To Love/Hate the Spotlight

"What do you mean you have to go back to Illinois?"

I winced. Billie Joe had gone from jovially distracted at the start of our conversation to his voice lowered and scrutinizing all after a few tentative words from my mouth.

"Exactly as it sounds: I got a phone call from Mom not too long ago. She was upset and said she really needs to see me... kinda owe her this since I bailed on visiting my relatives and avoided talking to her for the past couple months..."

"Yes, I get that, but do you have to rush there now? Can't it wait a couple more weeks when the tour's in Chicago? That way you won't be going by yourself."

"How do you mean?"

"It's just---" A heavy gust of air distorted the commotion of sound filtering through the receiver. "... why don't you wait until I get back? We're scheduled to return Monday, Tuesday at the latest."

"Billie, it's done. I'm dressed and packed and ready to check out." My response came out more snappish than I intended so I stopped, pausing to rub at my face, mindful of the freshly applied make up.

He was silent on the other end, probably fiddling with a cigarette and brooding. A small, bitter part of me assumed he was holding the phone away and conversing with someone else. Bored with me.

"Look... if it wasn't such an emergency, I'd wait for you, you know that. But you're busy there, and I have to go do this."

"Get an extra ticket to New York when you finish there. It's been nothing but work. I've yet to explore..." His tone turned coaxing. Hell, it made me hopeful, and I was sorely tempted. I thought back to the brief interaction with my mother earlier: The tenuous hold of emotions, her voice unsteady with tears or malice. I couldn't say no to her then, and I more so could not refuse Billie. I felt like shit. At least he was trying.

"... maybe, babe. I'll see what happens."

"Great." I could hear the smile in that one word. "So what did you need last night?"

Dread filled my stomach as ice trickled down my spine. "I, uh---"

"Shit. Bec, I gotta go. Call me before you take off and after you land and etc. Alright?"

"I will."

"Be careful."

"Damn, you've foiled my plans on taking candy from strangers, going down dark alleys, and writing my pin number on my hand."

"Ha, ha. Sarcasm, love it."

"Love you."

"Yeah, yeah, you too. Try not to get yourself killed."

"I'll make the effort."

The goodbyes were quick, and once again I was sitting in a quiet hotel room by myself. At least it won't be for much longer. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I slipped out to the hall. When the elevator doors opened, I was ready to step on but stopped short at the presence of Frank moving out while sipping from a capped coffee. He froze mid-slurp when recognition struck, our movements stuttered.

"Hey," I ventured, unsure of his noticeably rigid frame and flushed neck. "Uh... sorry about not going along last night. I--I wasn't feeling too well. Bet it was a good time either way?" My uncertainty rose as I spoke, his face shutting down into a bland expression.

He avoided the last few lines and motioned at the bag clutched tightly in my hand.

"Oh-uh..." A fang worried my bottom lip. "Family emergency. I have to go home-- not for long though." The strange urge to reassure him my absence being a short one came out of nowhere, and I could feel the blood flaring in my cheeks.

"Well, good luck with that." He shrugged -did he not believe me?- and brushed past. "See you when you get back," he tossed half-heartedly over his shoulder.

The sliding doors banged into my arm before I allowed Frank's dismissive behavior to stun my entire brain. What was his problem? I wondered this as I stepped in and belatedly remembered to hit 1.

Thoughts on the guitarist dominated my thinking on the way to the airport. Mostly questions and hypothetical musings that thankfully distracted me from destructive imaginings of this family emergency and the taxi driver with his unsettling affinity for the Little River Band. I don't think I saw him at all last night... maybe I prank-called him? That would be something stupid and childish that I would do.

The airport was small, but thankfully Chicago was such a major city that there were no detours to anywhere else. A swipe of the credit card and a rather uncalled for personal search later, and I was waiting impatiently at the gate. Dropping my carry on at my feet -ticket folded in my back pocket- I made the promised phone call to Billie Joe, but as I figured I ended up leaving a brief message. Hopefully this weekend would be the last in a while of these business trips since I highly doubted wrapping up whatever Mom wanted would leave me with enough time to fly to where he was.

Things, as it turned out, weren't that simple.

*

I moved at a sedate pace as throngs of people barged past at O'Hare. My mind still foggy and eyelids at half mass. Napping through the flight in those god awful excuses for seats left my head throbbing, neck stiff, and me momentarily forgetting where I was and why. The only bright side I could come up with sneering weakly as my shoulder was once again bumped into was, "At least I don't have to wait around staring at a conveyor belt."

Finding a cab was more trouble than it was worth. I was yelled at, ignored, until I ultimately said, "Fuck it" and slipped inside the nearest empty vehicle. The stench of exhaust clung heavily to my clothes. The slow navigation out of the pit of cars -the stopping, jerking, and spat curses- kept me just alert enough to grumble the address. The drive would be quite straight forward on the expressway with nothing to look at on the way. Within minutes I had drifted off again to sleep. The need outweighed any fear of dreams.

Knocking jolted me from my doze. My face smashed against worn leather with a plethora of smells I didn't even want to dissect. I sat up to look blearily at the dark silhouette that was the driver, leaving a trace of red lipstick residue and a spot of drool. Classy.

With all the grace half-coherency would grant me, I shoved the outrageous cost into his waiting palm and staggered out, dragging my bag with me. I must have been more tired than I realized since I fell asleep again in the cab, trusting a stranger to do his job and bring me---- well, here.

The townhouse appeared the same as it always was: Tidy, plain, and mostly depressing filled with its childhood goods and bads. But there wasn't time for reluctant romps down memory lane with whatever this emergency was. So with that in mind, I jogged up the steps and all but smacked the door bell. Too long seconds spent waiting and wondering. The flash of headlights of the retreating cab threw my black shadow against the door. I shivered. It was a bit cooler up here than what I've been used to. I jumped to attention when muffled locks disengaged and someone fumbled with the doorknob. Anxiety shrunk my insides into a quivering knot when pink, swollen eyes fixed on me and the usually overbearing affection of my mother moved wordlessly to the side, granting my entrance.

Yep, nothing could be good by that.

I shuffled a few steps in before awkwardly stopping, unsure of whether doing anything else would be welcome since once upon a time I used to live here or just plain presumptuous. The mystery was taken out of my hands when one acrylic nail pointed at the couch; the same floral monstrosity my mother interrogated Billie Joe on when they first met and years later he would in turn sleep on when we were visiting last. Some good times those there...

Once both of us were seated -me sinking into pastel cushions and her perched opposite on the edge of a cushy armchair- we just sat in silence. My fingers knotted together so as to not fidget as my eyes did all the darting and roaming around, not really seeing any of it. Her stare was like an itching mosquito bite swelling between my shoulder blades.

"So--" My voice caught, and I quietly cleared it. "So this emergency..."

Her hair was lined with fine threads of gray which scared me. My mother wasn't the aging in vain type with Botox and seaweed wraps, but she didn't miss hair appointments; it's what the women in my family do, and some day I'll probably do the same. While her eyes were red and puffy, the mascara in her lashes was clumped and dotting the dark circles. She had looked so bright and happy the last I saw her. What happened?

Her voice as weak as it sounded held a bit of steel behind her softly spoken words. They startled me from my worried musings---oh god, was it Rachel?

"I'm going to ask you a question, and you are going to answer it honestly."

Alarms trilled inside my skull. Whenever someone demands you to be honest, that didn't bode well. You're already condemned, they just want to know if you're going to lie one more time.

"Am I a grandmother?"

My mouth fell open from a sharp intake of breath. It snapped closed just as fast. "Wh--what would give you that idea?"

"Rebecca Brittany--"

"No," I spat immediately, because it made sense to. My eyes stung struggling to match hers, as if she'd take one look and see a scrunched up, rosy face, a wisp of dark hair, the name Jimmy and she'd know---

She knew.

"Don't lie."

"I'm not lying. Why would I lie about something that obviously didn't happen?"

"I don't know why you would--"

"And why are even asking me all this?" I stood up -hardly towering over her- angry now. "One phone call from you and I dropped everything and rushed to get here, thinking someone was in the hospital or-or dead! And this---- this is it? You wanted to ask me something so trivial?"

"... it's not trivial."

"It is. If Billie and I were... expecting---" The word tasted bittersweet, because I knew it wasn't ever going to happen. "You would be one of the first to know--"

"I'm not talking about you and your husband. I'm talking about--" She cut herself off with a sharp look away. A blush colored her cheeks; the second person today to do so in my presence.

The memory of her phone call earlier triggered itself: Someone had been talking to her. Whispering. Who?

Doubt and Fear weighed heavy in my gut, pulling me down to sit. My hands tucked between my legs to hide their shaking. All the blood drained from my face. My lips moved but no sound came out. With effort the flexing near the back of my throat forced out a weak "Who?"

Disappointment produced heavy lines in her normally youthful face. The next words out of her mouth were not what I expected; it was a name but not of a person.

"Watch where you're going!" was one of the many absolutely shrill exclamations from a uniform troop of shopping, pre-teen girls. A snarl clawed behind my lips but other than that I didn't pay any more attention to their measly existence. They'll survive a couple of bruises from my shove. Two miles an hour should not be an accepted speed within public forums.

No, definitely not. At least not when it's important.

I practically ran up the crowded escalator, much to the disapproval of the strangers I hastily dodged. Right at the top and to the left would be the mall's cinema. Frustration at why I was here and the vague sense of urgency caused me to almost trip on the step-off.

It being early evening, the theater was plenty busy, so my bypassing the ticket sellers went largely unnoticed. Mom had mumbled something about concession but I couldn't pry any more from her, so visibly torn between shame and resentment. A sizable queue of people blotted out the snacks counter. I tried to see around to the front -unsure of what exactly I was looking for- but a popcorn machine was in the way.

Fuck. For five minutes I paced, growing more and more irritated. Why the hell was I here? Probably too panicked to see reason. Mom was most likely fed up with me after only a few minutes and had pawned me off to a movie. I wouldn't be surprised really. She had done something much like this before minus this new uncharted branch of drama. Fuck!

"Next!"

Now what am I supposed to do? Stranded at the friggin' mall, still holding onto my luggage like an idiot?

"Hey, are you in line?"

My head snapped up from its scowling at the floor, knowing instinctively that that high-pitched, impatient voice was directed at me. A girl at least sixteen but a head shorter than me -which was amazing since I'm fairly short myself- with frizzy blonde hair and painted with colors a circus clown would find a bit much stood at the now open counter waiting expectantly. Somehow my pacing drew me close to what was considered the queue vicinity.

Why not? What else was there?

I nodded and stepped closer. "... water," I grumbled, hiking my bag up.

"Will that be all?" she droned. Ah, the enthusiasm. One more nod, she was moving away. She paused in her journey to the cooler, noticeably perked up, then skipped. I'm familiar with that hip wiggle, that impossible posture meant to bring attention to the bosom. A boy. Good god, must I be subjected to this?

"Hi, J!" She chirped. Way too much volume, sweet heart. "Could you do me a teensy weensy favor for little ol' me?" From here it looked like she was flirting with the Icee machine. "I have to run to the little girls room. Could you run the counter for me till I get back--- pretty please?"

Wait--- seriously? She couldn't handle one water?

A short span of seconds passed until she smiled sweetly, clapped her hands in a giddy fashion, and went on tip-toe to kiss whoever, and flounced away.

My jaw tightened. My fingernails drummed on the sticky counter, glaring at the spot she just stood. I really didn't have time for this. Fortunately, my phone went off and distracted me from humanity's many quirks.

"Yes?"

"Did you get there okay?"

I sighed, thankful to hear Billie's voice. Since a water bottle was too much to ask for, I turned away and leaned against the glass. No one else was in line anyway.

"I did. I'm sorry, I forgot to call."

"Something wrong?"

Earlier's anxiety reasserted itself, and I winced at the remembered look of my mother's face where it eventually brought me here: A fucking movie theater. I had to hold myself back from rubbing harshly at my face. Can't mess up the make up. I huffed a fall strand of brown from my vision. Does my vanity know no bounds? "... yeah, but I can't talk about it here."

"Where are you?"

My eyes skimmed over the surrounding posters. "I'll tell you all about it later."

"Your water will be three fifty, miss." That voice niggled at the back of my brain.

"I have to go." My bag slipped to the floor in favor of fishing out the ridiculous amount of money. Just as he was uttering goodbyes, I turned back -a five in hand- and promptly dropped my phone.

A bottle of water held out.
Too familiar hazel eyes met mine.
Pale mouth agape, fangs glinting in answer to my own.
Static filled my ears when his thin lips wrapped around my name.
Then my entire world went black.