21
PRIVATE PARTY
Eric stood outside the Trail Dust Honky-Tonk Saloon beneath the emblazoned marquee:
Happy New Year’s!
Closed for Private Party
Of course, the sign didn’t say just how private the party would be. Eric couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at the absurdity. Even before he got his record deal, he’d never played a live show for an audience quite this small. He’d be flying solo tonight without his usual crew. No backup singers. No hip-hop dancers. No elaborate concert pyrotechnics. Just a single pair of eyes staring back at him as he took the stage alone, with her therapist lurking somewhere in the shadows.
Eric rubbed his dampened palms against his jeans. It must be almost six by now. She should be pulling up any moment.
Maury had really outdone himself with the choice of venue tonight. Admittedly, it couldn’t have been easy to find an empty club on New Year’s Eve, but still… Was this really the best that Midland, Texas, had to offer? A dilapidated roadside club on an abandoned stretch of highway, miles from anything that could even pass for a downtown? Eric had seen a grand total of one big-rig truck pass by in the entire time he’d been standing out there. Otherwise, no sign of another living soul as far as the eye could see. Was that an actual tumbleweed rolling around in the parking lot?
He wrapped his arms around himself, wishing he’d worn something warmer than a thin leather motorcycle jacket. He’d expected mild weather. The temperatures had hovered in the midsixties since he rolled into Texas this morning, but he could feel a change in the air tonight. Must have been some late-December cold front blowing in. He could see the dark storm clouds gathering overhead.
Maybe it was a good thing that Maury had chosen this dump. Eric should consider it a stroke of luck. He usually had to contend with gate-crashers when he gave a private show. Somehow, the location always leaked, and the local fans showed up in droves. But not out here in the middle of Nowhereville.
Everything was going according to plan, Eric reassured himself. It was just a matter of a few more moments before the car would pull into the parking lot. The door would pop open…and he would finally catch a glimpse of the face he’d been waiting to see for months.
So why did he feel this urge to run away and hide?
It must have been the silence out there, playing on his nerves. It was getting downright eerie now that night was falling. Tessa should have been there by now. Something must have happened to delay her. Eric stuffed his hands into his pockets, straining to see down the empty span of highway that stretched out in both directions. He heard the faint rumble of an engine in the distance. He held his breath as he listened to the sound approach.
The vehicle came into view, and Eric scuffed the bottom of his shoe against the pavement. Not Tessa. Just a rundown-looking Greyhound bus, speeding down the highway in a cloud of dust…
Eric reached for his phone. Had he misunderstood the plan somehow? He pulled up Twitter and ran his eyes once again over the DMs from this morning.
Time Stamp 12/31/2016, 9:23 a.m.
Taylor: We’re still on for tonight, right?
Tessa H: I’ll be there. I’m starting to get excited now.
Taylor: Awesome. Excited to meet Eric?
Tessa H: More scared to meet Eric. Excited to meet you. Or maybe the other way around? I honestly don’t even know. This whole thing is surreal.
Taylor: Don’t be scared. It’ll be OK.
Tessa H: You don’t think it’ll be crowded, do you?
Taylor: What are you talking about? It’s a private show. Just you and me, and some douchebag up onstage, serenading us for our first dance.
Tessa H: But what if other fans find out and try to crash? It could be a total mob scene.
Taylor: Tessa, stop. You’re catastrophizing.
Tessa H: I know, but should we have some kind of signal so I can recognize you? Just in case?
Taylor: Whatever makes you feel safe. You want me to wear some hot-pink bunny slippers?
Tessa H: Perfect :P
Taylor: If only I knew someone who could lend me a pair…
Tessa H: I know. How about a hot-pink rabbit’s foot?
Taylor: Where am I supposed to get one of those?
Tessa H: They sell them at the service station. Exit 54. It’s just a couple miles down the road. Will you do that?
Taylor: Of course. Rabbit’s foot. Good idea. I’m gonna need all the luck I can get.
He’d dutifully picked up the rabbit’s foot on his way into town that afternoon. The pit stop had raised a few eyebrows, although not for the usual reasons. The men loitering around the service station barely gave him a second look once they caught sight of his car. The baby-blue Ferrari stuck out like a sore thumb among all the tractors and rusty pickup trucks. The mechanic behind the counter even had the nerve to offer him $50,000 cash, right there on the spot, to take the car off his hands. Eric couldn’t quite tell if the guy was kidding.
“Nice try,” Eric had laughed back nervously. He didn’t bother to say it, but they both knew his car was worth four or five times that much. The guy had merely shrugged in response and taken Eric’s $3.99 for the rabbit’s foot without another word.
Eric glanced down at the piece of pink fluff that dangled on a chain around his neck. The pop of neon color stood out starkly against the black leather of his jacket. How exactly would Tessa react when she laid eyes on it?
He had his opening line all planned out, complete with choreography. Maybe it would come across a little cheesy, but he didn’t want to wing it. This particular meet-and-greet was way too important to leave to chance. He rehearsed it one more time inside his head. He knew exactly what he would do. The moment she stepped out of the car, he’d saunter over and hold out the good luck charm for her to see.
“I’m looking for a girl named Tessa who’s really into rabbits’ feet,” he’d say. And then, before she could breathe a single word, he’d hit her with his most handsome, charming, lady-killer smile.
“Guess what,” he’d say. “I’m Eric Taylor Thorn. And today’s your lucky day.”
• • •
“Showtime.”
Tessa murmured the word aloud as her hand came to rest on the bedroom doorknob.
She couldn’t procrastinate any longer. Dr. Regan would arrive in a few minutes to pick her up, and Tessa intended to be ready. Nothing would stop her. No triggers. No flashbacks. No panic episodes. She wouldn’t bail out at the last minute. Not this time.
This was it. December 31. New Year’s Eve. The final day of what had to be the worst year of her life. Tonight she would shut the door on all the irrational fears that had held her prisoner for so long. She would leave her home and make the twenty-minute journey to the concert venue—even if it killed her.
Tessa gritted her teeth as she pulled the bedroom door open and made her way to the bathroom in the hall.
Eric one…Eric two…Eric three…
She’d kept her mind clear for most of the day by focusing on the superficial details. What shoes would she bring out of storage? Which purse would she carry? What clothes would she wear? She must have tried on every single item in her closet before she finally settled on the perfect outfit: dark-washed skinny jeans, paired with a sparkly V-neck top that skimmed her hips and revealed a hint of cleavage.
She took in her appearance in the bathroom mirror. Too much skin? She didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard, but she didn’t want to hide her assets either. Tonight, Taylor would lay eyes on her for the first time. She wanted him to like what he saw.
Tessa stared at her reflection, forcing a too-bright smile on her face. Happy. Excited. That’s how a normal person would be feeling. The boy she loved had come all the way to Texas just to meet her. Her heart should have been thudding with anticipation, not with fear.
Eric Thorn…Eric four…Eric five…
Forget the outfit, Tessa told herself. She was running out of time. The clock was ticking, and she still hadn’t done her hair and makeup. Her wavy, brown hair had grown out during the months of her self-imposed confinement. She normally kept it tied back in a braid, but she’d left it down tonight, a shimmery cascade that fell below her shoulders. Hopefully, Taylor wouldn’t notice the split ends.
Eric six…Eric sucks…Eric seven…
Then there was the question of makeup. She hadn’t worn a drop since the day she fled from New Orleans. Her old beauty supplies never made the trip back home, long since abandoned in her temporary dorm room. She would have to ransack her mother’s makeup stash. Tessa knelt down and sifted through the contents of the cabinet beneath the sink. Her eyes landed on a black leather satchel, and she quickly snapped it open, but it didn’t contain cosmetics. Looked like a spare set of medical supplies that her mother had brought home from work: needles, rubber tubing, antiseptic wipes…
Tessa pinched her lips together. Maybe she should have asked before her mother left for work. But that would have meant explaining why she needed makeup.
Tessa hadn’t breathed a word to her mom about the contest or the boy she was leaving the house to meet. Some guy she met on Twitter? A total stranger? She knew her mother would disapprove. It came as a stroke of luck, really, that Tessa had won a show on New Year’s Eve. Her mom was working another double shift. She’d left for the hospital a couple hours ago, and she wouldn’t be back until morning. Tessa would be home by then, safely tucked in bed, and her mother never had to know she’d left.
But first Tessa needed makeup. Her hands shook slightly as she pawed through the mess below the sink.
Eric eight…Eric nine…Eric ten…
Nervous jitters, she told herself, as she released the knot of tension with her breath. Anyone would feel some nerves on a night as big as tonight.
She still couldn’t quite believe that it was happening. It didn’t feel real—this whole scenario with the Twitter contest. More like the plot of some fanfic she might have written. What were the odds? A private Eric Thorn show, here in Midland, twenty minutes from her home. Things like that didn’t happen by chance. It had to be a sign. The universe was trying to tell her something. This meeting with Taylor was meant to be—the miracle she needed to get her life back on track.
“Aha!” She let out a cry of triumph as she pulled open a plastic grocery bag full of cheap cosmetics. She didn’t have time for anything elaborate, but she didn’t need too much. The complexion of her heart-shaped face was naturally smooth and unblemished, if a bit pale from lack of sunlight. Tessa mostly wanted to play up her hazel eyes, large and almond shaped, ringed with thick lashes. Mascara was a must. Maybe a smudge of eyeliner?
Now for the lips.
Tessa sifted through the crusty, old lipstick tubes, wrinkling her nose. She held up a dark red shade in front of her mouth, but she set it back down again unused. Too easy to smear. It was New Year’s Eve, and Tessa knew what that meant. Just the thought of it made her stomach do a flip-flop. Where would she be at midnight? Dancing in Taylor’s arms? And at the stroke of twelve, perhaps their lips would meet…
Her mouth curved in a secret smile, and this time it wasn’t forced. No lipstick, she decided. Just a coating of clear gloss. She probably didn’t need any blusher either, from the looks of the bright-pink color flooding her cheeks.
She slicked the gloss across her lips and puckered at her reflection.
Ready.
Tessa turned briskly toward the stairs. Her ride would be there any minute. No time to dwell on any lingering anxieties. She began the long journey down the corridor, even as the nervous fluttering in her belly gave way to something darker.
“Eric. Eric Thorn,” she whispered like a chant as she took a slow step forward. “See,” she told herself. “It’s all in your head.”
But it didn’t feel like her imagination. More like a physical sensation—an external force that grew more powerful by the second. Like she had a rubber band tied around her waist, growing tauter with every step she took. Soon the tension would become unbearable. The elastic would snap. And then what? Then she’d find herself flung back to the starting place, back inside her bedroom door.
Tessa lowered her head and plowed on. She had to keep going this time. Even if she fainted. Even if she had to roll herself down the stairs. Tonight was too important. She couldn’t give in to her phobias yet again. She wouldn’t.
She’d made it halfway down the stairs before she pulled up short. Tessa patted at the pocket of her jeans and realized it was empty. Her phone. She couldn’t leave without that. What if Taylor tried to message her? She had to go back for it and do the whole trip downstairs all over again. With a small cry of frustration, Tessa bounded back upstairs and grabbed the phone from where she’d left it by the sink. She was just about to slip it in her pocket when a notification lit the screen.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Taylor? Had he run into some delay? Was he backing out? Her stomach dropped, weighted down by an emotion she couldn’t quite name: disappointment mingled with relief.
But the message wasn’t even from Taylor. Instead, Tessa found herself staring at a DM from an account that she hadn’t interacted with in months.
MET: Hey, ur gonna send me pics from the show, right?
A wave of vertigo washed over her, and Tessa gripped the bathroom door to keep from falling. The show? The Eric Thorn show? What other show could MET possibly mean?
Tessa H: Huh?
MET: Private show in Midland!
MET knew she’d won the contest? She knew where Tessa lived? But how? Another new DM popped onto the screen.
MET: Are you gonna send me pics, or do I have to get them myself?
Tessa H: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
MET: Tessa, I know EVERYTHING ABOUT EVERYTHING in this fandom. Haven’t you figured that out by now?
Tessa thrust the phone into her pocket. Black spots danced before her eyes as she made her halting way to the bottom of the stairs. Her stomach rolled, and she pressed a clammy hand across her mouth. She’d spent the whole last week clinging to the idea that the concert would be private. No one else would be there, aside from the short list of people that mattered in her life:
Taylor.
Dr. Regan.
Eric Thorn.
No one else was supposed to know about it. Not even her mom. So how did MET know? How many other people had she told? What if Tessa found a whole mob of rabid fans lined up outside the club? What if security let them in, and Tessa ended up in some overcrowded room, packed shoulder to shoulder?
Strangers jostling…hands groping…cameras flashing…
“No!”
She couldn’t let that happen. She sent back another frantic DM.
Tessa H: No pictures. Guest list closed. Security SUPER tight. Don’t waste your time.
It was unreal to think how her feelings about MET had changed in a few short months. She’d felt downright honored when Eric’s most popular superfan first followed her account. Now Tessa wished the other girl had never noticed her. There was a line somewhere between fangirling and stalking, and MET had crossed it long ago.
But Tessa couldn’t let some stranger spoil this experience. She had to put it out of her mind. Relax. Focus on her breathing, in and out, just the way Dr. Regan had taught her…
Tessa heard the crunch of tires on the gravel road outside. She opened the front door and saw Dr. Regan’s silver SUV rolling up the driveway.
Time to go.
With one last deep breath for courage, Tessa stepped over the threshold and pulled the door closed in her wake.
• • •
Blair shuffled down the edge of the empty highway, staggering under the weight of the duffel bag. So much for traveling light. The damned thing must have weighed thirty pounds. How much farther was it?
Blair had asked to pull over in front of the club just now, but the surly Greyhound driver had refused. They’d finally rolled to a stop at an abandoned bus shelter, a quarter mile farther down the road. Now Blair needed to hustle if the plan was going to work. No time to stop and redistribute the bag’s unwieldy contents.
Why was it so heavy? Blair had only meant to pack a few supplies: a camera, a telephoto lens, a flashbulb… Somehow it had multiplied. One camera turned into three or four, but it couldn’t be helped. Every item was essential. The chance had come at long last—a second chance that most people never got. Blair couldn’t risk botching it again.
Not like the last time.
Blair couldn’t quite suppress the momentary flare of irritation at the thought. The memory still rankled—walking away with nothing but the photos to show for it. So many photos, and not one of them had been right. One image slightly out of focus. Another poorly lit. Even the ones that achieved technical perfection hadn’t proven satisfying. Something was missing from all of them: some essence of that inner human fire, so difficult to capture in a single frame.
Blair didn’t want to leave it to chance this time. The right equipment could make or break a shot. That meant a few different cameras. A folding tripod. A variety of filters and diffusers. Some rolls of cord and duct tape. And don’t forget a good, sharp knife…
The weight of the bag dug into Blair’s shoulder, but it would all be worth it. The club had come into view at last. Now all that remained were a few well-timed DMs. Some might say that was a step too far, but Blair couldn’t see a way around it. All’s fair in love and war, right? None of it would matter in the end. True love would prevail, and a few bumps and scrapes along the way would soon be mended.
The time had come to put all the careful planning into action. Blair broke into a gleeful smile at the thought. Tonight would mean redemption. After the months and months of waiting, things would finally be set right. Two lovers would stand face-to-face, just like the day they first met. Only this time, the eyes looking back wouldn’t be blinded by concert lights. This time, those beautiful eyes would see the truth.
But first, Blair needed to clear the field of any inconvenient distractions. This Twitter infatuation had gone on long enough. How had it even started in the first place? How could someone be so misguided? How could you have your soul mate staring you in the face and look away? Turn to someone else, someone so thoroughly undeserving, who could only cause you heartache in the end?
Blair had been over it a million times in the intervening months, and only one answer made any sense. It was a lot like taking a photo, really. Happened all the time, especially with less experienced photographers. Sometimes the subject looked directly at the flash and wound up blinking in the shot. That must have been what happened. A mistake that only lasted for an instant. Eventually, the eyes reopened and the vision cleared.
Tonight it would all be corrected. Blair would make sure of that.
And the other one? The interloper? A mistimed flashbulb. Nothing more. It was unfortunate, of course, but there wasn’t any choice. Tonight that light would have to be extinguished, once and for all.