Alex braids my hair. She does this because she knows it pisses off Anal Anna and loves to watch her huff and puff while she’s trying to get out the kinks. I don’t understand why I can’t perform in a braid. It would be so much easier and would keep my hair out of my face. But what do I know? I’m just the talent surrounded by people paid to know what’s best for me.
Alex moves from my hair to my shoulders and massages them. My head falls forward as she works the muscles in my neck. Having my best friend on tour has so many perks, this being one of them. And I have someone to talk to when I'm lonely. Which is all the time. She ends up being my everything – my confidant, my shopping buddy and even my date to the movies when I want to see something. I lean on her for everything.
She taps me on the shoulder to let me know I’m done. I open my eyes and look at her. The bright lights surrounding my vanity mirror are making her dark skin pale. I hate that because her dark complexion and caramel-colored eyes are beautiful.
Alex and I switch spots and I do her make-up. This has become our ritual. Not that anyone is going to see us like this. She’ll remove the make-up before we leave the bus and head into the arena. This is the only time I can be a kid again, even though at twenty-two, those days are over. I just missed them by performing and sometimes I want them back. I miss the days where I didn’t have to do anything. I didn’t have to be “on”. When I could go to the mall and hang out, eating at the food court and not having to worry if paparazzi are lurking in the dressing room next to me. Those days have been gone for so long, I wish for one moment I can be normal again.
A knock on the bus door makes us both groan. Sometimes performing every other night and traveling in between is too much. I long for my soft bed and stuffed animals. Yes, I know, I’m too old for stuffed animals, but every so often I need them.
Alex goes to get the door. She sashays as she walks, flipping her hair over her shoulder every few steps, mimicking Anal Anna. It’s something we’ve practiced night after night either on the tour bus or in our hotel room.
“Oh look, if it isn’t the hair dresser.” Alex walks back toward me, rolling her eyes. When Anna spots my hair braided she sighs heavily causing Alex to laugh. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
They have a love/hate relationship. Actually, I think it is more hate/hate because I don’t remember them every really loving each other.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
I don’t answer her. I fall into step behind her, Alex behind me. Outside my bus is a security guard. He’s not mine, but someone that the venue hired to stand here and block my door. He looks me up and down and smirks. Not sure why. Maybe he’s a hard-core rocker fan or something. Alex mutters something under her breath and starts laughing, earning us a look from Anna. I swear she thinks we’re twelve years old.
The venue is bursting with people. The opening act is about to go on. They are an up-and-coming boy band that has been traveling with me for a few months now. One of them, the lead singer, Smith Michaelson, hits on me after every show. At first I was flattered, but it quickly got old. If I don’t buy what he’s selling, he moves on to some bopper that somehow made it into our after-party. I’ve been with only one musician and that was enough to last me a lifetime. They're nothing but trouble. Pure heartbreak waiting to happen, that’s what it is. When men have women throwing themselves at you night after night you seem to forget about the commitment you made to someone else. I swore off relationships like that, which is why I’m single. I want “normal” but “normal” definitely isn’t knocking on my door.
He’s persistent though. I’ll give him credit for trying, but if seeing him talk to me and then walk to the first willing girl is supposed to make me want him more, it doesn’t. It makes me feel sorry for him. I’ve taken to carrying handiwipes with me so after he touches my hand I can disinfect my skin.
Anal Anna opens the door to my dressing room. I have a bouquet of sunflowers sitting on the table along with magazines for Alex. My rack of possible outfits sits in the corner and all of Anna’s make-up is stacked on the table in front of the full-length mirror. I sit down and plaster on a fake smile so Anna knows I’m ready. The last thing I need is for her to tell my uncle Ian, who doubles as my manager, that I don’t have my game face on. A lecture from him is something I can do without.