Behind Blue Eyes

Chapter 7

Matt climbed from the taxi and joined the swarm of concert-goers in the plaza in front of the Bell Centre. Montreal hosted big-name artists regularly, but tickets for Blue Fusion had been a particularly hot commodity, especially since they were playing only one night, and had sold out within minutes of going on sale. Although Jenna had been unable to get a ticket, he kept a wary eye out for her regardless. She'd been so upset, he wouldn't put it past her to have shelled out ten times the face value of a ticket to a scalper. Had they still been dating he'd have had to forfeit his backstage VIP pass to her or just not use it, so he felt no guilt for not having told her.

Matt waited in line at the ticket pick-up window for twenty minutes only to be greeted with the news there was no ticket for him. His insistence he had a personal invite from Luke Dornan was met with disbelief, and more than a little obvious contempt for the maudit Anglais although he'd spoken to her in French, but she picked up her phone regardless. The people in line immediately behind him loudly suggested the tête carrée was delusional. However, after a few words with whoever was on the other end of the phone, the ticket clerk looked back up at him with an expression that managed to be both apologetic and accusatory—who the hell was he?—as she directed him to door F1 where he'd be met. Matt thanked her and couldn't resist the temptation to gloat at the woman in line behind him who'd been particularly vocal in casting aspersions as to his mental state. "Cette tête carrée a un billet de backstage. Es-tu assis dans les rouges?"

Matt would have guessed the person waiting for him at doro F1 was a security agent even without it being emblazoned in white letters across the back of his black T-shirt and the presence of a coiled earpiece. The man was at least six-foot-four and only a little less broad. He stiffened as Matt approached, giving the impression he would take particular pleasure in crushing the skull of a skinny white boy.

"Mr. Stevens?" the agent asked gruffly.

"Yes sir," Matt replied, not having to pretend to be intimidated.

The agent smiled revealing the absence of any gold teeth and, with the initial challenge over, his demeanor became soft-spoken and polite as he introduced himself. Rohan gave him a pass on a lanyard, before opening the door and ushering him inside. Rohan was surprisingly fast on his feet for his size, and Matt found himself jogging down several flights of stairs and along the corridors in the underworld of the Bell Centre that was usually off-limits to mere mortals such as himself.

After rounding the umpteenth corner of the umpteenth corridor of the concrete maze, their pace suddenly slowed as they came to a hallway crammed with people. Rohan forced a path through with Matt in his wake before Matt found himself somewhat unceremoniously shoved into an only slightly less crowded room. The door closed behind him. It took Matt a moment to realize Rohan was on the opposite side of the door. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do until he heard Luke shouting his name. The crowd parted and then Luke was standing in front of him, grinning like a madman.

"Hey bro. Thought you'd stood me up."

Before Matt could explain the deal at the ticket office, Luke was introducing him to a petite blonde woman—Debbie Malone, Luke's manager—who would accompany him for the evening and make sure he had the best seat in the house. The last comment induced a doubtful smile from Debbie, and Matt detected the look of someone reluctantly agreeing to do a friend a solid.

"I don't want to be any trouble," Matt said as the room was cleared so the band could finish getting ready for the concert. "Just show me where my seat is, and you can get back to whatever you would normally be doing."

Debbie laughed. "Normally I'd be back at the hotel enjoying a spa session or just a pizza and a bottle of pinot grigio on room service. And the best seats in the house aren't exactly seats. C'mon," she said, grabbing his hand, "the corridor should be more navigable by now. You've got an unofficial backstage pass—I make it official—and we'll be standing. Don't look so worried. Didn't you get the memo that you're my date for the evening?"