One Night Only

Chapter Thirty-Three

Leaving the festival is like a scene out of my own personal nightmare. Paisley and Sawyer weren't exaggerating about the number of people gathered at the security fence, watching the bus and waiting for me to emerge. I remind myself not to be intimidated and that I deal with crowds all the time. Some of them probably just want to know if I'm okay, since their last glimpse of me was when I was unconscious and being carried away.

I'm behind Mom when I do step off the bus, using her as a shield. They see me anyway. It isn't that they're fanatical, shrieking at me, or pushing at the barrier or anything. The people here are remarkably respectful and polite, or they are now that the surprise of me being here has worn off. The part that makes it a nightmare is being recognized on sight without my wigs or makeup, when this wasn't the case as recently as two hours ago. The sea of phones pointed in my direction only adds to this.

Photos and videos of me getting off the bus will be online in a few minutes, taken from every angle, and these will make me even more recognizable to people when I'm not wearing a wig and stage makeup. Videos of me passing out earlier are probably already all over the place. Having a way to go about my life without being recognized was something I valued above many things, and Bowie took that from me today. Of all the spiteful and cruel ways he could have lashed out for whatever reason he felt he needed to, he chose destroying my personal peace and security.

"Just keep walking," Mom says. She must be able to sense how hard this is hitting me.

An entourage of security and local police officers help us get to the Jeep. I don't know who called in the police escorts, or if they were already on event duty in case something required their presence, but I'm grateful for them. With their assistance, Mom is able to drive out of the parking lot without other vehicles following us. There were cars behind us when we headed for the exit, but the officers took up traffic duty in the lot and had everyone stop until we were on our way. It gives us a head start.

A skill Mom has developed from life in L.A. with a famous daughter is how to detect someone tailing us, and how to lose people who are. We've dodged the paparazzi before, and she puts her observation skills into action now so we don't lead someone out to the lake. I can't believe she has to do this out here, but then, there's a lot about today that's been surreal.

Music from Mom's phone fills the vehicle while she navigates down a few side streets and doubles back, and then takes us to a street I recognize. She hasn't said much since coming to get me, other than checking to make sure I'm okay. But I know her as well as she knows me, which means I can read her moods at a glance. She's angry, that's for sure, and not at me. Her hunched shoulders tell me she's stewing about something.

All this quiet from her makes me nervous. Maybe it's because I expected a deluge of questions, beginning with why I was at the festival in the first place. She hasn't asked me that yet, and she hasn't said a word about the fallout.

"How bad is it?" I finally ask. "Is what happened all over the place online?"

"I don't know yet." Mom keeps her eyes on the road. "I left as soon as Sawyer called me, so I haven't had a chance to check."

I nod, even though I'm positive she knows more than she's owning up to. I heard her phone's text messages chime a few times before she switched it to silent, and it's a safe bet the messages have been piling up since then.

"Did you see Hunter on your way in?" I ask. It would be nice if she did and has some insight into his mood.

"No. I expected him to be with you when I got there, actually." There's an unspoken question in her words.

"He got kicked out after trying to fight Bowie."

"It's a shame I wasn't there to help him," Mom mumbles under her breath.