Page 59 of Backstage

Twitter @JailbirdsTrueFan:

I didn’t think Damian had such bad taste. Why did he choose that slob?

Twitter @damianIsMyBae:

Are we going to send that bitch home? She can’t even hold a guitar in her hand, but she can open her legs without any problem!

What About Your Brain and Your Ears? Are They Connected?

Hi, Roadies!

Many of you asked me what I think about the Damian-Lilly story, and I decided to clarify once and for all my position. IT’S NONE OF MY BUSINESS! Yes, I wrote that all in caps, and I’m not sorry. In this blog, I’ve never written gossip of any kind; I’ve always talked about music, not about the private lives of the bands I follow. This will be the only post where I will talk about this topic because you are clogging me with private messages.

I keep saying that the Red Velvet Curtains are the best-emerging band out there right now, without a doubt. Lilly deserves to be on that stage with her whole band because they’re terrific musicians, with a musical maturity that you rarely meet in such young bands. So if you expect me to get on the bandwagon of those who say it’s all a farce, you’ll be disappointed because, for me, that place on stage is well deserved. The private life of their members is indeed private and should remain that way for everyone.

Be kind and Rock’n’Roll,

Iris

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In the beginning, when they announced the contest, I was in a bad mood because I didn’t want to participate; when we won, I was in a bad mood because I didn’t want to face fame. I never thought my mood would turn black again—after overcoming my worst fears—as a result of getting fooled by that asshole Damian.

What he said to me yesterday, the blame he laid on me, opened my eyes to what I really mean to him: nothing. What angers me the most is that I fell for it. He told me straight to my face that we’re just fucking. I even agreed that I was okay with it, ignoring my heart screaming at the top of its lungs that I just can’t do it, I can’t do sex without the feelings. That’s what pisses me off: that I was stupid.

“Will you come out for coffee with us?” Luke asks me.

Since yesterday afternoon Martin’s been apologizing about what happened, saying he didn’t want to get me in trouble, and I believe him. He didn’t do it on purpose but because Damian provoked him, and I can’t blame the guy. That doesn’t change the fact that the damage is done, and I thank God for my friends who are helping me filter the waves of hate coming from the social networks, where apparently the Jailbirds’ fans think I’m a prostitute. Someone even made a comic strip that shows me in skimpy clothes escaping down a street and Damian, getting treated by a loving nurse for the STD I gave him. Even I laughed at that damn comic because I have to say that, despite everything, even though it hurts like hell, it’s well-drawn. They got my boobs too big, but I guess they fit the stereotype.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” reassures Martin when he sees me peeking out the window of the bus.

I get up the courage to get off with my friends and approach the small shop entrance next to the cafeteria, surrounded by two angels that protect me: Martin on one side, Luke on the other, and Taylor leading the way. I look around to see if I can find the one person I absolutely don’t want to meet right now.

“He didn’t come down.” Thomas’ voice almost scares the hell out of me. When I turn around, I find him smiling at me with his mouth but not his eyes. I nod and look down as I keep walking, but he grips my elbow gently so that I turn around.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through. If it helps, we all have your back. We’re not gonna let you down right now...Damian too. He acted like an asshole, but I think realizes the shit he did.”

“It’s my fault. He always made it clear that he didn’t want anything else...and as for what they’re saying about me online, whatever, they’ll calm down,” I say with a smile that I hope doesn’t look too fake.

Thomas seems to weigh my words. “You do know there will be dozens of paparazzi waiting for us on the next few dates, right? This is news they’re going to celebrate,” he notes without sugar coating the news. I like this guy.

I shrug my shoulders. “What can I do? Lock myself on the bus? I’ll find a way not to be too noticeable,” I say with a grimace. I’ll stay out of the way, try not to be around too much, try not to do anything stupid. That’s the best I can do.

Thomas wraps his arm around me and smiles at me. “You’re a wise woman. Come and let me buy you coffee.”

“With all this fuss, I want a muffin too,” I sneer honestly.

Thomas bursts out laughing. “And you’re also someone who gets what she wants. I like you,” he says, dragging me into the little cafe.

*

“Max said there are more paparazzi and fans in front of the arena door. Let’s get inside quickly, okay? Let’s not stop and sign autographs like we usually do,” Thomas explains to us in the bus before grabbing the door handle and disappearing as swiftly as he arrived.

“Let’s let them go ahead and follow them at a distance. That way, we’ll share the attention,” Luke suggests, and we agree that might be a good idea.

I let Luke step out of the bus first, peeking out. “The parking lot is deserted. It’s closed off by a gate, apparently. But the entrance isn’t,” he explains.

I decide to follow them anyway, but my sweatshirt gets caught on the hook of the lock. It rips, leaving a slash of about four inches on the side. Too big to go unnoticed. “Fuck it,” I say through gritted teeth. “Go ahead, I’ll change and catch up to you.”

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