Page 15 of The Librarian and the Rock Star

“Yeah, we’re playing at Kuedler Hall tomorrow night. They just told us it’s sold out.”

I looked up at him, stifling a gasp. “Holy shit. That place is huge.” He shrugged. I found myself feeling embarrassed and awkward. “Um, I’m sorry I didn’t realize how big your band is. Normally I look things up before I go out, but today Sherrie called me and ordered me to come out, and I didn’t bother researching first.”

He threw his head back, howling with laughter. “You really do research everything, don’t you?” Now it was my turn to shrug.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “We are getting pretty big I guess. Not as big as some people say we should be, but whatever.”

“Do you get nervous about shows that big?”

“No, not at all. It’s only the interviews before and after that freak me out.”

I laughed. “There is no way I could ever get on a stage.”

“Why not?”

I shuddered at the thought. “I need to be behind the scenes. If people are looking at me I freeze up. I’m not meant to be the center of attention. It’s the most revolting sensation in the world.”

Jack nodded. “I get that. Your response is a lot more logical than mine.”

“Which is?”

He thought for a moment. “I feed off the energy, I think. The adrenaline and the expectation. Being on stage is the only place I feel like everything is right and I know what I’m doing.”

“What about meeting the fans and taking photos with everyone? Do you enjoy that?”

He smiled, delighted. “I love that part. When people are so excited to take a photo with you that they’re barely holding themselves together? That’s the biggest thrill in the world.” He turned serious for a second. “That’s one of the reasons I can’t believe that so many musicians do drugs. If you were high, you’d miss all of those little details. A few nights ago a couple told me that our song ‘Royal Blue Dishes’ was the first dance at their wedding. Like, damn – my heart nearly exploded.”

“That’s absolutely adorable,” I agreed.

“That’s one of the reasons I take so many notes,” Jack said. “At the end of each day I write everything in a journal so that someday I can look back at all of the magical, weird little things I’ve done and heard and the stories people have told me.”

“You should write a blog.”

Jack chuckled. “You should talk to Kelly, our PR gal. She keeps saying that we should blog, but the other guys don’t want to, and I don’t know. It feels like an invasion of privacy or something.”

“It’s not a diary where you have to vent everything,” I said. “You could pick a couple of stories or interesting things that happened each week, and just post that. You could also let fans in on some of the backstage and tour bus stuff, but just a few items that are in keeping with the brand of your band.”

He shook his head sadly. “Why does everybody tell us we have to be a brand?”

I nodded. “I know, it seems like it takes some of the purity out of the art. Like someone who produces a collection of paintings, then has to write an artist statement about what they mean. Sometimes the meaning is just ‘I like blue, it’s pretty, and I had a lot of it.’”

Jack laughed. “Exactly. Sometimes the meaning of the song is so abstract that I couldn’t even begin to explain it. And if I try to explain it, everything gets lost and mistranslated and now it seems stupid.”

“Then don’t even try. Just tell a few stories that convey the energy and attitude of your band. Nobody has to know about laundry day, or when the tour bus gets a flat tire. Just the fun stories like meeting other rock stars, or the best sandwich you’ve ever had backstage.”

Jack laughed loudly. Then he laughed even more. “You know, Keira, I haven’t laughed this much in one night in a really long time.”

I stopped walking and turned to him. “This is my building.”

He glanced at the little beige six-plex, then pinned my eyes with his. “I really like you. I’m not the type to play games, or have a hidden agenda, or whatever. I want to spend as much time with you as I can while I’m in Toronto. Will you come to my show tomorrow night?”

My heart was hammering. He wanted to see me again. This couldn’t be real. “Didn’t you say it was sold out?”

He rolled his eyes, then reached into his jacket that I was wearing. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. “What’s your email?” He entered it quickly as I told him, showing me the screen for confirmation. “You’ll get two tickets sent from Kelly midday tomorrow.” Jack suddenly looked a little shy. “Can I get your number? Maybe you could come early and we could hang out before the show. Or after. Or both.”

“Of course,” I said. I saw no reason to play hard to get when I was this smitten. Taking his phone, my fingers flew across the screen as I made a new contact, and entered my number.

He took it back, smiling. “Ah. Keira Avidan.” Then he texted me immediately.

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