Catching Shayde

Shayde

As the lights on the stage dim, I finally make my way behind the curtain feeling the adrenaline fading and exhaustion taking over. This was the final concert for our international tour and after six long months consisting of forty-one shows, I finally get to go home. Being a nineteen year old rock star isn’t all it was hyped up to be. Sure, the fans are amazing and I love my music, but the stress of performing and constantly traveling has well and truly taken its toll. Add to that the fact that I’ve apparently attracted the unwanted attention of a stalker and you have the powder keg that is my life.

“Shayde! Come on! We need to get on the bus if we plan on flying out on time!” My manager, Marty, shouts from outside the door to my dressing room. I grab my jacket and a bottle of water before flinging the door open and stepping out.

“For fuck’s sake, Marty. I didn’t even get ten minutes to relax before you started pounding on the damn door!” He rolls his eyes and mumbles something about ‘spoiled little rock princesses’, not at all uncommon for the overpaid, glorified secretary.

“You need to meet your new bodyguard before we get on the plane and you have the skype video interview with that damn podcast woman in two hours. I know, being this generation’s rock princess is so tough. Now, let’s go!” He ushers me out of the building where security holds back the throngs of fans seeking autographs, allowing me to get to the tour bus safely. I take a seat on the couch beside my guitarist, Tommy, and watch as Marty escorts a brick wall of a man onto the bus. The guy is wearing black jeans and a black muscle shirt, but his ‘stone cold’ look gives him away and if it hadn’t, the gun holster on his side sure the hell would’ve. It’s nice to know that I get to spend not only my next three months, but also my twentieth birthday being shadowed by a bodyguard.

“Shayde, this is Dante. He’ll be your personal guard. Do me a favor and don’t be a bitch to him.” I give Marty a scolding glare then smirk at his eye roll. The truth is, I’m not a bitch, not even a little…unless it’s to Marty. From the minute he became my manager, he’s had it in his head that I’m just another stuck-up rocker chick who’s too high maintenance for him to treat with respect.

“Don’t worry, Marty. My bitch side is reserved for only you. So, Dante, you hanging out with us degenerates on the ride to the airport or are you hanging out in the SUV with Marty?” The corner of his lip twitches slightly, but he manages to keep a stern face otherwise.

“Sorry, princess, but you’re stuck with me. Kind of hard to protect you from a different car.” I lean to the side so that my gaze can fully meet Marty’s as he stands behind the giant man.

“You heard him, Marty. Run along. You’re the one, after all, who insisted on rushing my ass out of there.” Marty shakes his head and walks off the bus while mumbling a quick ‘good luck’ to Dante.

“Dante, you a fan?” Tommy asks with a playful smile.

“Tonight was the first time I’ve heard any of your music. Not necessarily my usual choice, but not bad. Kind of like Otep meets Lacuna Coil.” I smirk at the mention of two of my favorite bands.

“Yeah, Shayde always reminded me of a mix of Otep and Lzzy Hale personally.” I stand up and walk toward the front of the bus, having to squeeze past Dante carefully to avoid brushing up against him.

“Jerry, how far is it to the airport?” Our driver, Jerry, is new and has only been driving us for a little over a month, but the man gets all jittery whenever I talk to him and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy making him squirm a little more than I should. Have to make sure he remembers me after we fly out and leave him behind, don’t I?

“Um, should be about twenty minutes.” I pat his shoulder and thank him before heading back to my seat. I grab my guitar and start strumming the chords to a melody that’s been stuck in my head lately, tuning out everything else on the bus, including the very obvious grunts and moans now coming from the single bedroom in the back where I can safely assume my drummer, Helena, and bass guitarist, Josh, are having their own post-show, end of tour celebration.

Arriving at the airport is as chaotic as always with fans screaming and taking pictures while we’re escorted from the bus to the plane, but Dante does an amazing job at shielding me from them, not taking a step back until I’m safely seated. Marty quickly sets up a laptop on my table then ensures the camera angle is perfect before heading to the room in the back to handle a conference call. Dante takes a seat on the other side of the table just in time to hear the annoying ring of the skype call coming through. I take a deep breath then press the button to connect the call, frowning the moment I see the pristine barbie on the screen, looking nothing like the people I'm used to receiving interview requests from.

“Hi, Shayde! I’m so glad you agreed to let me interview you tonight! You just finished the last concert on your tour! How was it?”

“Hi, Camilla. Thank you for having me on your show. The concert was great. We had an amazing audience and their energy helped create the atmosphere for a perfect show.”

“Oh, please call me Camy. So, are the rumors true? Did you really break it off with your boyfriend of two years?!”

“We actually broke it off a while ago. We definitely had an on again off again relationship, but it was always more off than on, really.”

“Was there a reason behind your split? I know he cited irreconcilable differences, but I would love to hear your side.”

“Well, if he had quit reconciling is dick into anything that moved, maybe our differences wouldn’t be so vast. I know our managers and PR reps want us to keep it civil and tell everyone that we just wanted different things and we split amicably, but I see no reason to lie. He cheated on me and it helped me to realize that the only reason I actually stayed with him, you know, kept him around, was because it was easy. He was there when it was convenient.”

“Wow, very different from the statement he released.”

“Haha, yeah. He stuck to the script, but I figure if he can’t stick to the simple rules of a relationship then I have no reason to protect him. I feel sorry for the next girl he sinks his claws into.”

“It sounds to me like you’re better off. With this being the last concert of your tour, do you guys have plans to work on your next album?”

“I think we’re all in agreement that we’ll be taking at least a few months off before we even consider the next album, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t working on new songs already. We're always working on new material.”

“Who would you say your biggest musical inspiration is?”

“Easy, my dad.”

“Can I ask you a few questions that your fans have sent in?”

“Shoot.”

“Okay, first question, do you ever get stage fright? I know that seems silly since you’re a professional…”

“Every single time I get on stage. Sure, I’ve been doing this for three years, but every show starts the same. I get nervous, nauseous, dizzy…hell, I get scared. It isn’t until I hear the first note of the first song that it all sort of…fades away.”

“Wow! That’s crazy! I would’ve thought that would get easier after a while.”

“So did I, but here we are, three years, three US tours and three international tours later.”

“Okay. Second question, in your song Drug, was the song about actual drug addiction?”

“Oh, well, good question. Yes and no. When I wrote the lyrics, I was helping a friend who was struggling with an opioid addiction, but they started to take them to dull the pain they were dealing with after going through a rough break up. It was more about an addiction to the person and the highs and lows of what was felt for him, but I also referenced the calm, numb feeling that comes from the use of the drugs taken to numb away the pain. It works for both, I guess, because both were a relevant factor in my life when I wrote it.”

“Awesome! Third question, what’s your favorite part of being a rock star?”

“Hands down, the fans. There’s something beautiful and magical that happens when you see people yelling, cheering and singing along with music you wrote. I love seeing the audience and being able to watch them take in the emotions that the music inspires in them, knowing they can feel what I felt when I wrote the songs, the emotions I still feel every time I perform them.”

“That’s actually really cool! Fourth and final question for tonight. Are your eyes really that amazing silver color or do you wear contacts?”

“Well, that’s not a question I was expecting, but they’re naturally like this.”

“I think they’re beautiful. Unfortunately, that’s all the time we have tonight, but thank you so much for taking the time to join us!”

“Thank you, Cami.”

I shut the laptop and slide it away from me then recline in my seat, drifting off to sleep in a matter of minutes.