Courtney M Laughery

“You can just drop me at the Starbucks up here, I’ll walk the rest of the way,” Emily said to her Uber driver. 

The ride-share line was sure to be long and she could get the rest of the way to the venue faster on foot. Her driver turned left off of Osage and pulled into the Starbucks parking lot. Emily hopped out with a wave and turned to join the steady flow of giddy fans making their way along Manchester Avenue. 

Even before Emily’s crazy morning she had been looking forward to this concert. Whenever possible she made it a goal to attend the last stop on a concert tour because of the energy. It was usually incredible. Riley was ending his North American tour at home in Los Angeles which meant people’s hopes were high that some of his ultra-famous collaborators would join him on stage. Tonight was the fans’ last chance to see this show and Riley’s last night performing it, and the air was abuzz. Everything became slightly more precious to her now that Emily knew what Riley felt about it all. He’d said he was ready to finish this tour but he loved his fans and she had seen how much it mattered to him that they have his best.

It was incredibly surreal to think about standing at Riley’s kitchen island, black coffee in hand, casually swapping small talk while she walked down the sidewalk toward the entrance gates at the Forum. Did she regret the decision to not give him her phone number? In just a few minutes he would be so close but she reminded herself that one bizarre romantic comedy worthy meet-cute did not a friendship make. And as much as they had both seemed to genuinely enjoy each other’s company it was also obvious that Riley was in no short supply of friends. Emily was on the other side of thirty and she had been through enough, she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself by having a one-night stand with a celebrity. Thousands of women were tripping over themselves to get a piece of Riley Campbell tonight and it was highly likely that one of them would. No, no regrets. Emily was happy to leave the memory of their insane and amazing morning intact.

A sea of bodies and posters and cell phones was gathering around her. There were girls and women, and the occasional boyfriend, everywhere she turned. Digging her ticket out of her pocket Emily joined the crowd as it narrowed toward the doors. Physical paper tickets were a rare thing in the age of the smartphone but Riley’s team seemed to be making an effort to engage a throwback-obsessed fan base who were discovering his music for the first time. It was strange, he had said, that after a decade of making recognizable pop music eight year old songs were once again hiking the charts because of people who could not relate to any of his pop culture references. He was grateful of course but the kids coming to his shows wore Treehouse of Horror t-shirts ironically, not because they had spent many nights in elementary school hiding under their covers after sneaking a few spooky episodes of the Simpsons. It felt strange to Emily to recognize that she was no longer the target demographic.

Her ticket was scanned and returned, and Emily made her way to section 125, row 1, seat 1 – for one. When it came to concert tickets (and ballet and baseball and musicals) Emily had decided that if she was going to make the effort to have experiences she would be willing to pay for a good seat. Joel had always pushed her to indulge in the things that brought her joy. Now she regretted all the opportunities that the two of them had missed because at the time she felt like it was frivolous. Tonight she had a great view and even though she was alone she was going to indulge.

Having a very good time in the seats next to her were two girls who looked like they were in their early 20s, and had likely been drinking up until this very moment. Emily wondered if they would actually make it through the show as she smiled and removed her leather bomber jacket. A raucous debate ensued between the seatmates about which of Riley’s physical assets was his finest.

“Look, I hear what you’re saying. Is his body hot? Yes, one hundred percent. Do I want to lick his six pack? Absolutely. But that goddamn smile legit melts me,” said a platinum blonde with fire engine red lips, a little too loudly.

“Oh my God I can’t believe you said you would lick his stomach!” Squealed her friend, a short brunette with straight bangs and heavy winged eyeliner.

“Wait, you wouldn’t?” Red Lips looked incredulous.

“Oh no, of course I would,” giggled the other girl, “But what I really want to do is to put my whole entire face in his hair. Like, those curls are so obscenely touchable. And I guarantee it smells incredible.”

The memory of soap and sandalwood and something she couldn’t name conjured itself out of nowhere and Emily was surprised to realize she knew exactly what those curls smelled like. She hadn’t had her face in them, but she had been close enough to know that he did in fact smell incredible.

“Yeah, remember like six years ago when all the guys were shaving their heads and he cut all those curls off? That was such a confusing time for us because, like, he was so fucking hot. But the curls! I feel like you have an obligation to share it with the world if you are born with hair that good.”

“Poor baby,” crooned Straight Bangs, “do you think he was feeling some feelings about something? Or was he just trying to be cool?”

“I don’t know. I think maybe trying to be cool is feeling some feelings? Especially for a 24 year old guy, you know? But I totally agree about the smile. It is – truly – so special,” Red Lips sighed dramatically, “Who the fuck decided he could have perfect hair and a perfect smile? It is physically impossible not to…” she raised her eyebrows suggestively, “…melt.” And the two friends fell into hysterics.

Catching her breath again Straight Bangs asked in mock seriousness, “Okay, how would you describe his lips? You know when he does that thing? Where he, like, bites the lower one and grins directly at the camera. He knows what he’s doing, right?”

“Oh for sure. But, like, that’s okay with me. I would literally never find myself in a situation where Riley Campbell was staring straight at me biting his lip with his perfect teeth, but if I did I’d lick his stomach.” And then they were lost entirely and Emily couldn’t help but laugh a little with them.

She wasn’t sure how she felt listening to these girls objectify Riley now that she had met the real person. For them he existed entirely within a fantasy where his humanity was likely never even considered. Emily had never spent very much time contemplating the relationship between celebrities and their fans before but a veil had been lifted slightly and this all felt a little bit off now. He was insanely gorgeous and he did exude sexual energy – a fair amount of lip-biting included – but this was all a part of his public persona, right? Perhaps because he was such an unabashed flirt people felt like they knew him but the reality was that Riley Campbell was a complete stranger to these girls just like anyone else walking down the street.

She might have joined them in their conversation had she not just spent the morning in his house witnessing a completely human man where the famous musician normally stood. What were her feelings now? It would be absurd to feel protective of him when this was his whole life and she had barely even met him. Even so a tiny wiggly green thing that looked a lot like jealousy flopped around in the pit of her stomach. She looked around the arena at the thousands of fans who filled it and Emily was suddenly struck by how difficult it might be for Riley to walk out onto that stage knowing he was the only ice cream cone in the Sahara Desert. But then the lights dimmed and 17,000 screaming voices erupted around her, and Emily let herself join them. She had come for a good time and if Riley did feel like a chew toy there was nothing she could do for him.

“How is everyone doing tonight?” Riley Campbell slipped perfectly into performance mode and his efforts were met with pure, unfiltered, one hundred proof adoration. 

After an hour Emily’s neighbors in the stands were not disappointed. Riley had lost his shirt by now and every one of those 17,000 admirers was imagining licking that glistening abdomen. His lush curls were disheveled and sticking sweatily to his forehead. His famous smile was on full display and even though it was stupid Emily couldn’t help smiling back. There was this incredible exchange of energy between Riley and his audience, they were hysterical in their devotion and he was high on giving all of these people what they wanted. Between songs he downed a plastic bottle of water and in the pause the mood began to shift. A tinge of melancholy filtered through the air as the show wound down toward its inevitable end.

“Los Angeles, you are beautiful! I love you! It feels so good to be home, to be ending our tour here in LA. I’m going home to my own bed tonight!,” 17,000 voices rose in approval at the mention of Riley in bed.

“I know! I’m excited too!” he laughed openly, “But before I go I have a couple more songs for you. And tonight I’m going to do something a little bit unusual for me. I don’t usually do dedications but tonight I know there is someone here who I owe an apology to.”

They met this with a roar of, “OooOooh.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. I had a really crazy morning and I have been feeling so guilty about it,” Emily’s stomach flipped. There was no way he was about to say what she thought he was.

“This morning I did a really dickish thing and the short version is that I spilled my entire coffee all over someone because I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.” Emily’s face began to burn but no one looked at her.

“But I’ve been thinking about it all day because it was so embarrassing and it probably ruined her day…”

A very loud voice shouted, “No it didn’t!” and there was a wave of whistles and catcalls.

“Maybe not,” Riley chuckled, “But I feel like I’ve got to be honest with you guys because I don’t actually feel bad about it,” as he spoke his fingers strummed out the first notes of a song, “Sometimes crazy weird things happen and it just makes you glad that you were in the right place at that moment. I’m dedicating this one to the woman wearing my coffee this morning, you made my day!”

Emily froze. Her cheeks burned and her mouth was dry. She was momentarily stunned – what just happened? There was no chance anyone could possibly know that it was her, and even less of a chance that anyone would believe her if she claimed it. Even so she felt like one of those burning hot stage lights was pointed straight at her and her stomach flipped to the sound of Riley’s voice. He was playing First Touch.

Red Lips shimmied in her direction and shouted over the music, “Oh my God can you imagine? I’d let Riley Campbell pour coffee on me literally anytime,” she cackled before screaming, “I love you, Riley!”

Emily laughed out loud at the mental image of Riley’s next tour. Among the endless sea of posters there would be a giant sheet of neon green paper with “Pour Some Coffee on Me” written across it in glitter. Had Emily unintentionally become the impetus of a viral pop music moment? She didn’t have long to ponder this as a tiny beam of flashlight suddenly appeared over the gold tag on her armrest where her seat number was printed in black digits.

“Emily Larssen?” asked a gruff voice.

“Uh, what? Yes. Why?”

“I need you to come with me, miss.”

Red Lips and her friend gaped wide-eyed at Emily and simultaneously mouthed, Oh shit!

“Why do I need to come with you? I have a ticket for this seat.”

“I know. I just need you to follow me, please,” the voice’s demand was firm.

In Emily’s brain it was like dominoes were falling and she was watching but couldn’t anticipate where they were headed. This didn’t fit. She was still processing the fact that Riley Campbell just dedicated her favorite song to her, albeit in a roundabout way, when she angrily grabbed her jacket and turned toward the voice. Unsurprisingly it belonged to a stereotypical security person – big, blank faced, and used to being obeyed.

“What exactly is the problem? Where am I going?” she demanded.