Please Don't Make Me Beg

His reddish-blond hair stood straight up on his head, like some mad flame from his feverish brain, and he rolled his sparkling blue eyes impishly.

"TRE!!" He laughed delightedly at the screams of excitement as he shook hands and gave hugs to everyone--especially the girls.

"Tre, please sign my shirt!"

"Can you autograph my CD, Tre?"

"Tre, sign my boobs!" I'd never seen him hesitate before, but he exchanged a sideways glance with the security guard and uncapped his Sharpie with a huge grin. Not just the normal "Tre Cool" signature for this fan; he seemed to be composing his memoirs on her bare flesh until the other fans began to hoot and catcall at him.

They were having such a great time with the drummer that they didn't notice the tall, lanky guy sneaking up behind him. Tre's pants were around his ankles before he realized what was happening, and to his credit, he calmly continued signing autographs and shaking hands as if no one could see his bright blue and yellow Lemonhead boxers.

"Damn, dude, why can't I ever get you like you get me? Doesn't anything bother you?" asked Mike, his hands stabbing the air in frustration.

"Why, not at all, my four-strung friend. Our performance tonight for these good people left me quite warm, and I'm much more comfortable this way!" he said smugly.

"You're hopeless!" Mike chuckled as he joined in meeting the adoring kids who surrounded them. "I don't know why we still put up with you. I think we should try to talk to Travis Barker and see if we can steal him to replace you."

"Ahh," sighed Tre, "he may be able to keep the beat, but he'll never match my style!"

It was easy to see why they were so beloved. Tre was the clown, that was undeniable, and he had charm enough to intoxicate. Mike, strong and thoughtful, had a sort of tough guy/lost puppy duality that made him doubly appealing, and it was interesting to see how calm he could be offstage, when he was nothing short of fierce behind the microphone.

I couldn't help looking past them, though, hoping against hope for a glance at the one I'd come to meet. Probably, I thought, he's backstage with Adie and won't feel like coming out. He's bound to be exhausted after such an incredible performance.

From where I was standing, off to the side, I could actually see behind the privacy wall in front of the entrance, and I was curious to see two figures just inside the doorway. I could tell there was some kind of disagreement going on between a dark-haired man and a woman with long, flowing black hair, and--my God, it was him! Were he and Adie fighting? It sure looked like it.

Suddenly the woman raised her hand as if to slap him, and he caught her wrist before the blow reached his face. He held her arm so carefully in both his hands, almost gently, and he seemed to be appealing to her, but I could see her shaking her head "no, no, no."

What on earth was going on?

The tallest of the security guards was looking back toward them and signaled to one of the others, who nodded. Tall Guy cautiously ambled in the direction of the entrance, and paused a respectful distance away. Before he reached them, the woman turned and fled back up the passage toward the dressing rooms, and I could hear, faintly, a furious voice--"Goddammit, why won't she let me finish? I can't tell her anything if she runs away every time!"

Tall Guy looked a little uncomfortable, but he awkwardly slung his arm around Billie's shoulders and lowered his head a little to talk privately to him. Moments passed, and I could see Billie jam his hands defiantly into his pockets and straighten his back . With a decisive nod, he began to stride toward the waiting fans, his face masked with a smile that looked more like a grimace of pain.

The screams started as soon as he emerged from behind the wall, and the security guards had to close ranks along the front of the crowd to keep them from mobbing him. He flashed his famous, cocky grin and both middle fingers at them, winning a surge of excited hysteria, but it seemed I could see something more in his eyes--not panic, exactly, but a kind of fear and hesitation that was at odds with his larger-than-life image.

He radiated smart-assed confidence, and as he laughed and posed for pictures with the adoring fans, everyone, male and female alike, seemed to fall in love with him. How could you not? He was funny, smart, and supernaturally talented, and there was no arguing the fact that he was sex on a stick. So why did I somehow feel sad for him? Had anyone else seen behind the wall--literally and figuratively?

As he worked his way toward me, I clasped the guitar pick in my hand, which I admit had gotten sweaty and more than a little shaky. I could hardly remember how to breathe, and had absolutely no idea what I was going to say. Jesus, what WOULD I say? I really didn't want to sound like a total asshat, not in front of this man.

He turned toward me before I was ready, and as he regarded the grey strands in my hair, a wry grin twisted his soft lips to one side. Yeah, I was definitely out of place.

"I believe you dropped this," I said, holding out the pick. "Thought you might want it back." I was grinning like a hyena, I was sure.

For a moment, he stared at the bit of green plastic, and then laughed softly.

"Looks like that was probably pre-'Dookie,' if I remember right. Had it long?" His voice was like whiskey in a velvet glass.

"Since '93. You came through here during the summer and I was lucky enough to be in the pit. Of course," I mumbled, "that seems like almost a lifetime ago--obviously."

"Why? Don't you mosh anymore? You should, you know." His smile was teasing, but kind.
I felt my knees getting weak. He had the same power to charm in person that he did on stage, and I was helplessly smitten. His eyes held mine directly, almost challenging me to look away. And he almost won...until I saw the tear that silently glistened on his cheek, near his hairline. My heart broke for him, but who was I to intrude?

He reached into his pocket, and fished out another pick, this one black and red, with the famous heart grenade.

"Would you take good care of this for me? I think yours needs a friend."

"That would be...wonderful," I stammered. I could feel my cheeks burning crimson, and wondered where my brain had gone all of a sudden. As I reached to take the pick from his cupped hand, something welled up in me, and I gently took his callused fingers in both of mine. "Billie, thank you so much--for the music, for the show, for giving so much of yourself. You make your fans so happy, and I just hope you're happy, too."

The grin wobbled slightly, and his eyes softened as he looked at me, confused.

"I'm sorry, that really sounded corny. I just meant that I--I hope you understand how special you really are to so many people. Especially the ones closest to you."

"Uh, yeah, well, I'm just a dumb punk with a guitar. No big deal." His throat sounded tight, his voice rough and unsteady.

"I'll bet you're a big deal to Joey and Jakob. And I'm certain there's no one else like you for Adie. She's a lucky woman."

His beautiful green eyes dropped. "I'm not so sure about that," he whispered.

Tall Guy's hand touched his arm. "Sorry, Billie, we'd better wrap it up. We need to get to the bus and let the guys get some rest before we take off in the morning."

"Yeah, I guess so," he rasped. With a swipe of his tattooed wrist, the evidence of his pain was gone and the grin took its place. "I never even asked you your name. How rude of me."

"That's okay. It's--"

"Don't tell me now. Tell me on the bus," he said, his raised eyebrows betraying the question his words were hiding. "We'll be waiting here for a while until the crew gets the stage broken down and loaded, and you can meet Jason and some of the other guys. What d'ya say?"

He was teasing me, he had to be. Or, no--I'd driven home after the show, fallen asleep, and was dreaming this. I tried to tell him I had to get home before Andi, but my voice wasn't working.

"I, I'd..."

"Come on, you're a grownup. You can stay out late, can'tcha?" That adorable grin again.

What was happening? I was nobody, just a boring old mom who happened to love punk music, and all around him were beautiful girls who would have loved to follow him anywhere he went. So...why?

"You'd see right through me if I told you I wouldn't give my right arm to get the chance to talk to you. But I'm sure you and your family need some private time together. I don't want to intrude on that."

"They...won't be there. Adie's taking the boys home tonight so they have a day to rest before school on Monday. Look, just stop by for a few minutes and say hi. I'll let Dave know you're coming."

And before I could say anything else, he turned and was sprinting away, blowing kisses back to the fans.