20 - Tough Enough

It had been a nerve-wracking, uncomfortable half-hour cooped up with a surly Turk cab driver.  Lilah had held her breath the entire way from the hotel to the arena.  When the man basically dumped her on the backside of Turk Telkom Arena, she was furious with herself because of the way her knees wobbled with relief.

That relief had no more than a nanosecond to sink in before she’d been forced to deal with a suspicious Matt Bongiovi wanting to know who she was and why she was at the stadium so early.  Lilah was batting a thousand in racking up suspicious Bongiovi brothers.  While it was inconvenient that the last one didn’t trust her any more than the first two, Matt was the least of her worries. 

When he’d gruffly, yet politely, asked her to step aside and wait, Lilah quietly retreated inside her head, calculating hours, minutes, and seconds between now and her flight out of this damned country.  She was so close to what she came for, but, in the ten minutes it took for Tony to show up,  she was just as close to walking away. 

The residual anxiety from both encounters melted away as soon as she saw him looking calm and confident in his black tank and khaki cargo shorts.  He might not have been the one in charge, but Matt’s expression had been clearly deferential to his older brother when Tony stopped to speak with him before coming to greet her.

Now, walking beside him through the maze of equipment and half-erected stage structures, Lilah felt safe and in-control again.  The only thing not quite right was the headache that wouldn’t go away.  In fact sluggish, agonizing fingers were making their way around her skull, and the fingertips pressed into her forehead.

It’s probably just because you haven’t eaten.

“So why are you wearing a friggin’ turtleneck?”

She wrinkled her nose, wishing to see the eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.  Of course, hers were also hidden behind sunglasses, so there wasn’t any room for her to complain.

“It’s sleeveless.”

“But you have a shirt on over it.”

“Which is really thin.  I’m not hot.”

“You will be.  This equipment makes it like a boiler room under here.”

He lifted his already-arched left eyebrow, and gestured to the crates that surrounded them.   Cords and electronics were visible everywhere in the area that would soon be enclosed under the stage. 

“You worry like an old lady,” she teased rubbing a hand over her temple while making sure to keep the left side of her face covered.  “I’m fine.  Now show me what you do.  I’m so excited I can’t stand it.”

He was still clearly put off by her choice of wardrobe, but she held her breath hoping that he would take her at her word.  The pent-up breath hissed quietly out, unnoticed, when he let the subject drop and began his monologue on the backstage setup.

Once the basics were covered, he introduced her to some of the crew – Montana, Jesus, Sooner, and others whose names she missed – smiling and sharing a joke or sarcastic crack with each one.  It was clear that, while he was the 'boss', they were all part of the same 'family.  It was another affirmation for Lilah.

When it got down to the finer details, Tony made endlessly patient explanations while he worked.  The cameras each went through their paces and she found out why each had been chosen for its specific spot in the setup.  Seemingly insignificant pieces of hardware had the crucial task of bridging the images from the cameras, to his desktop computer, and out to the big screens.  As if all that wasn't overwhelming enough, he started ticking the buttons on the huge control board and rattling off their respective functions.   

Lilah took some pictures and asked questions as her throbbing head allowed her to think of them, but tried to keep it to a minimum so as not to be annoying.  Truly enchanted and amazed by it all, she bided her time to ask the question she was most curious about.  It would be more appropriate closer to show time.

Maybe by then I’ll feel better.

“That’s it for now, Bluegrass,” Tony declared, frowning at her.  “Have you eaten today?  Let’s go hit hospitality and before we go into pre-show lockdown.”

There was no way Lilah could eat.  About an hour ago, around four o’clock, she’d passed the point where that was going to be possible.   She was no longer hungry, and if she had to put one bite of food in her mouth, she would throw up.  Besides that, she had a… thing about food in those kinds of settings. 

She didn’t do free samples of sandwiches, ice cream, soda and the like.  If there was a complimentary meal provided by the culinary students at the adult and technical education center, she made sure she had other plans.  Pizza thoughtfully provided to a hard-working staff by the department head?  No thank you. 

Those situations made her feel so awkward that she couldn’t bring herself to join in the way everyone else did.  The thought of even trying made her sicker than she already was.

“I don’t want anything, but do you know where I might find a restroom around here?”

“Are you okay?”  The question had become a familiar, but dreaded, one throughout the day.  This was the fourth time he’d asked. 

Smiling, she fought the desire to pull her hair back into a ponytail.  So far, he hadn’t gotten a look at that side of her neck, but she would give anything to feel a breeze blow across it.  Anything that might ease the splintering Headache from Hell.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”  He was studying her with concern.  “You’ve got no color at all and you're sweating.”

“Guess you were right about it getting hot under here,” she improvised with the most convincing laugh she could muster, and pointed to the right.  “So you think the restroom is down that way?”

“Lilah…”

“Tony, I’m fine.”  But the longer she sat here sweltering, the less fine she was going to be.  Not waiting for his input, she carefully put one foot in front of the other in what she thought was the right direction.  “Go get yourself something to eat.  I’ll find you when I’m done.”

She must have finally been convincing enough, or stubborn enough, because he grudgingly agreed and told her where hospitality was.  Not that she was listening.  Lilah was concentrating more on keeping upright.

If I can just splash some water on my face, I’ll feel better.

She held it all together long enough to get to the sink inside the, thankfully empty, public restroom.  With her hands under cool, flowing water, a fierce trembling stole through her legs and forced her to lean heavily on the counter.  Lilah’s head fell forward with a soft groan. 

Being sick wasn’t something she was good at, possibly due to lack of experience.  This kind of thing never happened to her.  She was disgustingly a healthy person, despite not leading a health-obsessed lifestyle. 

This sucks.

She dabbed water on her face and neck and, as the droplets trickled over her skin, Lilah used one hand to bunch her hair on the top of her head.  The slight rustle of air helped cool her and staved off the dizziness and nausea.

That’s better.

When she was able to hold her head up once again, she filled her cupped hands and doused her face, wishing that she dared take a drink of it.  Her mouth was dry and parched, but she possessed enough common sense not to drink tap water in a foreign land.  There was no telling what kind of havoc that would wreak on her already screwed up system.

So she made do by licking her lips to dampen them while she pulled a paper towel from the holder on the wall and ran it under the faucet.  Wet compress in hand, she did take the risk of sitting on the floor and leaning heavily against the wall as she willed the darkness of her closed lids to banish the never-ending headache.  

In a few minutes time Lilah was feeling a little refreshed and, after clambering back to her feet, she could to see a visible improvement in the mirror.  Not quite so pale, not quite so flushed or sweaty.  She fluffed her hair back around her face thinking that she might just pass for normal if nobody looked too closely.

Despite her lack of attention to Tony’s directions, it wasn’t hard to find hospitality.  The man himself wasn’t hard to find either – he was sitting at a table for four with Jon, Richie and the sound engineer, Obie O’Brien. 

She didn’t want to intrude and, spotting an empty seat in the corner, she moved in that direction.  It would be good to have a few more minutes alone, to convince herself she was going to make it through the show.  Noticing a free-standing cooler filled icy, bottled water, she made steered that way, planning to wander by it on the way to her seat.  Her lips were starting to feel like sandpaper.

“Lilah.”

That idea was shattered at Tony’s quiet call of her name. 

Plastering a smile on her face, she followed his beckoning finger and went to stand face-to-face with Jon Bon Jovi and her Bon Jovi idol, Richie Sambora.  Oddly, of the two, Jon made her more nervous.  It could be because of the suspicious Bongiovi gene that had his blue eyes shuttered when she approached the table that was adorned with empty plates and glasses.

“You look better.  Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?”

“I’m sure, thank you.” 

“Then grab a chair and sit.”  Tony gestured to the empty ones at the next table and she nodded, complying in silence.  The folding chair slid easily into the space he and Obie created between them at the round table, and she gingerly settled onto the hard surface, four pairs of eyes affixed to her.

“You met Obie earlier, but this is Jon and Richie.  This is Lilah.  She’s hanging out with me backstage tonight.” 

She incrementally dipped her head at each one, in turn, as Tony made the largely unnecessary introductions.  “Gentlemen.  It’s good to see you both lookin’ well.”

Richie’s smile was warm and welcoming, not to mention curious, when he extended a hand and greeted her with a quiet, “Thank you, darlin’.” 

The fan girl in Lilah went a little trembly at the gifted fingers encircling her scuffed hand.  It would be easy to get lost in his cocoa eyes.  There was something about  the way he focused all of his attention on whomever he was speaking to.  As though there was nothing else more important in the world than what they were saying.  It was captivating.

Jon’s smile, however, was nothing more than a baring of teeth as his eyes teemed with distrust.   He didn’t offer his hand, but a curt nod.  “Lilah.  You should be proud of your accomplishment.  In all my years, I can count on one hand the number of people who have managed to land themselves in my backstage.  Well played.”

Tony gave his brother a warning look while Richie and Obie leaned back to watch on with blatant curiosity. 

Lilah bared her teeth in a ‘smile’ similar to his own.  The belligerent migraine, or concussion, or whatever the hell it was, pounded as agitatedly in her forehead as the vein that danced in Jon’s temple.  That mind-numbing pain dulled her social graces and made her far more unkind than she would ever be under other circumstances.  More unkind than she had ever been to anyone’s face, if the truth were told.

“Well, thank you for both the compliment and the opportunity, but if your backstage didn’t have Tony, I wouldn’t give a fat rat’s ass about it.”

Stoically disregarding the other men’s raucous chortles of surprise, Jon's lips flattened and he pressed, “So you’re not a Bon Jovi fan?”

“I am,” she admitted, fidgeting in her seat as the laughter faded away.  “But if this were about being a Bon Jovi fan, I’d be anglin' for front row tickets, not a small, dark corner under the stage.”    

Jon Bon Jovi didn’t like her.  That was plain even through the haze that enshrouded Lilah’s aching head.  She could see the wheels turning in his mind, looking for her ‘angle’ and unconvinced that she wasn’t some redneck Mata Hari. 

In two hours, I’ll have the answer to the question that brought me across the ocean.  After that…  Well, after that, you might not have to worry about me anymore. 

“I am more grateful for the opportunity you’ve granted me than you can possibly understand, so please don’t take this the wrong way.  Even though you’re the reason these men are here....... It’s not all about you, Mr. Bongiovi.  Not for me.”

Lilah was glad she left her camera on Tony’s desk.  Even if she had it with her, there was very little likelihood that she could fulfill Angel’s request for a photo.  With the way the fire danced in his eyes right now, there was no way in hell Jon Bon Jovi would agree to let her snap a picture.