Page 60 of Backstage

“Are you sure?” Luke asks me, puzzled.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I won’t be long.”

I don’t want them to feel compelled to protect me every single step of the way. It’s only a few yards; I can make a run for the door. I return to the bus and look for a new hoodie, cursing myself for not wanting to do laundry. Turning the drawer upside down without much success, the only clean thing I find is a red plaid flannel shirt. I don’t even remember packing it. I quickly take off my sweatshirt and put the flannel on. Since I’m here, I go to the bathroom to pee, and then I get off the bus, being careful with the hook and closing the door behind me.

When I get to the gate, I see what Thomas meant by “a bit of movement,” and I don’t like it at all. There must be at least a hundred people, including about twenty paparazzi. They are photographing the Jailbirds, who have not yet gone inside, and my band that has joined them in the meantime.

“What the hell are they waiting for?” I whisper, annoyed.

The noisy commotion is getting on my nerves; I can see that security is struggling to contain them, and I’m surprised there are no barriers to divide us. Maybe they weren’t expecting all this activity. I inhale deeply and reach for my hood, cursing myself when I remember I just changed, and then lower my head and try to be as inconspicuous as possible. I decide to walk slowly; after all, they’re all focused on the band so nobody is looking at me.

My discreet approach lasts exactly four steps before someone notices me and shouts at the top of their lungs. In a few seconds, they are all over me. In the pandemonium, someone pulls me, everyone pushes me, someone insults me. Mostly the paparazzi ask me to turn around so they can point their camera lenses in my face. But the fans are the worst; they’re all over me, tugging at my shirt, making me trip and, with so many people around, I lose my balance and fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Before I even have time to think about how to get up, I feel two firm hands grabbing my arms, pulling me up, holding onto me, and leading me undisturbed through the screaming crowds and the shooting cameras. I’m crouching in Damian’s arms, holding and shielding me from what’s happening around us. In a handful of seconds, I find myself in the silence of a corridor, barely standing, and groping for Luke to support me after what felt like a roller coaster ride. What the hell just happened?

Damian’s the last one in the room and slams the door hard. Dave, the head of security, is as tense as I’ve ever seen him before. “Why the fuck wasn’t anybody with her?” Damian yells. “And you, why the hell didn’t you come with the group? You wanted to make the diva entrance?” He’s out of his mind, mad as hell.

“And you’re an asshole,” yells Thomas like I’ve never heard him before. He’s at least as angry as Damian, but not with everyone, just his friend. “What the fuck were you thinking, running into the crowd and shoving those photographers? You wanna bring on a lawsuit?”

I didn’t realize in the commotion of the moment that Damian was shoving people.

“If she wasn’t alone, I wouldn’t have gotten in the way! But she wants to do it her own way, and I had to do it my own way,” Damian yells like a madman.

Simon approaches the two of them, worried they might get their hands on each other, but my anger is blinding me.

“Enough!” I shout loudly, banging a notebook that I find on the table in front of me. “Enough!” I scream, banging it again. “Enough!” I scream even louder for the third time. This time everybody is looking at me, shocked. I turn to Damian. “Stop blaming me when you’re the one who created this mess in the first place! Stop blaming me for everything. Stop getting pissed off at everyone but yourself. And you,” I turn to Thomas. “Stop throwing gasoline on the fire. After all, he didn’t do anything illegal. No judge is going to blame him for coming to save my ass.”

An exchange of glances I don’t understand between Thomas and Damian makes me shudder to the bone. All the anger turns to pure terror for a second, and then confusion. I don’t understand the look, only that it wasn’t good, which makes me think this conversation isn’t getting any better.

“Unless you’re hiding something from us,” I whisper. Damian’s downward glance and tense expression tells me I guessed right. “Either you tell us what, or I swear I’m leaving this tour. We need to be able to trust each other. I’ve told you all about me, you know my story, I demand the same honesty,” I whisper, making the threat seem much more severe than I intended.

“Yeah, I’m leaving too if you don’t talk.” Luke, to my surprise, has my back.

I’m so angry that, for a moment, I forgot how many people are in this room. The band in front of us glances at each other, worried, then Damian finally emits a resigned sigh. “If we’re gonna have this conversation, you’re gonna have to sign a confidentiality agreement. You, Dave, are a witness that they consented to the signing, okay?”

The man nods his head, a gesture that seems almost solemn in the silence of this room.

“We’ll sign the fucking agreement, but now speak,” I hiss through my teeth.

Damian looks me right in the eyes for a few seconds, and, for a moment, I see the fear in his. “Do you know what real jailbirds are?” he asks us seriously. “In slang terms, they’re people who are stupid enough to go to jail as soon as they get out. People who are always in jail, who can’t do anything else with their lives.”

A vice grips my stomach, especially seeing the shameful faces of Thomas, Simon, and Michael. Right now, I want to tell Damian to stop. I’ve heard all I need to know: I’m not going to like this story.

“We chose it because that’s what we heard every day from the guards at the juvenile detention facility where we were locked up,” Damian adds, looking straight into my eyes with a painful expression that makes my heart ache. Now I understand the fear in his eyes before he says it.

“Holy shit,” whispers Taylor with his mouth wide open like Luke and Martin.

“Yeah. The band was formed because we were part of an at-risk child recovery program. We didn’t go to jail for anything too serious. They gave us a chance to get out so we grabbed it as soon as we could and escaped the shit we were in. We all met in there.”

Getting to know them these past few months, the kindness they showed us, the respect they gave, the generosity with which they welcomed us, and the help they offered, it seems almost impossible that they could have done anything to end up in prison.

“What do you mean by not so serious?” questions Martin, hesitant, and the Jailbirds smile.

“I can’t speak for the others,” Damian says, “but I can tell you that when I was eight years old, I was in my uncle’s care, not exactly a decent person. At twelve I was already stealing cars. At fifteen, I stole an SUV from a woman who was loading her shopping bags into the trunk of the supermarket parking lot. I didn’t realize that there was a baby seat in the back seat until a couple of miles later. When he started crying, I panicked, and not knowing what to do, I left him in front of the first hospital I found. Nothing happened to the baby, but they grabbed me and put me in jail. The aggravating circumstance was pretty serious.”

My head is spinning. Too much information that I can’t process, never mind understand. “How the hell have you kept it a secret all these years? You’re the most famous band on the planet!” I ask.

“You get a lot by paying big money and circulating false rumors, quite believable stories, stories that people love to hear. In short, we throw women, parties, and scandals in front of the prying eyes, and hope they don’t look any further,” confesses Thomas with a shy smile.

---