“Do it yourself,” I said, ripping open the plastic containing the colourful peppers. “Start up your own PR company.”
Becka laughed, a burst that was half-snort, half-gasp, all incredulous. “Yeah, and maybe I’ll win the Powerball while I’m at it.”
I shrugged, turning my attention back to the spice drawer I was rifling through.
“Think about it.”
Her whole face scrunched, but whether in thought, or disbelief, I couldn’t tell.
“Yeah, sure,” she said doubtfully. “Tell me when you have some confirmed travel plans. Later, babes.”
“Later,” I said, but she was already gone.
In the end, I rolled the idea around in my head for days.
I came to the conclusion that even if I wanted to, I couldn’t warn Jihoon that I was coming in November. He’d disconnected his number, and it was unlikely his social media settings would allow a direct message.
I considered reaching out to Ace. I could easily message him, but something about how Becka had likened it to ‘apologising’ kept repeating in my mind.
I could rationalise it as giving Jihoon a heads up, a professional courtesy, but going through Ace felt too much. It felt like at that point, I might as well send an official notice to ENT.
So, screw it. If I had to be constantly bombarded with images of my ex-boyfriend splashed all over the internet, my favourite K-Mart, and the London bloody Underground, then he could deal with seeing my face at the back of a crowded room.
Chapter 42
November - Thursday. The day of the concert
This was GVibes’ first overseas performance since before their military enlistment, and it was being touted as a celebration – whether they won anything at the MCAs or not.
A lot of the tickets had gone on pre-sale for members of their fan club, and resale for above face value had been strictly policed to prevent scalpers ripping off fans.
I was impressed. There weren’t too many performers with the clout to enforce something like that, and it went a long way to reinforcing the idea that GVibes didn’t just appreciate Vibers, they respected them.
It was little bits of information like that that which had allowed me to keep my mind busy, and working in a strictly professional frame of mind as I stepped out into the chilly November morning at LAX.
Becka had offered to come in a taxi to get me, but I’d firmly said I was there to work, and wouldn’t be staying with her.
The press conference was being held at the same hotel I was booked into. The whole hotel had been booked out, apparently. A mix of journalists, like me, and some of the artists who’d be in town for the awards show.
It was one of the big, chain hotels close to the Mayan Theatre, so it made sense to put us all in the same place.
I tried very hard to push down the idea that it might also be the hotel that GVibes were staying in.
The concert was this evening, and jet lag was looming on the horizon. I felt it dragging my body the same way I dragged my suitcase behind me. I hadn’t been able to convince the travel coordinator to fly me over a day earlier. Something about budgets. They may have saved money on the flights, but I was going to pay the price for it.
But there was some comfort in being back in LA. It was like finding an old t-shirt you used to wear all the time. Comfortable, even if it didn’t fit aswell as it used to.
LA had always managed to surprise me, one way or another.
Today, it was that it took less than an hour to make the journey from LAX to downtown. I texted this to Becka, by way of letting her know that I had gotten to my hotel safely.
Becka
Miracles do happen!
[Sent 09:43]
I smirked, replied with a thumbs up and headed into the hotel.
