Backstage Pass

by Gaby Triana

  “Yes. Yes, I heard you. What, Desert? What’s the question?”

  “Fine. Someone told me you hired that photographer. The one who came to our house last month.”

  She wipes her mouth with a napkin then smiles at our waiter, who hands her the check. While reviewing and signing the bill, she presses her lips together. Then she closes the case flap and looks directly at me. “Desert,” she begins. “Let me explain something.”

  “That’s why we’re here.”

  She stares blankly, like she doesn’t appreciate being interrupted or she doesn’t recognize me. Then her eyes close and she breathes a long sigh. Finally she says, “I want you to know, not that you don’t already, but just a reminder, that I love you. Very much.”

  Great. I want to believe this, but I’m not sure about anything right now. “Okay, so what’s going on?”

  She sighs heavily. When she reopens her eyes, I see they’re glazed. “You’re almost like my own daughter. I’ve watched you grow up, hon. I’ve seen you change. You’ve got lots of resentment.”

  “Resentment?”

  “Toward your mom, honey.”

  “I don’t have any resentment.” Well, okay, maybe a little.

  She grabs her purse. “Let’s go. We’ll talk on the way.” Part of Marie’s expertise is dealing with people who won’t be happy with the news she might bring them, so I can tell she’s using her skills on me now. Take the clients for a walk, so they won’t make a scene in the restaurant.

  “Let’s talk here,” I say, staying in my seat. Whatever she has to say, she can say it here.

  “Honey, don’t be silly. Let’s go, come on.” She nods toward the door, hurrying me along, like a toddler who doesn’t want to budge.

  “What resentment, Marie?”

  She looks at me then sits back down. “Fine, you want to discuss this here?” she asks calmly, lowering her face, whispering. “Where people are actually listening, even though they’re pretending not to? Where people who know exactly who you are are eavesdropping and you don’t even know it?” She whips her head around to a man, sitting with a gray-haired woman at a table near us, and he immediately looks away. “Let’s walk, shall we?”

  How does she do that? Man, Marie’s so in tune. “Fine.”

  We gather our things and leave the joint, strolling out into the blazing sun and tiled walkway. There are people everywhere, buying candles and sweet incense, sipping frozen drinks, listening to a local band. The atmosphere is definitely upbeat, but my heart feels like it’s going to explode.

  We walk past a boutique, where a stone bench awaits empty, and Marie takes a seat. I sit too. Like three feet from her.

  “All right, baby, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come right out.”

  “Go ahead!” Before I rip it out of you!

  She zips and unzips her purse, one of my mother’s trademark quirks when she’s nervous. “Crossfire’s done, sweetie. They’ll soon be history. They’d like to keep playing, but nobody’s listening.”

  Well, nobody except Becca. “What does this have to do with the photographer?”

  “Desert, don’t you want to see them over and done with? Crossfire?”

  “Well, sometimes, but—”

  “I’m tired of seeing you angry, Desert! You were always such a happy little girl, and you’ve become so…disillusioned with everything. That kills me.”

  “I’m sixteen, Marie. Every sixteen-year-old is disillusioned with life.”

  “No. No, they’re not. Not like you. Sweetie, if you were my daughter, I would’ve done things differently. I love your mom, and your dad,” she says, looking down at her hands folded in her lap, “but I wouldn’t have taken you on the road, hon. I think your folks made a huge mistake with that one.”

  So she agrees with me? “I don’t get it.”

  “All I want is to see you happy, Des. I want to see you all settled down in one place, going to school, making friends, loving life, just like a girl your age should be doing, not tagging along with a bunch of burned-out musicians.”

  She’s been listening. An adult who’s actually been listening to me all along. But hey, easy on the burned-out part. My dad is still my dad. “So you’re in this with Adriana? You hired the photographer for her article?”

  For a moment she searches my face, worry spilling out of her, like any family member concerned over one of its troubled teens. Then she nods softly, eyes closing in admission.

  “I don’t believe this.” I don’t believe this!

  “Desi,” she says, reaching over to touch my knee. “I’m doing this for you, hon, you gotta believe me.”

  Strange. Weird. This would piss the hell out of my mom. But I believe it. Or do I just want to believe it? I don’t know what to think. “So by getting this article printed, you think that’ll be enough pressure to make Mom quit? But Mom doesn’t care what’s written about her anymore. Especially in some small-time tabloid.”

  “Usually. Unless it’s about you, or her as a mother. If it attacks her as a parent, believe me, she’s sensitive to it.”

  “This is too weird. I don’t know what to say.” To say the freakin’ least.

  “Isn’t this what you want, Des? To see your parents settled down, traveling occasionally, and yourself graduating from a school that you’ve actually attended a couple years straight without interruption? Think about it, Desi.”

  Think about it. Yes, let me do that, because I don’t spend enough time as it is thinking about anything. We teens are so unmotivated, you know. This is everything I ever think about! It’s what I confessed to Liam Friday night. It’s only the whole reason I asked him to make up stories about me. To finally experience a normal childhood before my college ticket gets called and I’m on my own forevermore.

  “Babalú?” I have to make sure I’ve got this straight.

  “Desi?”

  “You’re betraying my parents…for me?”

  She tilts her head and grimaces. “Betraying is a strong word, Des. Look, all the signs point to a breakup of the band anyway. I’m not the one controlling that. This would just be the straw breaking the camel’s back.”

  You see? There’s that stupid camel again.

  “Don’t tell your mother, Desert. She wouldn’t understand. I’ve spent my whole career arguing about her choices regarding you. She’s too stubborn.”

  I couldn’t agree with her more, but still. For some reason, this doesn’t add up. Why do it like this, in secret? Why not just talk to Mom and tell her how she feels? Why not just explain this to Dad? He’ll listen!

  “I know,” I say. “But you do realize if they find out about this, you’re out of a job.”

  “Of course, hon. It’s all right. I’ve had offers lined up for years.”

  “Is that why you left for home?”

  “No, I went for a break. Your folks asked me to. They needed one too, I think.”

  “Do you know why Mom’s been down all week?”

  Marie knows. She knows everything. She turns her face away, looking at something far off. “Probably the sessions. They’re not working, Des, I’m telling you.”

  Yeah, she’s right. They’re sucking pretty bad. One song actually sounds like The Madmen on crack. “But I heard them. They would be okay if it weren’t for Faith. She’s the one who’s throwing a wrench in their craft!”

  Marie thinks this is funny and, I swear, I have never seen her look more guilty. “That’s my girl.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Becca’s quiet today. A little too quiet. Could she still be mad at Liam for not telling her that Flesh was moving to town the very second he found out? It’s not like she didn’t learn about it two days later anyway. But still, it’s been a month since that happened—get over it already.

  Becca wriggles her nose at the stench in the cafeteria. I swear schools should put comment cards on the tables so we can complain about how damn smelly it gets in here. I know that’s what Brianna would do, for sure. This
one time at St. Alf’s, she made a huge fuss over the lunchroom stink, and they gave us all free dessert for three days.

  “Reeks, right?” I ask, covering my nose with a napkin.

  “The bathrooms,” Liam says, popping open a juice carton.

  “What about them?”

  “That’s what stinks. The guys’ bathroom outside overflowed this morning. Nobody’s fixed it yet, I guess.”

  “Gross,” Becca mutters, eyes glued to her sheet music. She hasn’t had a bite to eat. All she’s done is finger invisible frets and pick at imaginary strings.

  “It speaks!” I say, but Becca only smirks at me. Since my chat with Marie, I’ve wondered whether or not to finally tell Liam and Becca about the whole plan to foil Crossfire for my sake. I know my parents wouldn’t appreciate it if I divulge insider info, especially when they don’t know it themselves. But I really feel these guys are my friends.

  Liam leans into my shoulder. “Desert, check out those guys down the table. Don’t look right at them.”

  I pretend to search intensely for a maitre d’ near the kitchen. I see what Liam’s pointing out. These guys sitting there, sporting Crossfire—Insanity concert shirts, inching closer, like I’m gonna invite them to join us or something. “Can you believe that?”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty geeky.” Liam laughs. “Come on, Desert, invite them over.”

  I shoot him a look. “No. Stop it.”

  He laughs again. “Right, Becca? We should have a great big Crossfire powwow right here at table eight?”

  Becca grins, sighs, then finally pays attention to her tray of burritolike substance with cole slaw. It’s unbelievable how anyone can eat this stuff. I go through the grueling task of preparing my own lunch each night just so I won’t need to touch any of that garbage.

  Halfway through my sandwich, someone behind me says, “Excuse me, Desert?”

  I whirl around to find one of the guys with the Crossfire shirts. “Yeah? Hi?” He’s coming to ask me for something, something related to the band probably. It’s a greeting I recognize, full of hope that I’ll get him something.

  “I don’t mean to bother you, but is there any way you can get your dad to sign these concert tickets?” he asks, showing me a pair of stubs from the last tour. “If not, it’s cool. I just thought I’d ask.”

  See, this is a problem. If I say yes, then everyone will want something from me, and I just can’t. I’m not Dad’s agent or PR person. He’s Dad, not Flesh. “Look, I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t mean to be rude, but you understand that—”

  “Oh, that’s cool,” the dude says, interrupting. “I know, you’d have to do it for everyone. That’s cool. Sorry to bother you. Sorry.” And he smiles, then goes back to the group of guys, who look disappointed.

  I feel terrible. I really do. The guy was nice, but I just can’t. It would get totally out of control. Liam and Becca stare at me, trying to empathize, trying to get used to this, their friend with all the odd attention. Thankfully, Becca decides this is a good time to change the subject by actually speaking.

  “You guys, I’ve been talking to someone,” she announces out of nowhere, looking down, as if she’s talking to the guitar tabs.

  I peer up into her face. “Someone as in a love prospect someone?”

  “Who?” Liam asks, chowing down.

  “This girl in my art class. I’ve known her since middle school, well, known her name. You might know her, Liam. Jessie?”

  Liam acknowledges the name, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

  “I guess she’s always known me,” she goes on. “But we never actually talked until last week.”

  “And?” Liam’s swirling his juice carton in the air, urging for more info.

  “And we paired up for an assignment, kinda the way you guys did in Ms. Smigla’s class that time.”

  Liam elbows me. I smile like a goof.

  “She’s cool. We’ve been talking on the phone every night. I went to her house yesterday.”

  Liam’s about to fall off the bench. “And? Did you get it on?”

  “Liam!” she cries. “Cut it out! We just met, and I want to know what you guys think of her.”

  “Damn. All right, let’s meet her then,” Liam agrees.

  “Yeah, awesome, Becca. Like when?”

  “She’s here.” Becca’s gaze darts around and lands somewhere across the room.

  “Where?” I’m looking for someone who might be waving at us. Stupid thought.

  “There. You see the blond girl in the green top, still in line?”

  Let’s see, there’s a girl with her hair in cornrows, wearing a green, skintight piece of cloth, if that’s what Becca’s calling a top. “Yes?”

  “That’s Jessie.”

  I’ve seen her around. Sometimes she hangs out with Flute Girl, whose name I learned is Amber…gag. But usually I’ve seen Jessie in the Oye section of the parking lot. I guess she’s part band friend, part Oye.

  “That Jessie?” Liam looks like he’s going to be sick.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” Becca asks, eyebrows drawn together.

  “Nothing, I just can’t believe you’re seeing that girl,” Liam says, but he doesn’t offer an explanation for his grossed-out attitude. I’ll have to squeeze what he knows out of him later.

  “What makes her so nice?” I ask. I really must know, since this girl competes with the weirdness maximus crowd.

  Becca sighs, shrugging. “I don’t know. She just is. Knows a lot about music, I guess.”

  “Does she know about Desert here?” Liam asks.

  I smack his arm. “Who cares?”

  “She might. I haven’t said anything, though.” Becca glares at me, reminding me of the cold treatment I gave her the day my pictures were posted. I don’t know what she’s all sour about. I said I was sorry.

  I did appreciate it, though. Her not going off and bragging like other kids usually have in the past. Jessie spots us and picks up speed. “She saw us, Beck. I think she’s coming over.”

  Becca runs a hand through her straight hair, fluffing it up. I just noticed that she looks really nice today. She’s got that eyeliner working again. Plus some lip gloss. So this is why she’s been getting all dolled up lately. Go, Becca!

  As Jessie gets closer I can see she’s very hoochie-mama, smacking her gum and everything. Hard to believe she knows much about anything other than body glitter, much less music. She walks up to our table and stands there, smiling.

  “Hi!” Becca greets her. Beck looks different suddenly, like a happier, perkier version of herself.

  “Hey, can I sit with you guys?” Hoochie asks, throwing her hip out.

  What does Becca see in this chick?

  “Sure,” Liam says, scooting over toward me to make some room. He turns his head then whispers, joking, “Sorry, am I getting too close?”

  Too close, my butt!

  “Yeah, actually. Why don’t you just sit on my lap?” I kid, pinching his bicep. He laughs. He totally gets me.

  “Jessie, this is Liam and Desert,” Becca says. Do I detect a flush on her cheeks, or is it just blush she’s wearing too?

  “Hi.” Hooch gestures at Liam. “You, I know from P.G. Middle, but you, I don’t think I ever met.”

  No, no, she’s right about that. Because if I’d ever met her before, I sure as hell would remember those JLo jeans she’s sportin’ there. “No, don’t think so, hi.” I’m being really nice, considering she hasn’t stopped staring at me since she parked her big butt down.

  “Li’s the one I was telling you about, Jessie. The one with the art collection,” Becca says, but Jessie barely acknowledges her.

  “Art collection?” I whisper. “You never told me you had an art collection.”

  “It’s no big deal,” Liam says shyly. “Just whatever I find I like, I print. My walls are covered with stuff.”

  “Ah, so you’re a pirate?”

  “A what?” Jessie asks, complete and total befuddlement all
over her face. “Did she say ‘a pirate’?”

  “I meant, as in piracy, as in he’s stealing images off the Internet.” Can you say ignorant?

  “No, I’m not,” Liam defends himself. “I try to get the artist’s permission to print it. Most of the time they reply.”

  I was just kidding anyway. “I didn’t know you did that. That’s cool.” You know, I just realized that Liam and I haven’t talked much about his hobbies. Everything’s always about me. How totally self-centered.

  We’re there, listening to Jessie and Becca talk about some stupid Lifetime movie last night, when a loud-as-hell alarm screams out of nowhere. Fire drill. Some girls shriek as two hundred students make for the doors, laughing and hooting. Liam picks up our book bags. “Party!” he cries, pulling me to the nearest EXIT sign with him.

  All these bodies trying to shuffle through this doorway like cattle make me want to moo. It also makes me want to wrap my arms around Liam, who’s inching toward an exit. He wore a tight T-shirt today that accents a surprisingly athletic build underneath. Sexy and seventeen, baby, and he’s all mine.

  He reaches back and grabs my hand, pulling it around his waist. My, my. Then, he leans his head back and says, “This is perfect.”

  Yes, it is, isn’t it? “What is?”

  “This fire drill.”

  Oh.

  “I’ve been wanting out of here all day. Can’t concentrate on anything.”

  Wonder why. Could it be because of me? Does Liam think about me as much as I do about him? Ever since the cemetery last Friday, my thoughts have been all Liam, Mom, Marie, Liam, Becca, Marie, Liam, Liam, Adriana. Did I mention Liam?

  “Hey, have you told your stepmom anything about me yet?” I ask. We enter the open corridor outside the cafeteria, and exit from the side of the building. Hopefully he knows where he’s going. I’m just following his lead. Becca and Jessie got lost somewhere back there with the cattle.

  “Yeah.” He shrugs. No eye contact, all serious. “I tried. Said you’re all friendly one minute and yelling at people the next.”

  “Geez, you don’t have to make me sound schizophrenic.”

  “Whatever works.” He laughs. “You mean, like Jessie?”