Backstage Smiles

Chapter 26

Michael

"Mikey, why was mommy crying?" Sara whimpered. She and I had been playing teenaged mutant ninja turtles backstage when we heard the shouting and came to investigate. Some woman I didn't recognize was yelling at Brooke...and she did nothing to defend herself.

Not a damned thing. I fully expected her to yell back at the woman, throwing obscenities in her face and making her feel like a spot of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe, but all I saw was her face, shock-white, and her eyes full of unshed tears. She looked panicked, frozen in place. I kept Sara behind me, trying to shield her from whatever was happening. Why didn't Brooke fight back?

Then she turned and ran. Never, in the seven months that I had known her, had Brooke ever run without a fight. Even when she left me and my parents at the restaurant months ago, she stopped long enough to yell at me before driving away. I had never seen her so defeated as she was now.

Sara began to sob, and my full attention went to her. It was past her bedtime, which didn't help things.

"Shh, it's okay," I said, sitting on the floor and putting my arms around her. My fingers began stroking her hair, and she started to calm down.

I heard running footsteps and looked up to see the sitter. "Thank God you have her," she said, out of breath. "She was supposed to be in bed an hour ago. Do you mind if I...?"

"Go ahead," I replied, handing Sara over to the sitter. She must not have noticed, because she usually squirmed like nobody's business whenever I handed her over to somebody else.

"Come on, Sara, time for bed."

I peeked around the corner towards the woman that I assumed was Brooke's mother. Their "conversation" provided enough context for me to gather that much, and they looked similar enough that it made sense. But everywhere Brooke was beautiful and soft, this woman looked cruel: too high of cheekbones, to tight a bun, and too many angles in her joints. It suddenly dawned on me that Brooke had said ages ago that her mother lived in Chicago. Well, shit. We should've almost expected this.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" I asked, rounding the corner. "You're not supposed to be back here."

"I'm the band's attorney," she lied smoothly, not looking up from her iPhone. "But I can't seem to find any of them."

"I'm the guitarist," I said, crossing my arms. She looked up, and would have looked guilty if it hadn't been for the anger in her eyes. "And I happen to know that our attorney is back is Australia. Care to tell me what you're really doing here?"

"Fine, you caught me," she said with an easy laugh, instantly changing tactics. "I was just looking for my daughter. She's one of the crew members? Brooke Addison? Well, I don't expect you to know her, she's just crew, of course."

"Everyone knows Brooke," I replied with a raised eyebrow. I balled my hands into fists, but kept my arms crossed. "She's the manager. I thought you said you were her mother. Shouldn't you know that?"

The woman looked surprised. "Manager?"

"Stage manager, to be specific," I added. "She's bloody brilliant at it too. Probably the best one we've worked with yet."

"The best..."

I continued as if I hadn't heard her. Where was this bravery coming from? "It's surprising, because you know she has a kid? I don't know how she does it, but she does. Everyone on the crew says that she's a brilliant stage manager, and an excellent mother. Her daughter is so well-behaved that Brooke even lets her play on stage before the show. She never gets in the crew's way, either. Everyone loves Sara."

"She can't be that good a mother," the woman snapped. "She's only nineteen."

"Twenty," I corrected. "And she's a much better mother than you, from what I've seen. All Sara's ever known is love from Brooke. What does Brooke know from you?"

I walked away, shaking with adrenaline. The woman yelled after me, but I ignored it. I had to find Brooke and make sure she was okay.

Brooke

After I had calmed down, I had gone back to the stage area to finish my responsibilities, hoping against hope that she had left. But when I turned a corner, I saw Michael pretty much yelling at her. I was impressed. He kept his tone even, but I could tell that he was livid. His every muscle stood out, and he kept tapping his fingers against his arm like he always did when he was irritated.

When he turned and left my mother in the hallway, her jaw actually dropped. I had never seen her speechless in my life, but somehow he managed it. I don't know where he was going—the backstage area was a maze of corridors and I was too distracted to pay attention to him. My mother eventually turned and stomped away, I think towards the exit. I breathed a sigh of relief that I didn't need to call security.

When I was satisfied that everything was as it should be backstage, I went to my bus, intent on collapsing on the couch, but that lovely plan changed as soon as I saw that Sara was still awake. She was upset, but I was too distracted by everything that had happened to pay much attention to her. I tucked her into bed and stroked her hair until she fell asleep. Then, I made myself a cuppa tea to calm my own frazzled nerves.

I couldn't believe Michael had said those things. I was amazed that he had stood up to my mother. No one I knew went up against her and won, but somehow he did. Did he really think I was the best stage manager he'd ever worked with? Did he really think I was a good mother?

He still thought those lovely things after I had dumped him, too. Why did I ever let him go? I didn't even try to work things out with him, just ran when things got tough. I realized with a jolt that I wanted what we had back.

With no concrete plan in mind I jumped up from the table, tea untouched, and raced for the door. When I opened it, there was already someone standing outside, hand raised to knock.

"Michael."