“Sit there,” he ordered me. “Stay put. I’m going to go down and tell him to lay off!”

We watched the big guy at the gate for another moment or two, then Rory stood up suddenly, causing me to squeak.

“That is Armando,” he said. “He’s—he’s stalking you!”

“Rory?” I said a bit uncertainly.

“Sit there,” he ordered me. “Stay put. I’m going to go down and tell him to lay off!”

“Rory, don’t—”

“I’m not going to make a scene or anything. He’s a big doof and a friend of both of us, but he can’t be doing this.” Rory stepped over the bench in front of us to an empty row and made his way toward the aisle. “I’m just going to let him know, we’re onto him, and he should knock it off.”

“I—”

“No, no, shh, shh,” he called back to me before starting down toward the gate. “You stay put. I’ll take care of this.” And he was gone, disappearing into a crowd of people coming up the stairs looking for seats. I looked for the figure we’d both identified as Armand and didn’t see him either.

I kind of wiggled in place. I didn’t think Rory was actually angry; he had a pretty cool head. But he was disturbed, and Armand could be as stubborn as a speed bump. It might escalate. But what could I do? I wasn’t going to try to follow, not in my heels on these rented bleachers.

I’d been told to stay put; I imagined so Rory would know where I was, too. It suited me, but something else did not. The stands were filling up, and I discovered that I didn’t like being alone in a crowd. As Davey, I’d avoided crowds, I remembered, but as Kissy, they made me anxious in an entirely different way.

The chatter and noise were oppressive, even without the decibels from the stage where the Battle of the Bands continued. And several people tried to sit next to me—all guys. I put my hand out and laid my purse down, so it claimed a seat, but then I had to watch it. No use telling someone I was saving a spot; no one could hear me in the noise.

Someone did sit on the opposite side of me. I tried not to look at him because he was looking back at me every time I did. I regretted wearing a skirt. And my damn tiara. And perfume. And I had another hot flash so intense I was surprised the guy who’d sat next to me didn’t flinch.

How long were those going to be going on? Why didn’t anyone warn me about them? Now little bits of wind that got around and among the crowd made me feel cold and clammy. Then hot again. Good grief!

I sort of scooted into the middle of the space I’d saved, hands spread to make territorial claims. I had an internal debate going about who was the bigger doof, Armand for provoking the situation by stalking me, or Rory for leaving me alone with hundreds of strangers. Rory, I decided.

Armand might just be being Armand, brilliantly clueless, intelligently braindead when it came to judging socially appropriate behavior. But Rory was off on a testosterone-fueled tear. He might be able to talk to Armand later, but here at the concert? I could barely hear myself think.

I wiggled again in frustration then resolved not to do that again as I had attracted the stares of the guys on either side of me. And one guy in the row in front had half-turned around to look, earning himself an elbow in the ribs and me a glare from his girlfriend.

Maybe I could have laughed at that, but I started to feel afraid, and the fear was threatening to turn into pissed-offed-ness. The kind where you get up and do something stupid because you can’t think of anything else to do that isn’t equally stupid.

What’s the use of being a redhead if you can’t set something on fire whenever you feel like doing so? I had a brief fantasy of shooting flames out of my red-tipped nails.

About that time, the noise in the makeshift arena hit a new level. Half of the crowd decided to stand up, chanting something. Short little me, I couldn’t see a thing and wouldn’t have been able to do so if I did stand up. Which I did not want to do without someone friendly nearby to catch me in case I fell off my shoes.

I figured out what the crowd was shouting: “I know why!” Which I realized after a moment was probably really “I-NO-Y,” the name of Aron Jones other, more famous band. Why would they be shouting that?

Then I heard the unmistakable double-drumset sound of “I-NO-Y” followed by a guitar riff that could only be the legendary Bugs Benjamin—and Melody Alexander joining in with her soaring soprano vocal lead-in! I recognized the tune; they were going to do their cover of The Eagles “Hotel California”!

They would probably only do one or two songs before giving the stage up to “Y NOT.” Wasn’t Melody pregnant with her third kid? I had to see this. I’d never been to an I-NO-Y concert. No wonder the place was packed. Word must have leaked that they would be performing for their frontman, Jones.

I stood up, but it was hopeless. Even with five inches of platform heels, I couldn’t see over the crowd in front of me. Damnit. “Damnit, Rory!” Not sure why this made me extra angry at him, but I guess I thought he could maybe pick me up. Or… steady me while I climbed on the seat of the bleachers for an extra foot of height.

And there she was, tall strawberry blonde, as beautiful as a supermodel, the former Melody Jo Thiery, now Melody Alexander, belting out the chorus, first big and bold, then like the loudest whisper you ever heard. “..you can never leave!”

And when she turned sideways, you could see her baby bump! I’d watched her on TV; she has an exercise show on the Health and Fitness Channel; she was about five months along, barely showing. Oh, God! She was so beautiful! 

Why was I crying? Singer, dancer, musician, songwriter, TV star. Married to the band’s second drummer, Richard Alexander—the very definition of tall, dark and handsome! There he was behind her on drums. I was so-oo jealous!

Well, who wouldn’t be? Rich, famous, beautiful, talented and apparently happy, with the required 2.5 children for the perfection of the American dream. I couldn’t hate her, though. She had the voice of an angel who’d been to hell and back.

She segued into one of her own compositions, the disturbingly haunted song about the night she got shot at the band’s first concert:

Last night I heard an angel calling
Like the sound of our last delight
Still, you know I’ll wait for you, darling
On the Darker Side of Midnight.

It sent a shiver down my spine. She’d almost died, and she’d lost the use of her right arm for a year.

That was the end of her set, and the crowd went nuts with clapping and cheering as she and Richard left the stage while Bugs played howling riffs on his guitar. He looked like a cartoon character with his white mustachios and cowboy hat, but there weren’t five people in the world who were his peers on rock guitar.

He played a medley of the greatest hits of the five bands he’d been lead guitar for, finishing up with the quivering high notes of “I Know Why the Moon Is Blue.” 

Then Jones was at the mike, saying, “Why not?” And Y-Not replaced I-NO-Y on stage as they launched into the blues-rock anthem, “Beat the Devil.” A bunch of people in the stands tried to get down to the dance area in front of the stage, but others just began dancing where they were in the bleachers.

I don’t know what happened then. Maybe someone bumped into me. Maybe I stepped backward instead of forward. Maybe I tried to sit down and forgot I was standing on the seat. Suddenly, I was falling backward. The two guys on either side of me didn’t seem to see what was happening, even though I reached out for them.

I screamed. I know I must have screamed, but even I couldn’t hear me in the thunder of ten thousand feet dancing on wooden bleachers and Lemon-Eater Jones on the mike, growling, “Mercy!”

Nobody behind me tried to catch me, either. Maybe they didn’t see. Almost everyone was still standing up; if not dancing, they might be standing on tiptoe like I had been, trying to see the stage.

Did I hit my head falling? I must have because later, I had a heck of a goose egg just above and behind my right ear. I don’t remember exactly what happened.

If I fell into the trough between the bleacher seats onto the wooden planks people walked on, I must have then slipped between the seat and the tread. You shouldn’t be able to do that. There’s supposed to be a brace there to hold up the seat and help close that gap.

Maybe something was missing in the structure. Maybe I’m just so small and skinny that I fit through an opening that was only barely big enough. That’s probably when I hit my head.

And suddenly, I was falling through darkness. A much quieter place than the bleachers above, which still rocked and shuddered to enthusiastic dancers. A darkness full of pipes and braces, standards and anchors.

I kind of remember that. Or maybe I’ve only imagined what it must have been like. I think I saw a face just before I landed and got the wind knocked out of me. Maybe I only imagined that too.

Was it a face I recognized? Or did I just think I did? I called out a name, the name of someone who had rescued me before. The name of someone I now knew had loved me for years.