Page 14 of Kind of Famous
Did you get any pictures of him, though? From behind maybe, heh heh.
Di$a$ter wrote:
Major eyeroll. Why do you even pretend to be a music fan?
RobinHood wrote:
(Check the Noah thread, @McBoatface.)
Chapter Five
In the morning, Jo was sweet enough to wake up and make sure I ate breakfast before I headed into the office. She even called her driver to transport me. What were they doing to be able to afford these luxuries? Granted, Micah’s band had been on a steady rise, thanks in large part to his own personal celebrity. They weren’t headlining arenas, yet, but opening for a band like Whiplash had to be a sign things were going well. They toured constantly, playing festivals and other mid-sized venues.
For the first time, I really wondered what it would be like to date a touring musician. Gone a week here, home a few days there. How on earth did Jo manage with that schedule? I knew she often went on the road with other bands to get concert photos. It must have been a rare day they were both home at the same time. I pitied her a little bit for the lifestyle they shared.
Just a little bit.
On the ride into Midtown, I considered the flipside—the enviable aspect of dating a famous musician. For starters, it didn’t suck to take a car to work as opposed to getting jostled on the subway. And I doubted the average person, like me, could afford such a nice townhouse in Brooklyn.
Apart from the money, the life of the vagabond musician fascinated me. I’d watched with longing as forum denizens followed a tour from city to city. I’d driven to shows, even flew to a few, but my finances never allowed me the freedom to float around the country.
I chuckled at the realization that I’d spent a decade doing exactly that from the comfort of my own sofa. I liked to think I kept everything in the right perspective though.
As I exited the town car, my phone notification went off. A quick glance revealed that Ash only wanted to say:Thanks for yesterday! I think I’ll be okay today. Hope you’re enjoying your new job. Let me know how it’s going!!
Tempted as I was to share everything that had happened, I couldn’t imagine she’d be able to keep from namedropping on my behalf in a private message somewhere. I’d spent enough time with fans to know secondhand knowledge held its own currency. Ash wouldn’t be able to resist spending it.
I understood it all too well. I wasn’t immune to the desire to tell the world where I’d spent the night. I’d momentarily enjoy some notoriety while they all asked me questions and expressed their jealousy over my situation. It wouldn’t be real fame. Just attention.
I’d already achieved a kind of celebrity on my own website. They all knew me, and yet nobody knew me.
My phone went off again once I got through security. As I waited for the elevator, I checked my texts. I didn’t recognize the New York City number. The only person I knew here, besides Jo, was my manager.
I braced myself against bad news and swiped to open it.
Hi, Layla! Jo gave me your number. I hope it’s okay. Just wanted to tell you it was nice to meet you. —Shane.
I pressed my knuckle against my lips to contain the giddy smile erupting. The elevator arrived, thankfully, giving me a moment to compose my response. I wanted to wait a beat to pretend I wasn’t a total screen-obsessed addict.
Did his text leave an opening for a response? Should I keep to a shortMe, too?Or exactly as long as his?
While I debated these quandaries, I added him to my contacts and thrilled at my growing coterie of quasi-celebrities I could call if I wanted. First Jo, now Shane. I knew it was silly, but I loved how easily they befriended me. I wanted to tell everyone online what nice people they were.
When the doors opened onto my floor, I intended to sit down and reply, but the minute I stepped through the glass doors, Byron emerged from his office.
“There you are, Layla. Can you come down the hall for the morning scrum?”
I glanced wistfully toward the kitchen. I needed a cup of coffee before I could use my brain, but Byron waited. So much for easing into the morning work.
Byron motioned for me to precede him and take a chair.
“Okay, now that everyone is here, let’s get started.” Byron opened the floor to a discussion of defects and other concerns, but my mind drifted back to that text message. My phone sat in my pocket, and I resisted the urge to pull it out and re-read the words Shane had sent. I tried to imagine him composing it. Where had he been so early in the morning? At breakfast? By default, I pictured him where I’d last seen him: sitting at the counter at Jo’s.
Maybe he’d been out on the street or at a coffee shop.
Maybe he’d been in bed.
My stomach went into freefall.
