interrupted my thoughts.
‘We’re running out of time here. David, what’s the latest they can do sound check?’ Steve asked as he emerged from Brooke’s room.
‘Brooke should be fine to do it right after makeup,’ he said snapping back into work mode. He looked over at me. ‘You’re slotted for your regular two hours, but if you can get it done sooner it would be a huge relief.’
‘No problem,’ I hummed, flashing him a killer smile, trying to turn on my professional demeanor to match David’s. ‘Won’t take me any longer than an hour-and-fifteen.’
Steve, who had turned his attention toward me, motioned toward Brooke, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor of room. ‘Great! Let’s get her into makeup now then so that—’
Cutting him off mid-sentence, a hearty laugh came from the doorway.
‘Baby girl!’ A noticeably handsome man, albeit a rugged one, rushed toward Brooke and spun her around in his arms. Drab clothing covered his somewhat bloated frame, though his chiseled facial features made it easy to imagine how attractive he might have been in his youth. Directly next to him, a woman in a seafoam green tracksuit, neck adorned with a silver necklace that read ‘Return to Tiffany’s,’ smiled. She looked, I decided, watching her sip from a glass of iced tea in her hand, like an older version of Brooke–years spent under the blazing Florida sun had resulted in crow’s feet around her eyes. Steve, whose surprise had given way to annoyance, mustered up what superficial charm he could. Greeting them both, he nodded his head in their direction.
‘Mrs Dianne…William, so glad—’
‘Please Steve–call me Willy…and the pleasure’s all ours,’ the man said, laughing sloppily once more.
‘Certainly,’ Steve choked. ‘Hopefully the drive wasn’t too long for you.’
‘Nah, ‘bout twenty-four miles or so. Nothing at all. We’d drive just about any distance in the world to see our little girl sing, that’s for sure.’ Noticing me standing there in confusion, Willy perked up. ‘Who we got o’er here?’
‘I’m—’ I started, but Steve quickly cut me off.
‘This is Jackie, she’s doing the makeup…we’re really in a hurry here.’ Steve frowned as the Parkers failed to pick up on his urgency. Giving me a look as if stressing that I was indeed his last resort, he spoke sternly.
‘I’ve got to head over to the venue and deal with the people over there, so I’m going to trust you to get her butt onto that bus as soon as humanly possible. Sound good?’
Scanning the room for appropriate lighting, I unloaded miniature bottles and pods from my makeup kit into my arms. Eyeing the bedside clock, before turning back toward Steve, I tried to sound as confident as possible.
‘No problem.’ I shrugged coolly, turning around just in time for a high-pitched screeching noise to pierce my ears and fall into me. Before I knew what was happening, I heard a big crash, as everything in my arms fell to the tiled floor of the foyer. Ignoring the mess of broken powder, two identical eleven-year-old boys tore through the room. Grabbing a red bra Brooke had slung over a chair, one of the little monsters put it on over his sweatshirt while the other seized a pair of nylons and stuck them on his head. On cue, they both paused a short distance from their sister before singing out in taunting tones, ‘Oh! Baby! “Pillow Talk!” Yeah…sexy!’
Brooke just rolled her eyes, yelling out to Steve and me, ‘My little brothers.’
‘Yep, yep–these here are the boys.’ Willy smiled. ‘That one there—’ he said, pointing over to the green-and-mauve-striped couch where one of them was now jumping wildly up and down in a pair of dirty sneakers, ‘–is Chris.’ He threw an arm around the neck of the other, putting him in a gentle headlock that caused him to squirm wildly. ‘And o’er here we got Nick.’
‘I like to call ‘em Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,’ Brooke said, staring at them with a mock glare that soon turned into a grin she could no longer conceal. Looking as if he might lose it at any moment, Steve silently made his way to the door, stopping to gape at my mess on the floor.
‘Sorry, I’ll get this all cl—’ I started.
Not making a sound, he narrowed his eyes, mouthing: ‘Just. Get. Her. There. ON TIME!’
By some miracle, I finished Brooke’s makeup with time to spare. I didn’t quite make the hour and fifteen minutes I’d so confidently promised, but early was still early, I figured. Just as I was about to give myself a pat on the back for a job well done, the shiny silver doors parted open on the first floor, revealing a curious scene outside. Standing between us and the waiting bus was an odd mix of revelers that had gathered near the front of the hotel. Some held up signs that said things like, ‘Music Videos Are Tools of Satan,’ and ‘Dress As If Jesus Were Sitting Next To You’. A handful of local news photographers and reporters lingered as well, ready to cover the developing story.
‘What are we going to do?’ Brooke asked in a weak voice.
‘I think everyone is already over there.’ Though I didn’t know much about how this kind of thing worked, I knew it was Sasha’s cup of tea. But because she was consumed with the Emerson Brothers–as per usual–who were doing a handful of radio interviews at the venue, it looked as if we were left to our own devices. My eyes searched the crowd, looking for a familiar face–David or one of the crew members–even Robert would’ve been good at this point–someone. I did see men in hotel uniforms standing in front of the doors, trying to keep everyone at bay. T-Roc and the Emerson Brothers’ three bodyguards, one for each brother, had left ahead of us. Because of the large turnout there was increased security presence both inside and outside the venue, though nobody, it seemed, had thought to prepare the hotel. Looking through the fogged glass at the flimsy staff they did have on hand, I waved toward the staffers, trying desperately to get the attention of at least one guard, but to no avail. Shrugging my shoulders, I shook my head slowly. The back of the hotel opened to the open pool area and patio, and from what I could tell there was no suitable escape route.
‘I can ask the driver to pick you up at one of the side entrances,’ I offered.
‘Won’t everybody–when they see it pullin’ up to the side–know that it’s me?’ she asked quietly.
‘Yeah.’ I frowned, pointing to the front. ‘We go out there I guess…let me go first,’ I told her. ‘Maybe it will take some attention off you–maybe you can make a run for it.’
All news cameras turned to me the minute the automatic doors slid open, their footage quickly interrupted by a couple of high school students that paraded past, chanting, ‘Down with aggressive media culture! Don’t rob us of our childhoods!’ To my right, a sweaty-looking man frantically seized his chance to impart his two cents–bellowing with rapid, pressured speech into the microphone of one newscaster, ‘A person like this promotes rebellion and sex by delivering evil messages to America’s youth through risqué clothing, erotic body language, and suggestive sounds intended to arouse an audience…’
A well-groomed reporter with a finely combed back ponytail who had introduced herself on-camera as Nina Guagenti, looked over suddenly, the eyes of the crowd following her lead. Emerging from the hotel lobby like a frightened little girl, but to the amassed crowd something of an apocalyptic figure, Brooke seemed to both horrify and fascinate her accusers. The fading light fell on her messy blond tresses, framing her face with a faint glow, and they all watched her silently, squinting their eyes and craning their necks to see her.
First to break the silence, Nina Guagenti snapped her fingers aggressively to get the attention of her cameraman.
‘Brooke, sweetheart,’ she called out, waving her hand daintily in the air. ‘Would you mind speaking to us for just one minute?’
Trapping Brooke at her side without waiting for a response, the reporter gazed into the camera. ‘Phillip, I’m standing here in front of the