59. The Thirteenth Hour

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

The musicians were just chilling out, having a beer before the presser, when they heard the first thunder. All of them looked up, surprised.

"What the fuck?" Tom cried. "It was sunny not five minutes ago!"

Jim went up to the nearest window, looking out to hide a smile. A sudden storm when they were about to meet again. What were the odds? He shook his head slightly. She was on the way.

"She's a fucking force of nature," he muttered to himself.

Deborah and her assistant Ron came to take them to the conference hall where the press waited for them. She nodded at Jim to let the others take the lead to the elevators and walk with her.

"No green passes so far, Jim," she said, keeping her voice down.

He took his phone, searched for something and handed it to her.

"Here's a picture of her," he said. "Go wait for her at the lobby, Deb. Keep my phone, in case she texts me while I'm busy in there. And bring her to me the minute she gets here."

"Sure."

Deborah swallowed her shock when Jim left his phone in her hands and hurried to catch up with the rest of the band. She looked down at it while she waited for another elevator. Jim never parted with his phone, no matter the circumstances. A frown furrowed her brow when she saw the mysterious woman was an ordinary soccer mom instead of the exotic beauty she'd imagined. She frowned deeper when she noticed the way Jim smiled by her side in the picture.

Downstairs, the five musicians took their seats behind the long table, in front of what looked like a million people stuffed in that tall, large room, and smiled to the zillion flashes that blinded them. When everybody was ready to start with the questions, Jim scanned the faces around. But there were so many people there, he knew he wouldn't find her unless she came to stand right before their table.

It was just routine. Jim was charming and smart as usual; sharp and sarcastic as usual; he shrugged off the questions about gossip and affairs as usual. The other four nodded, agreeing with everything he said, and answered the few questions addressed to them. When it was over, they lingered for the last round of photographs.

Then, Ron introduced a little group from the local Squad. They signed autographs for every girl, took selfies with them, promised a longer meeting with them on Saturday.

Jim was in no hurry to leave, waiting for people to walk out and fresh air to come in through the open doors. Even though he remained there until the last person left, Silvia didn't show up.

They were expected next at one of the hotel's bars for a welcome drink with the local producers, to be introduced to the heads of the local crew that would work with them through the weekend.

Jim left the hall still glancing over his shoulder. But on the elevator, he felt like slapping himself. He wasn't waiting for some fancy chick that was late to make an impression. It was Silvia, of all people. Maybe something had come up. He could trust she'd be there as soon as she could. A moment later, he shook hands with the local producers in the best of moods. He only needed something to kill time until she arrived.

Downstairs, Jo joined Deborah at the lobby when the presser got started. She wouldn't risk a fight with Sean about it, but this was the only reason why she'd suddenly been able to clear her schedule and join her boyfriend for this leg of the world tour. Because she wanted to see this woman with her own eyes, in the flesh. She'd heard Sean grunt and grumble about her ever since the band had come back from Eastern Europe, and Jo was dying to meet her.

"No show yet?" she asked.

Deborah shook her head, her eyes scanning every face that walked through the doors.

"Want me to wait for her? Bet you have other things to do."

The other woman showed Jo the phone in her hands and shook her head again.

Minutes ticktocked away as they waited there in silence, but no woman with a green pass arrived before the presser was over.

"Shit," Deborah snarled, checking the time. "Go, Jo, I'll wait a little longer."

"Okay."

Jo left the lobby with one last look at the hotel doors. Was this the only woman on earth with the guts to stand up Jim Robinson?

The clock on the lobby wall jingled to seven-thirty when two women rushed in from the street, panting and looking around. One of them stalked straight to the front desk. Deborah didn't need to compare her with the picture on Jim's phone.

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net