Page 27 of Love on Tour
“Hell yeah. Let’s do it.”
Matt poured two shots of whisky. Grover and Austin knocked them back, but Christine noticed that Matt abstained.
“You don’t drink with the guys?” she asked.
“Not until after the show. Too much can go wrong.”
“Ever the professional,” Christine said. “That’s one thing I understand.”
Matt looked at his watch. “How about a quick photo?” he asked the guys.
Grover and Austin posed with their shot glasses held high.
“That’s my cue to leave,” Grover said. “I know you have a meet and greet. Can’t wait to see the show. And I do have to leave a little early tonight, but I’ll stay until the end of your show.”
“Come back after I get offstage and do one more shot with me.”
“You got it.”
Matt escorted Grover off the bus. Christine knew local security sometimes hassled people who weren’t with the tour, and she admired Matt for making sure Grover got safely back out front.
“You were great with him,” Christine said to Austin. They were still on the bus.
“Y’know, when I first started doing this, everybody warned me about radio. Some artists aren’t big fans of radio guys. And I get it. If they weren’t playing my music, I might have an attitude, too. But they’ve played my songs, and I’ve had hits and always found them to be cool. I’ve swapped cell numbers with a lot of them, and we text frequently. It’s all been a good experience for me.”
Matt walked back onto the bus and pointed at his watch. “Fan meet and greet in fifteen.”
“And this is what artists live for. The fans,” Austin said.
Christine went along to watch Austin meet his fans. They were mainly females dressed in tight jeans, short skirts, crop tops, and cowboy boots. She knew most of these young women were hoping they’d get asked back to the bus. And one of them probably would. She often wondered if it bothered them the next morning, or a week or a month later. Then again, maybe she was projecting how she’d feel. She couldn’t judge women who just wanted to have guilt-free fun. Men did it all the time. Why shouldn’t women? She tried to guess which one would make itto the after-party. She didn’t know enough about Austin to know his type, but she bet it would be a blonde. Blondes did seem to have more fun, as the saying went.
Austin greeted each one with a handshake, sometimes a hug, and always a big smile. He listened attentively when they spoke, making solid eye contact. Even though he only had about thirty seconds per person, they all left looking happy. Some girls could barely speak and others were crying. Christine had been there herself. It was hard not to get tongue-tied and, in some cases, emotional when meeting an artist you admired.
And then there were the few who wanted Austin to autograph various body parts, promising to get the autograph tattooed.
“They would really get a tattoo of his signature?” she asked Matt.
“You know you’ve made it when they want to tattoo your autograph. We see it all out here.”
Matt asked her to hold the spare Sharpies, and when their fingers touched, she felt it down to her toes. “I’ll be back. Hold on to these in case he needs a fresh one.” His eyes met hers, and time didn’t move until he turned and left.
With Matt out of the room, Christine focused on Austin. She was happy watching him with his fans until she heard two young women talking as they walked by. She swore she heard one of them say, “That’s her. The one they keep posting comments about.” Had any of her cyberbullies come through the line, or was she just being paranoid? She shook it off, choosing not to let it bother her.
IT WAS SHOWTIME. CHRISTINE WENTto the front-of-house soundboard, which was located in a gated area in the middle of the audience. This was where the sound guy controlled a large panel that determined volume, balance, and everything sonic. It would offer the best sound in the arena. Christineshowed her laminate to the security guard and stepped into the square enclosure. She was careful not to trip over the wires that were attached to a large soundboard. She couldn’t imagine being responsible for unplugging the show. She shook at the thought. A videographer sat on a riser behind her and she stepped out of his way. The view was somewhat obstructed by the fans, but she felt safe.
Imagining what twenty-five thousand people looked like was one thing. Standing in the middle of them was another. It was a sea of people, all moving and talking. It reminded her of an ant colony. The excitement leading up to the start of the show was palpable. The fans couldn’t stand still. Some sang Jackson’s songs, others kissed their partners, while others randomly yelled, “Yee-haw!” They were stoked and ready for the music to begin. As it got nearer to Austin’s stage time, the crowd got louder and rowdier. When the band took the stage and played the opening notes, the audience welcomed them with an eruption of shrieks. Christine knew Austin was standing to the side, just out of sight. When she thought the crowd’s volume could get no louder, he ran onto the stage and proved her wrong.
Austin had thirty minutes to capture the crowd. In Christine’s opinion, the opener had the hardest job. The audience was there to hear the main act, or maybe they wanted to hear the middle act. But the opener had to reach out from the stage, tap them on the shoulder, and get them to pay attention one by one. Austin did it. He made the show into his personal party, which they’d all been invited to. He pointed to them, engaged them, and never stopped moving. He kept his eyes on the audience until they couldn’t take their eyes off him. The crowd hung on to every note he sang. They were spellbound. Christine was caught off guard by a weird sense of pride. She was now part of this. She wasn’t just a behind-the-scenes worker—she had an active role. This was a first, and she had to fight back a tear as she savored the moment.
Matt walked past, his shoulder brushing hers. He stood in an open spot behind her, and her whole body tuned in to him. Every nerve ending came alive, shocking her. She’d convinced herself she didn’t have normal hormonal reactions. She’d never felt the feelings other women had described. Not after what happened to her in high school. But she couldn’t deny Austin’s effect when he almost kissed her. And her reaction to Matt was even more electric. Maybe her experience in high schoolhadn’tleft her unable to respond to a man. She’d felt almost robotic with the couple of guys she dated in college, afraid to lose control. But there was nothing mechanical about what she was feeling now.
As Austin wound down his last song, Matt whispered something in her ear about coming to the stage with him. She nodded and followed. Walking through the crowd, she could barely move. Claustrophobia kicked in. Guys in sleeveless T-shirts were sloshing beer and stumbling her way. Random people tried to high-five her, and one woman reached for her All Access pass, forcing Christine to push her arm away. Matt turned around and made eye contact before reaching for her hand. She grabbed his and held on tight. He pulled her close as they made their way through the jungle of human limbs that were spilling drinks and fist-bumping friends. When they made it backstage, she breathed a sigh of relief. They released their hands simultaneously. She had been so focused on surviving the crowd that she hadn’t taken a moment to enjoy the feel of his fingers as they laced through hers. But her hand held his warmth, and she subconsciously raised it to her lips.
“That was scary,” Christine said, her eyes wide.
“It gets worse. Hang out in the pit when Jackson takes the stage. Those fans have been tailgating since two.”
“Maybe I’ll listen from the side of the stage.”
