Sing To Me:A Glory Days ProductionBy: Theresa Hissong
I would like to thank my dear friend Sera Lockwood for being the one who stayed up into the late hours of the night to read what I'd put on paper. Sera without you, my ego wouldn't be as impressive as it is now. I appreciate everything you have done, every kind word, and your ultimate praise; telling me you needed tourniquets after reading certain things in this book.
To my family:
For encouraging me to write and to not be afraid.
I love you Wayne, Sara, and Nathan
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental. The names of people, places, things, songs, bands are all created from the author's mind and are only used for entertainment.
You know those times when you look back on the immediate past and wish to hell you hadn't of answered the phone? Well, I was having a moment and my best friend was the cause of it. Not her personally, but her plan for tonight and this weekend utterly pissed me off.
"Come on Mary Montclair!" My friend of just over two years, Liana, sighed into the phone. "Gabe is fronting the trip to Vegas. It'll be fun! You have never met him and he's dying to meet you. Plus.....Glory Days is your favorite band." I heard her chuckle at the end and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
It's not that I didn't want to go. I really did. To meet the number one rock band in the last five years was a huge deal. Gabe Miller (Liana's big brother) was the lead guitarist for the band and was successful beyond belief. It was fate that I became BFF's with the guy's sister. It's been an argument between us for a while now. She insists on introducing me; I decline every time.
"Haven't we been over this and over this Liana?" I pleaded. Even though I was refusing her, I was still looking longingly at my suitcase in the corner of my closet, imagining what I needed to pack. Would it be too cold for a mini skirt (It was April, the weather could go either way) or should I pack my leather pants and low cut white sparkly top? Oh shit, should I do my hair or just leave it in a messy blonde ponytail?
Could I even gather the nerve to be in the same room as Glory Days? My absolute stupid, stupid crush on the lead singer, Ash Martin, would probably make me a blubbering fangirl. Oh, God! Could I even conjure up the nerve to say hello? He's just too fine for words. Beautiful green eyes and brown hair that looks just kissed by the sun to prove he is a SoCal boy through and through. It also doesn't help that he's tall and muscled like a freaking UFC fighter. Geez, why does the inside of my thighs quiver when I think about him?
Liana interrupted my train of thought. "Doesn't matter," she laughed. "I'm already on the way. Gabe sent a limo and it's got a stocked bar! I'll be there in thirty. Love you!"
I was left staring at a phone with no one to argue with on the other end. I tossed the thing on the bed, and then secretly cringed; IPhone's weren't that resilient, I should be more careful. Scooping it off the red comforter that I loved dearly, I reached for the suitcase and started throwing outfit after outfit inside. My best bra and panties got tossed inside as well, just in case. Because you know the saying, "What happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas". Plus a swimsuit in hopes they had a heated pool.
Where were we going to be staying anyway? I hope it was somewhere other than the Motel 6; maybe a luxurious sweet at the Mandalay Bay? I knew that was where they would be playing Saturday and Sunday night, because, well I'm a fan. I know these things.
Like I know after the two shows in Vegas, they'd be off to their home town of Los Angeles, then to San Diego and then back to Phoenix, where I already have my tickets purchased and in a safe place until next Saturday night. Phoenix was the last show on the tour.
It took less than thirty minutes for Liana to show up with the limo. The driver was a stiff looking man with salt and pepper gray hair. He was not a personal chauffer because he could've cared less who we were and didn't waste time with pleasantries.
"Alright," Liana yelled. "Let's go!" With that, we were off.
The flight to Las Vegas took just under an hour and the sun was setting as we got off the plane. The lights on the strip were already blazing like big blinking arrows to gain the attention of the hordes of people infiltrating this magical place. To my embarrassment, there was another man in a tux waiting for us at baggage claim with a sign that read "Miller/Montclair". We could've just taken a cab.