Break It Up

by Tippetts, E. M.

  After the technical run-through comes sound check, and this is when Triple Cross and the rest of the musicians make their appearance. Zach and Logan look fresh-faced and ready to perform. Ben looks a little rougher, like he didn’t sleep much last night. He greets me with a salute and a smirk. The members of the band are all still in their casual clothes without their hair styled, and they hop up on stage and grab their mics while the rest of the musicians set up their instruments.

  Zach’s gaze pans across the small crowd of assorted crew and lands on me. I freeze.. He smiles and waves and I wave back. Nobody turns to look askance at me. The band members all turn to each other and start talking while I busy myself by helping the roadies wheel some equipment away, not that they need my help. I just need to have something to do all of the sudden. My hands are itching.

  Minutes later, everyone is ready and the musicians launch into the opening riff of the first song of the set, “Don’t Leave Me Baby,” the first single off Triple Cross’s latest album. I could sing this song in my sleep. That’s how many times I’ve heard it, but I keep my mouth shut and don’t even lip sync as the musicians give the cue. The three guys break into their unique harmony, their three voices blending as they belt out the lyrics.

  This whole operation reminds me of a film shoot, and I suppose that’s logical. Aidan wants top quality concert footage to punctuate all the candid moments he hopes to catch in his movie. Though I wonder how much candor really makes it through the process. Triple Cross, as Jason says, is a brand. Everything about them goes through a spin machine before it gets told to the public. I’m curious to see how close the film is to the reality I’ll see during the next six weeks.

  The band blares its way through part of one song before Zach holds up his hand. “We’re getting a ton of feedback on these mics,” he shouts.

  “Yeah,” one of the sound crew shouts back. “We’re trying to fix that. Take it from the top and let’s see if it’s any better.”

  The band starts the song again and I watch, transfixed, as Zach strides across the stage, singing. Logan and Ben are more subdued, just standing in place and chiming in with their vocals for the chorus. Then it’s Logan’s verse, and while he sings, Zach points at his ear and shakes his head. One of the sound guys nods and starts talking to the rest of the sound crew, who then scatter to do whatever it is sound people do to fix whatever this problem is they’re having, while one technician mans the sound board, moving sliders and twisting knobs. He looks up at Zach and gives a tentative thumbs up.

  Zach unfocuses his eyes a moment, listening, then returns the gesture.

  “Hey,” Ben says, bringing the song to a halt. “Is my mic even on?” As he says this, his voice blares through the speakers and he winces. “Sorry. Okay. Just thought my vocals sounded weak.”

  “Yeah,” Logan agrees. “But what’s new?”

  “Shut up.” The two tussle playfully while Zach squats down at the edge of the stage to talk to several more crew members.

  “Kyra?” Aidan calls.

  I remember that I’m on the job and snap to attention. “Yeah?” I jog over.

  “We need these wires taped down.” He points to electrical wire snaking across the floor.

  Back to my glamorous job. I grab a roll of duct tape and get to work, securing them to the floor so people and equipment can walk and roll over them without snagging. The music starts up again and the band launches into “Don’t Do Me Wrong,” my absolute favorite song. Most of the vocals are Zach’s, and I used to listen to this song in my room, earphones in my ears, volume cranked, and the whole rest of the world a million miles away.

  They sing the whole song without stopping, but afterwards there’s another pause and a lot of conferring.

  It’s a fantastic way to spend the afternoon, really, at a private rock concert. Even after the singers leave, the band continues to play, rehearsing songs and timing. Aidan sends me to craft services to get everyone coffee and then asks me to help the road crew remove some cases and other heavy items. By dinner time, I’m bushed. We all tromp over to craft services for a quick meal before Aidan takes me and Brent and a couple of others backstage to film the band getting ready.

  Backstage at an arena like this is a warren of concrete tunnels with various rooms branching off them. Everything that is needed for the show, from rehearsal space to costume racks and storage to food and drink service, is down here. The whole place smells like cold pavement, far more damp than this same setup would be back home in New Mexico.

  The dressing rooms are pretty swank with big mirrors and comfy couches. Rack upon rack of clothing wheel past as I follow Brent to Logan’s dressing room, where he’s powdering his nose. “Aw, man,” he says. “You caught me in a girlie moment. You gotta edit that out.” He grins though.

  Logan isn’t as blond as his brother, Zach, but he’s still pretty fair. His eyes are more gray than blue and his hair’s a medium brown. He also has fantastic skin; fifteen minutes on stage and his cheeks go all ruddy in the sexiest way.

  There’s a knock on the open door and Zach leans in. “Seen Ben?”

  “He’s not in his dressing room?” says Logan.

  “Nope. He’s not still hanging out in the lounge at the hotel, is he?”

  “I dunno.”

  “You guys didn’t ride over together?” I ask.

  “No, he’s always slow.” Zach glances at me. “This is the usual routine, freaking out over where he is before showtime.”

  “You’ve got an hour,” says Brent. “Wouldn’t panic yet.”

  “Yeah, well, just you wait.” Zach moves on from the doorway.

  “You want some chocolate, Kyra?” Logan asks. “Or port? Someone sent a bottle of port.”

  “Okay, every time you talk to her or she talks, we have to cut it,” warns Brent.

  “Oh really?” Logan lifts a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and looks at me. “Why?”

  “I haven’t signed a release,” I say. “I’m just the intern, remember?”

  “Yeah, but you’re a friend of ours too.”

  I am? After one dinner? Or has Zach told him to be nice to me? I shrug and smile.

  “You should totally sign a release and let people see you hanging out.” His grin is hopeful.

  I shake my head. No way am I going to end up in their concert movie. Not a chance.

  “Listen,” says Brent, “can you go back to just talking to me or to yourself?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure. So hey.” He sweeps his arm out to show off several flower arrangements, stuffed animals, and other swag. “Check out all the cool stuff we get. Someone sent us watches.” He picks up a little leather watchcase and snaps it open to reveal a chrome watch with a leather strap. “Anyone need to know what time it is? Anyway, people give us all this stuff and I feel bad because a lot of it we can’t take with us. I give a lot of it to the crew and stuff, and what we can take, we will.” He chatters on for a few more minutes before saying, “I gotta do some voice exercises. Can I ask you to leave for that?”

  The camera crew obliges, and we move down the hall to Zach’s dressing room, only he isn’t there.

  “Okay,” says Brent to the boom operator. “The mic keeps getting in the shot. Hold it up a little higher, all right?”

  We move on down the hall towards Ben’s dressing room, where we hear some shouting. Brent and the others pick up the pace.

  “You’re drunk,” we overhear Zach say as we near the doorway.

  “I’m buzzed. It’s fine.” Ben doesn’t sound fine. His words slur together.

  “Why would you be drunk before seven on the night we have a show? Are you kidding me?”

  We reach the open doorway and Brent adjusts the lens on his camera to zoom in on the two cousins standing at the far end of the room, shouting at each other.

&n
bsp; “Hey,” says Zach, “don’t film this.”

  “We’ll edit. Calm down,” says Aidan.

  “Please. We don’t need an audience right now.”

  Zach’s request sounds reasonable to me.

  But Aidan argues, “This is a chance for fans to see that not everything in a musical act like yours is easy. This way they know you’re human, and putting on a show like you guys do—that’s real work.”

  “Just turn off the camera, all right?” Zach’s on the verge of slamming the door, but we’re blocking it. I want to leave. Why won’t anyone else leave?

  “Trust me.” Aidan speaks it like it’s an order.

  Zach relents, clearly not able to wage war on two fronts at the same time.

  Which makes me wonder, if Aidan films this, does that give him the right to use it in the movie? Can the band order him to take stuff out? My dad married into a family of lawyers and they’ve got me thinking like one of them now.

  “Ben, listen to me. What’s your problem?” Zach hunches his shoulders to look his cousin in the eye like a parent would when lecturing a child. “There are thousands of people out there who may like us right now, but if we don’t give them their money’s worth, they will turn on us. Bigger acts than us have fallen.”

  “Please. A Triple Cross set? I can sing those in my sleep. I do sing them in my sleep. You know. We used to room together.”

  I cough politely into my hand, and much to my surprise, it gets Zach’s attention. I hold up my empty coffee cup and point to it, my raised eyebrow asking the question.

  He nods almost imperceptibly and I look at Aidan for permission before I jog down the hall to get a cup of coffee and a handful of creamer and sugar packets.

  When I return to the dressing room, I hand it to one of the makeup artists who puts it in Ben’s hand.

  Zach is still harping on the same point. “We’ve put ten years of hard work into our image, wreck it and—”

  “Oh come on. You’re always so scared that our fans will abandon us if they see that we’re human.”

  “You can be human without getting wasted.”

  “I’m not wasted.”

  Zach rolls his eyes and turns to go.

  Ben flips him off.

  Which brings Zach up short. “We’re being filmed. What’s your problem?”

  “Mmm-hmm. How many album sales do you think I just cost us? I’m thinking negative ten thousand.” He turns and smirks at me as if to say, “Can you believe how uptight he is?”

  I fold my arms, which seems to surprise him.

  Zach doesn’t notice this exchange. “Just get ready,” he says.

  “Yeah, I’ll be styling my hair.”

  Zach pushes past me and the rest of the crew without a second look. Brent turns to follow him and that seems so rude under the circumstances. Why are we doing this? It’ll only antagonize Zach, and surely that’d make for a poorer film in the end.

  We tail him down the hall to his own dressing room where he shuts the door in our faces.

  Brent and crew all exchange amused laughs. “All right, quality stuff,” Aidan says. “Let’s get ready for the concert.”

  I follow them back out to the stage and see the masses of people flooding into the venue. It’s a bit overwhelming, like being at the bottom of a crater while water spills over the rim.

  “Can you believe it?” says Aidan. “The kind of money these acts make in one night?”

  I suppose that’s one way to look at it. What impresses me more is that here, on another continent, in this country populated with people who speak another language, Triple Cross still has mass appeal. Nobody told these people they had to be here. They went out of their way and paid for the opportunity.

  “You’ll get tired of this show pretty soon,” Aidan adds.

  I doubt it.

  That night I get to watch Triple Cross from the VIP area right next to the stage. After the opening act finishes, Logan, Zach, and Ben saunter on and are welcomed with thunderous applause, and by thunderous, I do mean it sounded like rolling thunder or an approaching tornado or some other awesome, unstoppable force of nature. The band strikes up the tune of the first song and the three singers stroll around with confidence as they belt out the lyrics and hold their mics up for the audience to join in. Zach has his guitar strapped to his back and pulls it around for his solo, which earns still louder shrieks from the audience.

  Since I’m with the other crew and such, I don’t dare wave my arms and scream and shout, but I want to more than anything. Here with us in the VIP area are some fans who won a contest, a couple of Spanish news anchors, and two girls who, rumor has it, are related to the royal family. How random is that?

  They seem nice enough when we exchange hellos, and they ask me where I’m from and the usual pleasantries. My Spanish confuses them a little at first, but we’re able to understand each other.

  All through the show, my eyes are fixed on Zach, who manages to sing his heart out under the hot stage lights without any sweat stains appearing on his shirt. Though if he had those, he’d still be just as sexy. It seems like the faceless masses in the crowd are all in love with him too. People throw flowers, stuffed animals, even bras and underwear onto the stage.

  The guys are clearly used to dodging this kind of thing and smile and wave their thank yous. While everyone else shrieks with excitement, I keep calm. I’m not here for the free concerts, though they’re quite a perk. I’m here to do my job. Really. But the thought of any of those girls putting their hands on Zach sends me into a homicidal rage.

  I suppress this emotion as Zach pivots on the ball of his foot and shoots a quick glance in my direction, knocking the breath out of me with just that split second gaze. How many times have I daydreamed of being at a Triple Cross concert and catching his eye?

  After the show, Aidan has us film the girls who won the VIP tickets as they go backstage to meet the band. I am so exhausted at this point that I could sleep standing up. Jet lag won’t be hard to overcome at this rate. I’ve been forcibly put onto the right schedule. I barely hear the banter as the guys from Triple Cross shake hands and hug the three shrieking fans, who jump around like they’re having violent seizures. I barely notice one of the news anchors flirting with Logan, who looks nonplussed. She’s at least twice his age.

  Instead, I obsess over Zach, who keeps his distance from these fans, much like he kept his distance from Brandy and Marissa. The more they push, the more he pulls back. They are not getting anywhere with him.

  I type him a text.

  Kyra: Hey, great concert!

  The moment it arrives on Zach’s phone, he pauses mid sentence and takes it out of his pocket. His face remains impassive as he shoves his phone back into his pocket and resumes talking to his adoring public.

  Even though there are a million good reasons for him to do this, not the least of which being that he’s giving fans some face time, it burns.

  “When their mother managed them,” Aidan explains to me, “anyone who came backstage had to stick to her schedule and rules. They got ten minutes, max. They weren’t allowed to touch the guys at all. They had to be dressed modestly. This is a little different.”

  Glances at my phone reveal that forty minutes troop on past while the girls, wearing tank tops and hot pants, ask for autographs—first on paper, then on their bodies.

  Zach draws the line when one of them wants to flash her boobs for a signature, and even though I’m so dead tired the world is twilight, more stabs of jealousy lance through me. Which isn’t me at all. I never bothered to spend any time with the green-eyed monster. That was for girls who couldn’t get another date five minutes later. If a guy was stupid enough to play games with me or cheat, I moved on. I thought that was a show of strength, and I was used to being pursued. My last boyfriend worked so ha
rd on keeping me in his life that he was essentially a stalker, always on my Facebook page and texting me on the phone. I thought it was so romantic at the time.

  I’m pretty sure if I tried that, Zach would freak.

  It feels like an eternity later that we’re all climbing into cars to go back to the hotel. I fall asleep with my cheek pressed against the window glass. Thank goodness for dark tinting. I’m sure that would’ve looked weird to anyone on the outside.

  I wake with a start when the other doors open with metallic pops. I sit up and wipe the drool off my chin. Gross. At least I wasn’t in Zach’s car.

  The night air is warm and still humid in the few steps I take through it, and then I’m striding across the threshold into the hotel lobby, which seems far too bright. My whole body aches with exhaustion, and I look neither right nor left as I stumble on over to the elevators and nearly fall asleep again as I wait for one to arrive.

  I can hear Zach’s voice behind me in the lobby, and I turn to find him talking to Aidan. He sees my look, finishes his conversation, and then heads in my direction.

  Wake up, Kyra, I think. Time with him is definitely more important than sleep.

  He comes to stand near me and says, “So, not a complete disaster, that set, huh?”

  “Not even,” I say.

  The elevator arrives then and I step inside, Zach right on my heels.

  I’m not sure what floor to hit, but I decide it’d be presumptuous to hit twelve. I push my own floor and leave it at that. Zach folds his arms, leans against the wall of the elevator, and smiles at me. From the light in his eyes, I know he’s plotting something, and when we reach my floor, he’s the first to step off. That’s when it hits me that he never pushed the button for his floor.