What Goes on Tour(2)

The applause died down and her hands shook.

"Welcome to the show, Libby. Your latest book in the Jessop Chronicles  series has just been released and you've become an overnight sensation.  Why do you think that is?"

Libby smothered a smile. Her success had hardly come overnight and she  didn't think her sales really counted as a sensation, but she'd go with  it.

She took a breath. "The series has been out for a while now. Word of  mouth has been building slowly." Her voice quavered and she swallowed  down the nerves. "On Winter's Edge is the fourth book in the Jessop  Chronicles, and readers are keen to find out what's going to happen next  to Shannon, Melissa and Jill."                       
       
           



       

"So what is going to happen to them?" Brian asked.

Libby laughed. "You'll have to read the book to find out!"

The audience tittered.

Libby's hands stopped trembling as Brian said, "It's on my bedside  table." He grinned at her. "I'm sure many people are wondering where you  get your ideas from. Some of the creatures in your world are weird and  wonderful."

Libby leaned forward slightly. "Ideas are all around. They're  everywhere." The brick in her stomach dissolved. This was what she knew.  She could talk about her writing until the cows came home. "It's a  matter of recognizing how they can be used."

Ten minutes later Brian wrapped up the interview. "Everyone is going to  rush out and buy a copy of On Winter's Edge now." He turned to the  audience. "Please thank Libby Myles."

Libby smiled out at the audience as they applauded. It was over.

She barely remembered what she'd said but she was pretty sure it had gone well.

"My final guest tonight is the devil of rock himself, Kent Downer."

A section of the small studio audience went mad, screaming and shouting.  Libby stood and moved down a chair to make way for Kent, who sauntered  down the stairs, acknowledging the screaming girls with a salute and  shaking Brian's hand with gusto.

Obviously Brian's hands weren't contagious. Libby smirked.

The girls finally calmed down and Brian was able to speak. "Sounds like  your fans are pleased you've finally decided to tour Australia. What can  they expect at your concert?"

"The best time of their lives," Kent drawled.

Someone in the audience shrieked, "I love you, Kent."

"Love y'all," Kent called back, blowing a kiss.

Was this guy for real? Libby forced herself not to roll her eyes. His  arrogance reminded her of her ex. Her heart twinged and she pushed the  thought away.

Kent launched into the details of his show.

Then everything went dark.

Blackout.

***

Kent's breath hitched as darkness filled every space. He struggled to hold back the fear surging up and his pulse raced.

"There's no light," he whispered to remind himself that he was still there.

The crowd murmured and Brian's voice called out, "Don't panic, folks.  Just a little power outage. Our technicians will have it fixed in a  jiffy."

Kent gripped the arms of the chair he was sitting in. He had to fight  it. He couldn't give in to the hysteria building inside him. He wasn't  trapped, he wasn't alone, he wasn't afraid of the dark.

"Let's play eye spy," Tony called and the audience tittered, a nervous response.

Kent's chest was tight, his breaths short and sharp as his windpipe  closed over. He couldn't go to pieces. He had to focus on something. He  had to remember his tricks for fighting the fear, but his brain wouldn't  cooperate.

Something warm and soft covered his hand. He flinched, and then,  recognizing it as the writer's hand, he clutched on to it, holding it  tight. He wasn't alone, she was next to him, grounding him to the now.

Her other hand covered his and she stroked it, trying to soothe him.

Kent forced back tears. Forward stroke, breathe in, backward stroke, breathe out.

"Why don't we all sing a song?" the writer asked loudly.

"What about ‘Waltzing Matilda'?" Brian suggested. "Everyone should know it. On the count of three  –  one, two, three."

The audience started a very noisy, very off-key rendition of the  Australian folk song. Kent didn't know the words, but some of the fear  drained out of him as he listened to the raucous voices.

The writer ran her hand up and down his forearm, stroking it gently.  Kent closed his eyes and focused on the sensation, visualizing her face;  her emerald green eyes, her small nose, her hesitant smile and the  straight, chocolate brown hair that fell past her shoulders. She was  attractive, in an unassuming way, and he concentrated on that hum of  attraction he'd felt when he'd first noticed her in the green room.

His hand trembled but little by little the fear receded.

He took a deep breath in and opened his eyes as the song was ending. Off  set a light appeared, bobbing up and down, and a crew member walked out  carrying a torch.

He was safe.

Kent snatched away his hand and shielded his eyes from the light, resisting the urge to jump up and hug the man.

He turned to the writer, hoping to thank her, but she was looking down at her hands in her lap.

She'd saved his sanity.

He couldn't thank her now, couldn't cause a fuss in front of an audience  full of smart phones. He took a deep breath in and then out, his body  weak with relief.                       
       
           



       

He would thank her afterward.

***

Libby ran a thumb over her aching hand. Kent had a strong grip. She  checked for signs of bruising and flexed her fingers, trying not to  wince. She needed a bag of ice.

She turned toward Kent to see if he was all right. He lounged in the  armchair as if he didn't have a care in the world, but one hand clutched  the armrest tightly while the other was fisted. He was still  recovering. She tried to catch his eye to give him a reassuring smile,  but Kent didn't acknowledge her. Not even a glance, a nod or a smile of  thanks.

Disappointment flashed through her and she was annoyed with herself.  What had she expected, a rush of gratitude? It was typical of a man not  to admit to any weakness. In her experience, men had little time for  women. It would probably ruin Kent's image if he was seen talking to a  writer.

The crew member gave Brian the torch and left. Brian raised his voice.  "It's going to be dark for a few more minutes, folks. They've found the  problem and are working to fix it. Now we have some light, why don't we  have some questions from the audience?"

"Will you marry me, Kent?" a woman yelled.

The crowd laughed.

"I'd hate to put Kent on the spot," Brian said and shone the torch over the audience. "Any other questions?"

Hands sprung up, and they spent the next half an hour answering audience  questions. To Libby's surprise, there were a number of questions for  her as well. Kent had completely recovered and he flirted with the  crowd, showing no trace of his anxiety.

Finally the lights came back on and the audience cheered.

"Where were we?" Brian put a hand to his ear and then turned to Kent.  "I'll repeat my last question to you before the lights went out and  we'll go from there."

The interview began and Libby cradled her bruised hand in her lap. It  was throbbing and she desperately wanted to ice it so it would be fine  for her book signing tomorrow. She should have said she'd knocked it in  the dark and got the efficient assistant to bring her something.

Brian wound up the interview. "Now, folks, we've got a treat to close  the show. Kent is going to sing something from his latest album." He  motioned Kent to the stage and Kent rose and strode to where a  microphone was set up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, all the way from Houston, Texas, here is Kent Downer with his latest song, ‘To Be Hurt.'"

The applause was thunderous and then died down. Libby was expecting a  loud, thrashing tune, but instead it was low and melodic. A ballad.

Kent's voice was soft and wistful. Libby listened to the words.

"If only it stung,

If only I hurt,

Then I would know

What it is to love."





Kent barely moved. There were no theatrics, no gestures, he just  clutched the microphone as if it was the only real thing in the room and  sang.

Libby was mesmerized. His voice flowed over her and resonated with the  part of her that knew what it was to hurt. The part of her that had  known love and had it thrown back in her face. Kent didn't know what he  was asking for. That kind of hurt shouldn't be longed for, it should be  shied away from.

The words and melody entwined around her.

Maybe Kent wouldn't treat a woman as she'd been treated. Maybe he would be gentle and kind. Her heart reached out to him.

What the hell was she thinking? Men like Kent weren't interested in women like her.