Follow Me Back (complete first draft of the published book)

Chapter 30: The Meet-and-Greet

Chapter 30: The Meet-and-Greet

Eric stood outside the Trail Dust Honky Tonk Saloon beneath the marquee that bore his name, emblazoned in flashing neon lights:

Eric Thorn! Eric Thorn! Eric Thorn!

Thursday, Feb. 20, 8:00 PM

One Night Only!

Maury made the call this morning to open up ticket sales to the general public. No point reserving entry. Not when the quote-unquote "private sponsor" had unexpectedly "backed out" at the quote-unquote "last minute."

Eric couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the absurdity. How exactly had he gotten himself into this situation? A show without an audience. He'd play tonight for however many fans happened to hear he was in town by word of mouth.

And how many would that be? He couldn't help but wonder. Would he end up playing for an empty room? They hadn't done a single shred of promotion for this show. Not so much as a concert poster stapled to a lamp post. He'd be flying solo tonight, coasting on name recognition alone, without the usual lift from his record label's publicity machine. He wouldn't have his crew of musicians and back-up singers standing behind him either. No hip-hop dancers. No elaborate concert pyrotechnics. Heck, he wouldn't even have an opening act tonight to warm up the crowd. Just Eric Thorn, a kid with an acoustic guitar strapped to his chest, taking the stage alone at 8:00 PM.

But he wouldn't really have to wait that long to meet her.

Eric rubbed his dampened palms against the fabric of his jeans. It must be almost six by now. The Catfish production crew should be pulling up any time. Any moment. . . .

He'd finished sound check 15 minutes ago, and he'd been standing here outside the club ever since. Where was she? Where was everybody, for that matter?

Maury had really outdone himself with the choice of venue tonight. His manager had booked this gig last minute, but still. . . . Was this really the best that Midland, Texas had to offer? A dilapidated roadside club on an abandoned stretch of highway, miles away from anything that could even pass for a downtown? Eric had seen a grand total of one big rig truck pass by in the entire time he'd been standing out here. Otherwise, no sign of another living soul as far as the eye could see. Was that actual tumbleweed rolling around in the parking lot?

He wrapped his arms around himself, silently wishing he'd worn something warmer tonight than a thin leather motorcycle jacket. He'd expected mild weather. The temperatures had hovered in the mid-60s since he rolled into Texas a week ago, but he could feel a change in the air tonight. Must be some late February cold front blowing in. He could see the dark storm clouds gathering overhead. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe it was the weather, keeping the crowds away.

He'd braced himself for a mob scene out here, standing around on the sidewalk without so much as a bodyguard for security. He'd expected screaming fans. Maybe some scalpers. Maybe some photographers, shooting off their flashbulbs in his face. The last thing he'd expected was this – this vast, empty, silent nothingness surrounding him. All alone out here, with nothing but his thoughts for company. And his thoughts kept jangling around inside his head in no coherent order, a jumbled mess of adrenaline and nerves.

Maybe it was for the best, right? So what if the meet-and-greet was a bust? He hated meet-and-greets. Everybody hated meet-and-greets. Even record labels hated meet-and-greets, security nightmare that they were.

And Tessa would have hated it most of all. She would've found the chaos of a real meet-and-greet completely overwhelming. He'd been up all night last night, worrying about how she'd handle it. He knew how scared she must be, just to show her face here at all today.