by Becky Wicks
He turns to me grinning. 'So sorry it's taken us this long to get together,' he says. His make up makes his face look orange. His thick, dark eyebrows are practically glittering and his shaved head has a couple more dints in it than I was expecting. Usually I guess he's so airbrushed you can't tell.
'I was hoping I could get a bit more semi-decent coverage on your blog, seeing as TMZ never asks my opinion on anything before they plaster shit all over the place about me. So, how's it going? You're Lockton's girl, right?'
'We're friends,' I say, taking in his dark green blazer, the white shirt with black zig-zags scribbled on it underneath.
'Friends with benefits?' he beams.
'In that I get to come on tour and talk to lovely people, such as yourself,' I answer quickly. He leans back in his chair, studying me whilst chewing on a nail and smiling.
'I like you,' he says after a second. 'I like Noah too, he's a good man. Devilishly handsome.' He laughs. 'I don't think people use the word devilishly enough anymore. We should bring that back. Use that in your headline.' He winks at me and I relax instantly. Most people say Ryder's a decent guy. He looks older than twenty-four, though. He's in a relationship with a Broadway theatre director called Max Benning but they manage to keep their private lives pretty private.
His cell buzzes on the dresser and he leans over to read it. I catch the word 'mom' on the screen and he grabs it, mouthing an apology as he answers. 'Mom, how are you? I'm so sorry I can't see you till the weekend, you know I'd be there if I could. Is Aunt Marie with you today?'
He carries on for a few minutes and I pretend to be distracted with my own phone till he hangs up with a sigh. When I look at him, I notice he's different somehow. He's kind of slouched in his chair.
'Is everything OK?' I venture.
He lets out a deep sigh. 'Yeah, just a tough day at home, that's all. I kind of try and block it out, but she can't do that.' He raises his eyebrows, leans forward in his chair. 'My father died two years ago today.'
'I'm so sorry,' I say immediately. 'I can come back...'
'No, no. I like to keep busy. I've cancelled on you enough, darling, it's not a problem.'
'My dad died too,' I say. I don't even mean to say it; the words just jump out of me. I reach for his hand with one of mine. I feel a rush of empathy towards him; a sudden connection in the void, like we're two planets colliding in the middle of nowhere. 'If it's any consolation Ryder, I probably know how you feel.'
'Oh shit, I'm sorry. What happened?' He covers my hands with his and I notice how blue his eyes are as he looks right at me. They don't need to be Photoshopped at all -- I never realized that before.
'It was an aneurism,' I say, feeling my words catch as I say them. 'I was seventeen years old. He was in a cab, in Denver.'
'Oh man, I'm so sorry.' Ryder squeezes my fingers. 'Mine was scuba diving some shark hole in the Galapagos. He was a nutcase. No one really knows what happened down there but mom was in the boat waiting for him to come up, and he...' he trails off, retracts his hand and rubs his face for a moment. '...he never did. Not alive anyway. Shit, sorry Chloe.'
'Don't worry about it,' I say.
'This is off the record, right?'
'God, of course, I would never...'
'Thank you. I mean, the press ran something when it happened but my team put a stop to the rest. I just think people know way too much about me as it is. Some things are sacred, you know? My mom, too. I had to protect her.'
'Trust me, I know.'
We sit in a silence for a second, before Ryder swivels his chair to face the mirror and talks to my reflection. 'I can't help thinking about how twisted it all is. All this!' He gestures around the room. 'It makes you question what's real. It's all just... nothing, when you think about it, Chloe.'
I nod silently.
'It doesn't matter what we do with our lives - I can sing songs in front of millions of people, you can take photos, Courtney Lentini here can idolize a fucking Siamese cat!' He holds out his phone on another Tweet from The Great Catsby and rolls his eyes. 'You can love a man, I can love a man! We're all gonna die anyway. We're all just atoms and rumors and earth in the end, right?'
'And faith and trust and pixie dust,' I say quietly.
'Peter Pan, nice. Yeah, pixie dust. If we're lucky we'll be memories, but if we're not, no one in a million years will know either way. When you really think about it, nothing matters. Sometimes I wonder what my dad would've said about me being gay.'
'He didn't know?' I say. This is news to me.
'I only came out when he died. I just thought, what's the point in pretending, right? What's the point holding anything back, or trying to be anyone else but yourself? You can write this down with your photos, if you want.'
'I'll say whatever you want me to,' I reply and he smiles.
'Max was there for me when I found out about my father. We were just friends before that. I mean, I knew we liked each other, I could feel the connection but I guess I was scared to admit it, you know?'
My God, I know.
'Something just changed after dad was gone. It was like I stopped giving a shit. Like I said Chloe, in the end, nothing matters. Not the things you think matter anyway.'
I realize I'm staring at him intently, taking in every word but seeing Noah. Noah's face, the feel of his hand in mine; the way I get a bit scared around him too sometimes.
'I hope you had someone there who loved you when you heard about your dad,' Ryder continues. 'Apart from your mom, I mean. I guess wives who've lost their husbands go through their own grief. I can't even imagine.'
My eyes tear up in front of him as I picture Noah's hands on my face, in my hair, rocking me close as the tree house grew and shrank around me and life without my dad stretched before me. I guess I started blocking Noah out at the same time as I really started letting him in... so to speak. But there's always someone else anyway - Lizetta, Cooper, Jayde, Courtney. And something else now, too. The fame.
For a millisecond it hits me how surreal it is that I'm actually having a deep and meaningful with one of the most famous men on the planet. Alyssa would freak out but he's right; what does it matter, really? We're all the same. We're all just atoms and Ryder's are as messed up as mine.
25
Noah
Denzel's in love with this venue. The whole way here when we were back in the chill out area trying not to think about Chloe's fucking death note he was blathering on about the lightning-throwing Tesla coils, the eleven-thousand square-foot Bud Light party deck with insanely cool views of the city and the massive five-manual digital pipe organ that I don't even need. I can't help thinking I don't need any of this.
When we were back at the Twisted Pine in Boulder I could command the whole room with just a mic, my voice and my guitar and I'm pretty sure I could do the same here. There are just a few more seats, that's all. But I guess it's not up to me anymore. If people think I need my face on an LED display board in one-point-seven million square pixels then who am I to argue?
'There are more fans here to see you than there were in Miami,' Denzel says, putting a hand on my shoulder as I adjust the strap on my guitar and look over the humongous stage. The sound of the crowd is deafening now.
'It's growing mate, you're a fucking HotFlush legend. They wanna talk about the music video tomorrow en route to Chicago. We'll have to Skype them on the bus.'
'Where's Chloe?' I ask. She was supposed to be taking photos backstage but I haven't seen her.
'With Ryder,' he says.
'Still?'
'Think they hit it off. They've been in his dressing room for over two hours, mate. Maybe she's turned him.'
I roll my eyes. Somehow I doubt it. In a way I'm glad she's with him, though. There've been way too many photos lately. Things are getting weird. I've been thinking how I shouldn't have said her name in so many video blogs, or let the press pap her... not that I could help that, really. Wherever we go there are paps; even when she's on her own so
metimes.
'There's a chick outside who tried to get backstage before. Says she knows you,' Denzel tells me.
'Who was it?' I fish my pick from my jeans pocket as the MC says his spiel on the stage and Denzel shrugs his shoulders. We're already having to shout to be heard. Crew are running everywhere.
'No idea mate, people try it on all the time but this one was a bit Mariah Carey. Security sent her away. Wouldn't worry about it. If you want any of your mates backstage just check in with us first, yeah?'
'I will,' I say, thinking instantly of Courtney. She's been texting me for days about tonight. She lives here in Tampa and she's home for the week. Apparently her uncle and HotFlush want her to see a therapist; they think she's getting too crazy and she wants to talk about it.
@NoahLockton understands me, she Tweeted this morning.
In her head, we're kind of the same. We've been in this together from the start. She's probably no more crazy than she's always been, thanks to her mom and dad drinking that toxic tree sap in some Peruvian jungle and drifting off into an eternal sleep; it's just that she's photographed every time she tips a drink down her throat these days.
Oh, and there was one suspicious looking Twitter pic going round of The Great Catsby with a spliff hanging out of his mouth. But Courtney would've called me if she was here early, right? And besides, security would've recognized her. It must've been someone else.
'You're gonna kill it, mate. Your own songs are performing better every night. You're showing the whole fucking world what you're made of in spite of what we said at the start,' Denzel says, puffing out his chest. 'Proud of you, Lockton.'
'Thanks man,' I say. I can't think about Courtney now. Jeremy, Sebastian and Zayne are already in their places in the shadows, waiting for the lights. I take deep breaths, stretch out my arms and back.
I hope no one noticed how nervous I was for the first week before going on. After a while, though, it was all the same. Now I just get a surge, a massive thrill, like I did for the TV audiences. These people are all here to see me. Me and Ryder Telling, but going by the Tweets and the blogs and the Facebook updates my support shows are getting just as much buzz. Tree House is a staple on every radio station across America. The Facebook Song has had almost six million hits now on YouTube and the album is climbing the charts, currently at number five.
'Girls and boys, the Show Us What U've Got sensation, Noah Lockton!' the M.C yells and suddenly Denzel and a producer are pushing me forward into the fray.
The screams fill my ears, the lights flash on and holy shit, the banners and the shirts and the teddy bears have multiplied like bunny rabbits on heat. The tiers are an ocean of waving limbs. I literally can't see which glitter-covered handmade signs are for me and which are for Knight Ryder but people are waving them anyway and I take my place at the mic. I clutch the guitar as Sebastian, Jeremy and Zayne spring into action behind me and belt the first lines of Play Me.
I'm halfway through the song when I see her. She's sitting in the front row. I recognize the cropped hair, the dark eye make-up, the expressionless face. She's wearing a black coat and a stripy jersey underneath and I feel the same sense of uneasiness I felt before as I catch her eye.
I saw this goth girl outside MoonRise... and somewhere else I'm sure, but I still can't remember where.
The girl next to her screams and waves manically, pointing her phone at me: 'Noah, Noah!' she's yelling and I grin and wave as I sing, point my guitar at her for a few riffs on bended knee as a means of flirting, like I always do.
The goth girl doesn't smile or react at all. In the corner of my eye I can see she's holding a piece of cardboard; not a banner or a flier. It's more like the size of a cereal box.
The song comes to an end and I bow as the screaming reverberates around the stadium and my live face flashes up on the LED screen. I look hot and messy, just the way the blogs all say they love me.
'Thank you so much, Tampa!' I shout into the mic as they all erupt around me. 'You know, last time I had so much fun in Florida, I was a kid playing to a bunch of families at a resort in Orlando. I never dreamed one day I'd be playing here, to you awesome people! And looking at my face on that massive screen!' I point at it to more cheers, noting the goth girl still staring darkly.
'Your support is everything, guys, this whole thing is like a dream, right? Let me tell you, if you're thinking of entering Show Us What U've Got next year, make sure you do it. You never know what could happen!'
I have to say this; they made me plug the show as a tie in, not that I mind. They love it. Next year there will be more applicants than ever.
'Noooo-aaaaaah!' they're yelling. 'Noooo-aaaaaah!'
'OK. Are you ready for a new song?' I say, as a stagehand hurries out with a stool and I run my hands through my hair. I actually feel like some sort of roasted hunk of meat up here, a kebab in a shop window, covered in dressings and baking in the light. 'I've been working on a bunch more stuff lately,' I tell them instead and they scream for me so loudly it hurts my ears. 'Some of it's not even on the album, Play Me, which is out now, as you know.'
Another plug. I pause as more screams deafen me and the flashing cameras almost blind me. I sit down, bring the guitar to my lap. '...but this one will be on the Shimmer blog after the show, for anyone who's following that?'
I grin into the camera that wheels up on a dolly and the goth girl holds a note up right in front of me. It's fleeting and so close it won't have been caught on any cameras; so close it makes my breath catch and my words stick in my throat for a second.
DEATH TO CHLOE CAMPBELL
The screams die down as everyone waits for me to play and I've got no choice but to do it. With my heart thudding harder than Zayne on the bass I start the song. Sebastian does his thing on the drums and the girls pull out their phones and turn the flashes on. They wave them in the air like torches because these days, you're not allowed lighters in stadiums.
The goth girl moves from her seat. Shit. She's leaving.
I do my best to keep my eyes on the crowd and not her but I can't help watching her back as she gets further and further away.
Someone needs to stop her. Stop the freak in the black coat, I feel like yelling. But with thousands of eyes on me instead of her, cameras in my face and a set of at least five more songs, I've got no choice but to watch her leave unnoticed.
26
Chloe
'Drink?' Zayne asks, holding out a bottle of Smirnoff. I shake my head, but Ryder grabs the glass and then the bottle and pours it halfway. He tops it up with soda water and shoves it at me.
'Chloe, you're drinking with me. You know why.' His blue eyes are shining. After everything we talked about today; after we planned the photo story that he's convinced will send my blog hits even higher I can't exactly turn him down.
He clinks his own glass to mine. Zayne joins in and nudges me as he spots Sebastian tucking into the snacks in plastic bowls across the dressing room. How the hell does he stay so fit? He is literally always eating.
There's a knock on the door. Before I've figured out how to avoid drinking my drink in front of Ryder Telling and his entire band a group of six girls, all around my age, are being ushered inside. They're all wearing backstage passes and all are in short skirts and high heels. One is wearing a Lockette T-shirt. Noah's familiar face is grinning at me, stretched across her boobs. I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about things like this.
'Your competition winners,' the runner says by way of announcement and shuts the door.
'Ladies!' Ryder enthuses, sashaying over to them dramatically and making them laugh. His stage presence, or the way he is for the fans and the cameras is so totally different. I can't help wondering how people think they know celebrities when half the time they've never met them, and even when they do meet them, the celeb is just playing a role.
Ryder's still being genuine when he kisses them all on the cheek and signs whatever they hand him, but I know how hard today is for him. I
know he just wants to drink with his friends, or call his mom and not be a famous person for once. My heart kind of goes out to him.
The other members of Knight Ryder follow his lead and strike up conversations as the girls are all offered cocktails. They're blushing and giggling, looking way too made-up for a night in what's essentially a glorified changing room. Mind you, they'll probably be taken to a club when they're drunk, and then back to the tour bus. Knight Ryder have one just like ours. Ryder says there's a rule that if the back room's locked, one of them is entertaining. It's locked most nights.
An arm snakes around my shoulder. I turn to see Zayne sipping his drink with his nose practically in my hair. 'Crazy isn't it?' he says, motioning with his glass around the yellow and gold room.
'What's that?'
'How nice you smell. And the fact that so many people are obsessed with these guys. Aren't you gonna drink that?' He taps my glass with his finger and I spot his creepy nail again. I pull away automatically just as Jeremy walks in.
'I wouldn't go back to the tour bus if I were you,' he tells us, pouring himself a neat vodka.
Jeremy is a year older than Noah; a six-foot-three black guy who studied law at Harvard before dropping out for music. He's eyeing up one of the girls already. I watch her clock him and bat her eyelashes over her drink. She's wearing a leather mini skirt, tossing her long auburn hair. He wanders over and starts talking to her easily. He reminds me of a panther, so smooth, always on the hunt.
'Guess Denzel's got company in the bus,' I say to Zayne.
'Maybe Noah's the one with company,' he suggests with a grin. 'I saw him with Courtney before. She lives here, right?'
