Chapter 30: The Meet-and-Greet

Eric stood outside the Trail Dust Honky Tonk Saloon beneath the marquee that bore his name, emblazoned in flashing neon lights:

Eric Thorn! Eric Thorn! Eric Thorn!

Thursday, Feb. 20, 8:00 PM

One Night Only!

Maury made the call this morning to open up ticket sales to the general public. No point reserving entry. Not when the quote-unquote "private sponsor" had unexpectedly "backed out" at the quote-unquote "last minute."

Eric couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the absurdity. How exactly had he gotten himself into this situation? A show without an audience. He'd play tonight for however many fans happened to hear he was in town by word of mouth.

And how many would that be? He couldn't help but wonder. Would he end up playing for an empty room? They hadn't done a single shred of promotion for this show. Not so much as a concert poster stapled to a lamp post. He'd be flying solo tonight, coasting on name recognition alone, without the usual lift from his record label's publicity machine. He wouldn't have his crew of musicians and back-up singers standing behind him either. No hip-hop dancers. No elaborate concert pyrotechnics. Heck, he wouldn't even have an opening act tonight to warm up the crowd. Just Eric Thorn, a kid with an acoustic guitar strapped to his chest, taking the stage alone at 8:00 PM.

But he wouldn't really have to wait that long to meet her.

Eric rubbed his dampened palms against the fabric of his jeans. It must be almost six by now. The Catfish production crew should be pulling up any time. Any moment. . . .

He'd finished sound check 15 minutes ago, and he'd been standing here outside the club ever since. Where was she? Where was everybody, for that matter?

Maury had really outdone himself with the choice of venue tonight. His manager had booked this gig last minute, but still. . . . Was this really the best that Midland, Texas had to offer? A dilapidated roadside club on an abandoned stretch of highway, miles away from anything that could even pass for a downtown? Eric had seen a grand total of one big rig truck pass by in the entire time he'd been standing out here. Otherwise, no sign of another living soul as far as the eye could see. Was that actual tumbleweed rolling around in the parking lot?

He wrapped his arms around himself, silently wishing he'd worn something warmer tonight than a thin leather motorcycle jacket. He'd expected mild weather. The temperatures had hovered in the mid-60s since he rolled into Texas a week ago, but he could feel a change in the air tonight. Must be some late February cold front blowing in. He could see the dark storm clouds gathering overhead. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe it was the weather, keeping the crowds away.

He'd braced himself for a mob scene out here, standing around on the sidewalk without so much as a bodyguard for security. He'd expected screaming fans. Maybe some scalpers. Maybe some photographers, shooting off their flashbulbs in his face. The last thing he'd expected was this – this vast, empty, silent nothingness surrounding him. All alone out here, with nothing but his thoughts for company. And his thoughts kept jangling around inside his head in no coherent order, a jumbled mess of adrenaline and nerves.

Maybe it was for the best, right? So what if the meet-and-greet was a bust? He hated meet-and-greets. Everybody hated meet-and-greets. Even record labels hated meet-and-greets, security nightmare that they were.

And Tessa would have hated it most of all. She would've found the chaos of a real meet-and-greet completely overwhelming. He'd been up all night last night, worrying about how she'd handle it. He knew how scared she must be, just to show her face here at all today.

This was better. He should consider it a stroke of luck, actually, that he turned out to have no fans whatsoever out here in the middle of Nowhereville. No fans other than Tessa herself, of course. Maybe no one else would show up for the concert at all tonight, and it would end up as a private show for her alone. No onlookers. No prying eyes.

Except for the MTV production crew, of course. . . . 

He'd been a little caught off guard last week, when he first got that weird DM from Tessa's account:

"Hi, I'm a friend of Tessa. My name is Nev and I make a show on MTV called Catfish..."

Eric must have re-read that message three times before he fully realized what it meant. She'd actually called Catfish on him? For real? And they'd actually chosen her story? Out of all the thousands of fans they must hear from on a daily basis?

He couldn't say he blamed her for giving it a shot. He knew how much he was asking, inviting her to leave the safety of her home and meet him at a concert. She hadn't set foot outside her front door in close to a year. She never would have considered it, no matter how she felt about him, if not for the added incentive he'd thrown in: the once-in-a-lifetime chance to see Eric Thorn play live from the front row.

So what if she needed Nev and Max there for a little moral support? It honestly didn't matter. After all, he knew something that the MTV didn't realize. At least not yet. He knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that his label would ever allow this particular Catfish episode to air.

Now everything was perfect. Perfect. He and Tessa might even manage to steal away for a little one-on-one time before the show. It was just a matter of a few more moments now, before the car would pull into the parking lot. And the passenger door would pop open. And he would finally catch a glimpse of the face that he'd been waiting to see for months and months. . . .

So why did he feel this urge right now to run away and hide?

It must be the silence out here, playing on his nerves. It was getting downright eerie now that night was falling. Spooky. Creepy. Nerve-wracking as hell. Like sitting at the top of a roller coaster, swaying in the breeze, teetering on the brink, waiting for the moment of freefall. Or maybe it was more like the standard scene in every horror movie, when the music stops and everything goes dead quiet – just before the monster jumps out of the screen.

Tessa should have been here by now. Something must have happened. Eric squinted into the darkness, straining to see down the empty span of highway that stretched out in both directions. He heard the faint rumble of an engine in the distance, and he held his breath as he listened to the sound approach. The vehicle came into view, and he let it out a groan of disappointment. Not Tessa.

Just a rundown-looking Greyhound bus, speeding down the highway in a cloud of dust. . . .

Eric scuffed the bottom of his shoe against the pavement and reached in his pocket for his phone. Had he misunderstood the plan somehow? He pulled up twitter and ran his eyes once again over the DMs from this morning.

Timestamp 2/20/14, 9:23 AM

Tessa: We're still on for tonight, right?

Taylor: I'll be there.

Tessa: OK, the plan is to meet you outside the club entrance an hour before doors open. That's 6 PM.

Taylor: 6 PM. Got it.

Tessa: MTV is trying to get Eric Thorn to come out and do a meet-and-greet. Not sure if it'll be before or after the show. 

Taylor: Wow. That's cool. So are you scared or psyched to meet him?

Tessa: Scared to meet Eric. Psyched to meet you. Or maybe the other way around? I honestly don't even know. This whole thing is surreal.

Taylor: Don't be scared. It'll be OK. I promise.

Tessa: Do you think it'll be crowded?

Taylor: I don't know. Maybe a little bit.

Tessa: Should we have some kind of signal so I recognize you?

Taylor: Like what?

Tessa: I don't know. Do you have something colorful you can wear?

Taylor: Hmmmm. Perhaps some hot pink bunny slippers?

Tessa: Perfect :P

Taylor: If only I knew someone who could lend me a pair...

Tessa: I know. How about a hot pink rabbit's foot?

Taylor: Where am I supposed to get one of those?

Tessa: They sell them at the service station. Exit 54. It's just a couple miles down the road.

Taylor: OK

Tessa: Will you get one?

Taylor: Of course. Rabbit's foot. Good idea. I'm gonna need all the luck I can get...

He'd dutifully picked up the rabbit's foot on his way into town this afternoon. The pit stop had raised a few eyebrows, although not for the usual reasons. The men loitering around the service station barely gave him a second look, once they caught sight of his car. The baby blue Ferrari had stuck out like a sore thumb among all the tractors and rusty pickup trucks. The mechanic behind the counter even had the nerve to offer him $50,000 cash, right there on the spot, to take the car off his hands. He couldn't quite tell if the guy was kidding.

"Nice try," Eric had laughed back nervously. "This car's worth four or five times that much."

The guy had merely shrugged in response, and taken his $3.99 for the rabbit's foot without another word. 

Strange town, Eric thought to himself. Strange vibe. Strange people. No wonder his label never bothered to book a show outside of Dallas or Houston. Apparently, he'd found the one spot in America where even the super-fans wouldn't dare to follow.

Eric glanced down at the piece of pink fluff that dangled on a chain around his neck. The pop of neon color stood out starkly against the black leather of his jacket. How exactly would Tessa react when she laid eyes on it? How long would it take for her to put two and two together? He bit his lip, as he tried to imagine the look on her face.

He had his opening line all planned out, complete with choreography. Maybe it would come across a little cheesy, but he didn't want wing it. This particular meet-and-greet was way too important to leave to chance.

He rehearsed it one more time inside his head now. He knew exactly what he would do. The moment she stepped out of the car, he'd saunter over and hold out the good luck charm for her to see.

"I'm looking for a girl named Tessa who's really into rabbits' feet," he'd say. And then, before she could breathe a word, he'd hit her with his most handsome, charming, lady-killer smile.

"Guess what," he'd say. "I'm Eric Taylor Thorn. And today's your lucky day."

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