More Than A Fan - Chapter 1

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Story By - Edward Kealoha

This is a witty story that Edward wants to share with us; I'm certain you'll find it entertaining.

Tom Newton sat down on a large rock and pulled out his water bottle. Even though it was a cool, misty morning, he'd been hiking aggressively, and he was warm and thirsty. After taking a long drink, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Beads of sweat rolled off his forehead, down his nose, and dripped to the cool, damp ground.

As he rested, he heard a noise coming from up the trail. He looked up toward the path, and saw a woman hiking into the clearing. He hadn't heard anyone behind him on the trail, so her appearance was a surprise.

"Nice morning for a hike," she said in a husky voice as she stopped. She bent forward at the waist, resting her hands on her waist and breathing deeply. "That last stretch is a little steep." She was tall and lean, looking quite fit in her colorful sweat pants and her tight, matching, moisture-wicking top. In fact, she was the same height as Tom, but where he had a tiny bit of beer belly, the woman was the almost perfect fit and trim. Her light brown hair was cut in a punkish rock-star style – seriously short on the sides, long and unkempt on the top with some purplish highlights. Even more striking was a snow-white streak from front to back across the top of her head. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, with the signature 'bad girl' tattoos peeking from under her sleeves and on one wrist, multiple studs in her ears, and a jeweled piercing in her nose.

"Yup," Tom replied casually. His eyes widened imperceptibly when he almost instantly recognized the woman. Her name was Winter, or at least that was her stage name. She was a huge star, already having recorded four albums, including two that were platinum. She had one Grammy and no fewer than eleven songs in the top ten of the charts over a five-year career – so far. With her husky contralto voice that could do everything from angry rock to sultry seductress equally well, she was the epitome of a rebel-girl rocker, with songs that seemed to resonate with a lot of fans, not just the usual rebellious teenage girl fan base that was common to a lot of singers.

Despite realizing who she was, Tom made no fuss. It was somewhat difficult to remain calm because he really liked her music. "You must have been keeping a good pace. I didn't hear you behind me."

"I hike pretty fast. I have to so I can stay fit," Winter answered. She frowned; this guy didn't seem to recognize her, and that was a little bothersome to her considerable ego. Everyone knew who she was – or should. "It's necessary in my line of work."

Tom answered, smiling wryly at how she seemed miffed that he wasn't a typical fan. "I'd imagine stage performances are quite a workout. You have a pretty high-energy style in your concerts."

Winter's eyebrow cocked upward in surprise. "You know who I am?"

Tom's smile was friendly and unassuming. "Of course. You're Winter, the rock and pop singer. I'd have to be living in a monastery to not know who you are."

Winter started, and then she laughed. "Most people who know who I am don't react like they were meeting their neighborhood librarian," she said with a pleasant grin.

"Probably true," Tom said, "but not everyone is a boring engineer, either."

Winter looked him over thoroughly. This man was very unusual. He knew who she was but treated her like a normal person, or at least reining in his fan adulation. "You're different."

It was Tom's turn to laugh. "You mean because I'm not gushing praise, adoration, and eternal love for you and your singing?"

"Well, yeah." Winter was puzzled by his behavior. It was both refreshing and insulting because she was used to considerable attention. "I don't expect normal interaction with people, even in out-of-the-way places like this." She shook her head. "Most people don't know that being famous has a serious downside."

Tom scooted to one side of the large rock he was sitting on, implicitly offering a seat to Winter. "You either like the outdoors, or you like to go places where you don't meet a lot of people – or the paparazzi."

"Actually, it's both, but more of the latter. I like a little privacy, but I don't get it very often. It's hard for a celebrity to have privacy." She sat down beside him and took his water bottle when he offered it to her.

"By the way, do you prefer being called by your stage identity or by your real name?"

Winter gasped. No one asked her questions like this. "Sometimes, I get a little tired of being known only by my stage name." She looked at him. "I suppose you know my real name?"

"Rebecca Fletcher. Or do you prefer a nickname?"

Her eyebrows rose. "Becca," she answered. "You're a little ... disconcerting. Most people who know me are big fans wanting me to autograph stuff, or they're not fans who hate my music. You act like I'm just another ordinary person."

"I _am_ familiar with your music," he said with a chuckle. "Very familiar. And I like it a lot. I think my favorites are I'm The One Who Says No, You Think and My Prison."

Becca's eyebrows rose. "You like My Prison?" She shook her head, smiling. "I almost didn't release that one. I had a lot of second thoughts."

Tom laughed. "You shouldn't have. The way I see it, it's your feelings about how being lonely and hurt pushes you into a little private sanctuary that becomes a prison. It's a very touching, introspective song if you think about it."

Becca smiled, shaking her head. "Most of the critics don't get that. How come you do?"

"Been there. It's not exactly a social paradise to be a nerd, you know. It should have gone higher on the charts if people just thought about the message in the song."

"Sometimes, people just like the tempo and beat of my music. It's... disappointing that they don't get the meaning of the song."

Tom chuckled. "It's pretty obvious, at least to me. Your emotions come through in your songs, and that makes them sound much more authentic. I think Why Does it Hurt So Much is the most emotionally moving song written about emotional abuse from a family. Bad Ass is fun, but if I'm not mistaken, it has a subtle message about the party, rock-n-roll lifestyle seeming empty. And in answer to your next question, I really appreciate your talent, but I figured that you don't want adoring fans right now." Tom shrugged. "I suppose even a big star wants to feel normal and have some privacy."

Becca actually blushed at his praise of her music. Most people didn't understand the source of her lyrics, especially the ones about lost love and family pain that she'd actually experienced, nor did the fans understand that her rebellious attitude was often a false front to protect herself against emotional pain. Somehow, Tom did. "I can't stop being amazed at how many people crave fame but never think of the downside and cost."

"I never thought about it," Tom said. "Engineers don't exactly attract adoring crowds, you know. I try to treat everyone the same, regardless – even if I am a fan. But my wife isn't nearly as enamored with your music as I am."

"Oh? You're married?" She handed the bottle back to Tom, glancing deliberately at his left hand for the first time.

"Six years. Happily, mostly, I guess." He didn't sound convincing.

"Lucky you. I suppose you know what I went through?" she snorted derisively, clearly still upset by the events she'd endured.

Tom nodded. "Yeah. It was all over the news. It sounded rough."

"That's one way to put it." She looked at him, cocking an eyebrow. "I'd guess you know all of the crap that was on the entertainment news."

Tom nodded. "Yeah, I heard a lot of the stories." They were alluding to Becca's bitter divorce after three years of a rocky marriage. After a quick, whirlwind romance, Winter had married a brash, hot-shot, downhill snow skier of some fame. The entertainment media was delighted, of course. She accompanied him on some of his downhill races all over the world, but he seemed to expect that she'd go to _all_ his races. She had to do her concerts, and she had expected that he'd accompany her. They tried to keep their schedules in sync, at first, but it proved too difficult, with her concert travels and his skiing races. Rumors began to circulate in the media that he was fooling around with some ski-racing groupies on a few of the trips without Winter. When confronted, he turned the tables and accused Winter – publicly – of fooling around with one of the members of her band, intimidating her into dropping the whole accusation with a threat of even more bad publicity about an affair that wouldn't help her career. The last year had been extremely rocky, and the breakup and divorce were quite acrimonious. The entertainment media had a field day with the accusations and vitriol between the two. He received quite a bit from the divorce settlement since her earnings were considerable, and he'd come across as the aggrieved party. His star rose among the ski groupies, while the bitter fight and settlement had affected Winter's career. It had taken her almost a year to get back to writing songs and producing her music videos, but she had gotten her career firmly back on track.

"I should have known better," Becca said bitterly. "The only good thing that came out of that fucking mess was a bunch of hit songs when I finally started writing again."

"I take it you're referring to Skanky Bitch?"

"That's one."

"It was pretty obvious that it was directed at the girl ..."

"Slut," Becca interjected, her voice mildly angry but not as much as Tom had expected.

Tom nodded with a wry smile. "the slut that came between the two of you. Would I be wrong in thinking that Bootstraps is about trying to pick up the pieces?

Becca smiled at his answer. "Just about the whole album came of out that emotional train wreck like I Don't Get Mad, I Get Even, and Steel." She sighed and shook her head. "A lot of anger, a lot of pain, lots of emotions."

"If I didn't know they were from earlier albums, I would have guessed that some of your songs like Ice Cold Heart came from that whole mess, too."

"You really do know my music," Becca said, surprised by his commentary.

"Like I said, I have an appreciation for the emotion that comes through in your songs."

After a moment, she looked at Tom curiously. "Why aren't you asking me about some of the stupid rumors and shit?" She sounded puzzled.

"I'm an engineer, remember?" Tom chuckled as if the answer was obvious. "I'm used to dealing with facts and data, not rumors and speculation. Besides, the way the media was tearing into you, I figured that there was a side of the story that wasn't being reported." He saw her astonished look. "I would imagine that some of the so-called reporters are envious bastards and looked at this as a way to tear you down."

She laughed. "You're perceptive." She reached for and took his bottle again, taking another swig. "Aren't you even curious about some of the ... reports ... about me? Like whether I really have rather ... kinky tastes in sex?"

Tom blushed. "Well, yeah," he answered, "but I figured it's not my place to ask."

Becca smiled and then sat in silence while she thought for a moment. "You said 'mostly' when you were talking about your own marriage. Troubles?"

Tom sighed. "Aren't there always?" He shook his head. "But then, you know that, don't you."

"Touche," she said with a grin. "So what are _your_ problems?"

"There's no point trying to kid around, especially since you've been through it." He shook his head. "We lost the magic." He glanced at Winter, his eyes reflecting disappointment at his marital situation. "Look at you do everything with passion. You live your life with a sense of adventure, joy, and sexiness." He shook his head. "We had that once. Now  it's gone, and I miss it."

Becca's eyes widened. "You think I do everything with passion?" she asked, her voice echoing her surprise.

"Yeah," Tom laughed hollowly. "It's kind of funny, but until I started listening to your music and watching your videos, I hadn't realized what we'd lost." He sighed, sounding nostalgic. "My wife doesn't even realize that it's gone. With time, it just kind of faded away. We're getting more distant from each other." He sighed. "She's even talked about a trial separation or a divorce." Tom looked down, shaking his head sadly. "When I heard and saw you performing, I realized why we were drifting apart, but my wife thinks that it's your music that changed me."

"I didn't realize I had that sort of power," Becca said.

"Oh, believe me," Tom said enthusiastically, "you do. You exude sex appeal and love for what you're doing, and you're authentic. You don't even seem like you're acting or putting on a face. Who you are in interviews or public appearances is who you really are. You don't seem to give a rat's Ass about saying or doing the expected celebrity things. Unless I badly misjudge you, you're the same genuine person in public as you are in private." Tom laughed. "You know, in a way, I envy you. You're honest enough to not care what people say or think. You're true to yourself."

The two sat on the rock for well over an hour, just chatting. To Becca, it was a pleasant distraction from real-life. Eventually, though, she realized what the time was and said that she had to go. "I've got to get back to rehearsal. I want to make sure everything is polished for my concerts Friday and Saturday." She stood up. "It was very nice to meet you, Tom," she said pleasantly. "I hope you and your wife can resolve some of your issues." Tom had told her more about his marriage than he'd realized, especially his and his wife Katie's disagreement about having children, her frigid attitude toward intimacy, her dislike for anything ... different, and her talk of separation. Becca started to walk off but turned back with a curious expression on her face. "Why don't you and your wife come to my concert Saturday?" she suggested with a charming smile. "My treat."

"That's nice," Tom said with a grin, "if I could convince Katie. She really doesn't like your music and thinks I'm an obsessed fan."

Winter laughed. "If you're an obsessed fan, you sure don't show it. Ask her. Tell her that afterward, we can get together for a nice dinner. My treat." She mentioned a very exclusive restaurant, eliciting a surprised gasp from Tom. Dinner for three would be well over four hundred dollars!

"That's not necessary," Tom objected.

"Give me your e-mail address or phone. I'll get you the details." She saw his expression. "I'm serious. It's nice to spend an hour or two feeling like a normal person. I'd like to spend a little more time with you and get to know your wife as well." She smiled. "Maybe she'll change her opinion of me when we meet."

"You're full of shit!" Ken said disdainfully, sitting at a small table in the cafeteria at Tom's workplace. Like Tom, he was an engineer, but that was as far as the similarities went. He was just over six feet tall and wiry, with mousy brown hair and a half-hearted attempt at a mustache and goatee that didn't go well with his plastic-framed glasses. Tom looked average, but Ken looked like a nerd.

"No, I'm not kidding. I met her hiking Sunday afternoon," Tom said with a shrug. He took another bite of his sandwich.

"Okay, so did you get her autograph, then? Or something else to prove it?" To say that Ken was skeptical was an understatement.

"Didn't think it was appropriate. She likes a little privacy, too," Tom said.

"You're trying to tell me that you met Winter while you were hiking, you spent over an hour talking to her, and you _didn't_ get her autograph or even a picture on your cell phone? And you expect me to believe that?" Ken laughed. "Next, you're going to try to tell me that she invited you out to dinner!"

Tom smiled. "Actually, she did."

Ken shook his head, chuckling. "No way, dude. Why would a singer like Winter invite a dweeb like you to dinner? In your wildest dreams, you're two orders of magnitude from being even close to her social circle!"

"Doesn't matter if you believe it," Tom said with a smug smile. "She's pretty nice to talk with. We've got a few things in common, too, like hiking, reading classic stories, interest in art."

"Since when did you read the classics?"

"Hey, you don't live with me. If you don't believe I read classics, ask Katie."

Ken flinched. "No way, dude. She's still pissed at me for taking you to Lee's bachelor party a year and a half ago. I'm not going to risk her ripping my balls off like she said she would the next time she saw me."

Tom laughed. "It would have helped if I hadn't come home with the stripper's bra in my pants!" He shook his head. "She was so pissed." He swallowed another bite and washed it down with a swig of soda. "I can't believe she agreed to go to the concert and dinner," he said. "She hates Winter's music."

"I'm going to call Katie tonight, then. I'm going to prove that you're full of shit."

Tom pulled out his cell phone and pressed a few buttons. "Don't wait for tonight," he said, handing the phone to Ken. "Go ahead and ask her now."

Ken took the phone like it was a snake and slowly held it to his face. "Uh, Katie? It's Ken. Say, listen, Tom's spouting some kind of crap about you and him going to a concert and then dinner with Winter. I know it sounds" His eyes widened. "You're kidding. No shit?" His jaw hung open in shock. "Okay, bye." He handed the phone back to Tom. "She said you _are_ going."

"Told you," Tom said smugly.

"This is unreal." He frowned. "You put Katie up to this, didn't you? You're trying to pull one on me to get back for the bachelor party, aren't you? Was this Katie's idea?"

"I'll get Winter to autograph something for me, then, and I'll get a picture with her. Will that prove it to you, mister skeptic?" Tom asked, sounding unnervingly confident.

Ken nodded. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Enough to put fifty bucks on it?" Tom asked with a confident smile.

Ken's eyes narrowed. "Now I _know_ you're bluffing," he said. "Sure. Fifty bucks." He sat back, grinning. "Just be prepared to pay up Monday at lunchtime."