Giggles erupted behind him, no doubt suppressed hand over mouth. He wanted to sigh. He didn’t, but the urge was definitely there. Even without turning, he knew it would be two young girls, wide-eyed and innocent (at least to him) trying to look at him while pretending not to look. Ah, the price of fame.
For a moment, he considered turning, then dismissed the notion. They were too damn young. He could tell by the sound of the giggles. He’d become a connoisseur of giggles over his career. A woman’s giggle was different from a teen’s; a teen’s different from a child’s. Truth was, his daughter was likely older than the giggle girls behind him.
He was hot and sweaty from working out in the hotel gym, wanted nothing more than a shower and breakfast before another day of celebrity began. His public face was thin these day, exhausted by the endless days of tour busing, concerts, parties and VIP’s to be schmoozed.
Sometimes, he actually wondered what the hell he was doing. Told himself, every time, he was living the dream, his dream, the one he’d harbored since sitting down in front of the piano when he was three. Such a long distance between here and there.
Twenty more days and he’d be free; sand, sun and waves in his future. Cocktails if he still drank, which he didn’t. The important part of the equation was alone. Well, maybe not totally alone.
The ding of the elevator pulled him from his thoughts. Stepping in, he turned, eyes catching those of the two teen-age gigglers. He couldn’t help but give them his best smile as the doors closed.
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