“Well,” I say and take that as my cue to leave.
“Wait,” West says, and I simply give him a little wave and head off. He’s got a girlfriend, and I have no business anyway thinking about that kind of stuff.
Pushing through the exit door, I step out into a drizzly Nashville evening, and I immediately move into the shadows. I stand for a few seconds, letting the light September rain soothe my face and replaying everything that just happened inside with West. As I do, I tremor to think of all the ways Gideon would discipline me if he would’ve witnessed me talking to West. I also feel a smirk pushing through that Gideon didn’t see me talking to West.
The exit door swings open, and I swerve around to see Anne step through.
“There you are,” she says, giving me a quick once over. “What are you out in the rain for?”
“Needed some fresh air.”
Anne’s the only other girl roadie. She’s nineteen, and she’s a lesbian. People tend to think we’re together. It’s funny how that works. In my old life I wouldn’t have been allowed within ten feet of her. But there’s just something about Anne I like. She sort of reminds me of Bluma at times, and she totally gets my quirks.
She huddles up under the roof’s overhang and light’s up a cigarette. She takes a very long first drag as she always does. “Rumor is West Wolf made an appearance tonight.”
Realization dawns on me as I huddle in beside her under the overhanging roof. “The West Wolf? As in lead singer of Bus Stop?”
Anne’s pierced brow lifts in interest. “Yeah, why?”
My face gets hot all over again. “Tall, dark hair, fedora,” I motion to my cheeks, “stubble.”
Anne’s eyes gleam with humor. “I take it you saw him.”
“Actually,” I swallow a nervous lump, thinking about his hands on my hips and his perfect grin, “we met. Or rather I bumped into him.”
Anne laughs. “Hell, Eve, even I think he’s hot.”
“I didn’t say he was hot,” I mumble, though of course I totally thought he was.
With another laugh, she flicks her ashes. “You didn’t have to. I’ve known you a month now, and this is the first time you’ve ever noticed a guy.”
I look away in embarrassment, feeling all kinds of uncomfortable.
“Well, when you ‘bumped’ into him, did he get excited?”
“Anne!”
She chuckles. “Dude, I would give my left boob to play onstage with him.”
I half laugh, half choke.
She sobers a bit as she takes another long drag. “Listen, I heard he’s got quite the rep, making his way through the girls and all. I mean, he’s supposed to be a great guy and what not, but just be careful, you know?”
“Oh.” I frown. I don’t know why her comment depresses me. It’s not like I’ll ever see West again.
The music inside the club dies down, the crowd cheers, and that’s our cue we have about five minutes before we start breaking down equipment.
“I don’t know about you,” I tell her, “but I hate this gig. I saw a flyer in the bathroom about Indie Fest looking for new crew. Interviews are tomorrow at the amphitheater.” Plus, it’ll keep me moving. “You in?”
Anne rubs her cigarette out on the brick wall. “Hell, yeah, I’m in.”
Chapter Three
In the morning Anne and I catch a cab over to the Nashville amphitheater where the interviews are being held for Indie Fest and where the tour kicks off. It’s early enough that no one’s really out, but I still scan the faces. Looking, surveying, watching. Always watching…
Anne catches me. “I swear you were a cop in a past life.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because my dad’s a cop, and he’s always studying the crowd. Drives everyone crazy when he makes us count the exits.”
With a knot in my belly, I laugh it off. “Maybe I’ve missed my calling.”
Anne laughs, too. “Maybe.”
We head in the open gate and over to the ticket booth. I tap on the window, and a young girl glances up. “Excuse us,” I say into the slotted speaking area. “Where are the roadie interviews being held for Indie Fest?”
She jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “Go down to the soundboard and ask for Ford.”
“Thank you.”
The outdoor theater is surprisingly empty, and we walk straight across the lawn and under the awning to where the soundboard sits. I can’t help but think about such historical theaters as the Opry House and wonder if this tour will go to any of those places. It would be unbelievably cool if it did.
We find a man, probably mid-thirties, with blond hair and a trim goatee. I don’t say anything at first as I just stand and stare in amazement at the board. It’s much bigger than the one I would sneak and tinker with at church. This one is over two-hundred channels. It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen. I bet mixing a huge show like this has got to be close to euphoric.
Anne gives me a nudge, and I quickly step forward. “Excuse us. Are you Ford? Are you the one doing the interviews for Indie Fest?”
He glances up. “Yeah.”
“We’re here to inquire about the roadie jobs,” I say.
He gives us both a quick survey, first to Anne’s black Mohawk, numerous piercings, and multitude of tattoos, and then over to me and my fake red hair, non-pierced face, and non-tatted skin.
“Long hours,” he says. “Carrying equipment, laying cable, soldering wires, and whatever else I throw at you. Ever been roadies?”
“Yes,” Anne confirms and then gives him the rundown of all her work.
“You know Indie rock?”
“Of course,” I say.
“This is a touring festival. You’ll be traveling constantly. We pay shit per hour. Only ten bucks, but your food and lodging is included.” He points his finger between us. “You two would bunk together of course.”
“It all sounds fine,” I immediately answer. It’s exactly what I need.
Ford nods. “All right. But here are the rules. You come to work when I tell you to come to work, and you leave when I tell you to leave. If you’re so hung over you can’t work, you’re fired. If you need a sick day, that’s fine, but you’d better really be sick.” He levels both of us with a serious look. “Got it?”
We return his look. “Got it.”
“You mess up, you’re out of here. It’s really pretty easy. I don’t have time to screw around with losers.”
Anne gives an affirmative nod. “You’ll find we are anything but losers.”
“All right. Be here in two days first thing.” With that he turns away and goes back to plugging cables into the soundboard.
Anne sneaks me a smirk as we turn to leave. “That was easy,” she whispers.
Back at the entrance she swerves off into the bathroom, pulling her phone out as she does. “I’ll get us an Uber back to the hotel. Wait for me in the parking lot.”
Nodding, I head straight out, surveying the area, and take a seat on the bench. As I do, a black sports car rolls in and breaks to a stop. A dark window lowers on the driver’s side, and West Wolf, wearing that same fedora, grins at me from behind a pair of Aviators. “Well, hello, Eve.”
I concentrate on trying to seem normal, but my heart begins pounding so hard I feel it thumping in my neck. “Hi, West.” There, that came out normal. Not weird and croaky or squeaky.
He kills his engine and gets out, and I have to remind myself to breathe as I take in his black T-shirt and faded jeans. He slips his Aviators off and gives them a twirl as he leans up against his car and crosses one ankle over the other. “Fancy meeting you here,” he says.
“Yeah,” I agree as my gaze tracks the length of a tatted vine that trails his arm.
He doesn’t say anything else so neither do I as my eyes leave his tattoo to run across his pecs and down the other arm to where he wears a silver watch. His faded jeans draw my attention next and the way they’re a little lighter in certain areas. And just as I’m realizing
what certain area I’m staring at, I hear a chuckle.
My face heats, and I look away. God, what am I doing? I have never stared at a guy’s crotch ever.
“That blush in your cheeks really brings out the green in your eyes. Great green eyes, as a matter of fact.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, completely embarrassed.
“So what are you doing here?” he asks, like he didn’t just catch me ogling him.
“Interviewing for a job,” I tell him, hoping Anne will come out soon and rescue me from being an idiot.
“What kind of job?”
“Roadie for Indie Fest.”
His lips twitch, like he knows something I don’t. “Did you get it?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he says, grinning.
And I find myself grinning, too. “Good?”
“So…” he continues, instead of answering me, “You coming or going?”
“Going. Why?”
He raps his knuckles against the side of his sports car. “Well, climb on in. Where you headed?”
Warmth surges through me in all sorts of awkward and puzzling ways. Get in the car with him? I don’t think so. I can barely be in this open space with him and not get completely overwhelmed. I can’t imagine being closed up in a car with him.
West laughs, and I decide I like his laugh. It’s deep and musical. “Some other time,” he says. “No worries. I’m just glad I got a chance to see you again.”
“You are?” I ask in disbelief, before I realize that’s probably a ridiculous thing to ask him.
He gives me a quizzical look. “Yes, I am.”
I feel my face flush all over again as I softly admit, “I’m glad I got to see you, too.”
West grins. “Well, isn’t that something then?”
Anne steps up beside me, and I jump to my feet in this weird rush of sudden guilt as if Gideon has just caught me flirting. “You-you ready?”
She ignores me as she sticks her hand out to West. “Well duck on a stick. Look at this. It’s West Wolf. So nice to meet you. I love your music.”
Our Uber pulls in then, and I give West a little wave good-bye before sprinting over. What are the chances I would run into him again?
A minute or so later, Anne opens the door and slides in beside me. “Guess who’s headlining Indie Fest?”
A dawning numbness gradually settles through me as I realize I was just flirting with the lead singer of, “Bus Stop?”
Anne hoots. “Girl, you’re on the road with that hot piece of ass for the next year.”
I close my eyes again and groan.
Chapter Four
Two mornings later Anne and I arrive at the amphitheater for our first day of roadie work for Indie Fest. We jump right in, following all of Ford’s commands as we haul equipment, tape wires, and coil cables. We ignore the stares and whispers of the other roadies. They’ll soon realize we’ll pull our own weight. Plus, it never takes long for everyone to like Anne. She’s cool. Plain and simple.
The entire day Ford walks around, hovering, watching, making sure we’re doing everything to his standard. Hopefully, he’ll soon learn he won’t have to hover so much where Anne and I are concerned.
At six o’clock he snags me from backstage as I’m pulling my hair into a stubby ponytail. “Ms. Kelly needs waiters in the VIP lounge,” he tells me.
I slip my ponytail through my usual ball cap. “Ms. Kelly?”
“The festival’s manager. She’s everyone’s boss, including mine.” Ford nods me on, “Follow me,” and I trail behind him through the amphitheater and into a private party room.
A lady in a red pant suit approaches. I’d say she’s probably in her forties and though she’s not smiling, she seems okay I guess. Very business-like and focused with her dark hair in a low bun, black glasses, and deep burgundy lipstick.
“Hello, Ford,” she greets him in a clear voice that holds a bit of an accent, though I can’t immediately place it. “Thanks for the last-minute help. The venue promised to provide wait staff for the VIP area, but,” she motions around, “as you can see, a couple didn’t show.”
Australian, that’s her accent.
Ford smiles. “No problem. This is Eve. She’s a new hire. She worked real hard today. I’m sure she’ll do fine for you.” Ford turns to me. “I need to get back. Sorry about the last minute change up.”
“No problem.” I offer a smile. “All good.”
Ford heads off, and I turn to Ms. Kelly as she gives me a once over. “Do you have any lipstick or anything?”
Lipstick? Gideon would have a fit. “No, ma’am.”
She hands me a blue apron. “Put this on.” She nods to the ball cap. “Take that off and finger comb your hair.” Then she spins on her heel. “Follow me.”
She puts me behind a sandwich table. “There’s a box of plastic gloves. Change into a clean pair every thirty minutes or so.” She offers me a kind smile. “Basically just be nice and hand people whatever they ask for.”
I nod. “I got it. Don’t worry. This sandwich table is officially covered.”
She laughs at that. “Thanks, Eve.”
I love that she remembered my name.
I can hear the festival outside as it kicks into full gear with blaring music, and the crowd cheers. I stand behind this table for what feels like forever occasionally handing sandwiches to people with VIP status: sponsors, musicians, family members, reporters.
But I’d give anything to be out there right now, listening to the music, or I’d give anything to just stand near an amp and feel the thump-thump-thump punching through my blood. It makes me think of all those times I cranked the music in Bluma’s house and just…floated.
Eventually the festival is over, the doors open, and the VIP room fills. I watch as people laugh and the noise level increases, and jealousy squirms its way inside of me. For the first time ever, my little area of safety feels dreary and cold while just on the other side of the sandwich table seems so exciting and warm. Will I ever be like these people—laughing and mingling and not caring who might be watching, who might be following?
People continue moving around, meeting each other, drinking, eating. Some guy sinks into a leather couch, laughing, pulling a blond-haired woman down beside him. She kisses his neck, and I glance away. I can’t imagine kissing a guy’s neck in front of everybody. I can’t imagine kissing a guy’s neck period.
Sodom and Gomorrah. It’s the first thing to pop into my mind, and I shove it right back out. I’m done with Gideon and his preaching.
I hear West before I see him—his laughter, his voice—and my pulse does all kinds of weird dancing. My stomach drops a little bit in both apprehension and excitement as I scan the crowd. Of course he would make an appearance.
“I’ll take the veggie wrap,” a woman says, and I swerve my attention over to her.
I hand her a plate and a napkin.
“Hey, Green Eyes, whatcha serving?”
I nearly jump as my gaze pops up to meet West’s. “Sandwiches,” I embarrassingly state the obvious.
He looks different than before. Sweaty. Hot. As in temperature hot, not sexy hot. Although he is that, too.
He takes a swig from his water bottle. “Got turkey?”
I hand him a small plate with a turkey sandwich lying on top of a lettuce decoration and try to swallow without him noticing. I don’t want him to know he makes me nervous.
Still smiling, he takes a bite. “First after party?”
“In the VIP area, yes.”
“Want some advice?”
I smile. “Sure.”
He glances over to the corner where the cheese and veggie trays are. “Never eat the cheese cubes. They’re questionable.”
I chuckle. “Questionable?”
West narrows his eyes as he takes a bite of his sandwich. “Fair warning.”
A bubbly, exuberant girl bounds up beside him. “Hi!”
He smiles. “Hey.”
“Just wan
ted you to know I love your music.”
West gives a nod. “Thanks.”
She holds out a sharpie, and tilts her head to expose her neck. “Autograph?”
He laughs. “On your neck?”
She winks. “Yes, please.”
“Okay,” he says, putting down his plate and quickly signing her neck.
She caps the sharpie and bounds off. “Thanks!”
West picks his plate back up. “Sorry about that.”
I stare after the girl and her neck. “Does that happen a lot?”
He gives a humorous roll of his eyes. “You have no idea.”
“Hey, man.” A brown haired guy comes up beside West. “Roast beef, please,” he says to me.
My lips curve as I hand him a plate. I know who he is. He’s Simon. West’s best friend and bass player for Bus Stop.
West takes another bite of his sandwich. “This is Eve. She’s a new roadie. Actually, we’ve met a time or two now.”
Simon offers me a big smile. “Well, hi there. It’s not often West actually remembers the names of his girls.”
West chokes on his bite. “Seriously?” And Simon laughs.
Smiling, I slide the plastic glove off my hand and offer a shake. “Nice to meet you.”
“Good to meet you,” he says, returning the shake. “So what’d you think of the show?”
“I don’t know, I was in here the whole time.”
“Well, that’s a shame. Hopefully, in Memphis you’ll be out there.”
“Hopefully,” I agree.
Behind Simon, I see identical twins link fingers and walk toward him. Sashay toward him more accurately describes their approach. They each slip an arm around Simon, giving their best sexy pouts. He glances from one to the other as the one on the right slides her red-tipped fingers across his flat abs.
First West and now Simon. This stuff must happen to them all the time.
The one on the left leans up and whispers something into his ear, and he gives her a gentle push away. “Thank you, ladies, but I’m spoken for.” He glances at his watch. “Speaking of which, I’m going to give Kirstie a call.”
Shadow of a Girl Page 2
