I've Always Been Your Biggest Fan

Los Angeles, 1999

The bass thumped incessantly against the inside of Charlie’s skull. He’d never understood the need to blow out the speakers at parties like this, to disregard the carefully balanced production of a song.

Although, he had to admit, it made dancing easier, as if the vibrations were shaking loose his muscles and his bones. Not that it made his dancing better, unfortunately.

“I still can’t believe Ramsey convinced us all to come to this random fan party,” Devin shouted into his ear.

“Could you be any louder?”

“We’re dressed as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I think our identities are safe.”

Devin had a point. It was Halloween and everyone was unrecognizable. They even had the sashes covering half their faces, and it was dimly lit, everything reduced to purple shadows and the intermittent glances of the hanging disco ball. But still. What a story it would make, what a scandal. The members of Mischief in disguise, crashing a party thrown by their fan club. Kind of narcissistic, now that he thought about it. And everyone here, including the members of Mischief, was definitely underage and definitely drinking. If their management found out—

Chris pushed a red cup into his hand. He smelled it dubiously: warm beer. “I can literally see you freaking out, Charlie. Drink this, it’ll help.”

Charlie rolled his eyes but took a sip. Just as gross as expected, but he still held onto the cup. It was the exact opposite of the curated, glossy parties their management team threw for them, at which the band was the main spectacle, some feature of the event like a champagne tower or photobooth. This was what normal American teenagers did in real life and even if it was sort of gross, with sticky floors and shitty beer and sweat dripping down his back from the overstuffed living room, he wanted a taste of it.

But every glance his way, every bump into his side from a stranger set off the alarms in his head. He couldn’t turn them off. What if they were found out, what if what if what if. He shook his head as if one could simply dislodge the thoughts from their head. Shocker: it didn’t work. “Hey, I’m gonna find the bathroom, be back down in a sec,” he said, then without waiting for a response, he pushed his way through the crowd and towards the stairs.

It was quieter up here. The party raged on below, but he had space to think, to calm down. Except…wow, the bass really was strong. He could hear it even here, that thump thump thump…

“Help! Is someone there?”

That certainly wasn’t the music. “Hello?”

“Oh thank god! Here! Last door down the hall!”

He followed the voice to a narrow door at the end of the hall. It looked like a closet or some sort of cloakroom, although he wondered if anyone in Southern California really needed one of those. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I locked myself in,” the voice answered with chagrin. “I was trying to get more cups, and maybe some napkins because yes this is a party but I don’t know how you spill beer that many times in one night, but I forgot that this door locks automatically and you can’t open it from the inside, and…yeah, could you open it?”

It was a girl, he could tell now. He turned the doorknob, or, well, he tried. He jiggled it. Tried the other way. “It’s not opening.”

“Shit.” A soft thud, like she had slumped to the floor. “You need the key.”

“Where is it?”

She laughed dryly. “I have it.”

“Well. Fuck.”

She laughed again, harder this time, and despite the situation he found himself smiling a little at her humor.

“Is there another key?” he asked.

“I don’t know, I’ve been texting the only person here who might have one for ages but she’s probably making out with that girl from art class, the one with the purple highlights. Really cute, honestly, they make a cute couple, but this one time it would’ve been great if she could answer her text messages…”

More slowly than he’d liked, he parsed her barrage of words. “Okay, well, maybe I could go find her?”

“Wait! No, wait. She’s had a crush on that girl for months.”

Charlie blinked at the door incredulously. “Are you seriously going to stay locked in here so your friend can make out?”

“Well. She’ll answer me eventually. There’s water in here so I won’t, like, die.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t just leave you here.” Already he was texting the guys, asking if any of them could find a girl with purple hair. And if there was another girl with her. Tactfully, he left out the making out part.

“No, seriously, you don’t have to stay if you have somewhere to be.”

His mind was already made up. He lowered himself to the floor, leaning against the door with his legs bent at the knee. “I’ll stay.”

“Okay. Thank you.” A small pause. “What’s your name?”

Not your real name. Any other name. Chad. No, not Chad. Chris? No, not Chris, not your band mate who also isn’t supposed to be at this party. “I’m…Jake.” Jake???

“Nice to meet you, Jake. Fan of Mischief?”

He almost laughed out loud but coughed instead. “You could say that.”

“Yeah, me too. Were you at the show? What did you think of the set list? You know I love their top hits as much as everyone else but I wish they had ended with ‘Until It Rains.’ It’s an underrated song. And Charlie Blake sings two verses on it. I’ve always liked his voice the most. You kind of sound like him, have you ever gotten that?”

“Hmm.” He simultaneously wanted to sink into the ground and to jump up, run two or three miles at breakneck speed. His heartbeat was embarrassingly loud in his own ears. Instead, he mumbled, “Oh, well, not really.”

“Sorry, I know I can ramble. I’m just probably their biggest fan.”

This admission turned his ears and cheeks uncomfortably warm, as if he hadn’t just left a stadium full of cheering fans. “No, don’t be sorry.” Change the subject! To any other subject! What were normal kids his age doing? “Are you, uh, applying to colleges?” Wow. Great question, Charlie. 

If his god-awful conversational skills bothered her, she didn’t show it. She answered easily and with the same enthusiasm as when she’d been talking about the band. Charlie got the impression that this girl just liked talking to people, didn’t mind if they had random or odd questions.

“Yeah, I’m looking at colleges on the East Coast, actually. Maybe DC. I don’t know anyone out there but maybe that’s a good thing. I mean, you’re a complete stranger but I like you already.”

This time he did laugh. “You don’t even know me.”

“No, but you must be nice enough if you’re spending your Friday night at a party keeping me company just because I was dumb enough to lock myself in here.”

“I’m not being nice. I’m just…big crowds aren’t really my thing.” He was sooo full of shit. There were few things he liked more than the sound of an audience at the end of a good show, knowing that Mischief had made their night that much better. But it was true that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a moment away from all of that, and right now he wanted to stay in it a while longer.

“So really, I’m doing you a favor.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and his face went warm again. She was definitely not flirting with him; she couldn’t even see his face, and she was literally trapped behind a door, but—she seemed to be enjoying their conversation. Not because he was Charlie Blake from Mischief, but because he was just…himself. 

“Yeah, exactly. I should be thanking you.” He cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortably as if he’d said something a little too truthful. Time for another subject change. “You don’t get weather like this on the East Coast. There must be something pretty great over there for you to leave California.”

“You’ve been there?” There was something like awe in her voice, or longing.

“Yeah. I’m from Boston.”

“What’s that like? Do you miss it?”

He realized that she thought he’d moved from Boston to Los Angeles. A reasonable assumption, because why else would he be here? “It’s…really nice. I do miss it, a lot.” He told here about the summers there and his favorite spot for crab rolls. The permanent smell of salt in the air. How his family wasn’t able to take many vacations or outings but they’d always, always make it to at least one ball game a year. Sometimes, with the whirlwind of being on tour, it felt as if he never had even a second of spare time to remember everything he was missing.

“It sounds wonderful,” she said. “Have you been to DC?”

“No. I was supposed to go for a school trip but…it didn’t work out.” The truth was, his parents couldn’t afford it. Now, of course, he was traveling all over the country, even, if things went well, the world, but they hardly ever stayed in one place long enough to really see and experience it. And of course they’d have to go everywhere with the bodyguards and the entourage, and the fans…

“I want to go.” Her voice, blunt, direct, cut across his self-pity. It was so nakedly yearning, but determined. A wish and a promise at the same time. Her voice wasn’t melodious or sweet. It was dry, utilitarian, a little raspy. He was a musician; he couldn’t help noticing these things. And yet, here he was with his ear pressed to the door, straining to catch every word. 

“Why there?”

“Well, it’s where every big decision about our country is made. All those big decisions that affect every one of us. Of course, the museums too, the history, but I want to…I want to be where those big decisions are happening.” 

He was nodding along. “Yeah, that makes sense. I guess I haven’t thought of it in that way, but it totally makes sense.”

There was a long pause, where they both seemed to be considering, ruminating. Then she said, “I want to go into politics.”

He’d known this girl for ten minutes, he hadn’t even seen her face, but this didn’t surprise him in the least. “Tell me more.”

“It seems to me that politics is the best way to improve people’s lives in a meaningful way. Like in ways that materially improve how they live. I don’t know, I don’t want to be the person with their face on the TV, I don’t want to give the big speeches, but I want to be a part of it. In any way I can.” Silence, again. He found himself waiting anxiously for what she would say next, racking his own brain for things he could say to make her keep talking. Then she cleared her throat and said in a smaller voice, “I’ve never admitted this to anyone before.”

“Why not?”

“It’s ambitious. Sometimes I think people will laugh in my face.”

“Do you want the opinion of a complete stranger?”

She laughed a little, and the sound seemed to fill him up from the inside. “Desperately.”

He took a deep breath, thought about the Teen Bop profile, which had been fine, a little embarrassing, sure, but nothing compared to the other ones that weren’t so kind or caring about the facts. The sea of faces he dreamt about, the ones that jeered and laughed. “I think you’re right, some people will laugh. That’s what people do when they can’t dream as big as you. It has everything to do with what they think of themselves and nothing to do with who you are or what you’re capable of.

“I don’t really know you, obviously. But I already admire you. I want—” He swallowed, his throat suddenly, somehow, so dry. “I want to be more like that, more willing to put myself out there for something that helps people. I want to be more like you.”

“Well. You’ve already helped me. I’m willing to bet that you’ve helped more people than you know.” She spoke so assuredly that he couldn’t help but be buoyed by it. “What about you, what do you want to do?”

“Guess.”

“I don’t know why, but I want to say a teacher. Maybe because you’ve been great at listening. And I think kids need that the most, just someone to listen to them and tell them that they don’t need to keep their dreams small.”

He laughed, oddly pleased. “My mom’s a teacher, so maybe that’s where I got it from. But, ah, not quite.”

“No?” There was a muffled drumming sound, like she was tapping her fingers against the wood as she thought. “I feel like…and I think it’s the way you talked about Boston, the way you described it…something creative, then. A writer, maybe.”

A light and fizzy feeling filled his chest. “Yeah. I think I’d like to do something like that.”

He couldn’t see her face, but he wished he could. The way she spoke, he knew he would find her beautiful. He had a sudden, almost painful desire to introduce her to his mom, the strongest and smartest woman in his life, just to know that there could be two people in the same room who cared about making a difference that damn much. 

Maybe he hadn’t been talking out of his ass for the Teen Bop profile, after all. 

His Nokia buzzed against his thigh several times, then, before he could even read the message, footsteps bounded up the stairs, Devin’s face popping out from around the corner. Have to go!! he mouthed. If it had been one of the other guys, he wouldn’t have jumped up so quickly, but it was Devin, who never made a big deal out of anything. And then, behind him, a girl with purple hair. Another girl close behind her. One quick glance back at his phone:

found her

who is she anyway

o shit

g2g

need 2 b back in hotel in 20

or were dead meat!!!!

“I’m so sorry. I have to go,” he said hurriedly, regretfully. “But your friend is here, I see her coming up the stairs. You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” In a quieter voice, shy almost, she added, “Thank you. For everything.”

It was only much later, when he was staring up at the ceiling of his hotel room unable to sleep as usual, that he realized he’d never asked for her name. But it was his own words to her that came back to him years and years later, after the band’s dissolution and the fashion line and the quiet fading from the public eye and all that was left, it seemed, was his own desire to create again but in a new and different way this time: I want to be more like that, more willing to put myself out there for something that helps people. I want to be more like you.