Page 3 of Not Another Rockstar
“I forgot my ID, but I can still prove who I am.” She scrolled through her Artgram profile and held up her phone to show the guards multiple pictures of her with her brother and Cillian.
“Anyone can doctor some photos. You can leave the premises, or you can go round to where the other ‘girlfriends’ are waiting to catch a glimpse.” The other guard, a bald giant, shook his head. She wanted to smack his condescending face, but her phone ringing startled her. Phoebe frowned, wondering why Anita was calling her.
“Phoebe? What are you doing arguing with security?” The echo of the concert came through the phone.
Phoebe glanced around at the fans gathered outside, but there was no sign of Anita. How did she know she was here?
“Can you help me? Security won’t let me in without a pass,” Phoebe pleaded quietly, as Security glared at her.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Anita said, and hung up. She wasn’t the type for small talk.
Minutes later, the staff door by the entrance swung open.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” Anita panted, clearly having rushed out. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you were coming?
“Told you so.” Phoebe winked at the stunned security guards. Though she felt bad for causing trouble.
“She doesn’t have an access pass,” the female guard informed Anita flatly.
“She’s family. She doesn’t need a pass.” Anita ushered her through the performers’ entrance without a second look at the guards.
“Hurry up! I haven’t got all night.” Anita marched ahead of her through the concrete maze beneath the stadium. The sound of the band was muffled by the thick concrete walls and long, echoing hallways.
“How’d you know I was here?” Phoebe asked, weaving her way past the staff.
“It’s my job to know,” Anita said, focusing on the next urgent matter on her phone.
Phoebe didn’t know how Anita could walk so fast in her towering heels. There was about ten years between them, and Phoebe often felt intimidated by B.O.A.’s manager’s presence. One wrong look from Anita’s dark eyes might turn anyone to stone. Then again, she had no choice but to be ruthless in the music industry.
“Some fans outside were live streaming your interaction with security on a fansite,” Anita eventually explained. “‘Cillian Hunt’s girlfriend banned from concert’ came up on my keyword alerts.”
The band saying their goodbyes came through the speakers, and the crowds’ cheering followed.
“I didn’t think anyone would notice me. Sorry for adding to the rumour mill.” Phoebe smiled in disbelief at the band’s success. She remembered when they used to perform at their school’s cringey talent shows; now they had millions of fans across the world.
Anita glanced at her over her shoulder. “How many women with short lilac hair and a nose piercing do you think are dating the lead singer?”
Phoebe imagined tomorrow’s headlines about their alleged breakup, and her trying desperately to get into the concert.
“Sorry,” was the only thing to say.
“Life would be dull without a fire or two to put out,” Anita quipped as she smoothed a hand over her slicked-back ponytail.
“So much for my surprise trip, the world already knows before Cillian,” Phoebe said. “Next time I’ll call ahead and spare everyone some trouble.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Anita’s pace didn’t ease up. “Between interviews and signings, I don’t have a minute to play ‘hunt down Phoebe’.”
She stopped as they reached a fork in the corridor; one way went on to the stadium stage, the other to the dressing rooms. Phoebe nearly crashed into her back; she wasn’t as graceful as Anita.
“Can you find your way to the guys? They should be off stage by now—and please remind them to be in the press room in thirty minutes. I’ve got to make a few calls to make sure the headlines aren’t about you and security outside instead of tonight’s concert.” Anita didn’t look up from her phone or wait for a response before she walked off towards a group of people waiting for her.
Passing doors marked ‘Maintenance’, ‘Security’ and ‘Equipment’, Phoebe dodged out of the way of a cardboard cut-out of August, the band’s bassist. She reached the dressing room doors with their taped-on signs showing the band members’ names: Cillian, Nick, August and Axel, the drummer, a late addition to the band after the original drummer had decided fame wasn’t for him.
She heard Nick’s laughter, the same as their dad’s, echoing down the hall. She thought about going to say hi, but stopped short at Cillian’s door. His post-show routine dictated that he went to his dressing room to decompress before heading to meet the press or fans, so she knew he’d be inside. Checking her lipstick in her phone camera, she tried to conceal her excitement. She took a deep breath, placed her hand on the doorknob and twisted.
“SURPRISE!”
Time stood still, and ice coursed through her veins. Her smiled disappeared as she tried to process what she was seeing.Scream, cry or throw up?Her body couldn’t quite make up its mind.
