Heart Of A Star

Chapter 16 - Natalie

SIXTEEN

Natalie

The sun was shining hot and bright, and the buzz of generators hummed in my ears when JT opened the tinted glass door of his tour bus to let me in.

A wave of ice-cold air greeted me as I stepped up into what looked like a hotel suite on wheels. Overstuffed black leather couches lined both sides of the front of the bus, and matching black leather covered the benches on either side of the table in the kitchen area, which was complete with a stainless steel refrigerator, a double sink and ample marble top counter space. British rock was blaring through the speakers of an incredible sound system that ran throughout the entire bus.

Scattered across the table were dozens of sheets of scribble-covered paper. There was also a notebook, pages fat with writing, underneath a heavy blue-inked pen. JT was extremely picky about his writing instruments, even more than his drumsticks or microphones, surprisingly. He was also very protective of his writing time, and I could tell that I had interrupted.

He reached up and turned the volume down on a stereo system that made mine back home look like a cheap boom box. You never knew what you'd get with JT. It was almost as though there were two distinct personalities at play; the rock star and the guy who pretended he wasn't. Sometimes you'd catch him glammed up and ready for a show, other times he'd be in jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers, lounging about as though he were an everyday citizen.

At the moment, aside from the fact that he resided in a tour bus, he was completely everyday citizen in his jeans, light blue polo shirt and wire-rimmed glasses, with sandy strands of hair falling haphazardly in his eyes.

"Make yourself at home."

I fell into one of the couches, the black leather hugging me as I sunk in. I looked around the bus, noticing that we were alone. "Where's Candace?"

"Out shopping with Jules. I'll be lucky if I see her before the show tonight." He took a seat across from me, leaning back comfortably with one foot resting on his other knee, and folded his hands behind his head.

I raised my eyebrows. "Does that mean you're going then?"

"'Course I'm goin'. Those days of me getting mad and walking out on the band are over Natalie girl."

"Bet that makes Rylan happy. One more gig in the bank to help pay for his wedding."

JT shot me a half-smile. "He told you the news, I take it?"

I didn't answer him, just offered a half-smile of my own in return. I was happy for Rylan and Sammi, I really was. It just devastated me that I had to travel twelve states from home and force myself back into his life to be privileged enough to hear the news. Clearly they were keeping it quiet from the media, at least for now, but had I not made this epic road trip with my friends, I might have heard it on television or the internet before I'd heard it from his mouth.

"Think they'll have kids?" I knew Sammi was nearing forty, so if it was in their future, it would be in their near future.

I tried to picture Rylan as a father. Hell, it was a stretch to imagine him a husband. He'd always been married to his work. But maybe Sammi would change that in him, I mused. Maybe the two of them would settle down, take a break from the band for a while, have a kid or two...

JT's face grew dark. He pulled out a cigarette, pressed it to his lips and lifted a sterling silver lighter to his mouth. "Nah, and it's best not to bring it up with him either. Marrying Sammi's a big step for him, ya know what I mean?" He took a long, hard drag, letting it out slowly from the corner of his mouth. His thumb was tapping out the rhythm of Oasis' I Hope, I Think, I Know, playing in the background.

I wanted to object. I wanted to push him. But I knew better. I refrained from rolling my eyes as I gave him a quick nod.

"Good girl then."

Cigarette still pinched between his teeth, he resumed his position with his hands folded behind his head, and leaned back comfortably. His eyes were lost somewhere on the ceiling of the bus.

I slipped casually over to the table, eyeing the scrawled penmanship that lay waiting for its finish. Anyone who'd ever been fortunate enough to have a genuine JT Porter autograph wasn't privy to the fact that JT actually had a very beautiful and artistic writing style. My hand touched one of the sheets that had a significant amount of lyrics scratched across the surface.

What I saw brought chills to my skin. Profound words, sewn together in an intricate menagerie of wonder and crypticism. The depth of what he wrote was unlike anything that you'd ever hear through the speakers of your radio. I could almost hear his voice, echoing through a microphone, across a sea of awed fans. There'd be the precious few thousand to understand what only JT Porter could convey.

"It's all rubbish." He mumbled, trading his cigarette for the bowl that had been sitting on the leather couch next to him.

I barely heard him, as my finger traced the words that he'd imprinted on the page. I reveled at the feel of it, the impression beneath my fingertip of his pen on the paper. He'd written with such force, such utter passion, and I felt that the unspoken words spoke strait to my heart. I hardly had to read them to feel the meaning behind them.

"I wish we were a normal family, JT."

Without turning, I knew he was smiling. "Everyone wishes they had a normal family. When one of us figures out the secret to making that happen, we should spread the knowledge worldwide. It'd be worth millions more than any of these records that we sell." He paused for a second, making sure I was listening, "Your family is who you make it."

And that line right there was what made him millions on his lyrics. The fact that his mind spun webs of rationale in a creative spin amongst the rest of the thoughts in his head both amused and amazed me at times. But it was a single sentence such as that one that rung through my head a million times before I understood the true meaning of what he meant.