What Comes With It

Chapter 3

I'm already sprawled out in my robe on the massive king-sized bed when I hear the distant click of the suite's front door. When you have a team planted outside your doors 24/7, you never hear doorbells anymore. A guard is always there to greet the delivery person, Amazon delivery driver, or room service, in this case. I know someone will quietly press several bills in their hand to thank them for their discretion.

My dinner is wheeled into my room on a stainless-steel cart. A bottle of my preferred sauvignon blanc is being chilled on top. There's a little vase with a few freshly cut roses. I lift the cloche to reveal a double cheeseburger and a mountain of truffle fries. As I'm considering the juxtaposition of my guilty pleasure meal next to the delicate presentation, another cart gets wheeled in by my team. This is standard. My assistants hand-select gifts to be delivered to me after each show.

There's an elaborate floral arrangement from the mayor to thank me for the boost my tour brought to their economy, a box of my favorite Milk Bar truffles from my mom, some Kansas City Chiefs swag from the team who graciously "lent" me their stadium for the weekend, and other luxurious items. Most of it will be donated. I like to leave it for hotel staffers to bring to their families.

I toss the Chiefs gear aside; I won't be needing it. Nick, the body guard who delivered the cart, clears his throat.

"Oh, sorry, do you want this? Take it," I say, gesturing to the gear.

"No, ma'am," he continues, "Are you familiar with Ben Archer?"

"The football player?" I ask, full well knowing who he is. I'd just spent three evenings getting ready in his team's locker room. Not to mention his brother, Justin, plays for my dad's favorite team.

"Yes, ma'am. He was at your show tonight."

"Oh? We should've gotten him in the VIP tent, I would've been happy to sign something for him." I said, mostly focusing on the burger I had yet to take a bite of.

"We didn't know he'd be there and then with the storm watch...," he trailed off. "Anyway, he wanted us to get this to you."

He hands me a sealed envelope; it has the hotel's logo on it. It's kinda cute how Nick is treating it like precious cargo. He then backs out of the room, probably driven away by my growling stomach.

I toss the envelope aside and grab my burger. It is music to my mouth. Just as Mondays are my only day to be unscheduled, Sunday evenings are my only time to break my diet. On performance days and those leading up to them, I have to follow a carefully curated meal plan that maximizes protein and energy, and minimizes bloat and gastro issues. I could write a love song about this burger.

I chase it with some wine. The storm is picking up, but it looks like the worst of it will pass north of us. The tornado watch has expired. Bed, robe, wine, truffles, storm. These are a few of my favorite things. I just wish I could enjoy it with someone else.

That reminds me, I push my plate aside and reach for the envelope Nick brought me. I tear it open. A simply beaded friendship bracelet falls into my lap. My fans make thousands upon thousands of these. Usually with song lyrics, album titles, or acronyms of song titles like little inside jokes they can share with me and each other. The bracelets are nothing new.

But this one is. I'm certain I've not gotten one like this before. There's no note, no excerpts from my songs. Just 10 digits.

Ben Archer, one of the best football players in the nation, has given me his phone number. On a bracelet.