Page 62 of Lies and Lullabies
After a quick walk through the back of the outdoor venue and into a cordoned-off area, Ethan opened the door to a shiny sedan. There was a car seat set up for Vivi, and Adam poured her into it and clipped the harness.
“Jonas wanted me to tell you he’ll be a half hour or so behind you,” Ethan said as I slipped into the back beside my daughter. “He has a few hands to shake before he can get away.”
“I’m sure he has plenty to do,” I said. In fact, I should probably just head home. Except I’d left my overnight bag in Jonas’s hotel room.Nice job, subconscious. “Are you getting in?” I asked my brother.
Adam raked a hand through his hair. “Well… I think I’m going to stop by the afterparty for a little while.”
I could only blink up at him in surprise. “Oh! Sure. You should totally do that.” Who knew my nerdy lawyer brother would want to drink with a bunch of rock stars?
He blew me a kiss. “Goodnight.” The door closed, and a few seconds later, the car headed for the hotel.
Fifteen
Jonas
After the show, I was cornered by a beefy Boston radio DJ who wanted to talk about “Sweetness.” We were standing outdoors under the awning at the rear of the band shell.
“It’s like poetry, but with a poppy backbeat,” the DJ gushed, swigging a beer. “And the bridge is just seminal.”
“Thanks, man!” I kept my smile pasted on, but my eyes drifted to where Ethan stood. That man needed to get the hell over here and rescue me from this fuckwad.
“This one’s gonna go big,” the DJ said, sweating through his Hawaiian shirt.
“I sure hope so,” I returned, trying to sound modest. Trying to sound even half civil.
I wondered if Kira had made it back to the hotel suite yet. And—more importantly—what the hell she was thinking. I’d just spent the last two hours seeing my life with fresh eyes. Now I was dying to know how put off Kira was by the onstage strutting and the screaming hordes.
The music didn’t embarrass me. The music was good. At least, it was as good as I could make it. The songs I wrote always sounded better in my head than they did in the recording studio. But I could live with that. Creative frustration came with the territory.
The circus of a concert, though, that was something else. I’d forgotten about the underwear throwing, for starters. It’s not like I had a collection at home.
Whatdidhappen to all those flying thongs, anyway? The stadium must have a dumpster out back just for women’s panties.
And then there was the line of hardcore fans outside the ropes. Security men were planted in a row, like shrubberies, one man every three or four feet, just to make sure the fans didn’t storm the place. Some of them would be teenage boys who’d spent all their free hours learning guitar riffs in their bedrooms. I’d been one of those, once, too. I could almost understand waiting like penned cattle for a glimpse of a favorite player and for the slim chance of a hand-shake or an autograph.
But quite a few of those fans were drawn to fame for fame’s sake. Some people wanted a taste of us just because other people wanted a taste of us. We were desired simply because we were desired.
God, it made my head spin. And when I imagined explaining it to Kira, I didn’t even know where to start.
What sane woman would want a guy that dealt with all this craziness? She’d probably rather be with a guy who came home every night at six, and whose coworkers weren’t drunk or stoned half the time. And who didn’t have to make a lot of small talk with radio DJs. The guy in front of me wasstilltalking.
“Jonas,” Ethan’s voice rumbled over my shoulder.Finally. “You have that conference call with your Chinese record label in three minutes,” he said.
“Dude, you’re right,” I said, reaching out to shake the DJ’s hand one more time. Ethan and I used this same fake excuse at least three nights a week. “Duty calls,” I lied, begging off.
“Great show, man. Great show,” the DJ said before walking off.
I felt suddenly weary. I let Ethan lead me over to a bank of lockers, where the big man extracted my wallet and phone from one of them, handing them over. “Here you go, Jojo. The car is ready to take you to the hotel.”
And to Kira. “Can I get a beer?” I heard myself ask.
Ethan had a Sam Adams in his hand. He offered it to me.
“What, I don’t get my own? Just a sip from Mom’s bottle?”
“I thought you were leaving. There’s plenty of beer in your hotel room. I checked.”
“Maybe I should stay,” I wondered aloud. “I could keep an eye on Nixon.”
