chapter Ten
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As I approach the hospital, I’m taken aback by the crazy amount of traffic on the side streets. Is there some kind of parade or something going on? I hope not. Big events like that always mess up our flow of patients in and out of the ER. Any big disturbance is going to muck up the course of the day for us, and we can’t ever afford it. I resist the urge to honk my horn at a huge van in front of me. What’s gotten into people today, anyway? You’d think that the Pope was visiting or something.
Finally, I edge my way into the parking lot. The place is absolutely jam packed with cars. What on earth is going on? Is it visit-your-sick-acquaintance day or something? I’ve never seen this place so bustling before. I swing into my parking space and squint out into the sea of cars around me. What’s even stranger is that no one seems to be coming and going from the hospital’s front entrance. Are all these people holed up inside? Maybe there was some accident somewhere that I didn’t hear about.
I feel the adrenaline start to course through me as I pick myself up out of the car. As an ER nurse, I live for moments like this. I’m great in a crisis, big or small. I’ve never had a huge event or catastrophe happen on my watch, but when there are people I need to help, I go into action mode. I can feel myself slipping into my professional state of intense energy as I speed toward the emergency room entrance. Something crazy is happening around here, and I know that I need to throw myself right into the middle of it.
Catapulting around the corner, my stethoscope around my neck, I brace myself, expecting to see some horrible display of carnage open up before me. My feet scuttle to a halt beneath me as I take in the scene unfolding in front of my eyes. There’s no blood, no gore, no panicked survivors or hysterical family members. There’s not a sick or hurt person in sight. Instead, a sea of photographers and reporters turn toward me as one, their cameras poised and still for the briefest of moments. Then, all the hell breaks loose around me.
They come at me in a swarm, a thousand-limbed beast screeching a hollering my name. The wave breaks around me, and I’m surrounded. My head is spinning, and I can’t make out a word anyone is saying. They’re clamoring for a spot beside me, grabbing at me, throwing me question after question, demanding answers. My mouth falls open wordlessly, and I fear they’re going to smother me any second. I look around wildly, trying to find some way to escape. But I can’t—I’m absolutely trapped. They press in around me as I stand hopelessly rooted to the spot.
“Julia! Julia!” A voice screams above the din. I manage to focus on a single face in the crowd. A smiling, airbrushed brunette is leering at me from within the mass of people, shoving a microphone unceremoniously into my face. “What’s it like to be the girlfriend of rock star Slade Hale?”
“Wh-what?” I squeak.
“It’s all over the gossip blogs!” the woman cries, “You, a normal young nurse, saving the life of America’s favorite up and coming rock star, falling in love with him all the while! Do you confirm or deny?”
“I...need to get to work,” I say, starting to grow angry with these rude people. Don’t they know I have better things to do than talk to them. “How did you people even find me?” I ask a man at my elbow.
“Your pictures were everywhere,” he tells me, “It wasn’t hard to track you down! Julia, have you and Slade Hale begun an intimate relationship?”
“That’s...you...” I splutter, “You people need to get out of my way. I have a job to get to, a real job. Not whatever pathetic gossip mongering you all are up to.”
“Ooh, she’s feisty,” I hear another voice say, “I love that.”
“Let me through!” I shout, starting to shove my way through the people. They won’t let me out. I’m totally stuck, paralyzed and helpless within this sudden mob of press. I feel anger and panic commingling within me, crashing down my spine and sending me into a blind fury.
“How is Slade Hale in bed?” asks another voice. “America is dying to know!”
“You’ll be dying outright in a minute if you don’t get out of my way!” I yell back.
“Are you afraid that Slade is just using you as a novelty? A sort of girl-in-every-port—hey!”
I snatch away the microphone of the nearest ingrate and chuck it clear over the heads of the gathered reporters. I’m ready for a fight, now.
“Make way!” says a high, shrill voice that I’d recognize anywhere. “All of you, move it!”
A hand closes around my wrist, and I whip around to find myself face-to-face with Penny.
“Thank god,” I nearly sob, grabbing onto her hand.
“Don’t worry babe,” she says, “I’ll get you out of here.”
Penny tows me through the crowd, all but tossing reporters aside as we go. Finally, we break through the pack—the ER doors are in sight. We hurtle toward the entrance, tripping over a*sholes with flash bulbs. The security guards at the door let us through, stopping the surge of people behind us once we’re past. I stagger into the ER waiting room, panting furiously. All along the front doors and windows, reporters are staring in after us with their noses pressed up against the glass. I have to keep my hands balled into fists to keep from giving them the finger, every last one of them. I’m humiliated, and scared, and totally in over my head.
“Julia,” Penny says, looking at me intently, “Are you OK? Did you get hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I say, all shaken up. My adrenaline kept me from getting too upset while I was out there, but now it’s ebbing away. I feel like I’m about three seconds away from bursting into tears in front of the entire waiting room, not to mention our peeping audience. “How long have they been out there?” I ask, “Why are they here?”
“They’ve been out there for hours,” Penny says, biting her lip.
“But why?” I insist.
“Haven’t you been online today?” she asks quietly. When I shake my head, she sighs anxiously and pulls out her smart phone. It’s already queued up to a popular entertainment blog. She hands me the phone, and I nervously lower my eyes.
“Oh my god...” I mutter. Splashed all across the site’s homepage are pictures of Slade and I leaving the concert. I look bewildered but exhilarated, and Slade is absolutely beaming. Our hands are clasped in every single shot. Why didn’t I think this was going to happen? The question of whether the media would care about me never even came to mind.
Of course, they don’t care about me. Not really. All those reporters outside cared about was that Slade had a new woman. There was a new story to be snatched up, nothing more. I was just a blog post waiting to happen for them. They didn’t care about my life or my privacy, and they certainly didn’t care about my job. I look nervously around the waiting room. Scared, irritated patients glare back at me, and I feel about three inches tall. These people have come here for help, not to be bombarded by a screaming horde of reporters.
“Julia!” says a stern voice behind me. I turn to see Dr. Kelly striding my way, his mouth a hard, furious line. The bottom of my stomach drops out. I’ve never seen my medical director look this angry. For the first time, I realize that the implications of all this might be much worse than I could imagine. Am I going to get fired over this?
“Dr. Kelly,” I say, “I’m so—”
“In my office,” he says, “Now.”
I look despondently back at Penny. My friend gives me a grim smile and I turn and walk away, trailing Dr. Kelly back to his office like a puppy about to get put out in the rain. I walk into the small, enclosed room and wince as Dr. Kelly shuts the door. I can sense that I’m about to get my ass handed to me on a silver platter. Dr. Kelly has a reputation in the hospital for his temper, and his zero tolerance policy for any nonsense in his ER. I stand nervously as he crosses the room and takes a seat in his enormous leather chair. “Sit,” he says, gesturing to a rickety chair before his desk. I obey, and wait for my scolding to begin.
“I don’t even know where to begin Julia,” he says over steepled fingers. I’m surprised that he’s not already screaming. “How in the world did this happen?”
“That’s...a good question,” I say, “Slade got in touch with me after he was discharged. We spent the day together, and—”
“So nothing happened between you two while he was in our care?” Dr. Kelly presses.
I think about the electric moments that passed between us while Slade was my patient, the way that my arm lit up like a circuit board whenever my skin grazed him. But I don’t think that’s what Dr. Kelly is asking. “There was nothing going on between us while he was here,” I say, “I mean...I’m sure that feelings...were developing...”
“As long as you two weren’t making out on any of my hospital beds, that’s all I need to know,” Dr. Kelly says. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that what’s going on outside is unacceptable.”
“I know, Dr. Kelly,” I say softly, “I’m mortified by it all.”
“I’m sure you are,” he says, “But...I also realize that it’s not your fault these heathens are here.”
“Oh...Right...” I say, surprised by his diplomatic attitude, “Thank you, Dr. Kelly.”
“What’s going on between you and this rock star anyway?” he asks, leaning forward.
“I don’t really know,” I tell him, stunned by the fact that he cares, “It’s a little complicated.”
“Well,” Dr. Kelly says, “I don’t like the sound of that. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re leaving for the day. Your being here is too much of a distraction, and your paparazzi club is clogging up the parking lot. I know that you’re going on vacation for two weeks, and I think that the timing couldn’t be better. You need to go sort out whatever this is between you and Slade Hale. And you need to do it soon. You’re one of the best nurses I have, Julia. I don’t want to have to fire you over something like this. Go sort out your personal life and be ready to dive back into work when you get back.”
“Thank you, Dr. Kelly,” I say. “Really.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says, “Really. Don’t mention it to anyone. I don’t want to get a reputation for being soft.”
“No problem,” I say.
“Go out the front entrance,” he tells me, “And good luck.”
I nod and hurry out of the room. I head straight for the front door, resolving to fill Penny in on everything later. Right now, the only thing I need to do is get to Slade, sort out what’s going on between us, and tell him all that I’m thinking. I make a beeline for the exit and run across the parking lot to my car. Time is of the essence, here. The US tour starts tonight, and Slade has to know how I really feel. I peel out of the lot and speed on home to get decked out for another night of madness.
I practically crash through my own front door as I rush to prepare myself for the tour kickoff concert. I have no idea what to expect—Slade’s said that this show will be even bigger than the last one I saw. My fingers tremble as I look through my closet for something to wear. I don’t have time to scrutinize, I just have to go with the first good option. My eyes fall upon a bright yellow crop top and tiny black denim skirt. That will do well enough. I slip off my scrubs and throw on my costume, dressing on the way to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, I rip out my bun and shake my strawberry blonde hair down over my shoulders. I wish that Penny was here to dress me up tonight, but I’m flying solo instead. If I just don’t think about it too hard, I can keep the worst of my nerves at bay.
This is certainly not how I thought the final days before my long-awaited vacation from the hospital would go. I thought that, in the day or two leading up to my taking to the road, I’d be able to get everything in order around my home. I would clean and straighten, pack up all my things nice and neatly, give Gustav as much attention as possible before my mom took over his care and keeping. I thought I would be taking bubble baths and drinking chardonnay in the tub and painting my toenails for the first time in three years. Instead, here I am throwing on the best rock chick makeup I can and chasing down the rock star I’ve fallen head over heels for. These things have a way of surprising you.
I barrel back down the stairs, stumbling in my heels. Gustav cocks his head at me as I run out the front door. If my cat thinks I look ridiculous, what is the rest of the world going to think? I wrench open the door and step out into the fading sunlight. An aggravated groan escapes my lips as I take in the scene before me.
The paparazzi have followed me home. Not all of them, thank god, but a good handful of enterprising gossip hounds are ready and waiting. How they got my address, I don’t even want to know. I hurry to my car, trying to look as dignified as possible with my midriff on full display.
“Don’t you people have better things to do than bother me?” I ask a bright and shiny young woman who’s all but chained to my front tires.
“Nope,” she says cheerfully, “And if you’re trying to stay with Slade, you’d better get used to us. Are you trying to stay with Slade, Julia?”
“I am trying to get to a rock concert. That’s all,” I say.
I realize, as I tell her this, that I have no idea what my plans with Slade are. I’m just following his advice and living in the moment. And at this moment, all I want is to be backstage again, watching him move thousands of people. I shoo the reporters away from my car and hop in. I swear, it’s like these people want to get run over for the sake of their silly little stories. Never in a million years would I have thought my life would be something that the tabloids wanted to know about. The only time anything has ever been written about me before was when I set a new town record for Girl Scout cookie sales when I was eight.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel as I careen through the streets, flying toward Center City as fast as I can. I know that this venue is the biggest in the area, and that the show sold out after eighteen seconds of tickets being on the market, thanks to Slade’s heroic viral video. It’s going to be a mad house. I haven’t given any thought to how, exactly, I’ll go about getting in. I’m sort of hoping for some kind of divine miracle at this point. It’s really all I have left to do.
All the way to the venue, I’m talking myself down from turning around, going home, and putting on a face mask and some acoustic rock instead. My rational mind is screaming at me that it’s not worth it. That Slade isn’t worth the trouble or the heartache or the cameras in my front lawn. But my rational mind isn’t doing the driving, my body and my heart are. And those two trump rational thought every time. The arena comes into sight, and I push the pedal practically through the floor of my little car. I can feel the space between Slade and me closing up.