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“Alright, sir,” Tyler assures me that he understood. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Bring more people from New York and double the security around Lily and Sweets.”
“Consider it done. Now feel free to rest, sir. The girls are in good hands,” Tyler says.
“I know they are,” I say, smiling. “Thank you, Tyler. See you tomorrow.”
I hang up and drop my phone back on the chair with some difficulty. With one arm feeling my wound, and the other under my head, I drift into sleep quickly, but only to have anxious dreams about Lily and her damn stalker, dreams from which I am unable to wake.
Chapter Nineteen
LILY
“Tonight’sshowneedstobe special,” I say, waiting backstage with my band for the right time to go on stage.
“What do you have in mind, Lily?” Emerson says. He can tell that my mind is cooking.
“I want to play a cover, something we’ve already rehearsed,” I say, looking at the boys and trying to get a reaction out of them.
They seem uneasy, but always willing to bend to my whims. “Which one?” Adrian asks.
The crowd roars outside, begging to see us.
I tell them the song. The lyrics talk about an abusive relationship, and how bored and unafraid the singer is with everything.
The boys now exchange long glances, but soon they move from unsure to confident, showing me their approval.
“Can do,” Emerson says, “But why the change on the set list?”
I shift my weight from one foot to another, now feeling uneasy myself, alone with my thoughts despite all the company around me. “I want to dedicate it to my stalker.”
They all recoil, impressed with my boldness.
I’m still afraid, but I don’t want to be. Maybe this song will show him enough of my courage for him to leave me alone.
“I’m on it!” Chris says.
A busy staffer approaches us. “Five minutes, guys!” he says.
I look once again at my boys and reach for the hands of Michael and Emerson and say, “Thank you.” They nod back solemnly.
The staffer comes back, looks at his watch, and urges us out the very next second. The band goes first, relishing in the applause of the public, and I go after, the spotlight over me like a beacon of hope.
“Good night!” I yell, waving a hand while the other holds the microphone stand. “Let’s go, boys,” I snap my fingers. They start playing the intro. I signal with my hand for them to hold it, playing slow and low.
“Today I was attacked by a long-time stalker,” I go on, “and my bodyguard got injured. He’s doing okay.” I splay my hands in front of my chest, and the audience cheers, “but he’s at the hospital right now.”
I perform some dance moves, just subtly shaking my hips to the beat of the song, “I need you guys to send all your energy and positivity to that hospital, alright?”
“Yeah!” they roar, putting a gigantic smile on my face.
“Nice!” I say, “Now this first song is a message to my stalker: I’m not afraid of you. In fact, I’mboredwith you!”
I start singing. The crowd recognizes the song and starts singing with me. Instead of an electronic beat, we added distortion, and a killer bass line to it. The drums compliment the rhythm and I dance, in complete defiance to Ben.
The song comes to an end, and we immediately start on one of ours, to which the audience sings and chants.
And the show goes on. Eight songs in, we come forward to the stage and take a bow.
