Could I?
Security won’t let me out of the building alone. I can’t be out in public without protection. It’s not safe. Fans can get out of control, and even with Tony breathing down my neck, last week there was another little box with a threatening note tucked inside. The stalker left it right outside my dressing room.
All the backup dancers are standing together in the hall receiving their feedback. One of them looks at me with empathetic eyes and gives me a little wave. Clearly she already knows about Johnny.
Everyone knows.
I give her a nod back, then cross into their empty dressing room for cover. One of the glittery gold bags the dancers use to carry their belongings is sitting on the counter, and a Marilyn Monroe–style wig from our first song sits perched on a Styrofoam head next to it.
Suddenly I have a plan.
I snag the bag, stuffing my phone inside and throwing the wig in after it while telling myself it’s not stealing. I’ll bring it back before the show on Sunday. I’m only borrowing it for a little while. Just long enough to get my head together.
There’s a gray beanie on the counter, and I snatch that up too. Then I scramble to the costume rack, pulling down a couple of dresses that might fit me. Someone’s puffy winter coat is hanging at the end of the rack, and I tuck that under my arm for good measure.
I spin to book it out of the room, but a makeup kit on the counter catches my attention. That could come in handy.
When I grab for it, my finger hooks one of the eye patches the dancers use in our spy-themed number at the end of my set. I stuff everything into my bag. Then I duck out the door and head straight for the crew bathroom in the rear to don my disguise.
It’ssprinkling when I push through the exit door at the back. A venue guard is stationed right outside, but he barely gives me a second look as I step out into the rain.
I’m free.
Outside. All by myself.
Honestly, when I looked in the mirror, I was shocked by the transformation. I styled the wig so it almost covers one side of my face, then threw the hat on over it for good measure. But the eye patch is the real clincher.
People are still streaming out from the stadium. Several fans wearing T-shirts for my tour brush past me as though I were a normal person.
It’s thrilling.
I spot a line of taxis waiting on the other side of the road, and I hoist my arm up. “Taxi!” I’ve never ridden in one before, but I’ve seen them in movies. I know how this works.
But none of them circle around to pick me up, and a large truck drives past, splashing a wave of filthy water over me.
I scream in frustration and surprise, but no one comes to help, so I plod across the street on my own. The frills at the bottom of my dress are plastered flat against my body, and mud is dripping down my bare legs and into my heels. I stoop to slick it off with my hand.
“You need a taxi?” I look up to see a grim-faced man rolling down the window of his cab. But when his eyes meet mine hishead jerks back. I’m worried he recognizes me, but he doesn’t say a word, and I realize he’s probably reacting to my eclectic appearance.
“Yes, please.”
He waves me over, and I climb inside.
“Where to?” he asks from the driver’s seat.
“Umm…”
Where am I going?
I hadn’t thought that far ahead.
But then it hits me. There’s one place I’ve always dreamed of going back to. I was worried I’d never find the time, but I have three whole days before the show. I can go anywhere I want.
“Cupid City, please.” I straighten up in my seat, grinning.
It’s the town where I grew up. The only place that ever felt like home.
“Where the hell is that?”
