Live Through This/ Liam Gallagher

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Dressing rooms were usually either really good, or really shitty. This one happened to be good, filled with snacks, water and everything I needed, including a phone. I'd decided to wait to call after the show, just to see what Liam was up to.

One encounter with him, turned me into a mess, wanting to hear about whatever the fuck he was doing and keep him away from it for as long as possible. I was biased towards Patsy, for one she wanted me kicked out of a store and two, she was married to the man I was still attracted to.

Both of which, were something she was entitled to do and something I shouldn't be angry over.

Maybe I was just clingy.

Whatever. I dialed the number, tugging on the cord anxiously while I waited for someone to pick up. Someone did. Thank god. "Is Liam there?" I ask patiently, unsure of who had answered the call.

"Yes, who is this?" A female voice asked, one that sounded eerily like Patsy Kensit, the woman I'd run into earlier today.

"This is Christina Moore. A rep from Oasis' American Branch, calling to confirm a meeting, could you put him on?" I ask, making up shit as I go along. Christina Moore? Really? I couldn't come up with a better name? Apparently not.

"Right..Give me a second." She attempts muting her line of the phone before calling out for Liam and trying to get him to come to the telephone. Only, it seems Liam doesn't understand what the fuck is going on. Oh lord. I was going to hell for this.

"What label are you from? Sorry. There's just some confusion on our end." She apologizes.

Deciding to go with my own label, maybe that would make him realize who was calling. "Er, It's Geffen and no worries. I understand it's late."

She laughs before turning to her conversation with Liam, who seems to have finally understood what was going on. "Here, he's taking the phone now." There are a few moments of silence before I hear his voice, and oh boy.

"Listen I don't know who the fuck you are, calling my wife, pretending to be some bloke from my label. I don't know anyone from Geffen!" He exclaims before seriously saying "So who is this? And how did you get this number?"

He didn't realize it was me. The moron had done it again.

"Liam. It's me." I say sharply, leaning back into my seat in the dressing room.

His voice drops in volume and calms down "Nice lie Birdie. Actually believed some fucker had my number."

"Very funny." I add, stretching out, plopping my legs on top of the dressing room counter. "So, what are you up to tonight?"I ask carefully, "I finished up about thirty minutes ago. There's an after party." I add.

He doesn't say anything for a moment before asking "Where?"

"Um, it's in the backstage area of some fucking stadium. They'll let you in. I know that for sure."

"Are there cameras?" He asks hesitantly

"Probably. Why?" I question, they'd never bothered him before and certainly not at the NME offices earlier today.

"Not a good idea. Already in trouble with the missus about you. Sorry doll. If you'd like to meet somewhere quieter tomorrow, I can. Maybe your hotel room? Where is that by the way? Do they have you in a nice one?" He asks.

Was he serious? Now he cared about feelings? Or what his wife would think if she found out he was hanging out around me? Not earlier when he had no issue telling me how much more important I was? Really?