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just smiled at the question.
“An old friend I grew up with. She’s my guest at the concert but don’t get any
ideas. And let’s not embarrass her or I might not see her again for another twenty
years.” He held up a hand. “That’s all, guys. Thanks, but it’s time for me to go to work.”
Arena security politely ushered the mob away and we hustled Dallas into the SUV
and over to the arena. When we were safely inside I let myself relax just a fraction.
Dallas closed his hand over my arm. “We never did have our talk, Charley,” he
murmured in my ear. “And we definitely have things to discuss.”
Before I could answer him I heard loud voices raised outside the stage door and
Chase’s radio crackled. He listened, answered and he motioned to me.
“It seems we have a little problem that needs your authority to handle it.”
I frowned. “What’s going on?”
“Come on. You’ll see.”
We opened the door and a cacophony of female voices blasted at me. A small
crowd of females surrounded my agent. Groupies. Girls from their teens on up in tight
jeans, tighter tops and makeup laid on with a trowel. And they were all screaming at
him. Chase and I pushed our way through to him.
“What’s the deal?” I gave thanks that none of my team members ever lost their cool.
He waved his hand over the group.
“These young ladies are very unhappy that I won’t honor their backstage passes,”
he told me.
A willowy blond turned to stare at me, her eyes spitting fire. “We were promised
we’d watch the show from backstage,” she snapped. “Who the hell are you to keep us
out?”
108
Downstroke
Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Mike was keeping Dallas in the SUV. Good.
“Different security rules, ladies,” I told them in an even voice. There were already
too many people wandering around backstage as far as I was concerned. And
supposedly they were all legit. “No backstage passes this tour.”
“Todd said it was okay,” a redhead pouted.
Todd had a reality check coming.
“I’m sure he had good intentions,” I said smoothly. “But the rules have changed. If
you’ll all behave we’ll set up chairs at the side for you and I’ll make sure you get t-shirts
signed by Dallas.”
It wasn’t what they wanted but they finally realized I wasn’t budging. Chase
radioed instructions back to his team and I hunted backstage until I found Todd
checking electrical cords.
“No backstage passes,” I reminded him. “You know we’re under tight security. We
just had a little scene outside because someone didn’t get the memo.”
“The guys will bitch up a storm without their females,” he said without turning to
look at me.
“The guys understand what’s going on, Todd. And I don’t appreciate you going
around me on something like this. We can’t have strange people walking around back
here. You saw what happened with the truss and that was with only people we know
here.”
He shrugged. “Whatever. You’re the boss.”
Whatever. Thanks for your support, Todd. And your sparkling personality.
“I promised them signed t-shirts. Give Chase access to your stash so he can take
care of it. And no backstage passes for the rest of the tour. Period.”
“Fine.” He walked off without ever having looked at me.
Lord deliver me from road managers. And I was damn sick of everyone saying fine
like it was a curse.
Then we were caught up in getting ready for the show, checking security at all the
points we’d marked. Dallas went off in a corner by himself as he usually did, tuning his
guitar and psyching himself up for the show. I left Mike standing watch over him and
eyeballed the stage area one more. I was extra skittish from the light truss incident and
the stupid groupies.
“All set out here,” Chase told me. “Even the Secret Service would be happy with
our safety checks. No more accidents and that’s a promise.”
It was almost zero hour. Todd checked everyone’s amp connections himself, still
muttering under his breath. When he was satisfied, he opened a cooler backstage and
passed out bottled water to everyone. He nudged Dallas who was lost in thought,
concentrating on tuning his guitar one last time, and handed him his orange juice. Then
he left with his pen and yellow pad of paper to take his seat in the front.
109
Desiree Holt
Then it was showtime. Tonight I watched from the wings, but despite trying to look
in a million directions at once I found the show no less compelling. Dallas had it, all
right, whatever it was that set him apart from the almost and wannabes. He stood there
in front of his mic, guitar hanging easily from the leather strap with the initials D. C.
intricately tooled into it, waiting as the first notes from the synthesizer floated out from
the stage. Setting the mood. Setting the tone. Then the rhythm guitars hit their
downstroke, the band broke into the intro to Cowboys Do It Right, the curtain slid open
and the crowd screamed their insane adulation.
In the five years since I opened the agency I’d lost count of the number of concerts
I’d worked. The performers had just been names to me, the music nothing more than
background noise. I’d learned early on to depersonalize everything if I wanted to be
effective. They were just jobs, contracts to be fulfilled.
But watching and listening to Dallas it was impossible to be emotionally detached.
The excitement of the audience, the energy flowing from the stage—a person would
have to be dead to be unaffected. Especially listening to Dallas’ whiskey voice caress the
words of the songs. My body zinged as, unbidden, I remembered that mouth last night
everywhere on me, doing wickedly clever things to me. I knew with a certainty it
would be doing the same things tonight.
* * * * *
Dallas was grateful for the Roper people who got him away from the arena and
back to his trailer as soon as the show ended. For one thing, he’d pushed himself
onstage and his leg was beginning to ache. For another, he was itchy under the skin and
it had nothing to do with the layer of sweat he built up while performing. Charley had
been doing her best to keep her distance all day, a fact that irritated him more than he
wanted to admit. If she thought last night was an aberration she was very much
mistaken. He’d managed to kick the door open and he wasn’t about to let it close again.
He showered at the trailer, forcing himself to come down from the performance [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]