“Saturday? That’s five days away!”
“Friday night? I might be able to swing that, but it doesn’t look good. I need to pack. Get al my obligations in order. The work week doesn’t end until Friday and final grades are due tomorrow. I’l be up al night grading.” She smiled to herself, knowing the reason for her being behind in her grading was on the other end of the line. Every minute spent with that reason was worth missing out on a night of sleep. “Be patient just a little longer. I promise I’l make it up to you.”
“I just miss you.”
“Brian, we’ve only been apart for one night.”
“I know. I know.” He sighed. “Let me check the schedule.”
She climbed into the Thunderbird and waited for Brian to speak.
“Friday. Um… We’l be in Nebraska. Looks like Lincoln.”
“That’s about four hours from here.”
“That’s not far,” he said, an excited edge to his voice.
“What time is your show?”
“We go on at ten. We have three bands opening for us. The actual show starts at six-thirty.”
“I’l probably miss it, but I’l try to get there. I wil see you afterwards. I promise.”
“Or we can skip the show, meet in Vegas and get married.”
“No, we cannot.”
“Are you sure there isn’t some guy making his move on you?”
“Good-bye, Brian.”
He sighed. “I’l cal you later.”
She flipped her phone closed and tossed it into her purse. She backed the car out of her parking space and headed for her apartment on the north side of the city.
Brian was already getting too close. Too clingy. She didn’t do clingy. It made her nervous. And jealous? Jealous led to protective. And protective drove her nuts. She liked him, probably more than she should, but she wasn’t prepared to make a long-term commitment. And he kept bringing up this marriage thing. She knew he was joking, but stil …
Marriage? Myrna shuddered.
Chapter 18
Myrna parked her car behind the Lied Center in Lincoln, Nebraska. The throbbing sounds of the concert rattled her dashboard. The drive had been long and uneventful, but she was tired. Driving four hours after a ful day at work and an insane amount of packing wasn’t advisable. She climbed from the car and headed for the end of the barrier fence. She’d just wait for the band on the bus and send a roadie after her luggage.
A security guard in a bright yel ow shirt stopped her from entering the area in front of the waiting buses.
“I’m with the band,” Myrna told the guard. He had a six-pack stomach. The kind produced by consuming a six-pack of beer every night.
“I’ve heard that before,” he said. “You can’t go past the barrier.”
“So I’m just supposed to wait here until the band comes out and validates my story.”
“That’s the only way you’re getting past me.”
She sighed loudly, too tired to be patient. “Are there any roadies around? They know me.”
“Promising roadies favors won’t get them to lie for you.”
“Ugh! I could strangle you. When does the show end?”
He checked his watch. “Forty minutes or so.”
She might as wel sit in her car. “When Brian or any of the other guys blow through here, tel him Myrna Evans is waiting in her car. And she’s not very happy about it after driving for four hours.”
“You’re Myrna?”
“Yeah.”
“ID?”
She shuffled through her purse until she found her driver’s license. She handed it to him. He inspected it careful y as if she were some fifteen-year-old trying to sneak into a nightclub.
“Al right,” he said final y, handing her license back to her. “That guitarist guy kept coming out here asking if anyone had seen you before their show started.”
She smiled. Eager to see her, was he? The guard shoved the metal fence piece slightly so she could squeeze between two of the barriers. “Thanks for keeping my guys safe.” She patted him on the cheek and walked the inside of the barrier toward the building. Several fans mil ed near the back door, waiting for the band to come outside. Maybe now would be a good time to do a preliminary survey for her research.
Nothing formal. She didn’t have her survey questions set yet, but she could do a few informal interviews to get a better idea of how to ask questions. The hardest part about studying psychology was getting the questions worded properly to avoid leading the subject or introducing her personal bias.
She approached a young scantily clad woman.
“Hel o,” Myrna said to the woman. “Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”
“How did you get on that side?” she asked.
“I’m with the band.”
She glanced at the security guard and whispered to Myrna, “Can you get me backstage?”
“No. Sorry. Why do you want backstage?”
“So I can meet Trey Mil s. Why else?”
“He’s a great guy. Incredibly talented,” Myrna said. “What do you know about him?”
“Uh, everything. His birthday is June 9th. He has seventeen tats and twelve piercings. His real name is Terrance, which he hates, so he goes by Trey. His middle name is Charles. Trey was born and raised in Los Angeles. His best friend is Brian “Master” Sinclair, who he met when he was eleven and they started a band cal ed Crysys in 8th grade. He had a dog named Sparky when he was a kid. It got hit by a car. You know their song, “Good-bye Is Not Forever?” Trey wrote that about his dog. He—”
“Okay, you do seem to know everything about him. Why do you want to meet him?”
“Duh. He’s Trey Mil s.”
“Yes, I know who he is. Why do you want to meet him?”
“I love him. I want him. I need him.” She clutched her hands in front of her chest and rol ed her eyes for emphasis.
“And what do you hope comes from this meeting?”
She laughed. “A baby. Are you a reporter or something?”
“No, I’m just curious. So you want to have sex with Trey Mil s?”
“Yeah, of course. Don’t you?”
Myrna laughed uneasily. “I have other interests. Have you had these feelings for any other men? Study their lives in detail, think you know them, profess to love them, and try to have intercourse with them?”
She shrugged. “Just other band members.”