“We look like we’re about to go on at The Roxy,” she said as she fluffed her hair.
“The what?” I asked, mimicking her moves. My hair didn’t shift at all.
“The Roxy. On the Sunset Strip?” Her eyes widened when she realized I had no clue what she was talking about. “Whiskey a Go Go? The Rainbow?”
I slowly shook my head.
“You have so much to learn,” she said with a sad sigh. “Those were the clubs to play in the 80s. Hank played them all, even though he was more southern rock than hair metal. Anybody who was anybody graced those stages.”
“Really? That’s cool.” I thought of the music videos Dad had shown me of his favorite bands. There were a few that were probably filmed in clubs like that.
“These days everything’s on YouTube instead. Why go to a live show when someone can just put it online?”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” I said, adding another swipe of red lipstick. It was waxy and smelled musty. “Is this from the 80s? Because it smells like ass.”
Crystal laughed. “Yeah, it does, but it will stay on while we sing. Theatrical makeup is different than what you buy at Walmart.”
“Ladies, you look like hookers,” Heath said with a laugh. He threw his arms around both of us. “I love it.”
Heath had black leather pants on, and that was it. His bare skin was greasy from the oil slicked over his chest. A silver feather earring hung from his right ear. His blond hair extensions made it look like he had a mullet. Very 80s. And so very wrong.
“You look like a wannabe drummer,” Crystal said with a sneer. “Shoes not good enough for you?”
He glanced down at his bare feet. “Not my idea.”
I grinned at him. Heath was a decent guy. He was in his late twenties, but he seemed so much older at times.
“Let’s rock this,” Dylan said coming out of the back. As usual, he wore a black t-shirt and black jeans. The only thing different from any other day was his hair. The casual mess had turned into an artistic mess. It only added to his sex appeal. Not that I had noticed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The weekend shows went off without a hitch. Hank’s voice didn’t crack. Any mistakes by the band weren’t noticeable to the crowd. Hank, however, caught them all. Each show was recorded. By Monday night, Hank had ordered double rehearsals for the following weekend shows.
“Look, Pamela,” I said after the Monday evening rehearsal, “you know I can’t. At least not until Thursday. It’s the last week of school.”
Pamela sighed heavily and threw back her head. “Shit. I keep forgetting. Okay, just be at the evening rehearsals. I’ll smooth things over with Hank. He’ll be an ass this time, but he’ll get over it.”
“Thanks,” I said as I rushed off the stage. It was almost two in the morning and I had one more final during first period. I hadn’t studied for it, and I couldn’t fail. My grades weren’t the best. I was graduating, but only by a string.
Mom wouldn’t have waited for me. Her shift at the restaurant ended at midnight, so one was the latest she’d really get out. It was five minutes from the theater, but if I wasn’t out by the time she got here, she’d just go home. I walked a lot because of it. Not that I really blamed her. Mom worked ten to twelve-hour shifts and was the sole income since Dad’s stroke.
It was going to be impossible this late on a weeknight, but I pulled out my phone to order an Uber, dipping into my precious checking account. Nobody was out according to the app. Great. Walking home would take a good thirty minutes, and I didn’t relish the idea. Maybe someone else could drop me off. I glanced around, hoping for anyone from the theater to be in their car. The parking lot was almost empty. Crystal was gone. So was Mike. Pamela was still here, but she probably would be for a while and she probably drove Hank to his cabin near the lake. Riding in a car with Hank was definitely not better than walking. I spotted Heath climbing into his two-door hatchback on the other side of the lot.
“Hey, Heath,” I shouted as I rushed toward him.
His engine sputtered into a roar and I could hear his stereo from fifty feet off. I stopped running. There wasn’t any point. He wasn’t going to hear me over the hip-hop. Heath tore out of the parking lot without hitting his breaks.
“Need a lift?” a voice said behind me. I turned to see Dylan twirling his keys around his finger.
Yes, I needed a ride but not from him. I shook my head and started toward the main drag. Tears pricked in my eyes. It didn’t make sense. Nothing had happened to set me off, except the sudden fear of Dylan seeing where I lived. He didn’t need to. Plain and simple.
“Cameron?” he asked. His hand fell on my lower arm and he spun me around. I kept my head down so he couldn’t see the unreasonable tears. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
I tried to turn away.
“Look, if you don’t want me driving you home, I’ll take you most of the way,” he said. His voice was gentle, as if he was talking to a scared cat that could tear him up in a heartbeat. “If you want.”
I stayed quiet, afraid to even move.
“Or I could follow you. Become your stalker. Just to make sure you get there okay.” He lifted my chin. The goofy smile covering his face dropped for a second, but he pulled it back up like a mask. “Can’t let you get hurt.”
This time I snorted. “It’s Branson, not L.A. I’ll be fine. And I could use the excer—” a yawn cut off the word.
“Yeah, right.” He took my arm gently and tugged
