Backstage Pass

“God, I want a cigarette,” Trey said, eyeing the locked case behind the counter. He fidgeted with the zipper on his sleeve repeatedly before cleaning out an entire display of cherry suckers and dumping them on the checkout stand. Myrna squeezed his elbow in encouragement and moved around Jace to the cashier.

“Did you find everything you needed?” the young woman asked as she dragged products over the scanner.

“I think so.” Myrna looked at the two cartfuls of groceries being unloaded by an assembly line of rock stars. She smiled to herself.

“I hope so.”

A blood-curdling scream emitted from the back of the growing line. Sed’s body suddenly careened into Eric’s. Brian steadied them.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” a high-pitched voice squealed from about the level of Sed’s bel y button. A young girl, no older than thirteen, had almost knocked Sed to the floor with her exuberance. “Oh Sed, I love you. I love you!”

“So much for the retirement community theory,” Jace said as he continued to unload the cart. Sed glanced at Eric with wide eyes. Eric shrugged.

Sed patted the girl’s head uncomfortably. “Hel o there. I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“I’d know you anywhere,” she insisted. “You’re Sedric Lionheart. The lead singer of Sinners.”

Sed winced. The rest of the people in line started craning their necks, trying to glimpse the rock stars in their midst. Sed bent and whispered something in the girl’s ear. Her face lit up and she nodded. She hugged him and returned to the back of the line, bouncing on the bal s of her feet excitedly. Her entire body trembled from head to foot.

“What in the hel did you tel her?” Eric said under his breath. “She’s a child, Sed. I hope you didn’t—”

Sed punched him in the arm. Hard. “Have some faith in me, f**khead.”

Another line opened, and the very young fan girl rushed to the front of the second line, knocking an elderly lady sideways in her haste. The girl kept her eyes on Sed the entire time the cashier rang up her smal purchase. She paid and then rushed out of the store. She stood in front of the glass doors peering in at them from outside.

“What did you say to her?” Brian asked.

“I just told her if she was quiet, I’d autograph my shirt for her outside the store. What kind of sick bastard do you think I am?”

“You don’t want me to answer that,” Eric said.

“Sticks, you’re asking for a serious ass whippin’,” Sed said.

Brian presented his stack of cash to pay and they pushed the carts of sacked groceries to the car. Sed’s little shadow fol owed them, chattering excitedly. While the rest of them loaded the trunk, Sed removed his leather jacket and plain white T-shirt. He put his jacket back on and borrowed a pen from Myrna. He signed his shirt before handing it over to the girl. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled, her eyes rol ing into the back of her head. Sed ran a hand over his shorn hair, looking very uncomfortable about the entire situation.

“Can I get the band’s autographs, too?” the girl asked.

“Of course!” Sed said, taking the shirt back and passing it around until each band member had signed it. The trunk was ful to bursting with groceries, but they managed to get it shut on the third try. After returning to their vehicles, Brian drove out of the parking lot, with Jace fol owing on his bike. The young fan waved good-bye to them, clutching Sed’s shirt to her narrow chest.

“Fuck, what a disaster. I’m glad you guys signed the shirt, too. I didn’t think of what that would look like when I told her that she could have it. What was I thinking?” Sed said. “I could just picture her daddy showing up outside the tour bus with a shotgun.”

“It was completely innocent,” Myrna said.

“Yeah, but if your thirteen-year-old daughter comes home with some man’s shirt, you wouldn’t think it was innocent. You’d want to shoot him in the back.”

“I suppose that would look bad,” Myrna agreed.

“I guess when you say you’d give your fans the shirt off your back, you aren’t exaggerating,” Brian said. They laughed. Sed’s body relaxed, though he kept checking the side mirror for signs of an angry daddy with a shotgun. Brian pul ed up beside the tour bus and put the car in park. “Last one out of the car has to do al the laundry.”

“I don’t do laundry,” Sed grumbled. Before the words were out of his mouth, Brian had already leapt from the car and Eric scrambled out after him.

Sed grabbed Myrna around the waist and refused to release her. “I won’t be the last one out of this car. I don’t do laundry.”

“Then get one of your groupies to do it for you. I’m not doing it.”

He buried a hand in her hair and tugged her head back to stare down into her eyes. “I’l make it worth your while.”

Myrna leaned against the door, which opened unexpectedly. She clung to Sed’s bare chest with her fingertips to keep from tumbling to the asphalt on her head.

Brian’s angry face appeared upside down above her. “What the f**k are you two doing?”

Sed’s arms wrapped around Myrna’s body. “What does it look like?” His lips brushed over her jaw. “Oh yeah, Myrna. Yeah. Don’t stop now, baby.”

“I can’t believe this.” Brian tore his gaze from Sed long enough to glare at Myrna. “I leave you two alone for ten seconds and you’re already—”

“You think I’m cheating on you?” Myrna sputtered.

She crawled over Sed’s massive body and out of the car, landing gracelessly on the ground at Brian’s feet.

“You’ve got your hands al over his naked chest, al submissive in his arms and he’s kissing you. What do you expect me to think?”

Myrna scrambled to her feet and shook her head at him. “I can’t f**king believe this, Brian. You’re just like my ex-husband.”

When he reached for her, she shoved him aside and stormed away.

***

Stil reeling from an eyeful he’d thought he’d never have to see again (Sed with his hands al over a woman he cared about), Brian watched Myrna stomp up the bus stairs. He couldn’t believe she’d compared him to her psychotic ex-husband. Did she real y think he was like that ass**le?

Inside the bus Eric cal ed, “Hey, Myrna, Jace said he’l clean the fridge al by himself. So you can get started cooking those pork chops. I rescued my special cinnamon and dil rub from the garbage.” A loud crash of cookware fol owed. “Don’t cry. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to.”