75 AMAZING PICK UP LINES

Beyoncé

A/N: Hello! This one’s a bit short, but expect extra updates for the rest of the week because I’m on Thanksgiving Break starting Wednesday! :) Enjoy!

“Are you Beyoncé? No, but I still wanna take you out on a date sometime.”

Scott watched with his clipboard from the front row of the enormous stadium as a group of crew members dismantled the set and re-oriented it to practice for tonight’s show. Watching the pre-show rehearsals was Scott’s favorite part of the tour process besides the actual show, mostly because he didn’t have to do anything except watch the magic unfold from the best seat in the house of an auditorium that in a few hours would be flooded with people. All the other aspects of it were stressful as hell. It was Scott’s responsibility to balance the budget, calculate the expenses, advance the rider, and oversee the travel arrangements, promo activities, setup operations, and basically everything else. Half the time, the idiots he worked with made him want to tear his hair out. But hey, how could he complain? He was managing Beyoncé’s world tour. Beyoncé. His idol ever since middle school. He’d deal with those idiots for the rest of his life when it meant being within 500 feet of her at nearly all times for the 11-month duration of the tour. Hell, he was so starstruck from meeting her on the first day of the tour he could barely speak for the rest of the day.

Now it was Day 10, the second and final show in Paris. Scott had been to Paris with his parents twice before, but this time around was the best, obviously, because he was travelling with Beyoncé. Just thought he’d reiterate.

“You look like a fucking fish out of water, Grassi,” Scott heard Travis, the choreographer, shout at one of the back-up singers as they rehearsed a song near the front of the stage. “Get your shit together or get the hell off my stage!”

“Your stage?” the singer in question, Mitch, shot back, stepping out of his place in formation and approaching Travis, getting right up in his face. His metallic silver t-shirt reflected the stage lights in all directions. He looked like a short angry Italian disco ball. “I’m sorry, are you the Queen of Pop? Is this your world tour?”

Oh, Christ. Scott took a deep breath and fiddled with his clipboard, feeling the second-hand embarrassment coming on. Travis and Mitch had a lot of - ahem - issues that were more often than not hashed out in front of the rest of the production staff. Scott could only assume that they had dated previously, and if he was correct, they had obviously ended on terrible terms. Everyone else knew Travis was an egocentric dick, but by now, they were over all the mindless drama. And it was only the tenth day.

Travis just smirked, giving Mitch a critical up-down glance. “No, but it’s my choreography, you stupid little fuck. Do. It. Right.”

Mitch was getting visibly frustrated, but he’d managed to keep his cool thus far. “Maybe we’d be doing a better job if you actually gave us decent steps. I know you enjoy looking at me but I can’t project my voice with my ass facing the audience the whole time.” Damn.

“Just drop it, Mitch,” one of the other singers, Kevin, muttered under his breath. The others, Kirstie and Avi, nodded and agreed in hushed murmurs. Scott could tell they were totally done with it, too.

Flashing a sadistic smile at Mitch, Travis raised an eyebrow. “Hear that, pretty boy? Just shut up and get back in formation. Not like I can’t find someone else more willing to do the steps. In the wise words of the Queen of Pop,” he hissed, his voice dripping with biting sarcasm, “you’re not irreplaceable.”

That did it. Mitch just stood there for a few beats, not entirely sure what to do. Scott could tell that last insult was a low blow for him, because he saw the tears beginning to roll down his cheeks as he stormed away and off the stage.

Travis laughed as he watched Mitch retreat, a sound as abrasive as nails on a chalkboard, and Scott barely even knew Mitch but he wanted nothing more than to beat the living shit out of this asshole for him. “Go fetch the princess, would you, Scott?” he demanded without even looking at him before he went right back to rehearsing with the remaining three members of the group.

Fuming, Scott left his clipboard on his seat and went up the aisle and through the stage door in search of Mitch. After asking a few stage hands, he found him sitting against the wall by the fly controls, his knees hugged into his chest. Jesus, why did everyone in this business have to act like five-year-olds? “Mitch?”

He turned his head to look at Scott, his eyes red and puffy from crying. He still looked handsome though, weirdly. “Did Travis tell you to find me?” Scott nodded, and Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “Tell him to fuck off. He’s done enough.”

Scott sighed. Might as well get to the bottom of it. “What’s going on between you two?”

Shifting a bit, Mitch gently patted the ground next to him, and Scott hesitantly took the invitation. If one of the other managers found him sitting down having gossip time with one of the back-up singers instead of prepping for pre-show, he’d be in deep shit. But he didn’t really care.

“At the kick-off party last week, he got really drunk and tried to make out with me and take my shirt off and shit. I told him to leave me alone, and he...he slapped me.” He tapped his right cheek lightly. “Right here.”

Scott was sad to say he wasn’t surprised. It sounded like a very Travis thing to do. “Wow. What an asshole.”

“Right? So for a couple nights after that, he kept trying to make all these passes at me, and I was like, ‘Dude, fuck off.’ Finally he got the hint, but now he’s being a little bitch to me in front of everyone all the time. It’s really annoying and it sucks because I look like the asshole, you know?”

Scott nodded. If Mitch had the proof, they could get Travis fired. That would be satisfying as hell. “You’re not an asshole. You’re really good at comebacks, actually. It’s hilarious.”

Mitch smiled a little, his expression brightening. “Thanks, Scott. That’s really sweet of you.”

“Any time. So, you coming?” he asked, standing up and offering his hand to Mitch.

He took it, groaning in contempt as Scott pulled him up. “Ughhhhh. I don’t want to. He’s a total bag of dicks.”

“I know, but just tough it out for tonight. I’ll let Gen know tomorrow about Travis being a chode and she’ll take care of it,” he said with a wink and a sly smile.

Mitch doubled over with laughter, and it was nice to see him cheer up. “Oh, my God, I love you. Thank you. Let’s get a couple drinks after the show tonight, okay?”

Scott grinned and nodded as Mitch walked back towards the stage. “Definitely.”

***

The show was absolutely fantastic so far. The crowd was going wild, and Beyoncé’s voice was even more beautiful and flawless than usual. Scott looked down at the setlist; “If I Were a Boy” was next, one of his favorite Beyoncé songs.

The lights dimmed a little, and the crowd fell to a hush as she began the song. It was spellbounding, everyone (including Scott) leaning forward so as to not miss a word. Then, as she began the second verse, another voice joined in, the harmonies intertwining effortlessly. Scott looked at the back-up singers, trying to watch Kirstie sing, but was confused when he didn’t see her lips moving. It was only then he realized it was Mitch singing, and holy shit did Mitch have a gorgeous voice. Almost as gorgeous as he himself. He never really payed attention to the back-up singers, mostly because he'd been focused on his idol the whole time. Now, he actually had a reason (and an excuse) to check them out, too. Or maybe just Mitch in particular. Whatever.

The way his voice glided so smoothly over the vocal runs, so defined yet so subtle, sent chills all the way down Scott’s spine. He could listen to him all day.

Maybe Mitch would give him a private show after they go out for drinks.