She scrubbed at her face with both hands. This blasted tour was getting to her. Why had she listened to her manager, Rikki, and booked so many concerts? It would be months before she got home to New York.
She loved living in New York. It was one of the most diverse places in the world, and she felt she could relax and disappear into anonymity in the sprawling city.
When she was on tour, she lost that relaxation and sense of belonging. She wasn’t good with people. Growing up hapa—a slang term for someone who was part Asian, part Caucasian—had often left her feeling like she didn’t fully belong in either culture.
Added to that, she had spent most of her childhood practicing and studying music, not playing with other kids, and neither her perfectionist mother nor her academic father had considered social interactions relevant or necessary.
As a result, she had developed a reserved personality. It was hard for her to break free from that early conditioning, and often she needed to strategize on how to relate to people.
Constantly having to think things through like that was exhausting. She could never just relax and play cards with the rest of the band and the ground crew. When she was on tour, the only time she really enjoyed was when she immersed herself in her music.
And she willingly went through all of it—the strange beds, the isolation, the unending pressure—so that she could pick up her violin and play.
How was she supposed to respond to Vincent’s question? You know nothing, her mother would have said. So don’t complain. Say nothing.
Before she could overthink her impulse, she forced herself to confess, “I think I’ve got another stalker.”
His gaze snapped to her face. “Why?” he asked. “You get any mail? See anything?”
“No. And no, or Julie would have told us.” Julie, Sid’s publicist back in New York and her best friend, handled all her email and mail.
“Then what happened?”
Giving up on the morning jog, she sighed, turned, and started walking back to the hotel. Smoothly, the men changed direction and kept pace with her. “You’re going to call me neurotic or crazy, but nothing has happened. I just feel it in my gut. I can sense eyes watching me, when nobody should be watching. I’m not talking about the concerts—everybody’s watching me at the concerts.” She groaned. Maybe she should have listened to her mother’s voice in her head. “I sound crazy even to myself. Forget it.”
“No way,” Tony said, taking a step closer as he flanked her side. “We take instinct seriously.”
“How long have you felt this way?” Vincent asked.
She glanced from one man to the other. It rattled her that she had voiced her concern and they were treating it like a real threat.
She had to think back. Had she sensed anything while they were in Glasgow? She couldn’t remember. Hesitantly, she replied, “Since we got to London, I think.”
“Okay.” Vincent paused, thinking. “Tonight’s your last performance in the UK. Instead of leaving for Paris in the morning, why don’t we leave after the concert? We can slip away from the arena when you’re done and let the rest of the band drive to Paris tomorrow as planned. Maybe this one is geographically focused, and we’ll shake him off when we get to France.”
She frowned. She tried not to travel separately from her band. It was hard enough for her to build a rapport, and traveling separately could create distance between them and cause unnecessary tension, but she couldn’t see how it would hurt this once.
“Sure,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
“I’ll see if I can get us flights. Better yet, maybe I can charter a plane. Tony will slip your bags out of the hotel this afternoon.” Vincent smiled at her. “It’s going to be okay.”
Sidonie smiled back, feeling a brief twinge at the wedding ring he wore. If Vince hadn’t been married, she would have been interested in him, but his wife, Terri, ran the security agency and was the nicest, most genuine person, just as he was. They were the real deal too, happily married and utterly devoted to each other.
“Thanks, Vince,” she said.
“You bet.” He gave her an easy smile. “I’m glad you said something.”
She hesitated. “You haven’t noticed anything, have you?”
“No, but as Tony said, we take instinct seriously, and you’re not emotionally needy. You’re not trying to draw attention to yourself. We’ve worked together for quite a while, and this is the first time you’ve ever said anything like this to me.”
“Okay, good.” Having gotten that off her chest, she picked up the pace again, and they finished the rest of the route back to the hotel at an easy jog. She might not get a full three-mile run that morning, but at least she did feel better.
Successful concert tours took hard work, determination, and stamina, and they were only a third of the way through this one. That was just long enough for her to start questioning her life choices.
Still, after finishing in the UK, the rhythm would break for a short time. They had a few days’ rest planned in Paris, then the requisite three rehearsals in the new venue before starting the next round of performances. She couldn’t wait to get the next leg in the journey behind her and arrive in Paris so she could relish those few days off.
After Tony and Vincent left her at the door of her suite, she had lunch delivered, ate, and packed. Then she called Julie while she lay facedown on the bed. When Julie picked up, Sid asked, “What are you doing?”
“I just ate a big breakfast of bacon and waffles with whipped cream and strawberries,” Julie told her. “I’ve got this huge pile of work I need to do, but I can’t move. I needed someone to wheelbarrow me into the office.”
“I want bacon and waffles with whipped cream and strawberries.” Sid sighed. “Or a giant bowl of pho.”
“So order takeout,” Julie told her unsympathetically. “You’ve got two huge strapping guys at your beck and call. Make one of them run out and get you some pho.”
“I can’t,” she groaned. “I’m performing tonight. If I get too full, I won’t have any energy onstage.”
She could hear a smile in Julie’s voice. “I bet you ate your oatmeal like a good girl this morning, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did. I’m telling you, I have to eat exactly the same thing every morning,” Sid told her. “It drives me crazy.”
She loved living in New York. It was one of the most diverse places in the world, and she felt she could relax and disappear into anonymity in the sprawling city.
When she was on tour, she lost that relaxation and sense of belonging. She wasn’t good with people. Growing up hapa—a slang term for someone who was part Asian, part Caucasian—had often left her feeling like she didn’t fully belong in either culture.
Added to that, she had spent most of her childhood practicing and studying music, not playing with other kids, and neither her perfectionist mother nor her academic father had considered social interactions relevant or necessary.
As a result, she had developed a reserved personality. It was hard for her to break free from that early conditioning, and often she needed to strategize on how to relate to people.
Constantly having to think things through like that was exhausting. She could never just relax and play cards with the rest of the band and the ground crew. When she was on tour, the only time she really enjoyed was when she immersed herself in her music.
And she willingly went through all of it—the strange beds, the isolation, the unending pressure—so that she could pick up her violin and play.
How was she supposed to respond to Vincent’s question? You know nothing, her mother would have said. So don’t complain. Say nothing.
Before she could overthink her impulse, she forced herself to confess, “I think I’ve got another stalker.”
His gaze snapped to her face. “Why?” he asked. “You get any mail? See anything?”
“No. And no, or Julie would have told us.” Julie, Sid’s publicist back in New York and her best friend, handled all her email and mail.
“Then what happened?”
Giving up on the morning jog, she sighed, turned, and started walking back to the hotel. Smoothly, the men changed direction and kept pace with her. “You’re going to call me neurotic or crazy, but nothing has happened. I just feel it in my gut. I can sense eyes watching me, when nobody should be watching. I’m not talking about the concerts—everybody’s watching me at the concerts.” She groaned. Maybe she should have listened to her mother’s voice in her head. “I sound crazy even to myself. Forget it.”
“No way,” Tony said, taking a step closer as he flanked her side. “We take instinct seriously.”
“How long have you felt this way?” Vincent asked.
She glanced from one man to the other. It rattled her that she had voiced her concern and they were treating it like a real threat.
She had to think back. Had she sensed anything while they were in Glasgow? She couldn’t remember. Hesitantly, she replied, “Since we got to London, I think.”
“Okay.” Vincent paused, thinking. “Tonight’s your last performance in the UK. Instead of leaving for Paris in the morning, why don’t we leave after the concert? We can slip away from the arena when you’re done and let the rest of the band drive to Paris tomorrow as planned. Maybe this one is geographically focused, and we’ll shake him off when we get to France.”
She frowned. She tried not to travel separately from her band. It was hard enough for her to build a rapport, and traveling separately could create distance between them and cause unnecessary tension, but she couldn’t see how it would hurt this once.
“Sure,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
“I’ll see if I can get us flights. Better yet, maybe I can charter a plane. Tony will slip your bags out of the hotel this afternoon.” Vincent smiled at her. “It’s going to be okay.”
Sidonie smiled back, feeling a brief twinge at the wedding ring he wore. If Vince hadn’t been married, she would have been interested in him, but his wife, Terri, ran the security agency and was the nicest, most genuine person, just as he was. They were the real deal too, happily married and utterly devoted to each other.
“Thanks, Vince,” she said.
“You bet.” He gave her an easy smile. “I’m glad you said something.”
She hesitated. “You haven’t noticed anything, have you?”
“No, but as Tony said, we take instinct seriously, and you’re not emotionally needy. You’re not trying to draw attention to yourself. We’ve worked together for quite a while, and this is the first time you’ve ever said anything like this to me.”
“Okay, good.” Having gotten that off her chest, she picked up the pace again, and they finished the rest of the route back to the hotel at an easy jog. She might not get a full three-mile run that morning, but at least she did feel better.
Successful concert tours took hard work, determination, and stamina, and they were only a third of the way through this one. That was just long enough for her to start questioning her life choices.
Still, after finishing in the UK, the rhythm would break for a short time. They had a few days’ rest planned in Paris, then the requisite three rehearsals in the new venue before starting the next round of performances. She couldn’t wait to get the next leg in the journey behind her and arrive in Paris so she could relish those few days off.
After Tony and Vincent left her at the door of her suite, she had lunch delivered, ate, and packed. Then she called Julie while she lay facedown on the bed. When Julie picked up, Sid asked, “What are you doing?”
“I just ate a big breakfast of bacon and waffles with whipped cream and strawberries,” Julie told her. “I’ve got this huge pile of work I need to do, but I can’t move. I needed someone to wheelbarrow me into the office.”
“I want bacon and waffles with whipped cream and strawberries.” Sid sighed. “Or a giant bowl of pho.”
“So order takeout,” Julie told her unsympathetically. “You’ve got two huge strapping guys at your beck and call. Make one of them run out and get you some pho.”
“I can’t,” she groaned. “I’m performing tonight. If I get too full, I won’t have any energy onstage.”
She could hear a smile in Julie’s voice. “I bet you ate your oatmeal like a good girl this morning, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did. I’m telling you, I have to eat exactly the same thing every morning,” Sid told her. “It drives me crazy.”
