Page 8 of Such A Good Guy
“Just visiting an old family friend,” I said vaguely. “What about you?”
“We’re here to see a concert,” he said. “Big treat for us. Bringing everyone I know. My wife, my daughters, all the granddaughters. They’re all big fans of this fellow. He seems to be all the rage now. We were pretty lucky to get tickets, though. Apparently they sold out within 45 seconds.”
He shook his head genially. “I was there with my sausage fingers at the ready. Not that I’m much of a fan, you know. But I’d do anything for them.”
“Ah,” I said, hoping the conversation was over so I could go back to working on the expense reports for my small business. “Well, have fun there.”
“Grandpa, don’t be so silly!” one of his granddaughters shrieked, turning around in her seat to glare at him. “You knowallthe words to his songs!”
Thus called out, my seatmate turned a bit shame-facedly to me. “Well, fine, maybe I am a big fan. Those songs are just so goldurn catchy, you know? You a fan, too?”
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Luke. Luke O’Neill.”
Of course
I resisted an urge to roll my eyes.
“I don’t—I haven’t listened to his songs,” I said, hoping that was the end of the conversation.
“You have to!” she squealed.
“Who would’ve thought he’d be making a tour ofCanada!” another woman enthused.
I said nothing.
Good God, if they were this excited about him literally existing, then how out of pocket would they be when they learned he was one of my oldest friends, literally one of the last safe wholesome guys in the world.
We seemed to wait a really long time as the plane landed, torturous for a quieter person like me, but it seemed like the whole plane was literally here for the Luke O’Neill concert, singing and playing his songs loudly.
I looked at my expense reports again. I wasdefinitelygoing to have go back to my corporate accounting job. Which sucked, because I had really thought for a while I could make this smallbusiness work, but my sales had taken a nosedive recently. Everyone in my family made fun of a sensible, level-headed person like me owning a crystal shop, but it was hard to explain how it was my one deviation from sensibility that had grown into a passion for me.
“What’s taking so long?” someone finally asked irritably.
“It sounds like there’s some kind of celebrity out there,” one of the flight attendants said, and this juicy news was passed back from seat to seat eagerly.
Celebrity?
I felt a sudden nervous twist in my gut.
No, surely not.
I hadn’t even told him when I was coming. . .
I argued with myself the entire time I slowly shuffled off the plane.
Surely it was just coincidence.
Could it really be Luke they were referring to as this huge celebrity?
I felt carried along by the excitement, the anticipation.
And I rounded a corner and there he was. International pop star Luke O’Neill, and my brother’s best friend, come to greet me at the airport.
It was pandemonium.
Crowds were being held back by Canadian Mounties on either side of him, women literally stretching out their arms to touch him like he was a miracle healer.
