Would you like me to go apologize to him right now?”

  “No. Let it blow over.”

  “Agreed. But it’s best to get this sort of thing out in the open up front, I think.”

  I took a deep calming breath before saying, “I am twenty-seven years old. You need to let me decide what’s best when it comes to my personal and professional life. Okay?”

  I’ve said it to her a hundred times since I was a teenager, but this time, the twitch in her lip told me that maybe—just maybe—she was starting to agree with me on this.

  She nodded, and I was sure that would be the end of it.

  Until she looked over at Tate, who was busy playing Zoo Tycoon, and said, “Katherine. Baby girl. I’m not telling you what to do—but you need to deal with Raleigh before we get to North Carolina.”

  Shit.

  What is the deal with mothers always being right and why is it that I’m a mother and I almost always feel like I’m doing everything wrong?

  It’s a month away, but I do need to figure out what I’m going to do about Raleigh.

  Right now, though, the announcer has said it’s time to give a warm Phoenix welcome to Nico Todd and I need to film the look on these women’s faces. If my camera lens had some sort of filter that could make estrogen visible like ghosts, I’d look through the viewfinder and see the entire room lit up like a horny haunted house at the gates of hell.

  Young women are hooting and hollering, and some of them are squealing like they’re at the back of a stadium.

  I pull out wide as a tall, slim figure walks out onto the dimly lit indigo blue stage, to the microphone stand and the warm spotlight that’s waiting for him. He picks up the acoustic guitar that’s hooked up to an amp, straps it on, and starts playing the intro to one of his first singles without looking out at the audience first. It doesn’t come off as rude, it seems like he’s concentrating. The way a classical pianist walks out on stage before a recital. He looks more serious than usual. And it’s so fucking cute I want to run up on stage and kiss him. But I don’t. I circle around to the side of the seating area, zoom in on the faces of a few of the women in the audience.

  Continuing to strum those chords, he steps closer to the mic, the corner of his mouth curving upwards the tiniest bit as he says, “Good evening, Phoenix. Thanks for coming out tonight.” That’s it, that’s all he says before launching into a song, and if it made my tummy do backflips, I can’t imagine what it’s doing to these girls who’ve been fans of his for years.

  I zoom in on Nico’s face, his hands, his lips as they practically kiss the microphone.

  He is completely in his element, performing on stage, and everyone in the room is hanging on every word he sings.

  He doesn’t even need to flirt when he’s up there. He doesn’t need the rock band and the lights and the smoke machines, Mrs. Miller. All he has to do is play his guitar and sing about girls and acknowledge the audience just a tiny bit. It’s enough. It’s almost too much. But it’s beautiful.

  * * *

  I must be out of my freaking mind.

  Here I am, filming Nico and his fans, from about twenty feet away, as he takes selfies and signs Charmer merch for them after the show. They are of all ages, shapes, sizes and colors. They openly adore him and he’s gracious and friendly but in no way flirtatious. And I’m still feeling insecure. And I’m the one who told him we can’t get involved while I’m working for him like this because I need to stay as professional and objective as possible. And I have absolutely no claim to him, but I still want to come to his shows wearing a T-shirt with his face on it that says I licked him—he’s mine! Or something.

  I’m wondering if he’d be inviting that super cute blonde back to the bus with him if my family and I weren’t with him.

  I’m wondering if he’ll be inviting her back to the bus even though we are with him.

  I’m overcompensating for these crazy thoughts by focusing the camera on her pretty face and hating myself for being so irrational.

  One day.

  We’ve only been on the road for one day!

  Maybe it will get easier as time goes on. I just need to get used to this. I just need to remember the job that I was hired to do.

  Nico glances over at me, lets the final girl take a selfie with him, and tells the group that he has to get back on the road. He thanks them all for coming out and discreetly signals for me to meet him backstage, then stops to shake hands with a couple of guys who work at the ve
nue.

  I head back to his dressing room first. It’s a fairly large room, big enough to accommodate a band, and there’s an adjoining bathroom with a shower. I shut the door behind myself and stroll over to the make-up bench and vanity mirror, placing my cameras on the table. I stretch my arms and neck, waiting for Nico. I could be filming this—Nico backstage after a show—but I have a feeling he won’t want me to. Not tonight.

  One of his guitars is lying on the sofa. I go over to sit down beside it, stroke my finger along one of the strings. It’s a gorgeous vintage Martin acoustic guitar. I loved watching him make music, doing his thing. While he was performing and I was shooting him, I was completely in the zone. Capturing his energy and the energy of the room. We were both doing what we love at the same time and it was great. Sexy, even. I felt connected to him. A part of something that we’re creating together. I just need to focus on that. He’s the artist. I’m documenting him. That’s why I’m here. That’s how we’re connected, for now.

  When the door opens, I jump up and step away from the sofa, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s guzzling a bottle of water. When he finishes it, he screws the cap back on the bottle and starts pacing back and forth. Post-show energy. Angry post-show energy?

  “Ricky’s going to want us to get back on the bus soon,” he says.

  “Okay.”

  He continues to pace, and asks, still without looking at me, “You okay?”