Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 06 - Cozy Camping (16 page)

Almost immediately, I began feeling the need to use the restroom. Apparently, those last three drops hadn’t made a hill of beans’ worth of difference in how soon I’d need to go again.

After what seemed like an eternity, the curtain opened up on the stage. I was craning my neck, trying to find an opening where I could get a glimpse of what was causing the crowd to erupt in pandemonium. I felt Wyatt grasp me around the waist and effortlessly lift me up just in time to watch a very handsome man in a Stetson walk out to greet the crowd. A glint flashed off his large silver belt as the bright lights shone down on the singer, who I estimated to be in his late forties. Like my favorite artist, George Strait, I’m sure aging had only made this man more attractive. I quickly indicated to Wyatt I’d seen all I needed to see because I felt a little foolish being hoisted up by the muscular detective as if I were a three-year-old child.

Veronica, who was half a foot taller than I, stood on her tiptoes and snapped at least a hundred photos of Vex Vaughn from practically every position she could catch him in as he entertained the crowd. By the expression on her face, I could tell she was in a state of delirium. Even Wendy seemed fully invested in the concert. Stone, Wyatt, and Andy were exhibiting admirable patience, even as their facial expressions made it apparent they were as anxious for the concert to end as I was.

As one song followed another, my bladder became increasingly more insistent. If I didn’t empty it soon, I feared I was going to wet my pants. That would be a humiliating experience I might never live down. I could already hear my daughter jeering at my expense.
Hey, Mom, remember that time you peed all over yourself at the Vex Vaughn concert? I laugh every time I think about your remark about having the bladder of a camel. Good thing camels don’t drink gallons of coffee before going to concerts, huh?

As I imagined that scenario, I knew I had to find a restroom fast. I pulled Stone’s ear down toward my mouth and shouted out my need to relieve myself
.

“I had a feeling that was going to happen. Would you like me to accompany you?” He asked.

Always the gentleman, Stone would accompany me to the edge of hell if I asked him to, but I told him I’d rather he stayed behind. I knew he had his phone on vibrate, so I shouted to him that when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, I wanted him to wave his new cowboy hat in the air so I could locate the group and find my way back to them. He was hesitant, but agreed to my plan.

The easiest way out of the midst of the crowd was to head in a perpendicular direction toward the edge of the stage. Surely when I reached the opening, I’d surely find a security guard who could direct me to the nearest johnny-on-the-spot.

Pushing my way through the dense swarm of people was no easy task. It was now my turn to stomp all over other people’s toes. As I trudged, I sounded like an old phonograph album that had gotten hung up on a scratch and continually repeated itself. “Excuse me, I’m sorry, excuse me, I’m sorry, excuse me, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you spill your drink all over your girlfriend—”

When I finally reached the point where I expected to find a security guard to lead me in the right direction, there was no guard, just a cable stretched out between two metal stands to contain the crowd. Obviously, the cable was designed to keep people from crossing the barrier, which would lead them to the rear of the stage. In the condition I was in, I could see no option but to step over the cable and see if I could find a john behind the stage. The worst that could happen was for me to get booted out of the arena, which might not be such a bad thing. I could text Stone that I was waiting for them outside the fairgrounds by the shuttle bus pickup area. I knew I’d pass several restroom locations on my way there.

The problem was that I wasn’t sure I could make it that far. My bladder was now practically throbbing in rhythm with the drums on stage. Although I knew it wasn’t a promise I was apt to keep past seven o’clock the following morning, I vowed at that moment to give up my caffeine habit, once and for all.

Walking behind the stage, I realized I’d been gone from my group longer than I’d anticipated and Stone would soon be growing concerned about my whereabouts. Vaughn’s band was so loud, though, that I didn’t think I’d be able to carry on an audible conversation if I was even able to reach Stone on his phone. Besides, once he felt the phone vibrating, he’d begin waving his hat in the air, to no avail. My best bet was to hurry as best I could and try to limit my husband’s worrying as much as possible. God knows I’d caused him enough anxiety already during our first year of marriage.

As I reached the rear of the stage, I could see nothing but the back half of the rodeo arena. There were no staff members, or any sign of a portable toilet in the area. Wouldn’t the stage crew and musicians, even Vaughn himself, need a place to relieve themselves should the need arise? I wondered. With that thought in mind, I found an opening in the back of the stage and slipped in undetected.

It was quite dark behind the stage, but I could make out a set of metal stairs ahead of me. I climbed them blindly and it became nearly pitch black as I reached the top. I saw a flash of light ahead and walked toward it. I could hear a rumble of commotion in that direction and would surely come across someone who could assist me in finding a restroom.

I inched my way toward the noise, so as not to stumble over something in my path. Suddenly I froze as a large curtain to my left opened up and I discovered I was standing in the middle of the stage, surrounded by the band. Nearly everyone in the vast crowd was on their feet, stomping, shouting, and thunderously clapping. Vex Vaughn was holding a microphone and staring at me in surprise. I’m not sure what crossed his mind at that moment, but I’m sure the possibility of a crazed fan throwing herself at him was at the top of the list.

“What are you doing, lady?” He hollered at me to be heard above the roaring and applauding crowd, while glancing around, no doubt for someone on his security staff. “I’m almost ready to do an encore!”

“
I have to pee
!” I hollered back, in what had to sound like the most inane and ridiculous response Vaughn and his band expected to hear. As if on cue, the crowd had gone silent and a huge spotlight targeted me as I had screamed out my need to urinate. I noticed then I was standing directly behind a microphone on a metal stand. Had the entire crowd heard me? I wondered in horror. I was as flustered as Vaughn and turned away from the microphone to speak directly to the performer. As the sea of fans erupted into a frenzy again, I tried to be clearer in explaining my situation. “I desperately need a restroom and have been unable to locate one.”

With a resigned expression on his face, the artist shook his head, and proceeded to pick up a tambourine and toss it to me. “Pretend to play it, lady. This is my last song, anyway.”

As I stood there with a tambourine in my hand, the band began to play, and I suddenly wondered if Stone or anyone else in our group had recognized me up on stage. Even more humiliating, had they heard me shout out that I needed to pee? They wouldn’t be expecting to see me up there so might not notice if I tried to blend in with the band.

For the next few minutes I attempted to hide behind Vex Vaughn. The fact that my bladder was about to explode inside my body never crossed my mind. The last thing I wanted was for Veronica to have a photo of me up on stage with her idol to pass around every time a party or gathering of friends needed a boost of amusement. And a wet streak trailing down my pant leg would make the photo even more titillating—worse, memorable. I could just see it going viral on YouTube if she was utilizing the video function of her camera.

With my mind racing, I didn’t even realize I was banging the tambourine against my other hand in time with the music until the unfamiliar song ended abruptly, and I didn’t.

“What part of ‘pretend’ didn’t you understand, lady?” Vaughn asked me, obviously a little hot under the collar. He glared at me as the curtain came down to indicate the show was over. As a dozen men raced out and began to disassemble the stage and equipment, I tentatively handed the tambourine to him and began to babble nervously.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I truly am. You see, I was just trying to find someone to lead me to a restroom, because I really, really need to use one. I swear I had no idea I’d managed to find my way up onto the stage. It was so dark up here, you know. But, um, the concert was wonderful, and, um, I really enjoyed it,” I said, hoping to temper his anger. “I’ll find my way out of here. I really am sorry I disturbed your encore.”

My pitiful apology seemed to soften the singer’s attitude. “Oh, it’s no big deal. I doubt anyone could make out a word of the last song anyway because of the crowd noise. And that’s probably a good thing, because the lyrics to that song make absolutely no sense at all.”

I didn’t want to tell him I hadn’t understood one word he’d sung all night, so instead I apologized one last time and turned to leave the stage.

“Hey, lady,” Vaughn said. I began to walk away, my thighs squeezed together in an attempt to keep from springing a leak. “Would you like to use the john in my bus? My coach is right outside that side door, behind the curtains at the rear of the stage. There shouldn’t be anyone in the bus right now. My driver is helping the stage hands load up the instruments.”

“Really? That would be terrific! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. My bladder’s about to bust and I don’t want to wet my pants!” In my surprise at his welcoming offer, I spoke before realizing what a personal and embarrassing statement I had just blurted out. But the surprisingly thoughtful singer, who was even more attractive up close, eased my humiliation with his next remark.

“Been there, done that, didn’t like it! It was during a performance at last year’s Country Music Awards Show, no less. Talk about bringing the crowd to its feet! Last time I downed a couple beers before a show though.”

Vex Vaughn motioned for a big burly guy with a bald head and a long straggly beard to show me to his bus. Without saying a word, the large man led me to the steps of a beautiful motor coach, and then turned around to return to the stage. I was sure he had other responsibilities to take care of besides waiting for some silly old broad to use the bathroom.

The bathroom was small, but beautiful and functional. On the lavatory, there was a half-empty bottle of Ambre Topkapi Cologne, which I knew to be quite expensive. I wondered for a moment how it would feel to be able to spend money so lavishly. When I’d recently splurged on a forty-dollar bottle of Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds at Wal-Mart, I’d felt totally self-indulgent. I was only able to justify the expense by recognizing that the fabulous-smelling cologne was a gift to myself for the first anniversary of my marriage to Stone Van Patten. And how could I turn down a gift so thoughtfully given to me by myself without appearing rude and ungrateful?

After utilizing the toilet inside the bus, I glanced around at the luxurious features inside what I knew had to be a multi-million dollar unit. After having had a conversation with Wendy about wanting to see inside one of the fancier coaches, I was wishing she were with me to see the splendor I was observing at that moment.

With that in mind, I quickly took my phone out of my pocket and began snapping photos. I knew I would not be able to resist showing Veronica a photo of Vex Vaughn’s bed, which was unmade and a messed-up tangle of bedding, including bright red silk sheets and a stuffed throw pillow that bore the likeness of the artist across the front of it.
Click!

I spotted a pair of tighty-whities on the floor in front of me that could stand to be washed, or thrown away and replaced.
Click!
There was a well-worn edition of
Hustler
on his nightstand.
Click!
Right next to the magazine was an open bible with a
Miller Lite
bottle opener being used as a bookmark.
Click!
In an immodest salute to himself, Vex Vaughn had a poster attached to his closet door featuring himself in a provocative, and, I must admit, mouth-watering, pose.
Click! Click! Click!

Just as I shoved the camera back into my jeans pocket, the door opened and the subject of the poster I was just photographing stepped into his bus. He tossed his cowboy hat on a recliner, and asked, “Still here?”

“Yes, I was just leaving. Thank you for—”

“Were you taking photos? I thought I saw you put your phone in your back pocket when I stepped into the bus.”

I was embarrassed to be caught snapping photos inside this man’s personal space. I’m sure he’d feel like it was a serious invasion of his privacy if he’d known I had just been photographing his dirty laundry a few seconds ago—in fact, his skid-marked jockey shorts, for goodness sakes!

I started to express my sincere apologies, when his laugh caught me off-guard. “I don’t care, lady. As long as you’re not planning to publish the photos, that is. My entire private life is already on display in every bookstore in the country. And, besides, a few photos of the inside of my bus ain’t nothing compared to all the lies some broad made up in her book about my life. Pardon my language, ma’am, but that’s what Fanny Finch is—an insensitive bitch!”

“No, it’s actually what Fanny Finch used to be,” I replied.

“Huh?”

“Haven’t you heard? She died a couple days ago.”

“Huh?” Vaughn repeated with a look of complete shock on his face. “Are you serious, lady?”

“Very serious,” I said.