Star Struck

Extract

One eye shadow, two shower gels, one lipstick, two catalogues. Leni's hands followed the signals above the pigeonholes almost mechanically. The computer knew exactly which products the customer had ordered and all Leni had to do was to pack them into a box. A tedious job, the things she did for money! She needed it to buy a ticket on the black market, to the concert by Roy that had sold out months ago. For years he had been her absolutely favourite singer. She simply had to see him live! Not just that, she fantasized constantly about how she would see him alone, without hordes of screaming girls between them, because she wasn't one of them. And Roy would never notice until they had some privacy.

Countless times she had imagined how it would happen, how their first meeting would go. Roy was considered difficult and temperamental in the music business, but Leni was convinced that in person he had to be simply enchanting. She could sense it. How else could he have written all those sweet love songs?

She could have entered one of those meet-and-greet contests. The big prize was a dinner with Roy, but Leni hadn't bothered. She would have been just another timeslot for Roy. No, she wanted to meet him accidentally. He should never know that she had been in love with him for three years. The best thing would have been to run into him in the street, but since Roy lived in Miami and she lived in New York, the chances for that were slim. Still, she could spend hours picturing this scenario: She was sitting on a park bench and in this exact moment Roy came jogging past her. Their eyes met and he was so fascinated by her looks he ran into the next tree. He cut his forehead and she gave him first aid.
First aid? Leni suddenly thought. That was the idea! There were paramedics at every concert and their uniforms gave them universal access.

*

"The concert is tomorrow and you act as if we were on a beach in Rio!”
"Roy, please!” Mike, Roy's musical director sounded tired. "The roadies have been at it since three this morning, not to mention myself. We need a break! "Great! Take a break! It isn't you the audience will be booing!” Kate rose from an amplifier box with a sigh. "Roy, people love you! 'Love' went from nowhere to number one in Britain since you've been touring.”

Roy shrugged. His manager had no idea. She didn't know how it felt to be forever pursued by shrieking teenage girls, nor about his constant fear of failure. "It's going to be like it was in Oslo.” Kate grabbed Roy by the shoulders and forced him to look her in the eyes.

"Get a grip on yourself, dammit! That gig was at the beginning of your career! Ten years ago! You are a thousand times better than you were at that time. Roy, you're a global star, no one will ever treat you like that again!”

"What's going on?” Roy's tour manager climbed onto the huge stage. "Nothing. Roy is having his usual fit of paranoia,” Mike remarked dryly.

"I would say, perfectionisms. Right, Roy?” "Nick!” Roy hadn't heard his best friend arrive. Out of nowhere he suddenly stood before him. "Thanks for the prompting, buddy!” They hugged and Roy squeezed Nick tightly, much tighter than usual. "Say, is it true what the papers say about you and Mandy?”

"Did you come from Florida just to hear the latest gossip? You know how the journalists exaggerate. I'm perfectly fine!” "I saw a paparazzi-picture of you in one of the tabloids, and you didn't look fine at all.” "Let's talk about something else. I've written a new song.” Roy grabbed a guitar and rummaged in his pockets for a plectrum. "Roy, I didn't charter a private jet to be lied to. I can see what's going on here.”

"That wouldn't have been necessary. I just learned another lesson concerning women.” "And that is...?” "That I can't trust any of them.” Roy abruptly played a few chords. "Mandy must have been desperate for a headline. I'm so afraid she will talk about Mom next.” "She knows?” Nick turned pale, but Roy didn't answer. The band had started to play and he grabbed the microphone. He only wanted to sing now, and not have to think.
...