Page 107 of My Rock Star Neighbor
“Can I get a photo?”asks one.
“Can I get your autograph?”asks another as she hands me the poster to sign.Seriously.
“I’m not going to sign that.”I sign postcards about our last single that I keep in my pocket and hand those out.The crowd presses against me.My breathing quickens.I’m suddenly light-headed.I should have brought security.But I picture Maddie’s face and her huge bag—which she hasn’t been carrying lately.Is she reading the comments?Did she see the remark about her bag?
I talk to more fans, making the same argument over and over—please let me date Maddie.Gradually, most disperse.I don’t recognize any of these fans as the ones who have followed me for years at bars and clubs around New York City, which makes me feel a lot better about my first fans.I haven’t seen the Cara-wannabe woman yet, and I don’t want to.
Some “fans” are not going to budge.“You lied to us.You took us for fools.We knew she wasn’t your type.”
“But she is my type,” I say.“She’s my girlfriend.”
“How can we believe anything you say now?And she’s supposed to be a reporter who tells the truth?Give me a break.”
Amira texts that YouTube woman put up another video about the protest, and it’s clearly from this morning, given the light.
Heavy drops land on my shoulder.The sky darkens, and the rain pours down.The remaining protestors try to use their soggy signs to shield themselves from the elements.And that finally cools their outrage.The last ones leave.I wait for Maddie, texting her that I’m in the coffee shop nearby and that the protestors are gone.
It’s getting colder, the raindrops turning to soft flurries.
And there she is.
But it’s not the happy Maddie I hoped to see.Her shoulders curve as she sticks her hands deep in her pockets.It’s a very different Maddie from the one I dropped off this morning, who was so excited about her first-page story.
And no big bag.
When did her big bag disappear?Was it after that troll comment?
She pushes open the door to the café.The chime above the door tinkles.And I see the moment she plasters a smile on her face to greet me.
A chill runs through me.
This is the first time I’ve felt like we’re fake dating.
I cross the room to her and envelop her in a big hug, burying my face in her neck.I don’t want to see that charade of a Maddie smile.“I’m so sorry.I’m sorry I ruined your big day with my fans.”
She hugs me back, and it feels like she’s clinging to me for comfort.
I lead her to a small table at the window.The snow is starting to stick now, blanketing the cars and the lampposts, making everything look clean and bright, including my outlook.I’m sure our love can transform this contract into a positive story.
She unwraps her scarf and takes off her coat but then shivers and pulls her coat back on.It’s cold by the window.
“What can I get you to drink?”I ask.
She tilts her head at the window.“Looks like a hot chocolate kind of day.”
There’s my Maddie.She’s not down and out.
I place my order for two hot chocolates at the counter.A display cabinet with enticing chocolate muffins beckons, but Maddie doesn’t look like she has much of an appetite.As I return to the table with the mugs, Maddie is staring out the window, a pensive look on her face.I hand her one.
“What happened today?”I ask.
“I was called into the managing editor’s office, and it wasn’t because of my article.”Maddie gives me a weak smile.“But I would have been fired if I hadn’t uncovered corruption in the Infrastructure Department, so that was good.”
“You would have been fired?”
This is so much worse than I imagined.I knew I shouldn’t date.Dating a musician is not easy.
“It’s still up in the air whether they will keep a ‘report-liar’ on staff.”She has both her hands circled around the mug as if drawing warmth from it.“What about your label?Do they still want you to break up with me?”
