WOULD YOU WANT TO BE FAMOUS?

Welcome to Black Wolf Books - where the first in the series, "Black Wolf: Lakota Man," by Magnolia Belle, will be published this fall. Since the story concerns a musician, I thought this excerpt was appropriate for this blog.

Read the following scenario about a popular musician, put yourself in his place, and then answer the question:

WOULD YOU WANT TO BE FAMOUS?

It had been a crazy night, lasting well into the early morning hours, pushing, bumping, crowding up against the dawn. Exhausted, he falls into his bunk on the tour bus, the hum of its engine singing him to sleep.

Several hours, several miles, several towns later, he wakes up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. Hunger drives him to the kitchen. Looking out the bus windows, he sees rural landscape rolling by, guardrails and fence posts, cattle and trailer houses. Semis and sports cars compete for space on the highway as the bus bounces between them.

Yawning, he reaches for a cereal bowl when his cell phone rings.

“Hey, you up?”

“Kinda,” he mumbles.

It’s his business manager with important information for the day. The label suits are screaming about CD deadlines — again. Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!

Getting through that conversation, he manages to sit down and eat breakfast before his phone rings again. This time his promoter has a new wrinkle in his already full schedule. Some big hotshot is going to be at the next show, so an impromptu meet-and-greet has been added. He sighs and agrees.

Walking up to the driver, he asks how much longer before they get to the next scheduled stop.

“About two hours,” he is told. Nodding, he goes to the back of the bus. There’s nothing to do now but wait. Picking up his cell phone, he calls his wife.

“Hi, honey,” he smiles into the phone. “How are things?”

“I was just about to call you.” From the sound of her voice, he can tell there is something wrong.

“What is it?”

“The baby is running a fever. If it gets much higher, we’re going into the doctor.”

“Oh, no.” His shoulders slump. He should be there, but there’s absolutely nothing he can do. “Call me if it gets any worse.”

“Okay.”

“Other than that, how are you doing?”

“All right.” She doesn’t sound all right. She hasn’t sounded all right for the last two calls. After a moment’s silence, she asks, “When are you coming home?”

“You know I won’t be back for another week.” He can hear the heavy sigh. “Baby, I’m sorry. That’s just the way it is.”

“I know. I know. I just miss you. That’s all.”

He tells her he loves her and hangs up the phone, worried about his sick child.

The bus rolls into the big city and threads its way through unfamiliar downtown streets to the concert venue for that evening.

His cell phone rings again. This time, the concert promoter tells him that he’s on his way to the bus. From there, they will go to the local radio station for a ½ hour on-air interview. After that, a music magazine has a journalist waiting with a photographer. The meet-and-greet has been squeezed in following that. There will be just enough time to grab dinner before it’s on to the concert.

Fans have spotted the bus and are crowding around it, waving, smiling, chattering excitedly, hoping for just one quick glimpse of him. It will be like this for the rest of his stay in this town. Autographs, photos, handshakes, kisses, messages, demo CDs from hopeful musicians, screaming, tears. They love him. They all love him. And they want to show it. But there’s only one of him and dozens of them. Later tonight, there will be thousands. It doesn’t change and it doesn’t quit.

He smiles, graciously, genuinely. He couldn’t have made it this far without their support. He returns their hugs, listens to their stories, signs whatever they hand him. He’s been told thousands of times by thousands of young lovelies how hot he is. He’s been told thousands of times by thousands of eager young musicians how talented he is. “You rock, man!”

Each one that sees him hopes to be singled out, to be brought into the inner circle. They vie for his attention by being the most provocative, the sweetest, the loudest, the most complimentary, the most outrageous. He’s seen it all before and there’s nothing he can do.

And through all of this adulation, he keeps thinking about his baby, wondering if the fever has gone, and about his wife, knowing she needs him.

He gets through the gauntlet of interviews and the meet-and-greet. A quiet spot has been found for dinner, but even there, he is interrupted for autographs. Then it’s on to the show. From backstage, he can hear the crowd — hungry, eager, impatient for his music. He steps into the middle of the spotlight and rocks the house. He plays his heart out. He loves playing. It’s the blood in his veins, the air in his lungs.

After the show, there is an after-party that he is expected to attend. Lots of ‘beautiful people’ are there, journalists of varying degrees of professionalism, floozies, and ‘gimmies’ (people who are hoping to get something from him — an endorsement, a ‘deal,’ anything to further their own career, their own life.) Finally — finally — he autographs his way past the fans waiting at the bus in the small hours of the morning. He climbs on, bone weary, and makes his way to the back.

It had been a crazy night, lasting well into the early morning hours, pushing, bumping, crowding up against the dawn. Exhausted, he falls into his bunk on the tour bus, the hum of its engine singing him to sleep.

Tomorrow will find him doing it all over again.