“I love you, too!” she called back, vaguely aware that lurking behind the adrenaline rush of performing was the knowledge that tomorrow she’d feel like someone had taken a stick to her legs and back. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her manager, Chris Wellendorf, standing in the wings, tight shoulders and unsmiling face telegraphing his nervous tension. He didn’t like it when she got too close to the fans without security personnel at hand. All it took was one crazy person to break a finger or stab her with something, one interaction gone wrong to spread all over social media.
She straightened and stepped back, automatically adjusting both bracelet and guitar again, then held up her hands. “Thanks for coming, everyone. Happy holidays. Drive safely, and good night!”
The wave of applause carried her offstage, and continued until the lighting engineer cut the stage lights and turned up the houselights. Breathing hard, Cady washed up against the wall. Around her, the band was efficiently packing away the instruments. Next, the road crew would take down the set, then the stage. By the end of the night, the auditorium would be empty, waiting silently for the next event. Given the time of year—early December—probably a Lancaster College basketball game.
“I can’t sing it again.” She turned to look at Chris. “I can’t. If I have to sing Love Crossed Stars one more time, I will go out of my mind.”
“That’s the end of the tour talking. Love Crossed Stars will be your cash cow for the rest of your life. Besides, you think Paul Simon doesn’t roll out Sounds of Silence or Graceland or Mrs. Robinson at every show?”
“Paul Simon has dozens of songs he can use for a final encore,” Cady said. “Dozens. All of them brilliant. All of them telling profound stories about the human condition. Are any of them love songs? No.”
“Paul Simon is Paul Simon, with fifty years of singing and songwriting behind him. You are just starting out. Be happy. It was a good show,” Chris said.
“You always say that,” Cady replied, looking around for her water bottle.
“And I always mean it,” Chris said smoothly, producing a bottle from his jacket pocket and restoring the normally impeccable lines of his suit. In concession to the casual concert venue he’d stuffed his tie into his pocket and opened the top two buttons of his shirt. A single strand of his dishwater blond hair escaped from the gel slicking it back, giving him a vaguely rumpled look. “This time was different. Normally you’re dialed up to eleven on the scale. Tonight you were around fifteen.”
“These are my peeps,” Cady said after she swallowed half the water. She hooked her thumb in her guitar strap and hoisted it over her head. “I’m home. I’ve been playing for them since I was fifteen, busking in SoMa.”
“Usually without a permit,” came a familiar voice next to her.
“Eve, hi!” She backed away a step when Eve reached for her. “No, you really don’t want to hug me. I’ve sweated through my jeans.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eve said, and swept her up. “That was amazing! I loved the new take on Summer Nights. Where do you get your energy? You’ve been on the road for weeks now!”
Cady hugged her back, just as hard, so grateful for her friend’s early and vocal support. Chris was checking Eve out, not all that covertly, either. Eve had that kind of impact on men, even in jeans, ankle boots, and a crisp white button-down. “I’ve been on the road for months. We did the state fair circuit over the summer, where I ate every kind of food on a stick you can eat.”
“Including fried candy bars?” Eve asked.
“All the fried candy bars,” Cady said. Performing burned so many calories she could eat whatever she wanted and stay in shape. “I drew the line at a Twinkie log on a stick, though,” she added, then finished the rest of the water.
“You’ve got standards,” Eve said, still smiling. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”
“You, too,” Cady said. Absently, she introduced Chris and Eve, peering around the rapidly dismantling backstage, looking for her sister and mother. She heard Emily before she saw her, high-pitched voice, the clatter of heels as she rounded the corner and made straight for Cady.
“You’re home!” Emily shrieked and launched herself at Cady.
“You’re taller!” Cady laughed into Emily’s hair as Emily wrapped her arms around Cady and pulled her close. “Great outfit,” she said when Emily let go long enough for Cady to lean back and get a closer look.
“She tried on everything she owned,” her mother said, coming in for a hug.
“Hi, Mom. Thanks for coming,” Cady said over Emily’s protesting Mom.
“Ah, good to see you again, Mrs. Ward,” Chris said.
Her mother smiled at him and reached for Cady to give her a quick hug and kiss. “We need to get home soon,” her mother said. “It’s a school night.”
“Mom,” Emily groaned.
“It’s a school night,” she repeated firmly. Cady remembered this from her adolescence.
“It’s Cady’s homecoming concert! We talked about this. I’m going to drive Cady back to—”
Chris shot her a warning glance. Emily transitioned smoothly, “—home.”
“You said you were going to do that, and I said I don’t want you driving late at night.”
“Mom,” Emily started mulishly.