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I probably could have found something better to wear if I’d searched for a few more minutes, but the place was on fucking fire. So…
I took a step and felt the shocking cold of the concrete on my bare feet. Shit, I’d forgotten my shoes in the rush to get out. As I’d torn down the stairwell, I hadn’t even realized I was barefoot. I grimaced as I looked up from staring at my feet and noticed the crowd.
I was used to being the center of attention. Used to thousands of eyes focused on me and every move that I made. I loved it. Made a living from it. Drew my energy from it. Performing was my lifeblood.
Yet, I felt a rumble of uneasiness as I saw a few phones lift up. Aimed at me. Some people had recognized me. It was only a matter of time before the entire crowd knew who I was. My head was pounding with renewed vigor. And I was wearing this awful, ill-fitting sweatshirt to boot.
It was time to disappear like a ghost into the mist. I took a few steps into the crowd. Blending in was better. Fuck, I didn’t have my phone. I asked the nearest star-struck girl if I could borrow her phone to make a call. She nodded mutely and handed it over. I quickly punched in Bishop’s number, which I had conveniently memorized for just such emergencies.
Bishop was my personal security guard. Last night, I’d purposefully left my cell phone in the men’s bathroom and exited the club out the back door. It wasn’t the first time I’d ditched Bishop. I was expecting an earful from him when he picked me up, but he was a consummate professional. He wouldn’t take it personally, but he’d double down on his efforts to keep me under tabs. It was getting harder and harder to outmaneuver him. He was great at his job and I trusted him, but more importantly, he’d become more of a friend than an employee. Regardless, I vowed to keep him on his toes.
Bishop chuckled when I let him know it was me calling. I had to get the address from the phone’s owner and then I told him I’d be waiting for him a block east. A few seconds later, Bishop promised to pick me up within 15 minutes.
Fifteen minutes was a huge wait, especially with half the damn cell phones in the vicinity recording my every move. While I’d been securing a ride, the crowd began to coalesce around me. Even more phones were aimed at me. A girl — my girl from last night with the unknown name — pushed through the crowd to reach me. She wrapped me in an enormous hug.
“Ghost! You made it out. I’m so sorry about the whole water thing. I didn’t know what to do! You wouldn’t wake up.”
Fuck. That didn’t sound good. I had to shut her up. Wrapping my arms around her to return her hug, I whispered into her ear, “Hey, babe. I gotta get out of here. Too many cameras on me. I’ll see you around.”
I pulled back. A sad look passed over her face, but then it brightened. “I had fun last night. Take my number and call me. Anytime.”
“I had fun too.” I pretended to enter her number into the phone, which wasn’t actually my phone, as she dictated it.
She nodded at me. “And my last name is Buchanan. Dina Buchanan.”
“Buchanan. Got it.” I fake-entered her last name.
Other girls were watching our interaction. They got bolder. Soon, they were snapping selfies with me. This was turning into a meet-and-greet right before my eyes — the most hated part of my job. The atmosphere outside turned even more festive when the rumor circulated that the fire was a false alarm. Someone had supposedly burned some popcorn, which triggered the alarm.
My head was still throbbing as I chatted with yet another fan. At some point, the cell phone girl snatched back her phone and began snapping a million pictures of me.
I noticed a tall girl at the periphery of the crowd patiently waiting her turn to get a selfie with me, but other girls kept cutting in. After ten minutes of being mauled by girls and even a few guys, I caught her eye again. She finally stepped up.
“Can I get a picture with you?” she asked meekly.
I noticed her flip-flops right away. Some dick had stepped on my bare foot as soon as the crowd tightened around me and it had been throbbing in time with my head ever since. I’d been vigilant since then, trying to keep my bruised and freezing feet from any more abuse. I’d had one eye latched onto where everyone’s feet were for self-preservation purposes.
She had pretty big feet for a girl. Her flip-flops had silver, sparkly straps.
“You can get a picture with me if you do me a favor.”
Her eyes bugged out. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll trade you.” My eyebrows lifted. “A picture with me for your flip-flops.”
“You want my flip-flops? You have a fetish or something?” She looked confused.
“Something.”
She giggled, but then kicked off her flip-flops and handed them over to me. She handed over her phone to her friend and then we posed together. Her friend snapped a ton of shots. She thanked me and was about to leave when I grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
She had to be just under 6 feet tall. I didn’t feel that much taller than her when I usually dwarfed other girls. Still, I was able to dip her and land a surprise kiss on her lips.
Her shock turned to glee as I righted her again. She squealed as her friend cried out that she’d gotten it all on camera.
Just then, some new siren sounds mixed with the unrelenting fire alarm from the building. Fire trucks were now coming down the street to join the melee. I glanced over my shoulder at the building but still couldn’t see any blazing fire. All of this was for burnt popcorn. Who ate fucking popcorn for breakfast, anyway?
The noisy and chaotic arrival of the several fire engines momentarily distracted the crowd. Timing it just right, I made my escape and melted off toward the pickup spot.
