Anya and the Shy Guy (Backstage Pass)

by Suze Winegardner

  WowSounds.com had no idea she was seventeen. She may have even led them to believe that she was a married mother. Another lie. But one that seemed to warm them toward her. Add one more knot to the tangled net in her stomach.

  She found the Hanging On bus—not that hard since the name was emblazoned down the side—and knocked on the door.

  It flew open with a bang, and a young woman stared down at her. A grin immediately spread across her face. “You must be Anya Anderson. Come on in.” She stepped back inside the bus and disappeared from view.

  Anya took the few steps up into the darkness and tried to keep up. It was like another world in there. All the windows had blinds drawn and spotlights hit beige leather seats, sofas, and booths.

  The woman was talking as she caught up with her. “It’s just us on this bus. There are six bunks—look. I took the one at the end, hope you don’t mind. I won’t be here much, though. I have family in town and they’re all staying at a fancy hotel downtown, so I’ll be visiting them mostly. Pick a bunk.” She chattered at about a hundred miles an hour, her long dark hair swinging with every step and almost every word.

  The sleeping section was unlit, and each bunk had a curtain. She pulled one back and looked inside. They were pretty big beds, with a storage unit above them, and a TV in the wall at the foot of the bed. They were two by two, and the lower bunk seemed to have slightly more room to sit up in bed, so she slid her backpack off her shoulders and fought back a fizzing in the back of her eyes. She would have a bed tonight. Her fingers fluttered over the soft sheets. It was a real bed.

  “Are you okay?” the woman asked.

  No sense in being truthful. Instead she stuck out her hand. “I’m Anya.”

  The wide grin made a reappearance. “I’m Natasha. I work makeup when Deb’s off. God bless the union, right? No more working three hundred days in a row, right? What do you do?”

  “I’m writing about the band. Will Fray, I mean. I guess.” Anya pulled the curtain back over her bunk. “Will my stuff be safe here?”

  “Sure. No one comes on this bus. It’s not as fancy as the others. I’ve been sharing it on and off since I got here. Daisy usually stays here, too. She’s Trevin’s girlfriend, but she’s at home for a couple of weeks. All her stuff is still here, though, on that top bed at the end.” She gave Anya a once-over and raised her eyebrows. “You’re a writer? You look really young to be a writer. How old are you? The package that came was addressed to Mrs. Anya Anderson. Are you married?”

  Sweet hell. It took Anya a couple of seconds to unravel all her questions. “I’m nineteen. I guess they must have made a mistake. I’m not married.” Diversion. Diversion. Need a diversion. “What package?” she countered.

  “It’s in the galley. Kitchen. Whatever. I think the return address was from WowSounds. Is that who you work for?” Natasha slumped into an armchair and swung her legs over the arm. “Nineteen? You have fabulous skin. I’d love to work on you sometime.”

  Anya turned the package between her hands. What had they sent her?

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Natasha asked.

  Anya took some scissors out of a knife block on the Formica counter top. She looked at them for a second. They were like the ones her mom had given her to cut out paper dolls. She remembered the scissors, but she’d blocked out a lot of other stuff about her mom. How tall she was, how she spoke. Even her face. Well, her nice face, anyway. Not the drugged-out face. That one she’d probably never forget.

  She cut into the tape. “How old are you?” she asked. Offense was the best defense, after all.

  “Twenty-three, but don’t tell. They think I’m twenty-five. LJ instigated a new rule about the age of females on the tour. All the younger girls who’ve joined the tour for one reason or another have hooked up with the guys in the band. LJ does not like that.”

  “Why?”

  Natasha smiled, like she knew something no one else knew. “The band members are all supposed to be single and available. The new cutoff date for people of the female persuasion is twenty-five so, for God’s sake, steer clear of LJ. There’s no way he’ll believe you’re older than nineteen. No offense. You’d be kicked off the tour faster than a fan’s separated from her panties.” She swung her legs so they kicked in time to the music playing in the background that Anya hadn’t noticed.

  “Why did you tell me your real age? I mean, if anyone finds out, won’t you be fired?”

  “Yeah. But you can keep a secret, can’t you?”

  Anya barely suppressed a chuckle. She smiled and nodded.

  “Then we’re both fine. You have to take a leap of faith with a new friend, right? Especially when you’re on tour. We all become like family. And since we’re sharing bunks, we’re family.” She spoke like that had been settled. They were friends. Family, even. Period.

  Anya’s heart fluttered with the prospect of having a girlfriend she could trust. But she also made a mental note not to go speak to this LJ man about only being given access to Will. She couldn’t blow this. She just needed to make the best of it.

  She peeled some plastic wrapping away from a tablet computer. It was heavily branded with WowSounds, and it was scuffed around the edges, making her think that it had been used before.

  The note was from the editor, Cynthia.

  Mrs. Anderson. Wanted you to have this, as it has a shared drive. Just use this to file your daily blog posts and then the final wrap-up article, and there’s no need to send them, and no chance they’ll get lost. I hope to see you soon.

  Good luck,

  Cynthia Wilcox,

  Editor-at-large.

  WowSounds.com

  Cool. She’d been a little anxious about sneaking away to the local library to file her stories, and she’d had visions of the tour leaving town while she was trying to upload her posts on the virtually antique computers. She’d even thought through asking to borrow someone’s computer.

  One knot released in her stomach. Maybe this was a good sign.

  Those words at the end of the letter, though…

  I hope to see you soon.

  Hopefully that was just a sign-off and not a specific plan. Anya couldn’t actually meet her. God, wouldn’t that be a catastrophe?

  “Do you want me to show you around?” Natasha jumped up, as if sitting for a few minutes was too boring to do any longer. “I warn you, there’s not much to do here. Everyone’s usually napping during the day, because Lord knows we’re up till the early hours most nights.” She led Anya out of the bus and down the steps.

  Natasha described the inhabitants of each bus as they walked down the long line of them snaking along the edge of a private parking lot of the arena. As they passed The One, Anya couldn’t help but notice a guy disappearing through the door she had been banned from. He must be one of the other members of Seconds to Juliet. One of the guys she’d been forbidden from covering. She rubbernecked a little to see if she could match his face to the image on the side of the bus. Unfortunately he was gone too fast.

  …

  Matt relaxed when Trevin entered the bus. He was the only person here who knew his secret. Knew about Will.

  “How’s he doing?” Trevin asked as he sat on one of the leather armchairs.

  “He’s doing good,” Matt replied. He never knew what to say to that question. Will trusted Trevin, because they’d become closer during the tour, but Matt didn’t know him well enough. If he admitted that Will was still in rehab, that he was finding it painful to deal with his injury without drugs, would Trevin use that information somehow?

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Trevin said. “It’s not the same without Will. I mean, you’re close, but not the real thing, you know?”

  Ain’t that the truth. “I do know.” Matt laughed. He might not know Trevin very well, but he couldn’t help but like him. “What do you need?” He poured a cup of coffee from the carafe and held the cup up in the silent You want some? gesture.

  Trevin shook his head. “Wha
t I need is for you to stop singing ‘I’ll wash your back’ when it should be ‘I’ll watch your back.’ You might not think anyone can hear you, but I can hear you, and you can bet your ass that LJ can hear you, too.”

  Matt leaned against the counter. Huh.

  “Well that certainly makes more sense given the rest of the lyrics.” He pulled open a drawer and dug the songbook Will had written for him. Bastard. “Sorry, dude. The little bastard wrote ‘I’ll wash your back’. He always did love messing with me.”

  Trevin grabbed the book and read through it. “Hey, we can give him the benefit of the doubt. He was in pain when he wrote this for you. Give me a pen.”

  Matt chucked him a pencil, and Trevin started scribbling in the book. Shit. It looked like he’d been singing the wrong words to a bunch of songs. No wonder Trevin had stopped by to check up on him.

  They would just have to make the best of the situation until Will came back. No one could have predicted any of this.

  When Will tore his ACL while rehearsing for the tour, LJ had pumped him full of pain-killers so he could continue the tour. One night he’d appeared crying and shivering on their mom’s doorstep in Florida, begging for help. LJ’s attorney had sent him a letter telling him that if he quit the tour to go to rehab, he’d be in breach of his contract and be sued for $20m. Or rather, their mom would be sued.

  One haircut later, with a songbook and an evening of rehearsals in their garage, Matt was on tour, and Will was in rehab. That’d been three weeks ago, and if he was being honest, Matt was still trying to keep his crap together as much as Will. Answering when someone called Will’s name. Trying to keep up with dance moves and lyrics. It was hell. But a hell he had to bear to keep his family out of the shit with LJ.

  A few more weeks and they could change back, and no one would be the wiser. Matt could head off to college, just like he planned. He dragged his hands over his face. This was probably the biggest and most dangerous scam in the world, and he was in the thick of it.

  Winning meant he and his twin could get their lives back. Losing meant he’d be in debt and probably homeless forever. Hell, it could destroy the whole band if any of this came out.

  “That should do it. You might want to go through this before tonight’s performance.” He handed back the book.

  Matt took it. “Did you hear that LJ has paired me up with a reporter for two weeks? She arrived today brandishing this.” He handed over the letter.

  Trevin read it. “Shit. He’d only do this if he was on to you. Wouldn’t he?”

  “I don’t know, man. She’s from WowSounds, so it must be legit.” He sipped his lukewarm coffee and looked out of the one-way window. If she was shadowing him, he’d have to be even more “on” than before. Maybe that was part of LJ’s plan. “Do you think he suspects?”

  LJ did have some incentive to sic a reporter on him, though, didn’t he? When the band had been brand new, LJ had agreed to take them on if they all signed a share deal that made him the sixth member of the band. Everyone got an equal share. But if any of them dropped out, LJ would get their share, too.

  “No. Well, I don’t know. He wouldn’t risk saying anything unless he was 100 percent sure. But you know he wants Will’s share, so this might be his way of either pressuring Will into falling off the wagon, or…”

  “…just firing me because I’m Matt, right? Shit.”

  At the time it had been a good deal, because frankly the band needed the five-time platinum-disc-winning manager more than he needed them.

  But now?

  Now Matt and Trevin wondered if he had deliberately set Will up for failure. He would beat the shit out of LJ if he could. But he couldn’t, not while their manager had so much power over them.

  Keep your head down and play the game. Four more weeks until Will gets out of rehab, give or take…

  Trevin got up. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you both through this. Just…stay cool, don’t fuck with LJ, and for God’s sake, charm this reporter. Make her like you. Be onstage in ten, okay?”

  “Sure. Thanks, man.” They fist-bumped like bosses, and then Trevin left the bus the same way he’d come in: with a slammed door.

  Matt took a breath and held his hand in front of him. It shook a little. Not as much as last week, though.

  Chapter Three

  Anya took a breath and raised her hand to knock on the door. She’d just met LJ. She’d tried not to, but he’d appeared when Natasha had been showing her the makeup trailer. They’d just backed out of the bus to avoid two girls who were in there getting their makeup done. Afterward, Natasha had explained that they were S2J’s opening act and that Anya shouldn’t cross paths with them if she could help it.

  She was okay with that. She very definitely wanted to stay out of trouble. If anyone looked really hard at her for any reason, she could be busted from the tour, busted from WowSounds, and back on the street before she could scream “S2J”.

  As Natasha was about to dish the dirt on the two girls, they’d run into LJ. He’d narrowed his eyes at her and ordered her back to Will Fray’s side. Told her not to let him out of her sight. She’d stammered a “Yessir” and bolted back to find Will. At least he’d bought her age. Probably. Maybe he had. She wasn’t sure. She knew she looked a bit older than she was so that helped, but he’d still looked at her with a decent amount of suspicion. Damn. Running into him like that had been worse than that one time those drunk college guys had chased her. She’d known the streets better than them and had managed to lose them eventually. But LJ. He was a whole new level of scary. Mostly because he had the power to kick her out. And she had to stay there. For Jude.

  She dropped her hand and stepped back off the bus steps. Inhale. Exhale. Her hands shook even as she clenched them. She was safe. Inhale. Exhale. No one could hurt her here. She just had to figure out a way to stay on the tour, and stay out of trouble, until she found her story.

  She looked back at Will’s door. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to her. Really spoken to her. Looked her in the eye.

  Today had already been overwhelming. And as much as she wanted to—oh my God did she want to—get off the streets and go to school or get a job, right at this moment she wanted to be back out there. Alone and anonymous. Curled up and not having to talk to anyone. It was dangerous on the streets, but at least there, she knew how to keep herself safe. She had no idea how to survive here.

  Come on, you can do this.

  She took one last breath and stomped up the three steps loudly, banging her flat palm against the door as soon as she reached it.

  Take no prisoners.

  The door snapped open and she grabbed onto the rail to stop herself from stumbling down the steps.

  “What? Oh it’s you.” Will squinted a little like he’d just woken up. “Hi.” He overcompensated with a huge grin. A worryingly manic one.

  Weird.

  “Mr… Um, I mean LJ told me I had to stick to you like glue.” She shrugged apologetically. “So here I am. Being sticky.” Being sticky?

  His smile faltered, leaving a furrowed brow for a split second. Then it was gone, and a slightly smoother grin took its place. “Yes you are. Here, that is. And I guess we’ll just have to see how sticky you are. I’m heading to a quick rehearsal onstage. Do you want to come?” He held out his hand as if she was a little girl.

  Anya couldn’t help but bristle. “According to LJ, I have to come.” She stepped back to allow him to lead the way and ignored his hand. It dropped to his side as he turned toward the huge stadium. Just because he was some superstar, it didn’t mean he could be condescending to her like that. She wanted to be really annoyed, but she couldn’t help wonder what it would have felt like if she’d taken his hand. How long would he have held it for? Who would have been the first to let go?

  Will interrupted her thoughts. “We kind of fucked up this one song last night. One of the guys nearly slid off the stage, so we’re trying to figure out how to ensure we finish the set without
a death in the band. Hopefully it shouldn’t take too long.” He led her through zigzagging metal barriers, doors where they had to show their passes, until they got inside the stadium.

  The football field had been covered with wooden flooring and rows and rows of seats. A prickle went up her spine as she absorbed the size of the venue This band must be a lot more popular than she’d imagined. She never knew so many people could see one band at the same time.

  Then the lights came on with a bang and the whole stage and arena were flooded with a white light. The enormity of what she had done descended on her.

  “Sit a few rows back if you don’t want to get wet,” Will said as he jumped over two rows of barriers and pulled himself onto the stage.

  Wait…what did he just say?

  The buzzing of the lights echoed around the empty seats. She followed him to the front and stood at the barrier, watching as he leaned on a speaker and checked his phone.

  Who would he have an email or text from that wasn’t already here? Did he have friends? A girlfriend? Was he looking at the financial pages of an online newspaper? She snorted at the thought as she sat down. Yeah, right. But these were the things she had to find out for her article.

  Panic settled in her stomach as if it were renting a space and bringing in furniture. This was a huge band. Not some small-time small-town band that might make it big. And she had pretended to be in her twenties to get this gig. To report on the band. And she had no idea how she was supposed to interview them, or what was really expected of her. She’d effed up royally. And this was huge. She took a deep breath which did little to quell the tension rising in her.

  A loud chord blared out of the speakers, and then a few single notes. Then it went silent again.