Free Between a Rockstar and a Hard Place by Portia MacIntosh Page B

I’ll find him, don’t worry.’
    ‘You’d
better,’ she warns me. ‘Because I’m sick of his shit. I won’t be covering for
him, if he isn’t checked out of his room and on the tour bus by 6pm tomorrow
then we are leaving without him. The label can deal with him as they see fit.’
    ‘Leave
it with me. He’s probably with some girl – somewhere. I’ll find him and
he  will  be on the bus at 6pm tomorrow. Take the night off,
relax in the hotel spa, you’ve earned it.’
    Has
she bollocks earned it, but she wants Dylan’s head on a stick and she’ll only
hold me back. Sometimes I feel like she wants him to get in trouble, even if
it’s just so that he learns a lesson the hard way, but all that will do is get
him dropped by his label, he’ll drink his fortune away and end up recording
irritating car insurance ads for local radio. The final nail in his career’s coffin
will be an appearance on Never Mind The Buzzcocks, in the line up of people who
used to be someone.
    ‘Fine.
But Nicole, if you do find him, please make sure he behaves tonight. Not too
many girls, not too much drink, and if anyone at the hotel tries to offer him
drugs, do be careful.’
    I
laugh, rather manically. Claire just stares at me, clearly not getting what is
so funny.
    ‘You
said doobie,’ I explain. ‘If they offer him drugs, doobie careful.’
    Still
nothing, not even a smile.
    ‘Here.’
She drops his backpack at my feet. ‘He’s your problem now.’
    As
Claire storms off I pull faces at her behind her back. She’s in the wrong line
of work for someone who hates musicians so much, but maybe I’d be grumpy all
the time if I had to deal with Dylan’s shit for a living.
    I
have a look through Dylan’s bag – not that I’m expecting to find a map that
will lead me straight to him or anything, but you never know. As luck would
have it, it’s not what  is  in his bag that gives me a clue,
it’s what  isn’t  there – his phone.
    Grabbing
my own phone from my handbag, I call Dylan’s number and after several rings a
girl answers.
    ‘Dylan
King from The Burnout’s phone,’ she chirps with a giggle. I hate her already.
    ‘Hello,
can I speak to Dylan, please?’
    ‘Who
are you?’ she asks rather rudely.
    ‘I’m
Nicole. Who are you?’
    ‘Nicole
who?’
    ‘Nicole
Wilde.’
    The
girl pauses for a moment before she replies, adopting a more serious tone to
her voice.
    ‘Do
you work for him?’
    I
tell her yes. She’s probably more likely to help me if she thinks I’m someone
official.
    ‘Oh,
ok.’ Her voice relaxes again. ‘Well we just had sex and he told me I’d get a
signed CD. Is it your job to bring me it?’
    Oh
dear. I wish I could say that this was the first time something like this had
happened but I’d be lying. Every now and then Dylan meets a girl with real
integrity, a girl who won’t sleep with him just because he is Dylan King from
The Burnouts – lucky for Dylan, these girls can usually be talked around with a
signed album.
    ‘Is
Dylan still there?’ I ask.
    ‘He’s
gone to get champagne. So are you going to bring me my CD?’
    ‘Yes,
just tell me where you are and I’ll bring it now.’
    ‘Awesome,’
she squeaks. ‘I’m at the Williamson Hotel, room 192.’
    Luckily
for me, The Williamson Hotel is where we’re staying – it’s the only hotel in
this tiny town, which is situated somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Everyone
who performed at the Rockin’ Radio Summer Roadshow is staying here, so at least
Dylan is exactly where I need him to be.
    After
a short taxi journey I arrive at the hotel. I had expected to find Dylan
propping up the hotel bar, but he must have gone back up to see his special new
friend for round two.
    I
knock on the door of room 192. An underwear-clad girl answers the door,
completely unfazed by the fact that she is nearly naked and I am a complete
stranger.
    ‘Are
you Nicole with the CD?’ she asks me.
    ‘Are
you the random girl with the Dylan?’ I