Lucky Girl (Dear Rockstar #2)

Lucky Girl (Dear Rockstar #2) Page 25

The boys were on their feet, whooping and hollering. Dale jumped up onto the coffee table and did a dive onto the other couch, flopping on it like a fish. Terry and Rick high-fived and danced around in the midst of the empty soda cans, making a huge racket.

“How many is that?” I asked—yelled, really. I couldn’t hear over the noise.

Chelsea came closer, grinning. “Ask him again.”

“How many is that?” I yelled into the receiver.

“Platinum is a million!” Greg’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Double platinum is two million.”

It was a good thing I was still sitting down. I think I would have fallen down if I hadn’t been. Dale jumped from his sofa to my sofa and then pounced on me like a cat. I laughed and he kissed me all over my face and then, just for good measure, licked me too, right up the side of my cheek.

“Ewww!” I wiped my cheek with the end of my t-shirt—I always wore Black Diamond t-shirts on concert days, and it was a double bonus, because I was also advertising my own art work at the same time.

“Shamu kiss!” Dale called, doing it again, this time on the other cheek.

Chelsea was laughing, sandwiched between Terry and Rick jumping up and down and trying to kiss her, holding out the phone.

“Dale!” she called. “He wants to talk to you!”

Dale grabbed the phone, turning it off speaker and flopping down on the other couch, on his back.

“Hey Greg, my main man, my favorite man in the whole damned world, whattya say?”

I smiled, turning around to look at Bear and Pixie, still involved in their chess game.

“Hey, didn’t you hear?” I called over.

“I heard.” Bear moved his knight, glancing up at me. “Awesome.”

I laughed, shaking my head. Dale always said, “Drummers are weird.”

“We need beer!” Terry told Chelsea. “Lots of it.”

“And champagne!” called Pixie.

“Your wish is my command!” Chelsea laughed, going over to the couch and holding out her hand. “My phone, rock star, I need my phone.”

Dale sat up, handing it over. His mood had shifted completely but no one else noticed except me.

“What is it?” I went over to him on the couch.

“Tell you later.” He shook his head, watching the rest of the band laughing, celebrating. Bear had finally come over to join in, having captured Pixie’s queen. Something was wrong—Dale smiled and joined them. He even popped the top on the champagne and proceeded to pour the foam all over Bear’s head—which, of course, necessitated a wardrobe change for my most difficult to dress band member! Dale looked fine on the surface—but I just knew something wasn’t right.

I tried to get him alone before the show, but it was impossible. Word spread like wildfire and all five of the members of Dark Wing came over to congratulate us and talk about their first album—back in 1972—to earn platinum status. By the time all the hugs and congratulations were over, it was time for the opening act to go onstage. I kissed Dale for luck—he grabbed me and hugged me close at the last minute.

“Are you okay?” I asked, searching his eyes. He smiled and nodded but I knew better.

I didn’t want to miss any of their act, but I wanted to find Chelsea and ask if we could arrange some sort of celebration for after the show on short notice. Dale was upset about something Greg had said—but whatever it was couldn’t possibly kill the joy of hitting platinum—and double platinum!

I saw one of the crew—I couldn’t remember his name although I was racking my brain—and stopped to ask if he’d seen Chelsea, but he gave me a message first.

“Hey, Carl was looking for you.”

I frowned. Carl was Chelsea’s second in command.

“Do you know where he went?” I asked.

“Supply room.” He pointed to a door across the hall.

I went over and knocked gently, waiting for an answer. I didn’t get one, so I cautiously opened the door. There were shelves inside loaded with all sorts of paper products from cups and plates to toilet paper for the bathrooms.

“Carl?” I called.

He came around the corner so fast he scared me. He didn’t see me at first. He was mumbling to himself.

“Out of—” He stopped at the door and looked at me, blinking. “Sara! I have a message for you.”

“You do?”

He dug into his jeans pocket, bringing out a piece of paper.

“Here.” He slid by me and started heading down the hall.

I looked at the slip of paper. It was from a pink message pad with a space for To and From, Time, Date and all that, but someone had ignored the boxes and had written, “Sara—your dad is waiting for you in the square.”

Ben.

He was the only one I hadn’t called. But of course he knew we were in town. I remembered the way Chelsea had looked at me every time I told her to refuse a phone call from him. Had she given the note to Carl? I wasn’t sure, but I thought it might be her handwriting. I looked up to ask, but Carl was long gone.

I knew Chelsea wouldn’t let anyone into the square that she didn’t know. She’d been briefed—Dale had made it very clear who we would and would not see. Of course, Ben was on that list. But she’d decided, because she didn’t like my choice to ignore him, to let him in? When I found her, I was going to kill her.

Damnit. I heard Black Diamond going into their second song—Bonnie and Clyde—I could just pretend I hadn’t gotten the message. But I had a feeling, if I didn’t meet him, he’d coming looking for me anyway. And I didn’t want to make a big scene in front of everyone, especially not tonight. I’d go meet him privately, listen to what he had to say, and escort him out to security before Dale ever even knew he was here.

I started down the hallway, headed toward the back of the stadium. The tour busses were parked way in back. The halls were a maze. I kept an eye out for Chelsea but I only saw crew members—identified by the crew silkscreened across the back of their shirts. I got turned around three times and had to ask the crew which way toward the back door. There was more than one, of course, in an amphitheater this big, but I just needed one of them.

I felt like Alice lost in the Queen of Hearts’ hedges. I was finally ready to give up—Black Diamond was likely done with their set by now!—when I turned the corner and found the door. Actually, I found the loading area where big trucks made their deliveries. Those doors were huge, like giant garage doors, and it just reinforced the Alice theme running in my head. Had I shrunk? But no, there was a nice human-sized door on my left and I pushed it open, triumphant.

Spending all day inside made my eyes reluctant to adjust to outside light. It was dusk, a rosy hue on the horizon over the trees. The parking lot was half-filled with cars. This was where the amphitheater staff parked—the ticket takers and concession workers and janitors. Our tour busses were at the very back. I had to walk all away across the lot.

It gave me time to think of what to say. I found myself walking slower and slower as I neared the parked busses. The sun was really almost gone now and I hadn’t brought a flashlight. Well, I’d just take Ben onto the bus and we would talk there. The keys were in the visor—no one could get back here to steal them, and if they did, how in the world could they get out with one?

I ran my hand along the side of our bus as I came up to the passageway into the square on my left. I made the turn, taking the narrow way through, remembering with a smile how Dale had carried me out and had his way with me. And vice versa. Platinum. Double platinum! I was still so excited I could hardly contain it. I couldn’t wait until after the show so we could really celebrate.

Maybe I would even let Ben stay. Time had softened my heart a little. Not much, but a little bit. I had so many questions, but I was afraid of the answers. And worse—I was afraid of the lies. Could I trust anything he said? I was doubtful.

I blinked in the low light, looking for someone, anyone. The bus lights were dark. There was no one here, of course. The band was on stage and the crew was too.

“Sara.”

I froze. The voice came from my left and I knew it instantly. I turned and ran. If I hadn’t put my hair up that morning—I was too tired and it was too late in the day to fix it up by the time Dale and I were done in the shower—if I hadn’t had a nice, neat little handle on the back of my goddamned head, I would have been free.

“Where do you think you’re going, little girl?”

I screamed. The stepbeast had me by my hair, pulling me back, dragging me back, because I was clinging to the front of the bus, looking for hand holds. I had my fingers hooked into one of the recesses for the lights for a moment before he yanked me free and I stumbled back into the square.

The first blow hit me like a memory. I don’t think I even felt it, but I tasted blood. I just knew I had to scream and kick and fight for my life to get out of his grip. I didn’t have time and I knew it. If he got me down, I knew I’d never get up again. I screamed for help, I screamed for Dale, I screamed and lashed out with every limb, gouging his skin with my nails every time I came in contact with it. In the end, he was just too strong. He overpowered me, forcing me to the asphalt.

I had absorbed most of the fall with my hip and I struggled to stay on my back instead of letting him roll me to my stomach. His full weight was on me and he panted with the effort, grabbing my arms by the wrists and pinning them over my head. His face hovered over mine in the dark. I smelled his fetid breath, cigarettes and beer and a wasted life.

“Listen here, bitch.” He spat the last word, spraying spittle on my cheek. “We’re gonna have a little fun before we say goodbye. We can do this easy or we can do it hard. It’s up to you.”

How old had I been the first time? I was still a virgin, certainly. I remember that much, having to throw away the bloody sheets I couldn’t get clean. I washed and washed and washed them like Lady Macbeth, but the blood never did come out and my mother complained about my missing sheets for a month.

We can do this easy or we can do it hard. It’s up to you.

When I finally, tearfully confessed to Dr. Jarvis—it was probably six months or more before I admitted the truth—it was my fault, really. He had given me the choice and I had chosen the easy path. Two roads diverged and I let my stepfather rape me. Dr. Jarvis didn’t placate me. He didn’t tell me it wasn’t my fault. He asked me a question.

What do you think your stepfather would have done if you’d put up a fight?

And I sat with the question a long time.

He would have raped me anyway.

But wasn’t it still at least, a little, partially my fault?

If I had fought, if I had screamed, if I had run away…

And then Dr. Jarvis had said something that changed my life.

Let’s take emotion out of it for a moment. Let’s say we’re doing an experiment. I want to cut the tail off a mouse. Yes, I know, it’s horrible to think about. But this is our experiment. This is our goal. Our aim. Our objective is to cut the tail off this mouse. What can the mouse do to stop it?