babe?
come back
Wendy, srsly?
whr r u?
need to close this deal baby come help ur boi
guys want to hang with u
please
please my pretty pretty girl
I stare at the glowing screen, squinting to make out the words through the haze of intoxication. In my head, I can practically hear Jett’s petulant voice.
this is for us
we gonna be rich
help me out
Mick got us our own bus come on over
I have this dreadful gut feeling. I didn’t like that Jett ignored my pointing out that Mick got too handsy. I left for that reason alone—I ejected myself from the situation I wasn’t comfortable in. But where did I go? To watch other men pretty much simulate sexual acts on stage.
Does that make me any better than Jett?
Probably no.
I hate this conflicting emotion in me, and I suppose the good, loyal Wendy wins.
With an exasperated sigh, I shove my phone back into my pocket and push my way through the crowd.
I stumble through the labyrinth of backstage, where roadies and techs run around, where the occasional VIP lounges against a wall, and where everyone’s awash in frenetic energy from the show. I feel unsteady, the floor seeming to shift beneath my feet as I walk.
I’ve had too much to drink, I realize.
Once I'm far enough from the pounding of the instruments to hear myself think, I fumble for my phone and dial Jett's number. I can’t be bothered with roaming charges right now. If he closes the deal, I’ll just ask him to cover my phone bill.
"Where are you?" Jett yells on the line. "Come on, Wendy. It’s no fun without you."
"On my way back." Do I tell him I went to see The Deviant’s set? No, probably not. He’ll blow up.
"We got our own bus." Jett proceeds to explain where I need to go, and I do my best to memorize it.
Merch stands.
VIP lounge.
To the left of the Ferris wheel.
"You got it?" Jett asks when he’s done screaming instructions.
"Yeah. I think so."
"Then get your perky ass in here. Everyone’s waiting for you."
