Page 83 of Kind of Famous
“I need you to leave my cube right now, Gabe.”
“History has a way of repeating. Does he have any idea what you do in your spare time?”
I spun my chair back around, pretending to shut him out.
“He doesn’t, does he? I know that guy, Layla. He’s not going to take it well. It would be a pity if he found out.”
“Shut up, Gabe.” It was killing me that he might be right. I’d have to tell Shane about it, and he wouldn’t take it well. Handing the reins to Ash was becoming an inevitability.
“Come on, Layla.” His tone turned gentle, like we hadn’t just sprayed each other in verbal venom. “It’s almost lunchtime. Why don’t we forget about all this and go get a bite to eat?”
My fists clenched together, and I spun around so fast, my hair whipped across my face. “I’m about two seconds away from punching you in the nut sack.”
He flinched. “Jesus. Ask a girl out and get threatened with physical abuse. Nice, Layla.”
I shot him one more death ray glare, and he held out his hands in a whatcha-gonna-do-about-it gesture, like he really didn’t care either way. Yeah. Sure.
At least he avoided me for the next couple of days. I put my head down and worked on proposals, spoke up in meetings, and made an effort to stay away from lurking on the forums at work at least. At night, alone in Shane’s bed, I might have started following the tour on the TotA forum. But anything I read came from people seeing the band in a way that had grown foreign to me. They were reading into their every behavior for signs and meaning that didn’t exist.
Noah was still the primary source of gossip. Ever since his breakup, speculation was that his more than usual grumpiness was due to his heartache over this loss. Plenty of posters saw this as their big opportunity to land in his bed. If they could only get close enough to him to offer.
I wanted to post:Don’t bother, ladies. He truly is an ass.
On Thursday, I got the news I’d been crossing my fingers to hear. Lars called me in to tell me they’d set up the rehearsal hall with Walking Disaster for the following Friday, and that I was free to take the next day off to head up to the festival.
Everything I could have ever dreamed of was happening.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As much as I loved concerts, festivals weren’t really my thing. They reminded me of the Indiana State Fair when I was a kid. Hot, dusty, and crowded. Worse, they seemed geared more toward socializing and partying than appreciating the music.
As I dragged my carry-on from Boston’s T station to the park, I remembered why I avoided these things. Way too many concertgoers crowded the main entrance. I studied the map with mounting anxiety. Multiple bands would play simultaneously on three outdoor stages plus inside an arena. The fear of missing out would make me crazy, even though I wouldn’t have even come if not to see one specific band.
I relaxed, knowing that at least for one show, I wouldn’t need to fight the crowds. Theater of the Absurd would be headlining tonight on one of the bigger outdoor stages, and I’d have an up-close experience.
Speaking of experiences, for the first time in my life, I got to stop at Will Call. The woman working the booth fingered her way through a stack of envelopes until she found one with my name in fat, black sharpie. She circled my map with instructions on where I should go since I no longer needed to follow the cattle herd of non-VIP regulars.
Inside the envelope, I found a plastic badge attached to a lanyard that I looped around my neck. I texted Shane to let him know I’d arrived. Then I headed toward a smaller gate around the backside of one of the stages. Flashing my badge gained me access to this more private area where the people rushing about had a totally different vibe from the front entrance. Roadies carried equipment. Apparent musicians lounged, smoking cigarettes or drinking beer. A smattering of folks like me dotted the landscape with their VIP badges, but they all came across as cool and collected. Like this was all normal. I was about to scream with joy.
I suddenly had the presence of mind to get out my camera and start snapping pictures. I’d need to document this at least for myself. Possibly for the blog.
“There she is!” An arm draped over my shoulder, and I reached up to take Shane’s hand before turning and breathing him in.
“You smell like summer.”
“Like a week on the road more likely.” He tugged at me. “Come on, Star Shine. We’re set up around one of the other stages.”
The never-ending beating of drums pervaded the atmosphere. The music was loud, but somehow muffled or muted behind the stage. It was like listening to someone’s stereo from a floor below. I could pick out the guitar licks and bass lines easily enough, but the vocals only came through sporadically. The occasional crowd cheers were loud and clear.
We had to weave around various obstacles and groups of people until we approached a safari tent behind yet another stage. Inside, I discovered air conditioning, food, drinks, and Noah asleep on a beach chair.
“Rick’s gone into the city to do some kind of historical tour. Micah’s sleeping on the bus. Noah and I had been planning to go listen to a few of the bands, but I guess he’s out. What do you want to do?”
I looked around at the scene. It was so not rock-n-roll. I’d imagined getting backstage access for so long, but I’d pictured it like a scene from Spinal Tap where posh women and desperate groupies vied for attention. This looked more like summer camp.
“Who did you want to see?”
He pulled a folded-up guide from his back pocket and handed it over. “These are the bands playing right now.”
