What Goes on Tour(3)

Libby ripped her gaze away to see how the audience was reacting. They  were equally entranced. No one shifted in their seat, no one murmured to  the person next to them  –  they all sat still and silent as this  magician weaved them into his world.

The song ended and for a moment all was quiet before the audience came  back to life and applauded, shouting and whistling their approval.

Kent blinked, took a small step backward and smiled, saluting to the frenzied listeners.

"And that's all for tonight, folks," Brian shouted above the noise.  "Please thank all of my guests  –  Tony Giuseppe, Libby Myles and the  amazing Kent Downer. I'll see you again the same time next week.  Goodnight."

None of the audience heard him.

"I've got to hand it to him, the man has presence," Tony said to Libby  and stood up. "I'm off." He strode off stage as she rose from her seat.

"Thanks for coming on, Libby." Brian was all smiles, holding out his hand.

She took it and then winced as he shook it. Her hand had already begun to bruise.

"What's wrong?"

"It's my hand. I bumped it on something when the lights went out," Libby said, removing it from his grasp. "It's a little sore."                       
       
           



       

"Let me get someone to check it for you." He motioned behind her and the  efficient assistant strode out. "Can you get some ice for Libby?"

The woman's eyes widened as she saw the hand. "Come with me."

Libby glanced to where Kent was surrounded by the crowd before following  the woman off the set and back into the maze of beige corridors. They  passed the green room and Libby ducked in to grab her bag on the way to a  first-aid station.

The first-aid attendant pushed her into a chair and gave her a cold pack. "How'd you manage to do that?" he asked.

Libby shrugged. "Hit it against something when the lights went out."

"Against what?"

"No idea. I couldn't see a thing." She looked down at the cold pack as  she spoke. She didn't know why she was covering for Kent. He'd not  acknowledged her help in any way. But somehow it didn't seem right to  mention it to anyone.

"Sit there for a minute with the pack on." The attendant turned to fill out some paperwork.

To Libby's surprise the assistant was still hovering. "Do you think you  could have broken something?" she asked, her eyes fluttering back and  forth.

She wasn't worried about Libby  –  she was worried Libby might hold the station accountable.

"No, I'm fine. Really, I'm sure it will be all right by tomorrow. I can be a bit clumsy at times."

The efficient assistant let out a breath. "Good. Have a nice evening." She was out of the room before Libby could reply.

Ten minutes later Libby was climbing into the taxi the attendant had  called for her. She couldn't afford to stay for the after-show drinks.  She had work to do.

Kent's song kept playing over and over in her head. There had been such longing in his voice and it tugged at her.

She was being ridiculous. She wasn't lonely. Besides, it was better to  be alone than with someone who didn't love her. Her ex had taught her  that. Not that she'd ever thank him for it.

Kent was good at what he did, making his audience believe he was singing just to them.

Besides, someone probably wrote his songs for him.

The taxi pulled in to her hotel. She quickly paid the driver with the  cab voucher her publicist had given her and got out. She didn't have  time to dwell on Kent or his song. The deadline for her next book was  creeping closer and she needed to get some words written before she  called it a night.

She covered her yawn with her hand. One day she'd be able to quit her  day job and write full time, but in the meantime she had to write  whenever she could.

Which meant now.

***

Adrian shut the hotel door behind him and leaned back against it. This  wasn't home but it was his safe space for the moment. The entrance light  was on and down the corridor there was more light and the flicker of a  television screen. He bathed in the security of the glow.

"Is that you, Uncle Adrian?" Kate's voice called.

Adrian pushed away from the door, letting out a breath. "Sure is,  kiddo," he called. "I'll get rid of Kent and be in." He moved into the  bathroom.

Christ, what a night.

He reached for the make-up remover, squirted some on cotton wool and  began to scrub at the mascara under his eyes. Normally the routine of  removing the traces of rock star Kent Downer was soothing, but not  tonight.

He hadn't had a panic attack like that in years and his throat closed  over again now thinking about it. He hadn't been prepared for total  darkness, and if it hadn't been for the writer, he would have gone to  pieces in front of everyone. His tough, rock star persona would have  been obliterated. He would have lost everything he'd worked so hard for,  everything Daniel and George had helped him to achieve, and let  everyone down.

But the writer had sensed something was wrong, or perhaps she had been  scared herself and had reached out and touched his hand. It had grounded  him, proved to him he wasn't alone in the abyss. Afterward, it had  taken him so long to extricate himself from his fans that she'd left  before he could thank her.

Damn it. Grown men weren't supposed to be afraid of the dark.

Adrian took some more cotton wool, squirted on the liquid and worked on his other eye.

He'd thought he had it beaten. Every night at every concert he stood in  the darkness before the lights came up and the music began. Every night  he fought the hysteria. Every night he won the battle against the demon.  But one unexpected blackout and he was right back to a quivering mass  of Jell-O.

Turning on the taps, he waited until the water ran warm and washed the  remnants of his alter ego away. Patting his face dry, he looked in the  mirror.                       
       
           



       

Hi, I'm Adrian Hart and I'm scared of the dark.

He grimaced and threw the handtowel on the sink. There was no time to  dwell now. His ten-year-old niece was waiting for him and her nanny was  ready to go home.

He walked into the sitting area of his hotel suite. Kate and her nanny,  Emily-but-you-can-call-me-Em, sat on the couch watching an animated  movie.

Emily hit the pause button. "How did it go?"

Adrian shrugged. "Fine." He wasn't about to confide in her.

Kate turned around and knelt on the couch, resting her arms on the back  and pushing her long, curly red hair out of her way. She grinned. "So  who'd you meet?"

Some of the tension in Adrian's shoulders melted. He always had to give  her details about which celebrity he'd met and what they were like. But  after what had happened tonight, he completely blanked on the names.  "There was a comedian who'd just starred in a movie." He paused. "The  something Games."

Kate rolled her eyes. "The Final Games. That's Tony Giuseppe. Honestly,  Uncle Ade, sometimes I wonder if you care at all." She smiled. They both  knew he didn't care about celebrities. "So who else?"

Libby's face appeared before him with vivid, alpine clarity. "There was an author, Libby someone."

Kate's mouth dropped open. "Not Libby Myles?"

Adrian looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember. "She writes adventure stories. The latest has just come out."

Kate turned and swiped a book from the table, hurrying around the couch  to show him the author picture on the back. "This Libby?"

Adrian took the book from her and stared at the picture. It was a good photo  –  it made her seem approachable and kind. "Yes."

Kate slapped him on the arm. "Get out!" She sounded disgruntled.

Adrian took a step back. "What's wrong?"

"You were on a show with the Libby Myles and you didn't invite me to come backstage with you? I can't believe you!"

"You're a fan, I take it?"

Kate had both hands on her hips. "Duh. She writes the Jessop Chronicles, my absolutely favorite books."

Adrian flipped over the book he held and checked the cover. He'd bought  Kate the book last week when it was first released, but he hadn't paid  any attention to who the author was.

"Argh. I can't believe I missed my chance to meet her!" Kate stared at  him, her face full of the anguish only a pre-teen could pull off.  "Thanks a lot." She snatched the book from his hand and stormed toward  her room.

"Where are you going?"

"To bed." She didn't turn around and slammed the bedroom door behind her.

Adrian rubbed at the ache in the back of his neck. He'd let Kate down.  He'd been too busy battling his own anxieties to strike up a  conversation with the woman. If he had, he might have remembered buying  Kate the book. It wasn't a mistake Kate's father would have made.