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Moreno mirrors my position and chuckles. “Sex appeal, fan following, original music, instruments… the list goes on and on. I’m not interested in that pop rock computer shit. I want real music. I’ve told you before; your stage presence alone makes women wet themselves. Sam was right when she signed you.”
“I’m glad you think so, but I’m not sure we’re interested.”
He looks from me, to Harrison and finally to JD. “I think you need to ask your friends what they think.” Moreno doesn’t wait for a response as he gets up and leaves.
“What do you guys think?” I don’t wait, asking them right off.
“I think we have a gig to get to,” Harrison states before standing up and walking out of the room, JD following him. Neither of them says anything else, leaving me to wonder if I’m the only one who feels this way. If I am, I can easily be replaced.
“I think Harrison is going to be beat for our show.” JD is pacing backstage, glancing every now and again at Harrison as he plays for Layla. JD wasn’t around when I first met Harrison. I used to watch him play for multiple bands, night after night. He awed me, which is one of the reasons I needed him with me when I signed with Sam. The other reason is because he was my friend, and I couldn’t see walking this path without him.
“He’ll be fine,” I say, trying to calm JD down. “He’s used to this.” He may not be used to surfing all morning and then coming in to play multiple sets, but I don’t say that to JD.
“No, he used to be. He’s old now.”
I crack a smile and fight off a laugh, but to no avail. I’m buckled over, holding my sides as I laugh at JD. Harrison may be older than him, but he’s not old by any means.
“Stop worrying, we’ll be fine.”
JD shakes his head, throwing his arms up in the air.
“Hey, why don’t you tweet or whatever it is you do. We could use some more people out there.” I point through a small opening and show him the crowd. It’s not what I thought, but better than nothing. I spot Moreno in the back corner. I’m not sure why he’s here – there’s no new talent playing tonight and the one band that could be interested in him is already signed. He’s likely here to get under my skin, which he’s very good at doing.
“I did tweet, but all the birds in LA know I’m married so they don’t want to come see me… us.”
“That’s great, JD. So, because you’re off the market and they can’t hook-up, they’re not our fans anymore?”
He shrugs and offers me a slight “I’m sorry” smile. I grin back, letting him know that I’m just bullshitting him.
“Are you ready for your duets?” Trixie appears next to me with a smug look on her face. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s trying to hook Layla and me up.
“Not interested,” I tell her.
“It’ll be fun, sexy. The women will go nuts and they’ll buy a ticket again for tomorrow night.” Trixie walks way, effectively ending our limited conversation.
“I need some liquid courage,” I say to JD, who is glued to his phone. He’s probably sexting Je
The greenroom is fully stocked with booze and food. I make myself a sandwich, eat it quickly and follow it up with a beer and two shots. I’m going to need more if I have to get through performing with Layla. I also need to tell Josie before the pictures hit mainstream. I need to be a better husband in that regard.
Pulling out my phone, I press her name and listen to the ringing on the other end. After four rings, her phone goes to voicemail. I hang up and try again. In between each call I’m taking a shot, numbing myself for having to sing with Layla. It’s not that I don’t like her; it’s the song choices. Each one is sexy and has me saying words I only want to say to my wife. After the third time with no answer, I leave a message.
“I’m about to go on stage. Trixie has asked for some duets with…” I can’t bring myself to say her name. “Remember wh… I love you, Jojo.”
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t say the words “remember what you see isn’t real” because it sounds like I’m trying to cover something up and I’m not. I’m a performer – it’s my job. Josie knows this and accepts it.
Tonight – Liam Page is back.
I haven’t told anyone about this pregnancy. It’s out of fear that I keep the news to myself. How could I, or my body, not have known that I’m pregnant? Yes, I’m one of the lucky ones who didn’t suffer from morning sickness but, as a mother, I should’ve known I have a child growing inside of me. The thought of not knowing and, therefore, not having cared properly for this baby sickens me. I’m afraid to go to the appointment. I’m afraid to hear the words that my pregnancy isn’t viable. I don’t want to see the look on Liam’s face when the doctor says those words.
I close my eyes and mentally chide myself for thinking the worst. Everything could actually be fine and I could be overreacting. Tomorrow holds the answers, and I have to hang on to every positive thought I can until I’m told otherwise.
Liam will be overjoyed when I tell him that I’m pregnant. We’ve been trying for so long, while not as long as some, to me it feels like years. Knowing how he is with Eden, I’m confident Liam will excel with a newborn. I have so many thoughts of him rocking our baby to sleep or singing him, or her, a lullaby that he writes especially for them... although I may have to censor his lyrics.
The airline attendant walks by, asking if I need anything. It’s late, but drinking orange juice seems like the right thing to do. Flying First Class has its perks: More legroom and hip room, more choice on the menu and constant service. Not to mention the fact that the bathroom is closer.
After my appointment this afternoon, I went to Nick’s office. He knows I’ve been under stress and knows that I’m missing Liam. I had to take him up on his offer to look after Noah so that I can see Liam, even if it ends up only being for a few hours. I joked that Nick has all the benefits of a divorced dad, but without the financial obligation. Only he proved me wrong in that respect because he and Aubrey do their fair share of providing for Noah, even without being asked. Nick and I breaking up was probably the best thing to happen to either of us.
When you have time to kill, like when waiting for your flight, you tend to let your mind wander or, in my case, you take advantage of the stores in the terminal. This is what I did, and I’ve made a mistake with my purchase. The tell-all book about Liam sits in my lap. Something told me I needed to finish it and having left mine at home, I bought another copy. I haven’t opened it yet, though. It sits in my lap, weighing me down and taunting me.
The flight attendant returns with my juice, nodding toward the book and asks, “Are you reading that?”
How do I answer? Yes, I’ve read some, but not sure if I want to read anymore? Do I tell her Liam’s my husband and I’m trying to fill in the missing ten years from his life because we don’t talk about the time he was away?
“I’ve read some,” I tell her.
She crouches down next to me. “I read it. I had to. I have the biggest crush on Liam Page, but I have to tell you, I find most of this book as complete garbage.”
I like her. I want to tell her who I am, but she won’t believe me. Living in Beaumont has kept me sheltered from the media, and they don’t dare take our pictures in town. I think I’ve been in the press maybe three or four times and, at best, they’re grainy images.
“I’m finding it a little hard to read myself.”
“I’m waiting for his press release about Layla Richards’ daughter. I’m sure now that the book is out, he won’t be able to deny her anymore.”