Time Out (Foolish Games Series) Page 2

  “Don’t acknowledge them,” Lizzie began to coach me like I had asked for her help, though I didn’t remember doing so. “Real celebrities don’t acknowledge the press.”

  “Good, then you won’t mind.” Quickly snatching up her Ray Bans, I shoved them on my face and kept my head down. I, unlike Lizzie, despised the attention that came along with dating a rock star.

  “Hey!” Lizzie cried reproachfully.

  “I need these more than you,” I played to her weaknesses - her vain side - and watched as she slowly nodded along in agreement.

  Riley’s tall solid frame hurried to move in front of me so he could block off the paparazzi’s direct view. I didn’t know what I did to deserve such a good friend when it came to him, but I couldn’t be any more thankful than I was now, as we quickly approached one of the band’s Chevrolet vans parked in between two large tan tour buses.

  Hawkins had leant me the silver van, now that my father’s vintage 1968 Volkswagen Van was scrap metal on the side of a highway somewhere in Florida. Several weeks ago, Hawkins had a stalker that was trying to kill him in revenge for the death of his wife and daughter. The stalker, Cyrus, blamed Hawkins because his brother had been drinking the night of the fatal car accident. I wouldn’t have been involved but Hawkins and I did our predating banter through Twitter so everyone, including Cyrus knew we were involved. Since the band was completely protected Cyrus figured his best revenge against Hawkins was to kidnap and kill me. Thankfully he was unsuccessful but my van didn’t make it out so lucky.

  The sound of men shouting demandingly, “The real Lizzie give us a smile!” brought my focus back to Riley as he quickly threw open one of the side doors so I could get in the back. This van, unlike my dad’s, was filled with rows of grey vinyl seats, which I couldn’t be more thankful for as I ducked down, okay more like flung myself across one of them, to hide from the flashing cameras.

  “How are you doing, Lizzie?” One of the guys turned to her when they couldn’t get an answer of out of me.

  “Peachy,” Lizzie kept it short, like she had places to go and people to see as she took her good ole time getting into the passenger side. Even in the daylight I could see flashes of lights go off the back of my grey seat like I was Lady Gaga or something.

  “We’re going to have to get you your own pair of sunglasses,” Lizzie sighed under her breath like she was a ventriloquist.

  At least Riley and I seemed to be on the same page, when I heard the brakes squeal in protest as Riley rammed the van into reverse, and then the gravel sprayed underneath the tires as he sped off down the parking lot to the opening.

  “You okay, Joie?” he asked tentatively once we were back on the safety of the road.

  “God—you guys act like it’s a crime to take a photo or something,” Lizzie scoffed. “Most people would kill to get this kind of attention.”

  “Obviously,” Riley threw her a sideways glance. “Don’t acknowledge the press,” he mimicked her in an uppity way. “What are you, her PR person?”

  “You know what? That’s not a half bad idea,” the prospect of the idea seemed to slowly grow bigger in Lizzie’s eyes.

  “This is coming from the same person who thought it was okay to expose her chest to the entire world.” Riley threw her another exasperated look. “You can’t be serious.”

  “For the record, I didn’t know I had exposed myself. I was drunk. And we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about Joie.”

  “Tread lightly,” I groaned for the second time today.

  “All I’m saying, is I make it look easy being in the public eye day after day, when this shit isn’t easy. People can be vicious, especially the fans. Someone has to make sure Joie doesn’t get eaten alive.”

  “What exactly does your job entail anyway?” I finally sat up and blew my dark hair out of my face, thinking to myself: this should be good.

  “You just take pointers from me,” she shrugged.

  “That’s a good one,” Riley snickered.

  “Laugh all you want, but when those pictures hit the stands people are going to say stuff like she’s freaking weird and so introverted she’s awkward. How could Hawkins be in love with her of all people? She just threw herself across a seat in a van to hide. And if you think they didn’t get that on camera,” she looked over her shoulder at me. “You’re wrong. Is this really how you want his ex-fiancé to picture you? Cowering behind a seat like you’re a kid who can’t handle Hawkins’ lifestyle? That should go over really well,” she scoffed, “When she’s laughing at you to his face.”

  Riley and I had suddenly gone silent, because for once Lizzie was talking sensibly.

  “It’s pointless to hide anyway,” Lizzie let out one long exhale like a deflated balloon. “Everyone knows the truth now.” She groaned when secretly I think she wished it was still just her getting the attention.

  “I thought it would make it easier on my mom,” I confessed, thinking the less press the easier the transition would be for her.

  Everyone knew that I had been lying about my whereabouts to my mom for the last several weeks by saying that I was working for Nicholas Johnson’s presidential campaign, because I wasn’t ready to admit that I was following a band around yet.

  But after the news of the deadly stalker, and Hawkins and my secret love affair went viral, there wasn’t a news station or paper across the country that hadn’t covered the story. And sadly, my mom and I still hadn’t talked since that horrific night that Hawkins was rushed to the hospital.

  “Hiding from the press because you’re scared? Really?” Lizzie asked flatly. “I’m not a mom, but nothing says ‘oh my gosh, my poor little baby, this is too much for her’ than that scene you just put on back there.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

  “So what do you suggest I do, if you know it all?” I huffed.

  “Let me be your personal PR person. You know, let me give you pointers when we’re out in public together.”

  “Hawkins’ PR person speaks for him to the public,” Riley cleared up the distinction. “You don’t mean to say that you’re going to start speaking for her too?” he asked skeptically.

  “No, I think we can all agree that she has that part nailed,” Lizzie emphasized, and for a second I wasn’t sure if we were talking about more than Hawkins and I just going at it on Twitter.

  “I’m just going to help you with your image, that’s all,” she offered innocently enough.

  “NO MAKEOVERS or I’m out.” I laid out the terms of the agreement.

  “I doubt you saw Warren’s sister wearing a white wife beater and a pair of mangy old pink sweatpants.”

  “Hey, Hawkins fell in love with me like this,” I reminded her.

  “Yeah, Hawkins might have, but the world won’t,” she stressed. “I can guarantee it.”

  “I don’t care about what the world thinks,” I sighed with the roll of my eyes.

  “You will when they start putting you in the worst dressed section of the magazine and start saying things like ‘no wonder Hawkins was too embarrassed to admit he was with her.’ ”

  Humph! I quietly fumed in the back when my cell suddenly vibrated in my pocket.

  Guilt tore at my consciousness with every call I ignored on our way over to the venue because I probably knew better than anyone that Hawkins would be afraid for my safety after what had happened with Cyrus the stalker. So I quickly sent him a text explaining that I was fine, just pissed.

  I had made a point of going out of my way to avoid Hawkins and the hoard of paparazzi that now trailed his every move by coming in with the rest of the crowd of fans when it was time for the show. For now, I could still get away with looking like ‘the girl next door’ among most of the fans, that was unless I was with Lizzie or Hawkins - who was anything but ordinary with his smoldering blue eyes, careless dark hair, and a hint of a five o’clock shadow which projected a kind of sexiness that could give Colin Farrell a run for his money.

  When Hawkins�
� 6’3 frame slowly crossed the stage to the immense pleasure of the crowd, he seemed to project a sort of hot confidence naturally. His piercing blue eyes scanned the crowd below before locking with mine. I didn’t know why, but something about the way he commanded the stage made me feel like a scared little girl shaking in her boots.

  Normally I would have turned to Riley on my right, but he was up in the lighting booth with Harlow, supposedly ‘learning the ropes’, when secretly I think they just wanted an excuse to be around each other. So with Riley gone, that would have left Lizzie to my left, but unfortunately for me she was backstage probably making out with Ryan right about now since he was done opening the show for the band. And as if Hawkins could sense the fear coming out of me clear across the stage, he grinned as he crooned into the microphone, “Joie, why don’t you just answer your damn cell phone?”

  And of course the crowd hooted and hollered back, when I was pretty sure Hawkins could sing the phone book and still get catcalling whistles of approval in return. Rolling my eyes, I lifted my chin and tried my hardest not to smile back at him. He was in the dog house after all. We were caught in a stare off that I was pretty sure I was going to win because he had to sing eventually, but damn it there was nothing like the pressure of feeling thousands of fans holding their breath just waiting for Hawkins to finally sing already! But those baby blues stayed fixed on me like we were the only two people in the entire venue, and I finally caved with the shake of my head and laughed. Reveling in his victory, he smiled a triumphant little grin before turning to face the crowd again. Seconds later, he finally strummed the first chord on his black Gibson and the lights went up.

  Just when I was about to think ‘you’re going to have to do better than that buddy,’ at the end of the show he began to serenade to me, “Can’t Help Falling in Love with You” by Elvis Presley. I’m not sure if it was Riley up in the lighting booth when the spot light suddenly zeroed in on me, but I couldn’t have been more embarrassed by all the attention as Hawkins got down on one knee and waved for me to come onto the stage next.

  I vehemently shook my head ‘no’ at him like - can’t we just talk this out later? But the damn venue security guard in front of the stage tackled me like he was a linebacker for my all-time favorite football team; the Pittsburgh Steelers. I kicked and shouted (something I was sure Lizzie would have frowned upon) but the security guard continued to gingerly pick me up over the protective fence in front of the stage completely undeterred like I weighed nothing at all, and then turned around to hoist me up; until before I knew it I was standing upright on the stage.

  Once I got my footing, I did the only sensible thing I could think of and went to make a beeline for the side of the stage, but Hawkins solid frame intercepted me before I could. Pulling me in close to his chest, he began to slow dance with me as the music continued in the background. I wasn’t the kind of person who felt comfortable in the spotlight. Hell, I think that ship had sailed a long time ago, but here I was slowly feeling my ridged body melt into his.

  Damn that rock and roll music!

  I also blamed Hawkins, whose lips brushed against my ear as he sang to me the way he usually did when the foreignness of sleeping in a moving bus kept me awake at night. He had the kind of low raspy voice that only a few were blessed to have when he sang, and it wasn’t the kind of sound that could be easily duplicated unless you drank whiskey morning, day, and night. With my head buried against the side of his chest (the best cover I could find from the crowd) his voice slowly started to put me at ease.

  “Take my hand, take my whole life too,” he sang and for a second in the blinding flash of the lights, which hid the crowd from my view. I could have stayed in the safety of his arms for the rest of the night. That was until the loud sound of people clapping at the end of the song brought me out of my semi-trance and reminded me of my initial need to bolt from the stage.

  “Don’t think this changes anything,” I shouted over the top of the cheering crowd as I looked up at him; trying my hardest to fight back a smile.

  “You’re right,” he flashed a knowing smile. “That would be too easy.”

  The security guard, who didn’t know any better, motioned for me to exit the stage the way that I had come like I was just another Courtney Cox whose fifteen minutes of fame was up.

  “Ah—I think that’s my cue,” I nodded as Hawkins leaned into me to give me a quick peck on the cheek, and the crowd went wild in response. Blushing a crimson red, I quickly moved out of the spotlight and off the stage with the help of the security guard.

  But my fifteen minutes of fame didn’t last long when I headed for the backstage door at the end of the show. I knew the band was going through some serious changes in management and staff after what happened with Cyrus, but I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between the gruff looking men in the old crew from the gruff looking men of the new crew.

  And it seemed that neither could they when it came to identifying me because ‘Brett Keisel’ (or at least that’s what I decided to call him because old habits die hard - like naming everyone after a player for the Pittsburgh Steelers so I could keep them all straight) looked serious about needing a backstage pass if I wanted to see Hawkins any time soon.

  “Damn it,” I swore as I patted down my pockets when I realized two important things. First, my cell phone must have dropped out of my pocket somewhere from my seat to the stage and second, I left my backstage pass with Riley in my brilliant plan to avoid Hawkins before the show.

  Without giving the security guard an explanation, I took off in the direction in which I came. Rushing forward against the exiting crowd, I gently pushed people to the left and right of me until I arrived back at my seat again. Saying a silent prayer that I would quickly find my cell, I bent over to check underneath the seat, but I didn’t see it. That didn’t stop me though from getting down on all fours so I could feel around for it. When I came up empty handed, I blew my hair out of my face and stood back up again. I looked from the bottom of the chair to the protective fence in front of the stage, but there was a line of young hopeful groupies huddled around it; making it impossible for me to retrace my steps without pushing them out of the way. But hey, someone had to do it.

  “Excuse me—coming through.”

  “Watch it!” a red head girl hissed as I pushed past her to the front of the line where the other girls were flirting with the venue’s security crew.

  “Hey! I was here first!” another squealed.

  “No, no you weren’t,” I muttered under my breath as I scanned the ground behind the fence, but I didn’t see it anywhere. I lifted my gaze to the stage and watched as the band’s crew worked at dissembling their stage equipment.

  When I finally caught the attention of one of the security guards, who looked like a beast, dressed in a bright neon yellow t-shirt which stretched across his broad chest and read ‘Venue Crew’ on the back, I asked, “Did you happen to find a cell phone back there?”

  With a shake of his head, I had my answer, and realized with a quick glance up at the lighting platform high above the seats that Riley and Harlow were long gone by now and that I needed to get backstage before Hawkins started to get worried about me.

  But when I tried to reason with the security guard blocking off the entryway to backstage door for the second time - explaining that Hawkins was expecting me - but he looked unconvinced. He took a quick glance at me dressed in only my white tank top and pink rolled up sweatpants when Lizzie’s infamous words, ‘how could Hawkins be in love with her of all people?’ came back to mock me.

  “Listen, I was just on the stage with him—” I went to explain when from the corner of my eye I noticed a blonde steadily approaching us. She was dressed in a tangerine colored loose rayon tank top with matching tan khakis and gold gladiator flat sandals which complimented her tan skin.

  Warren’s sister, Gwyneth, slowed her approach as if the irony of the situation was slowly dawning on her before she flashed the security
guard her backstage pass. Desperate, I turned to her thinking that surely we could both be adults about this and put are our differences aside.

  “Wait,” I stopped her as ‘Brett Keisel’ went to open the door. “Can you please explain to him that I’m with the band?”

  She turned to look at me with a grin on her face like she found the situation more and more amusing. “Funny, I was under the impression that you thought were too good for them.”

  “No you don’t understand, I don’t have my—”

  Not willing to take the time to hear me out, she turned to the security guard, who looked like he was having a hard time overhearing the conversation with the loud crowd exiting behind us, and she said without blinking twice, “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

  For a second I just stood there in disbelief, like how I did in the elevator earlier with her because I couldn’t believe how much of a bitch she was! All I could do was continue to stand there stupidly like some kind of nameless groupie and watch as the door slammed behind her.

  I recognized on some level that I was quickly running out of options of how to get in contact with anyone who could help me, but then I realized that if I just waited patiently by the backstage door that they would eventually come looking for me. It wasn’t like I had spent a night away from Hawkins on his tour bus since I had wrapped my dad’s vintage van around a tree like a pretzel.

  “They’re going to come for me when they realize I’m missing,” I informed the security guard, but he nodded nonchalantly like I highly doubt that.

  “I’m just going to sit over there at that picnic table and wait,” I added; realizing how crazy I must have sounded to the man as I thumbed over my shoulder at the table in front of a food vendor.

  Hawkins wouldn’t leave the venue without me, I told myself as I patiently waited at the wooden picnic table. Still, I was getting increasing anxious with every passing second now that the venue crew were starting to clear out anyone left over from the concert. Surely Riley wondered where I was too by now, I reasoned.