Spoon part 13

“All I’m saying is, someone is clearly out to get you.” I rolled my eyes as I pressed my cell phone to my ear, sitting on the bed farthest from the couched on the bus. “Jeanette,” I said, “this isn’t one of those melodramatic soap operas you watch. This is real life.” Jeanette tisked me, “Ah, see, but that’s exactly what a character on one of those melodramatic soap operas would say.” I glanced up as Kevin came to the back of the bus, picking up his bag from where it laid on our bed and searching for something. I cleared my throat slightly and said, “But babe, I’m not one of those.” Jeanette laughed, “Spoon in room?” she asked. I nodded and said, “Yea.” Kevin glanced at me, realized I was on the phone, and mouthed “Sorry” before hurrying back to the front of the bus. “Anyway,” I said, “Who could possibly be out to get me? Who knows who I am that doesn’t adore me?” Jeanette laughed, “Me.”

“Jerk.” Jeanette laughed again, “Ok, I don’t know who it could be. But it’s clearly someone who knows your secret. And I have no doubt in my mind that it’ll only get worse.” I sighed, “Well. I hope not.”

“No. Absolutely not. I don’t care what your band’s manager thinks, you are staying in Portland until this story is dead. If he argues, threaten to quit. You’re the face of the band, they’d be nothing without you. Trust me, it works every time.” I rubbed my forehead as I sat on the curb while the band roamed through the gas station, searching for anything to stock the bus with. “The thing is, Kassy,” I said to my agent/publicist as I switched the phone to my other ear, “I don’t think the story’s just gonna die. Clearly, whoever started it knows a lot. It seems to me that they’re, like, slowly leaking out the information to the media, taking as much time as possible to get to leaking the real secret.” Kassy was quiet. If there was one thing she hated more than anything in the world, it was being out of the know. Which, right now, she was. As was I. “Well,” Kassy said then, slowly, “Maybe you’re right. But...that doesn’t really make a difference. You’re still staying in Portland.” She sighed, that long, loud, elegant sigh she had, the one she gave to people who got on her nerves, that always made them close their mouth, stop talking, and just blink at her, wondering what they’d done wrong. “If this story won’t die,” she said, and I could almost see her biting her lip, a habit of hers, “then we’ll kill it.” I sighed, too, now, and said, “Ok, Kassy. But...what am I supposed to tell the guys?” She sighed even louder now, as she did every time I was held back because of the guys. She was convinced that I would be bigger if I was a solo artist, though she was the one who hooked me up with them in the first place. “I don’t know. Tell them that it’s because of bad publicity, whatever. You know what you’re doing. And as for that manager of yours, well, he wanted to milk your homestead fame, right? So that’s exactly what you’ll do.”

© 2010