Before I can make any other declarations of love, I’m pulled away to do interviews. I’ve given them something to ask about aside from music and my parents.
“Bodhi, who’s your date?”
“Bodhi, when’s the wedding?”
“Bodhi, how long have you been together?”
Each question gets ignored, as the publicist yells, “Next question.” I don’t mind sharing Kimberly with the world, but the world needs to be patient. I wish I could keep her to myself a little bit longer before the tabloids start following her around. I’m a realist, though. I’m aware that by the end of the night people will know who she is.
We make our way down the carpet and into the venue. Kimberly and our bodyguard are hot on our heels as we’re ushered into a greenroom. When I step in, I see a woman with long blond hair and for a moment think it’s Aspen. Everything comes rushing back to me, throwing me off balance: the lines of coke I snorted off her body, the partying, and the subsequent feeding of my addiction.
“Are you okay?” both Rebel and Kimberly ask, each of them grabbing one of my arms.
“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head. I don’t want to tell them that I thought I saw Aspen. That I was remembering the night when it all started. I think that would hurt Kim, and I don’t want to do that. Those memories should be tucked away and stay there.
The bustle around us is furious. Wardrobe and makeup are in the same greenroom. Commands are being hollered out and we’re being directed to stand here, sit here, put this on, and mike up. There’s a pounding on the door, someone yelling out that we have five minutes.
Rebel gathers us in a circle, our arms wrapped around each other. “This moment is yours. Show them all that Virtuous Paradox is here to stay. Go out there and shine. Work that crowd and entertain them.” Then she lets us go and motions for us to head toward the stage. We’re the opening act. I’ll never know how she scored the coveted spot for us, but if we can pull it off, I’ll be forever grateful.
Everything moves in a rush backstage. A few people with clipboards and headsets are whizzing past us, trying to get to their talent; others are barking orders into their headsets, and the rest seem to be bossing everyone else around. You would think this is the first time anyone’s ever done an awards show; it’s not, but the chaos will always remain, no matter how many times they’ve been through this.
The three of us stand in position onstage, with our matching black jeans and white shirts that probably cost a fortune. Carson is in the middle, with Brayden on his right. Our heads are down, legs slightly apart. We can hear the emcee in our earpieces as he introduces us. The crowd starts to cheer, and as the curtain rises they get louder, their chants and screaming sending shock waves down my spine. It’s different now that I’m not in the haze of being high. Their energy is enough to feed me; it’s not fake or induced by my own stupidity.
We wait until the music starts and the spotlight shines on the three of us. It’s only then do we move. We bounce, kick, turn, and gyrate to the music, working our way to the center of the stage, almost close enough to the front for the female members of the audience sitting right down front to touch us. I wink at one who catches my eye before I deliver my verses. I love this. I love the way I feel.
Each move is calculated to go with the music and the lyri
cs. Our routine tells the story of love, sex, and devotion as Carson, Bray, and I move around each other in sync. There are no miscues or stumbles. We flow just like I knew we would when I proposed the idea to Rebel all those months ago.
Our song finishes and the crowd is on their feet. We stand in the center with our hands clasped and arms raised as we take a bow before exiting. Rebel is there to meet us, but there’s no smile on her face.
“What’s wrong?” Brayden asks.
“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “It was good, but I want better. I want you guys to be so sought after that we’re turning away offers. We have a lot of work to do. This is just the beginning.”
“When is it the middle?” I stupidly ask. The look on her face tells me that she’s not happy with me. I get it, but I want to know when we reach the middle. Every time we turn around, it seems, Rebel’s telling us it’s only the beginning. At what point does that change? We’ve already had sold-out shows, and our faces are everywhere. What else do we have to do to prove that we’re here and that we have staying power?
“It’s the middle when I say it’s the middle. Your performance was good, not great. We need better,” she says, pointing at each of us in turn while the others backstage look on. “If you want stardom, you’re going to have to work.” She walks away from us, leaving us speechless. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for her to give us a compliment, tell us that we did a good job—hell, maybe even pat us on the back.
“What crawled into her earpiece and bit her?” Carson asks as we watch her walk away.
None of us know, and the people who saw her lecturing us are whispering. I’m trying not to look, but I can’t help it.
Just then a man I don’t know approaches us. “I saw your performance. It was great,” he says. “What Van Zandt said is bullshit. You’re new and the hard work you’ve put in is evident in your performance. If you ever want to work with a real manager, give me a call.”
He doesn’t introduce himself, leaving only his business card in our hands. When he turns away from us I let mine drop to the ground. I’m in no position to seek out a different manager.
We head back to the greenroom. I’m expecting Rebel to be there, but she’s not. Kimberly and Natalie are, and they look like they’re involved in a very serious conversation. They both smile and stand when we walk in, with Kimberly coming over to greet me with a sweet kiss.
“You were great.”
I shake my head, Rebel’s words still plaguing me. Maybe I’m a better performer when I’m high and just going through the motions. That’s not something I’m willing to consider, though, because right now I have too much to lose. I know Brayden and Carson care about me, but they’re also watching me carefully, waiting for signs that I’ve screwed up. Same with Kimberly. And they’re the last people I’d ever want to let down.
“Thank you. I happen to think you’re pretty great yourself,” I say with a wink. She giggles, and the sound of her laughter goes right to my crotch and my heart. She owns me, every part of me. That feeling is beginning to become familiar, and I pray that it never goes away.
I rush to the back of the room and change back into the clothes that I arrived in before taking Kimberly’s hand in mine and pulling her toward the door. As soon as the next commercial break happens, we’ll be seated, but until then she and I are going to stand outside this room and get lost in each other. I lean up against the wall and pull her close to me. Her body presses into mine, and her breasts push up against my chest, giving me ample viewing pleasure.
Right now would be the ideal moment to kiss her, but there are too many people around and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, so instead I fish for compliments. “Are you sure we were good? You’re not just blowing smoke up my ass?”