Page 5 of Hiding in the Limelight
For years I’ve watched Mae go through the same cycle of submission. Letting sadness replace my anger, I turn on mycomputer and bury myself in my work. The more work I do for Mae, the easier it will be for her to leave Trenton when the time comes. Will that time ever really come? Maybe. Maybe not. All I can do is try to get her to a place where her name doesn’t need to be attached to his to be as successful as she is right now. But isn’t she already at that point? Everyone sees it but her.
Letting out an uncontrolled breath, I begin scrolling through a few emails. I confirm with a venue about tomorrow night’s show and then relay the information to Trenton’s agent. When he responds with a “k,” I want to throw a punch. I’ve been working on the details for months and that’s all he can give me.
I run my fingers through my hair and get frustrated when they catch on the knotted ends. Pulling them angrily through, I return my gaze to my inbox and see at least a dozen news inquiries. Knowing I can’t make it through any more of them, my attention turns to my phone. I dial my dad’s number and wait for his reassuring voice to stimulate my overworked brain.
Unfortunately for me, my dad doesn’t answer so I bury my head in my hands instead. I can’t even rely on a short missed call message because he doesn’t believe in voicemail. Knowing I need my headache to go away if I stand any chance of making it through the rest of the day, my fingers move to my temples. Rubbing gently eases the pain but only until my phone comes to life with vibrations signaling an incoming call.
I feel a smile ignite as I reach for it. It quickly dissipates when I see the caller ID. Immediately drained, I click it off and then toss it into the drawer beside me. I simply do not have the energy for the past right now. I hardly have the energy to deal with the present.
***
It’s nearing midnight when I finally get to leave for my apartment. After an unproblematic solo recording session between Mae and her producer this afternoon, she left for Trenton’s house and I returned to my office to make a few phone calls and to ultimately avoid going home.
I’ve contemplated just spending the night in my office before. It’s just as lonely as home but safer than walking the five blocks alone. Tonight is no different, but the need for a warm shower wins out so I pack up my things and head downstairs to the lobby.
Taking a deep breath, I step out onto the plaza and break into a brisk walk down the street. It’s a weekday in the dead of summer but Nashville never sleeps so plenty of people are still milling around, either making their way back from Broadway or just getting their night started. I scoff at my own memories of when life was like that for me. How naive and untainted I was back then, to be able to smile at a passing bachelorette party or sing along with a street performer just trying to have their 15 seconds of fame. Now I cringe at those groups of women celebrating marriage in envy and walk straight past the guitar player on the corner. There’s no room for anything outside of the tall skyscraper behind me.
A buzzing in my pocket alerts me to my phone. I’ve tried to ignore it to the best of my ability but this vibration pattern is familiar. A sense of calm washes over me when I see that my dad is the one calling. Smiling, I pick up and his voice instantly soothes my nerves of walking home alone.
Chapter 4
Dalton
TYPICALLY THE HOURS before a concert can go one of two ways; either everything goes wrong and everyone’s ready to strangle each other by the end of the night or everything goes off without a hitch. Tonight’s been perfect, and that scares me to death.
The usual uneasiness that accompanies me when I work a Trenton and Mae show has been replaced with a strange energy that I can’t quite put a finger on. They’ve been warming up in the same dressing room, and there hasn’t been one raised voice since the guitars started strumming.
Mae’s bandmates roam from their shared greenroom down the hall toward the stage. The typical schedule is for them to open for Trenton and then head backstage until the very end of the show where they all come out together to share the final song. When they’re getting along, Mae typically stays on stage for most of the night, whether she’s supplying backing vocals orguitar, she just yearns for the stage. There’s no other time where I see her as happy as I do when she’s singing the opening song of a set.
“The floodgates are opening,” Mitch says in passing. Sure enough, as he passes the information to other stage members, the roar of rushing feet meets us. We’re at the iconic Rivian, an ancient building in the heart of Nashville. Known for its incredible acoustics and intimate setting, no matter how easy the stars are to handle tonight, the crowd is a whole other story.
The show is still a good hour or so away, but the steady thrum of a crowd in eager conversation flows easily through the open air walkways of backstage. Thinking it’ll be alright for me to sneak around to the front and take a look at those in the front few rows, I take a step away from the wall, but a tall redhead rounds the corner and leads a group of officials toward me.
Stepping back to my post against the cool cinder block wall, I cross my arms as if I never intended on leaving. Raleigh pays me no mind as she knocks on the door. Mae answers with a bright smile and throws the door open wide. Her hair and makeup crew goes inside. I hear Trenton laugh and then the door closes again.
Raleigh is across from me typing away on her phone. The light illuminates her face, accentuating the curve of her nose and emerald green eyes carrying an energy that sets me back. I watch those same alluring eyes flick up to me, and I clear my throat and avert my attention. She laughs, a much lighter chuckle than I expected to come from such a tall and strong woman.
She stays focused on her screen, not paying any more mind to me. I clear my throat again and let my gaze meander down the hallway toward the stage. Suddenly, the crowd outside is all too quiet and the tap of Raleigh’s fingers against her screen is all I can hear. It threatens to capture my attention yet again. I’m seconds away from looking back at her, eager to start a conversation, when I’m saved by a call from the other side of thedoor. Raleigh’s phone immediately drops into her pocket as the door flies open.
Mae appears with a hairbrush in the middle of doing… anything but brushing. She squints her eyes and looks between us unsure, but Raleigh is already pushing by without a second glance my way. The closing of the door muffles the conversation, but I catch something about a torn skirt.
***
In between Mae’s opening set and Trenton’s headlining moment, I make my way down into the pit, intending on staking my claim between the barrier and stage. My team is taking over from the venue’s security, or rather, shuffling into the fold with them. It’s standard practice sure, but these lackeys did nothing other than stare up and oggle at Mae the entirety of her seven song set. Thank God nobody tried to jump a barrier or that no one passed out in the crowd. There wouldn’t have been anyone on the floor to handle the situation. I swallow thinking about what a disaster it could’ve been.
I recognize that observing and working through the what ifs is what makes me good at my job, but it doesn’t ease any sort of the anxiety it gives me when my thoughts go off the path in front of me. Running through the protocols of being a guard in the pit, I finally let the thoughts ease as I take my place next to Mitch. The crowd level is slowly rising from a lull but I can tell what Mitch is about to mention before he opens his mouth and confirms it.
“Mae should really invest in a crew of her own,” Mitch says, stepping up beside me. “Did you see how those two at the front were staring at her? Might as well have been peering up her skirt.”
I shift uncomfortably. “Yeah, it was making me nervous,” I confirm. “Should we bring it up to the boss?”
Mitch shifts his gaze from me when he answers, “I don’t necessarily want to give Trenton any more power over her than necessary.”
His answer takes me aback; I thought he was doing better. After he apologized to me the other day, I haven’t felt nearly as on edge about his actions as I have in the past. Of course, we all feel a certain sense of protectiveness over Mae, but Trenton pays our salaries. “I understand your hesitation.” That's all I can say without making him uncomfortable.
As the lights lower and the screaming becomes deafening, Mitch engages by putting his ear piece in and moving toward stage left. Unfortunately, the what-ifs have regained ground in my head, and this time, I don’t believe there’s a way to push them away.
Images of disasters cross my mind, some paint a scene where I let a crowd member get past me and something happens on stage, others are of the people at the front getting crushed up against the barrier or passing out from the heat. I swallow and shake the visions from my head. Trenton’s show is starting, and I need to be on top of things.
