“Can we take a selfie?” My mind flashes for a moment to my reflection in the bathroom. Radical acceptance, I remind myself.
“Absolutely! What’s your name?”
“Marigold.”
“Marigold, what a fun name.”
“Sometimes I wish my parents didn’t try to be soclever. I’m guessing you relate.”
“Yep, my parents were far too clever with names.” People used to think April Rain was a stage name. Nope, it’s just my first and middle name. “I wasn’t even born in April.”
“That’s hilarious! I can’t believe I’m meeting you and Freddy West on the same night!” She puts her hands to her head to gesture mind blown. “Isn’t he amazing?”
“He is.”
“And I couldn’t believe how nice he was in person. I sort of expected him to be full of himself; I mean why wouldn’t he be—he’s unbelievably hot and his music!” She puts her hands on her heart. “It goes straight to my heart, but he seemed cool. Like, I don’t know; he doesn’t take himself too seriously.”
“Really?”
“Haven’t you met him?”
“Oh yeah, he’s great.” And I’m not lying. He is really great. Before Freddy, all the guys I dated had been other young celebrities like myself. A part of me assumed some of his charm was that he didn’t belong to my world. And that all the “normal” guys out there would be equally as grounded, authentic, and sweet. I was in for a world of disappointment. Now after dating my fair share of “normal” guys that I met at college, I realize Freddy is exceptional. Or he was. I have no idea who Freddy is now. But withevery moment, my courage to meet him decreases. I spy a platinum blond head marching towards us. My heart plummets. This is definitely NOT the time to meet Freddy.
“April Rain!” A brash, carrying voice calls my name.
An improbably good-looking man hurries over to us. He is in his late thirties, maybe early forties with bottle-blond hair and teeth so white they glow in the dim backstage area.
“Is that Johnny Love?” Marigold whispers.
All I do is smile and nod. Yes, it is. Johnny Love, Hollywood’s most notorious celebrity gossip. This is not how I wanted to make my comeback. (If I even want to make a comeback.)
He joins us with a smile so bright it threatens to cause a power outage.
“April Rain! Look at you! College made you even more stunning. If that’s possible.” He hugs me like we are old friends; we are not, and he does that air kiss thingy on both cheeks. He steps back and rakes his eyes over me.
“I own all of your vinyls, even the holiday album. Did I hear that you might be putting out a new one?” he asks.
“Johnny,” I say, trying for my most charming smile, not at all sure if I still have it in me to deliver one on cue. “If I record a new song, you’ll be thefirst to know.” I may have laid it on too thick. My voice has a slight southern accent.
“Promise.”
“You bet.” Anything to get him to leave me alone.
“Wonderful!” He narrows his eyes. “So why are you here? Are you and Freddy collaborating?”
“No, no, umm...” I scramble for an explanation. My name has never been linked with Freddy’s in the press. When we dated, it was important to me to protect his privacy. And when it was over, I desperately wanted to protect the memory of that relationship. But if Johnny Love starts digging, it won’t take him long to find our history. He has a full-time staff, not to mention a bevy of sources. “I like his music and...” My thoughts swarm with all the very true things I absolutely cannot say:I wanted to marry him.I’m still in love with him. I’m the mysterious muse he writes all those sad songs about.
“And... ?” Johnny leads me on. I realize my mouth is hanging open. I have no idea what to say when a tall white guy with a man bun interrupts.
“April Rain!” He draws out my name like it’s his favorite dirty joke. I’d be offended, but I’m so grateful for the distraction. I take a second look and realize I know him.
“You’re the drummer for Freddy West.”
“Totally!” He points the beer bottle he’s carryingto his chest. “That’s me.”
“The concert was amazing.”
“Ahh! Thanks!” He takes a swig. “I bet you miss this. Where have you been? Rehab?”
