We're Almost Here Again
Backstage passes can get you far these days, she finds, as she walks briskly down narrow corridors, searching for Ed because he, once again, got distracted and forgot her. She’s not upset, because that’s his way; always looking for the next best thing, but never forgetting the ones who’ve been there from the start.
She’s in that little show and musicians and security alike stop to chat because apparently everyone watches it (low ratings be damned).
Rushing through the rabbit warren, texting Ed, she doesn’t notice the guy coming quickly in the opposite direction. That’s where she stumbles, falling ungracefully on her ass.
“Oh god, I’m sorry!” she apologizes, as he extends her hand to help her up, “I should have been watching where I was going.”
“Hey, that’s alright. You tryin’ to find something?”
“Someone. My friend Ed, he’s-”
She trails off, glancing up at the (very cute) guy who’s smiling down at her.
“Well, I’m Jess.”
“Bill.”
“Nice to meet you.”
---
He’s in a band. Which is fitting really, with his shaggy brown hair and skinny jeans, he’s every bit the rock star he doesn’t try to be.
She’s heard of them; at one stage they were her sisters’ favourite band, but emo punk was never her thing, preferring indie rock over most other styles. She borrows her sisters CDs anyway, because, come on, she may as well give it a crack.
“You’ve got me on your iPod,” he grins, scrolling through the tracks, her rolling her eyes.
“Don’t get cocky now.”
“I’m just surprised,” he chuckles, “I figured you’d hide it better.”
“Excuse me!” she chuckles, “I think I hid it pretty well. After all, I came up with a pretty good cover story when I had to borrow the CDs!”
“I’m sure you did,” and things are quiet, the flirty edge removed, a serious tone taking place and his honest eyes boring into hers.
“It was pretty good, if I say so myself.”
“What’s your favourite?”
“What?”
“Your favourite song.”
“So I can inflate your ego further? What, are the thousands of screaming teenage girls not enough for your confidence?”
“Seriously, Jess. I’m intrigued.”
“Almost Here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I can relate to it.”
Entwining his fingers in hers, she blushes a little. He brushes the loose curls away from her face and cups her cheek.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Blushes again and the moment is beyond perfect and branching into fairy tale territory and if it was anyone else, she might roll her eyes. But this William Beckett character -
(Crooked smiles to match honest eyes and when he looks at her she can see why so many teenage girls are in love with him. He writes her name on the palm of his hand and wears his heart on his sleeve and there are no pretences and no pretending.)
- he’s too good to be true. Except he is.
(Feels a bit like love.)
---
What are you doing? he texts and she nearly dies of shock because it’s before 10.30 in the morning and he’s never up.
Hair and make up, you?
Another day, separate cities and he’s on the last legs of The Warped Tour and she’s on set and the world goes on.
(Funny that; it stops when he’s with her.)
Lying in bed, writing, thinking of you.
(Hear that? That’s her heart skipping a beat.)
Blushes that don’t go unnoticed, Leighton stealing her phone and a couple of chorused awws between her and Blake are the order of the day. She’s keeping it secret, for the time being, because, in case they haven’t noticed, she’s in a show with gossip in the title and the media circus surrounding them is crazier than the mosh pits at his gigs. He doesn’t mind, somewhat used to speaking in code, in a vague poetic sense.
Too much? He texts back a few minutes later and she smiles.
Just enough.
She imagines him on the other line, sitting in his hotel room, bleary eyed with bed hair and grinning. I miss you, she types, only to delete it and replace it with how are you?
(She doesn’t want to be that type of girl.)
Exhausted. And missing you like crazy.
I miss you too.
(Between takes, she can’t stop smiling. He casts a spell, he does.)
---
“You’re on TV right now, you know?” he answers before she can even say hello.
“Oh god,” she groans, “you can’t seriously be watching that, Bill.”
“If by that you mean CSI: Miami, then yes, I am seriously watching that.”
A sigh of relief and she chuckles into the receiver.
“Well,” she giggles, “that’s okay then.”
“Sisky wants to know if that computer is real,”
“Are all the guys there?”
“Yep,” he answers, “hey guys, say hi to Jess!”
“Hi Jess!”
“Hi guys,” she giggles, “and I have no idea about the computer. But, let me tell you, pretending to slide things around and staring at a blank screen takes a lot of acting skill.”
“I bet it does,” he replies, the snark evident in his voice.
“Shut up.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs, “oh, and by the way, you looked stunning on Gossip Girl the other night.”
“Oh, no, Bill, you didn’t!”
“You know you love me.”
---
They’re still keeping it quiet. Layovers in New York, trips to LA and no one is any bit the wiser. Of course, there are the odd conspiracy theorist fans, but not too many to tip the media off and anyway, she can just play it off as her being a major The Academy Is…fan and him a fan of Gossip Girl -
- but probably not.
Sitting in a small diner, he pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose and she fiddles with her curls. The first time in a couple months since they’ve seen each other; he’s just finished his latest tour, she’s got a few days off and god, she could get used to this.
“So…” he trails off, neither with anything substantial to say, her looking around every few seconds, making sure she’s not being ‘watched’.
(By ‘watched’, she means the paparazzi of course. She bought a pretzel the other day and they were everywhere, to the point where it was becoming somewhat ridiculous.)
“Jess?”
“Yeah?” Looking up, he reaches across the table and grasps her hand in his, eyes imploring, exploring hers and the world kind of stops.
(This is it, she thinks loudly as they stare at each other in silence. This is the big, epic romance that usually only occurs in fictional lives, happening in her real one. She imagines background music and skims her mental playlist for the perfect song, coming up blank. This isn’t manufactured or pre-recorded or scripted, her mind interrupts, this is real.)
“Stop worrying,” he laughs and she smiles reluctantly, masking her disappointment, “I mean, so what, people find out. Definitely not the worst thing that could happen.”
“Definitely not,” she echoes.
“Good,” he grins and it’s final.
(As you were, heart, as you were.)
---
“I love you!”
An after thought, more than a passionate declaration, shouted out across a crowded airport. People turn to stare at her as she ducks her head, slightly embarrassed because, god, when did her life turn into such a cliché?
But he’s striding towards her and suddenly he’s in standing in front of her and his hands are cupping her cheeks and his lips are on hers and wow, perfect moment much?
He pulls away and presses his forehead to hers, eyes bright.
“I love you too.”
(Later, she’ll replay the moment to Ed, who’ll laugh and declare ‘only you, Jess, only you’ and a year ago, she would never have imagined this: a career on the rise and a whirlwind, honest-to-goodness romance and how the cards are suddenly, for once, in her favour. It’s sort of hard to believe, really.)
She falls asleep that night to his voice singing a song he wrote just for her and she dreams of diners and faraway hotel rooms and him.
---
First thing in the morning and she checks her email, facebook and finally, his blog.
She smiles, his disjointed phrases all too familiar as he retells the latest band shenanigans in the city, complete with a photo (that she took). It’s the final sentence; however, that catches her eye:
I love New York…
Her phone beeps and she smiles.
---