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Chapter 3: Rock Star

He walked into the crowded restaurant, trying to keep his head down, hoping that the old baseball cap covered his hair well enough. Why did his father always pick the worst spots to meet him? Did he not realize what a madhouse this could turn into if anyone in here recognized him? He rolled his eyes, next time he was going to pick the place. Senile old man couldn't get it in his head that his son was a rock star.

Spying an empty table in the corner he hurriedly sat himself and snuck low into the privacy that the booth offered as he waited for the older man to show up.

The past week had been a nightmare. Someone-- somehow-- got pictures of him and some woman doing something very obscene in public. Based off the fact that he had never seen the woman in his life he was almost positive that they were fake. Not that it mattered if they were fake or not people believed what they wanted to believe. He had been hounded by the media. A minister and his perish decided that it was time to play redeem the rock star. They had been picketing his house for days. The punches just kept on coming.

Everywhere he went this week it was about the photos and his “new love interest”.

HE DIDN’T HAVE A “LOVE INTEREST”! He was sick of saying it. He was single and would remain single, quite possibly for the rest of his life. To top it all off his father had insisted on meeting this week, probably because he saw the fake photos and wanted to lecture his son on proper etiquette because having sex in the park was most defiantly not proper.

He tried to ignore the tabloids he really did and most of the time he succeeded but lately it was getting harder to disregard them. He was hounded relentlessly by paparazzi and fans. Someone was always coming up with some crazy story about how he is going to secretly run off and get married to some foreign woman in Mexico. The only woman he had ever wanted to marry was already married so they need not fear secret weddings and love affairs but he was no expert on his own life. No that would be absurd.

Checking his watch he looked around through the dark tint of his sunglasses. “Where is that old man?”

“Hi my name is Mandy and I’m going to be your waitress today! Can I start you off with something to drink?” The young girl hadn’t looked up from the pad of paper she was writing on once and he wondered what she could be writing when he hadn’t even ordered yet.

“Yeah just a glass of water please, luv” He cringed when he saw her head snap up and her mouth gape open.

Shit.

“OOOOOHMYGOD! You’re, you’re… you’re... you’re….”

“Hush. Please be quite.” He pleaded with her. Knowing that nothing was going to do any good, he covered his ears and prayed for a miracle.

“SPIKE GILES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!” In no time every head in the restaurant had turned to him and he was surrounded by a swarm of people snapping pictures with camera phones and begging for autographs. He wanted to throttle the waitress and than disappear.

He knew this would happen! He hadn't been able to go anywhere in peace for years! He was so sick of this! This is not what he signed up for when he signed his record deal. He just wanted to play some music and maybe have a couple people listen, he didn’t count on people chasing him down the streets and following him everywhere he went.

He placed his head in his hands, sat back, and reached for the first pen and piece of paper.




Tossing his keys onto the entryway table, he threw his jacket onto a near-by chair and kicked off his shoes. He wanted to drink a glass of whiskey and than fall into bed and sleep for the rest of the year but knowing that he had a photo shoot to do the next day and a new song to record he opted for a tumbler full and a few hours of sleep.

Oh the joys of adulthood.

Rolling up his sleeves he went into the bathroom and washed his face, going through his nightly routine.

He hadn't had a week this bad in a long time. He blamed it on being under constant stress of always having to perform. There was pressure that came with being watched and evaluated all the time. His life was under the microscope of the public eye. He also blamed it on being close to thirty and more tired and overworked than anyone should be at his age.

He wasn’t complaining, really. He was an extremely blessed individual but having the camera on anyone 24/7 would ware on their nerves.

He was running a comb through his curly hair when the telephone rang. He sighed as he put his wire framed glasses on and walked barefoot and chested into the bedroom, frowning when he saw the dirty sheets from the night before.

Ew. He made a mental note to change them before he went to bed.

“Ello?”

“William! Thank God! This is Joyce…Joyce Summers.” The relived voice sounded through the telephone and he almost dropped the phone in surprise.

Joyce Summers? Buffy’s mum, Joyce Summers? He hadn’t talked to her in years. Since…since the day that he moved to L.A.

“Well, ‘ello! Mrs. Summers this is such a pleasant surprise.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and than decided he would probably be better off sitting somewhere else. He got up and wondered into the living room.

“Oh please William, I thought we got over this ages ago. Please, call me Joyce.”

He smiled. He always had loved this woman. “Alright Joyce, what did I do to deserve the pleasure of your call?”

“Well…it’s actually….I mean…well…”

He frowned. This wasn’t a good call judging by the sound of her voice. “Joyce?”

“Buffy’s flight arrives in L.A. in an hour and I won’t be able to get there for two. I know that this is a huge favor to ask of you William and I won’t blame you if you say no but-”

Sprinting back into the bedroom, he started redressing. “I’ll do it. What airport?”










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