The Limelight

by Louisa Keller

  “So,” I said, reaching to fiddle with the radio settings, “you ready to do this thing?”

  “Which thing?” asked Dalton, shifting into gear. “The thing where we crash in a hotel for the night? The thing where we go out for drinks with Eddie and Cooper? The thing where we—”

  “—go on the road for three months and perform our music in front of thousands of people?” I supplied.

  Dalton grinned. “Oh, that one. Yeah, I guess I’m ready.”

  “You guess?” I asked, prodding Dalton on the arm.

  “What do you want from me? Cartwheels and confetti?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “for a start.”

  “I’m sorry Levi,” Dalton began, “but I have an aloof rock star persona to maintain. I can’t let the public know that I actually experience human emotions.”

  I shrugged. “Fair enough. But as the front man I don’t give a shit what the public thinks about me. So, I’m just going to freak the fuck out about the fact that we fucking made it!”

  Dalton smiled at that. “Okay mister front man, rein it in before your ego gets out of hand.”

  “Ego?” I scoffed.

  “Ego,” said Dalton with a definitive nod. “And I hate the break it to you, but Cooper absolutely expects you to give a shit about what the public thinks of you.”

  “I’m not afraid of Cooper,” I said defiantly.

  “Oh, come on,” argued Dalton, her expression turning smug. “You worship the ground Cooper walks on. He doesn’t need to make you afraid of him—he knows you’ll do whatever he says because he’s your cool older cousin.”

  “Fuck off,” I muttered, unable to deny it. Dalton had an uncanny ability to call me out about shit I did not want to admit.

  “I will do no such thing,” said Dalton sweetly. “You’re in my damn car. If you want out you’re more than welcome to tuck and roll.”

  Before Cooper’s label agreed to sign a limited contract with Serotonin Sindrome, I had spent a considerable amount of time daydreaming about what it would be like to tour as a musician. I hadn’t given much thought to whether or not my fantasies were realistic…I had just been so wrapped up in my own head that it never occurred to me. I had imagined huge hotel suites, elite parties, skipping to the front of the line at every club. The kind of stuff that probably happened for people like Billie Joe Armstrong and Brendon Urie.

  I mean, if they get the star treatment why shouldn’t I?

  It was a shock, then, when Dalton and I arrived at the hotel where the band and crew would be spending the last night before the tour.

  “What do you mean we’re sharing?” I asked, staring around the cramped hotel room. It boasted two full-sized beds, well-worn carpet, and ugly pastel paintings hanging on the walls.

  Eddie, who was lying on one of the beds scrolling through something on her tablet, glanced up. She was a bit shorter than me—sometimes it felt like she was the only person in the whole goddamn world who was shorter than me—with aggressively bleached hair that was shaved almost all the way down to the scalp.

  “Levi! Good to see you, bro.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I said, too wrapped up in my righteous indignation to pay her much attention. “Why did Cooper put the three of us in a room together?”

  Dalton, who was kissing Eddie hello, turned and said, “To save money I presume.”

  “Pigeon Kiss Media is funding this whole shindig; you’d think they would at least get us our own rooms. I want a king-sized bed, and a whirlpool tub, and…and…” I broke off, unable to think of another demand off the top of my head.

  “And the key to the minibar?” Eddie suggested, nodding toward the locked refrigerator.

  I gasped—a bit dramatically, I’ll admit. But seriously.

  “They locked the minibar?” I strode over to inspect it, making a dismissive noise. “We can definitely pick this lock. Do either of you have a bobby pin?”

  Dalton and Eddie looked at each other, trying desperately to hold in their laughter. Which was totally rude.

  “Uh, Levi, there’s something you should know about us,” said Dalton, her somber expression wavering.

  “I’m a lesbian, hon,” said Eddie, running her hand over her cropped hair. “I shaved my head when I came out.”

  “And I’m fundamentally against any hair product that pokes me in the scalp if I pass out before I remember to take it out of my hair,” added Dalton.

  “You two are fucking useless,” I muttered, abandoning the minibar and flopping theatrically onto my own bed.

  “Hey, Cooper said something about signing a replacement bus driver,” said Eddie, setting her tablet aside. “Either of you know anything about that?”

  “I do, actually,” I said, relishing the opportunity to talk about Porter. “I was the one who found him. He seems pretty great.” My face heated up as I thought back to the previous night when I had fallen asleep in Porter’s arms.

  “Oh wow, you’re blushing! What’s he like? Is he hot?” Dalton asked, sitting up.

  “He’s, uh, really nice,” I said. Suddenly I wasn’t sure if I should tell the whole story. Maybe it would be better to play it cool. “He and his roommates actually let me crash at their place last night.”

  “How did you meet him?” Eddie asked, elbowing Dalton as she tried to cut in.

  I began painstakingly retelling the story of my last night in Seattle, skirting around the fact that I had been practically swooning over Porter right from the start.

  “Okay,” said Dalton, ignoring Eddie’s subtle head shake. “But you’re clearly into him. So, spill.”

  “Ugh,” I said, running my hands through my hair. “Can you, like, not do this right now? I’m trying not to get my hopes up.”

  “That’s reasonable,” said Eddie. “Right, babe?”

  Dalton rolled her eyes. “It’s not reasonable. Get your damn hopes up. We’re going on tour. From here on out it’s supposed to be all about sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll! Get your head in the game, dude.”

  “Just because we’re going on tour doesn’t mean I need to lose my head over some guy,” I argued. “Especially since he’s going to be stuck on the tour with us. What if I completely humiliate myself in front of him and then he’s super awkward for the rest of the tour? Or what if he walks? I can’t be responsible for losing two bus drivers. Cooper would kill me.”

  Dalton sighed, utterly put-upon. “You’re the worst best friend in the world.”

  “Babe,” admonished Eddie. “Leave him alone.”

  “I’m not asking for much,” said Dalton. “I just want to know—”

  “Fine, fine,” I cut in. “I’ll dish. But I’m warning you, this stays between us on pain of death. Got it?”

  Dalton nodded eagerly. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

  “God, you guys totally regress to elementary school when you’re together,” said Eddie, smiling.

  “He’s really, really good looking. Like, really beautiful eyes, a strong jawline, this gorgeous fucking stubble…he just lucked out all around in the looks department.” I paused, surveying the reaction to my little speech. Dalton and Eddie were hanging on my every word. “And he’s just really…I don’t know…humble? It’s so easy to talk to him, he doesn’t seem pretentious or disingenuous. He’s a lot taller than me, and strong but not in an overly buff gym bunny kind of way. You know?”

  “Christ,” said Dalton with a Cheshire Cat grin. “If you’re not careful I might steal him for myself.”

  “Hey!” Eddie and I protested in unison.

  “Oh, chill out,” said Dalton with a laugh. “I’m just kidding.”

  “You’d better be,” I said, narrowing my eyes, “or else Eddie and I are going to elope and leave you to perform by yourself.”

  3

  Porter

  Portland, ME

  I didn’t arrive in Portland until the next night. My last day and a half in Seattle was a blur of quitting my job (terrifying), packing (tedious), and talking th
rough my contract with Cooper Montgomery over the phone (confusing).

  It was relatively straightforward; I would be driving the band in a large arc, beginning in Maine, swooping down along the East Coast, then across the Southern US, and back up the West Coast. The tour was actually wrapping up in Seattle, which meant that I could literally just head home as soon as the band reached their last venue.

  I hadn’t ever been outside of the Pacific Northwest, and I was torn between excitement and horror at my own impulsivity. I waged an internal war the entire time I was on the plane—This is stupid, what the fuck are you thinking? This will be fine, you’re doing great!—and by the time I touched down on the tarmac, I was exhausted. All I wanted was to head straight to the hotel and sleep. But Cooper had other plans.

  “Hey man, good to meet you,” said Cooper—his voice was a pleasant Southern drawl—as he hopped out of his illegally-parked car to shake my hand.

  “Yeah, nice to meet you as well,” I said, the words sounding oddly formal in my mouth. “Are you allowed to park in front of the Departures area?”

  Cooper shrugged. “No idea. Let’s get out of here before we have to find out.”

  I smiled at that. “You sound like my roommate Finley. He’s always thumbing his nose at the law.”

  “He sounds like my kind of guy,” said Cooper. “Do you have just the one roommate?”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “There are five of us. We’ve been friends since college.”

  “Rock on,” said Cooper.

  “Have you known the band long? Levi said you were related somehow, but I can’t quite remember…”

  Cooper grinned.

  “Oh yeah, he’s my cousin. I actually grew up in New Orleans, but my parents always shipped me up to Levi’s parents’ camp for the summer when I was a kid. He’s almost a decade younger than me, so we didn’t get close until a couple of years ago, but he and Dalton were always around when I visited. Dalton is practically Levi’s sister, she spent most nights at his house, went along for family vacations, and the two of them moved out to Los Angeles together a couple of years ago.”

  “That’s cool,” I said, thinking wistfully of the sibling-like relationship I had with my roommates.

  “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. They fight like siblings too,” said Cooper. “And now that we’re all working together, I feel more like an older brother than a cousin.”

  “What about, uh…what’s the drummer’s name again?” I asked, my face flushing as I stumbled through the question.

  “Eddie,” supplied Cooper. “She’s great as well. Dalton met her pretty quickly after moving to LA and they’ve been inseparable ever since.”

  “Have you, uh, been doing this for long?” I asked, grasping desperately for a cohesive question. For a moment I couldn’t even remember Cooper’s role in this whole ordeal.

  With a lurch of dread, I realized that I was descending into panic. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in my life, but each time it happened I found myself drowning in a deep, cold sense of despair. All I wanted to do was hold it together, but there went my composure, waving idly as it sped away from me. I was utterly, tortuously aware of the fact that I was three thousand miles from home, in a car with a stranger, far from anyone and anything familiar.

  Deep breaths, Porter, I thought in a voice that sounded exactly like Dom’s. You can get through this. Just breathe.

  Cooper was babbling about his job, blissfully unaware of the battle my mind was waging against itself. My anxiety was the worst kind of traitor, stealing my confidence, my poise, my ability to trust myself. I sucked in a deep breath, hoping that Cooper wouldn’t notice. It helped, marginally. I tried again, breathing in deeply, holding it for a moment, and then letting it out.

  That’s it, came the voice again. You’re doing great.

  “…and then they offered me a promotion, which I thought was the perfect time to suggest signing a limited contract with the band. So that’s how we all ended up on this tour,” Cooper was saying.

  I nodded, completely lost. The sense of despair was dissipating, but I felt winded from my momentary panic.

  “That’s…cool,” I tried.

  Cooper glanced over at me, a kind expression on his face. “Oh god, you must be exhausted. I’m just sitting here telling you my life story while you’re fighting off some serious jetlag. Sorry, man.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I muttered.

  “We’ll get you to the hotel as soon as the show is over,” said Cooper, pulling up to the curb outside of a big brick building.

  “Uh,” I said, my head spinning as I found myself staring up at what appeared to be a huge music venue. “Where are we?”

  “Venus Hall,” said Cooper, as though that answered my question.

  “Right,” I said. “Er, what is Venus Hall?”

  Cooper laughed, but not in an unfriendly way. “Sorry, I forget that you haven’t been staring at the tour schedule for months like I have. It’s opening night, this is where the band is playing.”

  “Oh,” I said, bewildered. “Am I supposed to…”

  “Here,” said Cooper, handing me a lanyard. “This is your backstage pass. Try not to lose it, I don’t have a ton of extras. That thing will be your golden ticket for the next few months. Ever been backstage for a rock show before?”

  I shook my head, feeling numb.

  All I want to do is sleep, I thought miserably.

  “So I should just…hang out backstage?” I asked.

  Cooper shrugged. “That’s up to you, my friend. You’re welcome to watch the show from the mosh pit if you want the full effect. That’s what I would do tonight if I didn’t have a million things to do. Speaking of which, I need to run. Come on back and I’ll show you how to get down to the floor without having to wait in line.”

  “Um…”

  That is how I ended up standing ten feet from the stage of a packed venue. The voices of thousands of excited fans swelled around me, pulsing, overwhelming me. It was the worst kind of sensory overload…being tired beyond belief, three times zones from home, surrounded by strangers, with no idea how I was supposed to meet back up with Cooper after the show. My breathing began to speed up again, each breath chasing the next. I could feel my heart beginning to race, my pulse fluttering wildly at my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to calm down.

  You’re okay, I thought sternly. You’re not going to lose it. Everything is going to be fine…

  As if in reaction to my frantic attempt at calming myself down, the noise level surged. People started screaming and flailing around, pointing at the stage where Levi and two women had appeared.

  “Good evening Porrrrrtland!” Levi purred into his mic.

  It was as if something inside of me slotted into place. I went from reeling wildly to standing strong, unwavering. My frantic thoughts came to a halt, my breathing evened out, my pulse slowed to its normal tempo. And my eyes…well, they were locked on Levi. He looked magnificent, standing on the stage like he had been born to work the crowd. His dark auburn hair was tousled as if he had been running his hands through it, and he held himself with such confidence. Every eye in the room was drawn to him as he began to introduce the band.

  “Many thanks for showing up to watch us kick off our very first tour. Dalton and I grew up just a couple of hours from here, so it’s great to be home.”

  God, he’s beautiful.

  There were whoops and cheers from the crowd, and the bassist—Dalton—played a little riff in response. She grinned at Levi and said, “You wouldn’t believe how many shows we’ve seen in this venue.”

  “And by seen you mean snuck into,” added Levi, winking at the crowd conspiratorially.

  All around me people began clapping and catcalling, utterly charmed by the dynamic onstage.

  “Enough reminiscing,” cut in the woman behind the drum set who must have been Eddie. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Dalton began
picking a jaunty little baseline as Levi leaned into the mic and said, “We are Serotonin Sindrome, and this is Acadia.”

  The drums picked up, followed by Levi’s guitar. His voice, when he began to sing, was smoky and seductive. I lost myself in the chaos, my eyes glued to Levi as he worked the stage. One song slid into another and then another. Time seemed to congeal, folding over itself as I let the music wash over me. Each member of the band piped up periodically between songs to share a little anecdote or tease their bandmates. The crowd was raucous, banging their heads and jumping around, most of them singing along. Despite my intense distaste for crowds—particularly rowdy ones—I found that I didn’t mind so long as I could keep my eyes on Levi.

  He is absolutely radiant.

  I lost track of how long I had been there, crushed in the crowd of people and riding the high of live music. The magnetism of the trio onstage was so intoxicating, so completely unexpected, that I let go of the need to know where I was, what time it was, where I needed to be next.

  Toward the end of the set Levi started talking again.

  “I want to thank you all for coming out tonight,” he began. “We couldn’t have asked for a better crowd tonight. Thanks for showing us so much love.” He paused to let the excited shouts die down. “Put your hands together for my best girl, Leila Dalton!” The cheers rose in a crescendo. “And the best damn drummer I know, Eddie St. Germain!”

  “And don’t forget our unbelievable guitarist,” chimed in Eddie. “The one and only Levi Montgomery!”

  Everybody around me went wild, screaming and throwing their hands up toward the stage. Levi grinned and said, “Stop it, you’re making me blush.”

  Dalton threw an arm around Levi’s shoulders and smirked. “It’s the curse of your pale complexion, my dude. Don’t blame our adoring fans.”

  “We have one more song for you tonight,” said Levi, shoving Dalton playfully away from him. His eyes scanned the crowd and landed, for the first time, on me. It was like a shock to the system. My heart stuttered, my palms began to sweat, my stomach clenched. He was looking at me with such intensity, such bald desire. I wanted him so badly.