Page 11 of Backstage

“Crap,” whispers the guitarist in the world’s most famous band. He, too, realizes how ridiculous the situation is. “Can’t something be done?” he asks Evan.

“I can definitely call the lawyers and get them to take them down. Maybe I can stop him from publishing anything about you.” Evan wrinkles his brow like he’s already working out a complicated plan to put the bad guy away.

I burst into a bitter laugh that draws everyone’s attention. “You really think Brad is the problem? Did you read the comments under the pictures? Sure, he’s the leader of that gang of degenerates who follow him, but the cutest comments are the ones that ask how he survived the tsunami caused by my dive into the pool. Some even say I should die, or my mother should have had an abortion for the good of mankind.”

Damian sighs, almost annoyed. “What the fuck do you care what people say? Don’t even read them, alright?”

I look at him with resentment. His air of arrogance makes me want to slap him. “Sure, coming from a guy who calls press conferences all fucked up because he has to apologize for sticking his tongue in little girls’ mouths, that’s great advice. Thank you.” I realize I’ve exaggerated only when Luke puts his hand on my knee and squeezes lightly. I don’t regret saying it. I look at Thomas, and the sly smile he can’t hide seems almost smug—as though he wanted to say these words himself. I like that.

“In fact, I don’t give a damn what the newspapers say and, as you say, I give press conferences to give explanations to those who don’t deserve them instead of working, that’s what annoys me. Trust me, it’s not my decision,” Damian says, beaten back, and I realize I’ve punched him in the gut.

“Mature behavior on your part, congratulations. Wait, I’m getting out a notebook and taking notes.” He has no idea how much longer I can torture him. When a person treats me like I’m stupid, I start to snap.

“Sure, because your plan of giving up a life-changing contract for you and your bandmates because you’re a crybaby is really grown-up, isn’t it?”

I’m so angry right now my body feels hot. “Crybaby? How old are you? Seven? Lilly’s a whiner,” I mimic him.

Thomas’s laugh diverts my attention away from Damian, and I realize that in my eagerness to jump down his throat, I’ve leaned over the table, and all eyes are planted on us. The Jailbirds and Evan are amused, my bandmates are stunned. I’m ashamed of my loss of control, and look down to avoid eye contact.

Evan tries to reassure me. “It’s all about image, Lilly. We can handle it, we can control who’s pounding on you, and we can get them to close their accounts, they’ll stop. Positive voices are stronger than negative ones.”

“Sure, and can you handle my emotional breakdowns and my mental health?” I cross my arms to my chest and raise an eyebrow.

Evan looks down, saying nothing.

“Look, I got the number of the other band’s lead singer; we can still stop them before they get to the airport,” Damian says, getting up with the phone in his hand, ready to make that call.

They all look at him as if a he’d grown a second head. He’s so snooty and confident, he doesn’t even care that we’re still in the room before he proposes a replacement. I’m annoyed by his pessimism, especially when I look at my friends and find them mortified. He can humiliate me as long as he has the breath, but he can’t touch them. They are my family, the one I have chosen, and I will defend them to the death if necessary.

“Are you out of your mind, or are you drunk?” slams Michael. “Did you hear them?”

A half-smile crosses my face when I see the look of rage on Damian’s. It feels good to be defended by someone who isn’t in my close circle of friends, and I don’t feel guilty for the satisfaction of seeing him scolded in front of everyone.

“She can’t even deal with a few idiotic comments made by morons,” he yells, getting up abruptly out of his chair and waving his arms to the sky. Up close, he looks so huge that I find myself crouching in the armchair, trying to back out despite the table diving us.

“Would you stop talking as if I’m not here?” My anger overwhelms the intimidation he’s trying to pull on me.

“We’re trying to find a solution to her problem, you idiot, not trying to replace them,” defends Michael again, who seems to be the brazen one.

“Could we get her to file a restraining order?” Thomas questions Evan.

“Maybe! That could be possible. I don’t know how his followers would react to this news.” The manager seems to think about it a bit.

Michael and Simon join in to find possible solutions to my problem, losing sight of the point that, in fact, the problem is me.

“Or you can find yourself another bass player who can handle this life,” I shout, attracting everyone’s attention again. They look at me as if I had just slit a man’s throat over the table in front of them, everyone, from Jailbirds to my bandmates. “After all, I’m the problem, not them. It’s the most practical solution,” I explain in a more normal voice.

Simon is the one who breaks the silence, bursting out laughing blissfully and throwing his head back. It’s disconcerting. “Did you hear that?” he asks a general question to those present. “You don’t realize your gift, do you? You’re a monster on the bass, and I’ll drag you on that stage even if it means putting a mask on your face or wrapping you in wrapping paper,” he threatens with a seriousness that disarms me.

“Thank you?” I stammer. That was a compliment, wasn’t it?

“He’s right, we’re not going on stage without you,” says Taylor, speaking for the first time. I turn to my bandmates and find the same look of determination on their faces, fueled by the help they’re getting from the Jailbirds. The guilt is making me sick to my stomach.

“I need to get out of here before I throw up last Christmas’ lunch too,” I announce by getting up from my chair and turning to the door.

“Jesus Christ.” I hear Damian’s exasperated whisper escape his lips and enter my skin like an annoying itch I can’t get rid of.

I turn to him, and as soon as he looks up, I light him up with a look that could incinerate him on the spot. He’s caught off guard, and I absolutely don’t care if he is worshipped by all women, even men, in the world. For me, he is an asshole and always will be.

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