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An older man in a distinct suit comes to the door. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Brody Garrison, bodyguard for tonight’s talent,” I offer my hand, and he takes a hold of it, firm. “I believe we talked on the phone about the security detail.”
“Oh, yes.” He nods, a hand on his chin. “It’s all in place. Everybody goes through a metal detector and a pat down. The guests are already arriving. Do you want to see?”
“Sure,” I nod my head once.
He takes me to the space where the show is going to happen, and just as he said, everyone getting in is being properly inspected.
“Will you need security standing during the show?” The head of security asks.
“That would be great,” I say, pleased with what I see. “I’ll get back to Lily, and let you get back to work.”
We exchange silent nods and go our separate ways. When I get back to the dressing room, the stylist is gone, and only Sandra and Lily remain. Sandra is on the phone, and Lily is strumming her guitar.
“How long until the show?” I ask Lily.
But Sandra replies, “Ten minutes,” and gets back to her call.
“Nervous?” I ask again, if only to make conversation.
“A little,” she says. “I don’t normally get nervous anymore but knowing that awful guy is out there gives me chills.”
I tuck my hands behind my back and move my head up and down slowly. “I don’t blame you. But as I’ve told you before, I’m here to protect you.”
“And I wonder why you’re still here,” Lily says, straightening up and looking me in the eye. “You can hire anyone to be in your place, and you don’t.”
I mull on the answer. By now, I’m not even sure anymore why I am doing it myself. I’ve managed to get friends to work on her case and relieve me a few times a week, so why do I still want to be there all the time?
“Like I also told you before, it’s a favor to Sandra.” I say, careful not to let it slip that it is a half-truth.
“Sandra what?” My sister says, hanging up the phone.
“Is a gorgeous lady,” I say mockingly.
“Thank you, thank you!” She replies with more insincerity. “Let’s go?”
“Let’s!” Lily grabs her guitar and stands up.
I give them space to leave through the door and follow behind. They move quickly, but not as quick as I’d like them to. But still, in no time we are at the edge of the stage.
There’s no announcer. Lily goes out, takes a bow to the sound of applause, plugs in her guitar and sits on the stool meticulously placed in front of the microphone.
“Good evening.” She says it with a sweet voice and a big smile. I watch from backstage, completely infatuated. “Tonight is a very special night, and I want to share a very special song. It’s brand new!”
Cheers echo in the air.
“It’s calledTalk to me.”
I pay attention as she asked me to. I was never big on poetry, but if I’m not mistaken, she’s speaking of the night we had together, that first moment alone we had. In addition to feeling infatuated, I’m also quite distracted by the memory of those moments.
Ineedto have her again. And it needs to betonight.
The show goes on, pop ballads, love songs, cute songs that lead everyone to scream and shout. She leaves the stage at the end for a moment, passing by me with a wink, making things even more difficult for me.
Three minutes and some looks in the mirror later, she goes back for the encore, and plays the song from the day of the recording in Central Park. After three more songs she leaves the stage for good.
“It was amazing, girl!” Sandra says, handing her a water bottle.
