I smiled at Aimee’s suggestion, also a time-honored tradition, although maybe we were a getting a little too old for it. It was like watching cartoons on Saturday morning—you could see yourself doing it and knew it was silly and immature, but there was something familiar and undeniably comforting about it anyway.
Aimee was a writer. She’d been the editor of our high school paper until part way through our senior year, when she’d ended up in treatment for her anorexia. Her imagination knew no bounds, and she loved to tell stories. It had started one night during a sleepover like this. We’d stayed up watching MTV until two in the morning, waiting for Tyler Vincent videos, drinking Tab and eating Funyuns. Neither of us could sleep, too excited for the concert the next day.
That’s when Aimee had first asked, “Want me to tell you a story?”
And she had, a story about meeting Tyler Vincent, but not just meeting him. We rescued him from some dangerous situation, for which he was immensely grateful, and of course rewarded us immediately with lifetime access to all his shows. As we grew older, the stories got better—far more involved, sometimes bordering on dirty, depending on her mood and our level of tiredness, which inevitably broke down our inhibitions—but whatever happened, Aimee was always nice enough to let me have Tyler in the end for a happy ever after.
“No, not tonight.” I rolled over in my sleeping bag toward her bed with a sigh.
“Whatcha thinking about?”
Things I shouldn’t have been thinking about.
Tomorrow was the Tyler Vincent concert and we had front row seats and the only thing I could think about was Dale.
“Nothing.”
“Liar.” I heard her smile. “Did I tell you Matt asked me to his brother’s wedding?”
Only a few hundred times.
“I know. I helped you pick out the dress remember?”
We’d spent less and less time together this year, often only seeing each other at the lunch table and talking on the phone a few times a week. Aimee was busy with her first real boyfriend—ever—and I was busy with Dale. And Tyler.
“Can you believe we’re old enough to get married?”
I froze in the dark. “Did Matt… propose?”
It was quiet and then she burst out laughing. “No! Oh my God, no. Can you imagine?”
I had been, for a moment. Matt was older than us—twenty-two, almost twenty-three. His brother, the one getting married, was twenty-six. It was possible. And the way they’d been together, constantly together it seemed, it wouldn’t really surprise me.
“Although…” Her voice lowered. “We did get… physical.”
My jaw dropped and I think my heart stopped too. I sat bolt upright on her floor. I could only see her outline in the darkness.
“Are you kidding me? You and Matt? When? Where? How?”
She laughed at my reaction. “You didn’t ask me why.”
“Well that one’s obvious.” I grinned.
“Here at my house. In my bed. Just after Thanksgiving, when my mom was still out of town.”
I’d wanted to spend Thanksgiving with John and Dale, but we’d spent it with my stepfather’s family in upstate New York, his pothead mother and her crackhead husband and a myriad of siblings I could still never get straight because we only saw them on holidays, but my mother insisted I come anyway. “It’s the only family we have,” is what she always said, but as far as I was concerned, having no family would be better than having a family like his.
At least it sounded like Aimee had a far better holiday than I had!
I settled myself back in the sleeping back, stunned. “And?”
“And…” she hesitated and I waited, breath held. “It was sweet. He was very sweet and gentle. Kept asking me if I was okay. It hurt at first. He’s not… small.”
I flushed in the darkness. “Well the first time does hurt.”
Mine did, for sure. David hadn’t exactly been huge but it had hurt anyway. And he wasn’t exactly gentle. There hadn’t been much time for that, given the rushed circumstances.
“But the next time… it was… wow.”
“The next time?” I grinned. “When was that?”
“About twenty minutes after the first time.”
We both cracked up.
“So what about you and Dale?” Aimee was up on her elbow. “What’s it like? You haven’t told me anything!”
There was a good reason for that. There wasn’t anything to tell.
I hesitated, not wanting to admit the truth. But I wasn’t about to make anything up either.
“We haven’t… yet.”
“What?” Now it was her turn to sound shocked. “You’re kidding me?”
“No.” I sighed, rolling onto my stomach and pressing my cheek to the pillow to try and cool it. I’d been momentarily distracted by Aimee’s news, but now I was thinking about Dale again and that inevitably made me hot. Hotter than hot. My face felt like it was burning up, and that was nothing compared to the rest of me.
“But… why not? It’s not like you’re still…” Aimee paused, and I filled in the blank in my head. No, I wasn’t a virgin. There was no real reason to wait. “Unless… oh my God! Is Dale… a virgin?”
“No.” I laughed. “Hardly.”
We’d had that discussion, he and I. I told him about David, and the one guy who had come after him, Brian, who hadn’t lasted long—a month or so—and we’d only had sex once. I didn’t worry about pregnancy anymore. I didn’t have to. I was on the pill now, thanks to Aimee’s mom. Linda Wells was a single mother and had insisted, when she took Aimee, who was having so much trouble regulating her periods—of course that had to do more with her fluctuating weight than anything hormonal—that I come too.
She’d pretended to be my mother and had signed all the paperwork and I’d gone and filled the prescription every month since. I was supposed to have some sort of regular exam to get more, but I never had. I didn’t know if it was some sort of mistake, but I didn’t question it. I filled the prescription, hid the pills in my room, and took them faithfully every day.
Of course, Dale had told me about the girls he’d been with—fewer than I’d expected, honestly, but far more than me. I had to ask him every detail about them, what they were like, how long they had dated, had they done it? How many times? I told him it wasn’t fair, he only had two guys to agonize over, but I had a whole harem to think about—eight girls in total—when it came to him. Of course, that’s when he reminded me of Tyler Vincent and I shut my mouth.
“So then… why?” Aimee asked again, sounding genuinely curious.
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. I had my ideas, but I didn’t know, not for sure. “I think he’s afraid of things going too fast. He wants it to be different than it’s been… for him and for me… in the past. I think…”
I smiled into my pillow, remembering the way he’d looked at me when he’d told me he was renting a limo to take us to the concert and he had a “surprise” for me afterward.
“I think he’s a closet romantic. I think he wants it to be… perfect.”
Aimee snorted. “You could be waiting forever.”
“Feels like it sometimes.”
But I had a feeling my wait was almost over.
“Left me standin’ on the porch too many times
Kept the boys in the band waitin’ at the bar
His voice inside yellin’ out my crimes
Ain’t comin’ to the door no more I’ll be waitin’ in my car
Are you daddy’s girl or are you gonna be mine?
Lemme know now girl cuz I just ain’t got the time…”
The screams were deafening. Bodies pressed all around us, and I had to hold onto Dale to keep from losing him. Aimee, next to me, screamed along with the rest of us girls in the first few rows who had squeezed up here.
“Are you daddy’s girl or you gonna be mine...?” Tyler Vincent sang right above us now. When I reached out and touched his boot, he winked at me. I thought I was going to keel over right there. Aimee grabbed my arm and squealed her approval. Matt, behind her, had his arms about her waist.
“Are you having a good time?” Dale practically had to yell to be heard.
I didn’t do anything but beam back at him, no words for how grateful I was to have the experience of a Tyler Vincent concert, front row center. I looked at him, curious about the expression on his face. This was what he wanted to be—this was what he wanted to do. This was what he was clearly born to do. I could see it in the longing in his eyes.
Tyler Vincent was talking to the audience now, and things had quieted down so we could hear him.
“This is a little song I wrote about what it’s like to be a rock star.” He took a long swig of water. “Sometimes it’s like Living Out Loud and you guys make it all worth it, I got to tell ya.” The roar of the crowd really was deafening then. “There are good things about being me.”
“I want to have your baby!” a girl from behind us screamed clearly.
“Like that.” Tyler laughed and the band started to play behind him.
There was more laughter, more screaming.
“But sometimes…well, be careful what you wish for…”
I could have sworn he was looking right at Dale.
“Last time we met you said be careful what I ask for
Before you left you whispered that the door’s always open
Barely heard you with my handlers shovin’ groupies out the back door
If I’d known what I was tradin’ for the life of a rock star
Wanted more than these work jeans ripped and faded
Wanted more than four am gigs and six am time clocks
Now my guitar’s shiny new but I’m old and jaded
And I can’t get enough of what I never really wanted…”
I watched Dale, thinking. About being a star. About being a fan. About what each of those meant. His look was far away. I tried to imagine it—him being up there on stage, with girls screaming they wanted to have his children—girls he didn’t even know.
“I got what I wanted
Now that I’m livin’ out loud
I can’t hear the music
Above the noise of the crowd…”
I leaned my forehead against Dale’s shoulder. What would it be like, being the girlfriend of a rock star? Having him gone all of the time, or traveling with him, dealing with the jet lag, the alcohol, the drugs? The extreme highs, the extreme lows… Could I handle that? Could I handle girls like me and Aimee screaming at Dale and pasting posters of him on their walls?
Of course, maybe I’d never have to worry—not too many people made it big. But Dale was different. He had the talent… and the determination. All he needed was one little break and he just might be a rock star. With thousands of adoring fans. Fans like me. Fans who just wanted to “be his friend…” but who really wanted to be a part of his life.
