“Yes, ma’am. I handle all the outdoor events in Mulligan’s—”
“Good. I’ll see you at six a.m. sharp tomorrow morning. My team will be bumping in the rigging and staging from seven. I hope you have plenty of perimeter fencing and bollards, we’re expecting quite the crowd.”
“Quite the crowd? How many people are we talking about exactly?”
“We don’t have precise numbers yet, but today’s pre-sale VIP tickets sold out in under a minute. Indications are we’ll have all ten thousand tickets sold by close -of -business tomorrow.”
“Ten thousand! They’ll overrun the whole town. Mulligan’s Mill can’t handle those sorts of numbers.”
“I’m afraid you have no option. It seems his fans can’t wait to see Dean in his hometown.”
With that she hung up.
“What the fuck?” I breathed to myself, my head spiraling into a panic over the thought of that many people descending upon Mulligan’s Mill. This was beyond the logistics of setting up a stage and AV rig. Every business in town would be overrun with concert-goers wanting food and accommodation and God only knew what else.
As my frantic train of thought rambled through my brain, I steered my way home on autopilot, pulling up out front of my house to see Madeline sitting on my front porch step, a bottle of wine beside her.
I jumped out of the car. “Madeline, I’m so sorry. I… I got held up.”
She smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s okay. You’re a busy guy, I get it. Although one more minute and I was about to smash the top off this bottle of chardonnay and start drinking.”
I helped her up off the step, fumbled with my keys, and opened the front door.
Instantly we were met with an overpowering smell.
“Wow, something smells nice,” she said.
Thankfully she was talking about the scent wafting from the lilies and lilacs I’d left in the sink, not jizz.
“I bought flowers, but I haven’t put them in vases yet, I got kinda waylaid. Come on in.”
I showed her into the living room with the kitchen and dining room off to one side. “You need some help? I’m good with flowers. I can help arrange them.”
“No, please. Sit down. Why don’t I open this wine and pour us each a glass, huh?”
Madeline gave me the bottle and took a seat on the sofa. I opened it and poured, taking her glass to her before turning the oven on, pulling the pie out of the fridge and scouring the cupboards for vases. I found three, all different shapes and sizes, filled them with water and plonked the flowers haphazardly into them.
I set one vase on the dining table, one on the mantle and one on a side table next to the sofa.
As I busied myself, Madeline asked, “Are you sure I can’t do something to help?”
“Not at all,” I said, sliding the pie into the oven. “I hope you like pie. Sorry it’s not homemade, but I picked it up from Pascal’s so it’s probably way better than anything I could have cooked anyway.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem flustered.”
“I’m fine. Today was just a little… unexpected.”
“Are you talking about Dean?”
I froze, my anxiety suddenly peaking. “What?” My voice was uncharacteristically, uncontrollably shrill.
What did Madeline know?
Had she seen me going into Dean’s backyard studio?
Had she heard us crying out in ecstasy?
Oh fuck!
