Claiming Addison (3 page)

However, the Minneapolis show has me most excited. The band is playing their smallest venue, First Avenue, which anyone who’s anyone, or trying to be anyone, plays there. In fact, 69 Bottles has played there before, just not as the big names they are now. Plus they have the coveted Sunday spot. The venue is small, so tickets are expensive. I know, I looked. The cheapest ticket was like $345. The most expensive, including VIP experience, was over $1500.

The packet contains information on each venue, including size, number of tickets sold, number of band owned tickets and number of VIP tickets available. Being a VIP means exclusive front row access along with backstage passes. Most venues limit these tickets to less than 200 people. Some have more or even different levels.

I don’t make it much further into the package because the next thing I know, my alarm is going off and it is four in the morning. Hello, hangover. You nasty, nasty bitch.

I knew when I opened that third bottle of wine that I was really going to be in trouble, and now I need to get my shit in gear and get the hell out of here. Shower, check. Hair-I flip my hair in the mirror in front of me, check. Make-up, fabulous as always. Professional attire, for today, double check.

I wouldn’t say I’m an overly attractive woman, in fact, I’d say I’m average. With ice green eyes, and luscious, kissable lips. I’m five seven and I weigh about one forty-five, a little over weight, but it gives me some nice curves and a fairly decent ass. The only thing fake about me are the D cup sized tits that enhance my chest. Believe me, I needed it. Before I went under the knife for implants, I barely registered an A-cup and with my height and size, it was awful to look at. At least it was for me.

After Dan’s death, I needed something to help boost my confidence, so I got them done. Think what you want, but it was a huge boost for my confidence. If you’re wondering if I’d do it again, my response is mixed. If I knew the pain I’d endure, I wouldn’t have done it, but because I know the end result, even a few years later, it was all worth it. Besides, since then I’ve gained a little weight and they’re no longer the super firm, totally fake tits you see in porn.

Anyway, enough about my boobs, moving on. Today I’m wearing a dark gray pencil skirt with a white button up silk blouse, open to show just a little cleavage with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows. It is March in Los Angeles, so the weather is chilly. For now, I’m planning on wearing my jacket. I have no doubt that once the press conference begins, I’ll still be wearing it.

Regardless, I manage to sneak out of the house with my luggage in tow after triple checking that I had everything I needed. I threw the fat envelope of death into my messenger bag. Since it’s still dark outside, I doubt I will get any reading done in the car on the way over. I’m taking a car because I’m not leaving my car downtown for three months. I’d rather leave it downstairs in the garage. Plus I left the keys with Sam, she said she’ll drive it a couple of days to and from work for me. I think she just wants to drive the blue devil.

Despite my ginormous salary, I drive a brand new Nissan Rogue. It’s not the most expensive car and I could certainly afford something bigger, better and fancier, but fuck it. I chose to spend the money on my condo instead. Ironically, I spend more time in my car than I do my condo.

God, I am off track today or at least subject to zoning out. Something I like to do when I’m nervous. Why would I be nervous? That’s easy, I haven’t a clue what I’m stepping into, what is going to happen at the press conference and well frankly, I’m freaking out about spending twelve weeks on a bus with five men… the only female, with five men… Yup, let’s just leave it at that.

“Good Morning, Miss Beltrand.”

“Oh, hello, you’re early.”

“I’m Darius, I’ll be your driver today. I understand that we’re headed downtown to LA Live?”

I nod, “Pleasure to meet you Darius, yes.”

He bends down and takes my luggage from me, putting it into the trunk of the sleek black town car parked in front of my building. I keep my messenger bag and purse with me as he opens the door so I can slide in. “We’re going to avoid the highways this morning. There is a lot of traffic out already.”

I smile at him. “You’re the driver, so whatever way you think is best, have at it. We have plenty of time.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiles and closes my door. Within a moment, he is sliding into the front seat. If I wasn’t hung over, I’d think that Darius was quite attractive. Caramel colored skin, very black hair and a wicked sexy goatee. Not to mention tall and well-built and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was packing. I take comfort in that.

“There’s some water in the pull down on the console, help yourself,” He says over the seat.

“Perfect, thank you.” I open the compartment and pull out a nice cold bottle of water. I manage to down the entire bottle before we get out of my neighborhood. Stupid wine. Now I remember why I prefer the hard stuff. At least I can wake up without much of a hangover, like I did yesterday morning. I certainly drank more Tuesday night than I did last night.

“Miss Beltrand, we’re here,” Darius says and I look out the front windshield at a mob of people. It’s not even seven in the morning and already the horde is out in full swing.

“Can you get me close to that gate, where the security guys are?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Darius begins his approach and compliments of the deeply tinted windows and the swanky car, people part the mass, screaming at the car. Obviously they think that I’m someone important. I watch the security crew at the gate as they make a circle, pushing people back and one of the guys approaches Darius’s window. He rolls it down. “I have Miss Addison Beltrand in the car.” The guy does a check of his clipboard, flips a page. Jesus, how many people are coming through this gate?

“Does she have her credentials?” I hand my badge, compliments of the massive envelope of death, to Darius who hands it to the security guard.

“Okay, you can pull through; to your right you will see other cars, go ahead and park there. You’ll need to come back through here when you leave.” He gives my credentials back to Darius who hands them back to me. I tuck them back into my bag.

“Yes, sir,” Darius replies and the guard waves his hand. I watch as the gate manually swings open then I finally see the “rent a fence sign.” Obviously this isn’t normal for this area of town. When you live in LA, downtown isn’t a place you visit very often, but this is a great open location to kick off a bus tour because the highway is only a few blocks away.

As we come through the crowd and the gate, I can see two buses. Neither are openly marked, which is a good thing if you ask me. But it also leaves me to wonder which bus I am supposed to be on. They’re exactly the same. Except that one of the buses is pulling a trailer that’s nearly as tall and wide as the bus itself. Must be equipment.

Darius does as the guard asked and pulls off to the right with the other cars. “Let me go ahead and pull your luggage, then I will come open the door for you.”

“Sounds great, thanks, Darius.” I busy myself with putting papers back into my messenger bag and grab another bottle of water from the pull down. I might need it. Downside to joining so late, I don’t know what’s going to be on board the bus.

Once I’m done stuffing my messenger bag, I take a look around. At one of the buses, the one without the trailer, standing on either side of the door are two, rather tall, muscled up men in black suits. The Ray-Bans they’re wearing complete the ensemble and I feel like I’ve walked onto the set of Men in Black. I wonder which one is J and which is K. One of the guys has a deep, dark complexion and looks oddly familiar, but I can’t place him.

I feel the car shift and hear the trunk close. Darius is at my door, pulling it open. Ironically, the crowd goes crazy thinking that I’m someone important and I roll my eyes. “Oh sweethearts, you’re about to be completely disappointed,” I mumble to myself.

I climb out and almost instantly the crowd dies down, though there is still a dull roar of murmurs from the waiting fans as they realize that I am me and not one of the band members. Darius laughs.

“I couldn’t agree more.” I slip a hundred dollar bill into Darius’s hand. I included a tip in the credit card charge for the car, but meh. He’s done good. “Thank you for your company, your service and for putting up with this madness.”

He smiles, not looking at what’s in his hand and I commend him for that. Most drivers peek. “Anytime, ma’am.” He slips me his card. “If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call. For curiosity’s sake, who’s in the buses?” I see him smile slightly.

“That would be 69 Bottles.” I watch his eyes get wide and a smile spread across his lips. “A fan, I see?” He just nods. “Thank you again, Darius, it was a real…”

“Addison?” I hear someone shout.

“It was a pleasure, Darius.”

“The pleasure was mine,” he says with a grin and off he goes around the front of the car. I turn, looking toward the voice that hollered for me. Given that the girls’ cheers have picked up some, but not to an overwhelming amount, I assume that whoever has called my name isn’t a member of the band.

Coming toward me in long, confident strides wearing ripped jeans, a tightly fitted 69 Bottles t-shirt, a pair of shit kickers and a wolfish grin is someone who is vaguely familiar to me, but I can’t quite place him either. I know him from somewhere, but where? He’s extremely good looking.

Darius pulls out from in front of me just as the man approaching reaches the opposite side of the car. “Hi Addison, welcome to the madhouse that is 69 Bottles.” He smirks. “I’m Kyle, the band’s manager.”

“Hi Kyle. So I take it, this,” I gesture toward the waiting crowd, “is normal?”

He laughs with a beautiful boyish grin, a faint blush in his cheeks, weird? “This is minor. I was on the bus and when I heard the collective downshift in the volume of the crowd, I figured it had to be you pulling in.” I cock my head at him, my hair falls over my right shoulder and his eyes light up. “Let me help you with your stuff, I’ll show you to your rack, help you get settled.”

I nod. “Are they all here?”

He shakes his head, “Not yet. We’re still waiting on Mouse.”

“Mouse?” I ask questioningly.

“Uh, sorry. Calvin, he’s the lead guitarist.”

“Oh,” I say, trying to pull back the surprise I feel at the name.

“We call him Mouse, actually everyone does.”

“Why’s that?”

He laughs. “You’ll see.”

Well, okay then. Kyle bends down, picking my duffle bag up off the ground, throwing the strap over his shoulder and pulls up the handle on my suitcase. “I need the duffle on the bus, the suitcase can go…”

“No worries, we have room on the bus for it.”

“Oh, okay,” I say surprised.

“This way.”

He leads me toward the closer of the two buses, but I notice that his pace slows until we are more side-by-side and I catch him peeking over at me. I keep looking at him because there is something very familiar about him, but I can’t place it. I know it’s going to drive me nuts until I do. He, on the other hand, keeps sizing me up, looking me over and I want to roll my eyes. Keep wanting, buddy, because you aren’t ever gonna touch.
Nobody touches anymore.
I think sadly.

“Hello boys,” Kyle says to the two on door duty. “I’d like to introduce you to Addison, she’ll be tagging along on this here tour.” I watch as Kyle smiles widely at his fake southern hillbilly accent. “Addison, this is Beck.” Agent K in my mind, “And this is Leroy.” I smile at the name because well, it fits, but yet it doesn’t. Leroy is huge and I hold my hand out to him first.

He takes it and my pale skin looks paler up against his, and tiny as hell. “Pleasure to meet you, Leroy. Have we met before?”

He smiles. “No, ma’am, though I’ve seen you before. I was assigned to Mrs. Michaels for some time a few months back.”

I nod in recognition. “That’s right, I remember now.”

I turn to Beck, extending the same greeting. Though his facial features are not unattractive, he has a very hard demeanor about him. Why? I’m not sure. He softens enough to take my hand. “Nice to meet you, Beck.”