How Not To Be A Groupie

Chapter Fifty One: Stelle's Dilemma

"I feel bad leavin' 'em," Malcolm said, pacing across the floor. "Hope they're not pissed."

"They'll be fine," Bon said. "We'll ring 'em up later."

The roadie dropped us off at the hotel and we ran to the doors, almost colliding with Bon and Cliff who had taken a separate car. The rain hadn't let up and our shoes squelched through the lobby toward the stairs. We didn't bother waiting for an elevator. 

Out of breath and soaking wet, the boys let me find Stelle and I's shared hotel room. Running straight for our door, I knocked on it, knowing good and well the keys were inside. "Stelle?" I asked gently. 

"Stelle, it's us," Cliff said. A few minutes later the door opened and Stelle appeared. Makeup covered her cheeks and her skin was flushed. Upon seeing us she burst into tears again and left us out in the hall. Malcolm found his way to the front of the group and followed her in, Stelle picking up the pace and locking herself in the bedroom. Malcolm stopped in his tracks as we filed in the room, spreading out and finding a place to sit. All except Mal, who spent his time pacing.

"What do ya' think happened?" Cliff asked. "I mean....was it someone else who hit her or did the car lose control....?"

"Who fuckin' knows," Malcolm muttered. "Could be a whole army of maniac drivers on the road."

"Her mum still in England?" Angus asked. There was a minute of silence.

"Guess so," Cliff said after no one answered. Stelle's muffled voice and heartbreaking sobs bled through the bedroom door while she talked on the telephone. I sat on the sofa hugging my knees up to my chest, my boots on the floor. It seemed like hours since she locked herself away. Apparently the boys found out right after the show finished by one of the roadies whom Stelle had called. I couldn't remember his name, but I was sure it was the one we met weeks ago. Without another word they let their team pack up while they hauled off to the hotel, taking me with them. We had to make sure she was okay, after all. 

The lock on the door clicked and the doorknob turned. Malcolm stopped pacing and met up with Stelle in the hall, her sobs breaking then starting up again. "They lettin' ya' see her?"

"They're running tests," Stelle said, finally showing herself. Her hair looked as if she ran her hands through it a million times and her skin started drying out around her eyes. "They're keeping her overnight for surgery and they told me she's critical." She wiped her face with the backs of her bathrobe sleeves. 

"We can send you up there," Cliff said. "Find you a plane if ya' want."

Stelle managed a smile. "Thanks," she said then choked down another sob. 

"She'll be alright," Malcolm said. Stelle covered her face and shook her head.

"But you don't know that, Malcolm," she said. "They said critical but they wouldn't give me any details." Malcolm led her to the chaise lounge and she sat down, her breath shaky. "I know she works late sometimes," she said. "And the weather is pretty bad up there too....slid or something into a rail."

"That's terrible," Angus said. Bon stood up from the bar stool and went into the kitchen, grabbing the kettle on his way. Stelle leaned against Malcolm, using his jacket as a tissue. "Like Cliff said, we can call up your work an' tell 'em you're comin' back early or..."

"That's okay, I can call my office," Stelle said. "But I could use a plane home." Shrill whistling came from the kitchen before dying down.

"How 'bout somethin' to drink?" Bon asked, coming back from the kitchen holding a cup of tea. "Jus' tea this time, sorry, love." Stelle tried to laugh and took it from him.