Follow Me Back (complete first draft of the published book)

Chapter 5: Blank Slate

Chapter 5: Blank Slate

Eric set down his phone next to the black marble sink and stood to towel off his hair. He needed to get going, but he felt a headache coming on at the thought of the jam-packed day that lay before him. First his work-out, of course - and some publicist had the bright idea to schedule him for a radio call-in while he finished up on the treadmill, just to add to the fun. Then he had to rush off to hair and makeup, so he could spend the afternoon on location at a poultry farm, shooting an ad for chicken nuggets. Never mind that he was a strict vegetarian. . . .

And never mind that he was supposed to be a musician. His reps at the record label seemed perfectly content to set that fact aside. The day that stretched out before him wouldn't require him to lay a single finger on a guitar string.

His phone buzzed on the countertop, startling him out of his mental litany of complaints. Eric glanced down at the screen to see a new text message from Maury:

"You're late, cowboy. Where are you?"

Eric sighed and closed his eyes. Late. He couldn't face it. He'd give just about anything to escape the non-stop grind that his life had become. Just for a day. Or not even a day. Just an hour. One measly little hour of his life when he didn't have to work. Was it really too much to ask?

He picked up the phone and tapped back:

"New song idea! Christmas song. You'll love it. Just gimme an hour to work it out."

He paused, holding his breath as he waited for his manager's reply. "Come on, Maury," he whispered to the phone. "Just an hour. Come on."

The phone buzzed again.

"You got 30 minutes."

Eric pumped his fist. Half an hour of freedom? He'd take it.

Now the only question was how to use it. Song-writing could wait. Should he crawl back under the covers and try to grab a few more minutes of sleep?

His phone lit up again, and Eric glanced anxiously back down at the screen. Not another text message, thank God. Just more twitter notifications rolling in. He wondered if the #EricThornObsessed thing hit number one yet, and picked the phone back up to check. Yup. There it was. He groaned aloud when he saw his name come up at the top of the trending list.

Forget sleep. He needed to take action. He had half an hour now to stop this thing in its tracks.

Should he send another tweet? But what? His hands were tied. He couldn't use his Twitter to try to alienate the fans. The goal wasn't to make them angry, anyway - the goal was to turn them off. Make them all lose interest in him and find another victim for all their heart emojis and follow requests.

He needed #EricThornObsessed to generate some backlash. That was the key. He'd seen it happen to others in the past -- guys who blew up too big, too fast. They all ended up labeled the same way. Vain. Arrogant. Narcissistic. Self-absorbed. He'd seen people swing overnight, from international sex symbol to universal joke.

Then the girls would unfollow him in droves. No one wants to retweet a walking punchline. And no one wants to buy his music either. Honestly, it might be the best thing that could happen to him at this point. Record sales would fall. Maybe his label would even drop him.

Eric felt a ray of hope. Maybe he didn't even need to lift a finger. His career could very well implode all on its own. The backlash might be brewing right this second. Maybe they were already tweeting by the thousands about what douche he really was.

He tapped to bring up the search bar and put in different hashtag:

#EricThornIsADouche

0 tweets