Portia MacIntosh - Between A Rockstar And A Hard Place

‘Is Dylan still there?’ I ask.

‘He’s gone to get champagne. So are you going to bring me my CD?’

‘Yes, just tell me where you are and I’ll bring it now.’

‘Awesome,’ she squeaks. ‘I’m at the Williamson Hotel, room 192.’

Luckily for me, the Williamson Hotel is where we’re staying – it’s the only hotel in this tiny town, which is situated somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Everyone who performed at the Rockin’ Radio Summer Roadshow is staying there, so at least Dylan is exactly where I need him to be.

After a short taxi journey, I arrive at the hotel. I had expected to find Dylan propping up the hotel bar, but he must have gone back up to see his special new friend for round two.

I knock on the door of room 192. An underwear-clad girl answers the door, completely unfazed by the fact that she is nearly naked and I am a complete stranger.

‘Are you Nicole with the CD?’ she asks me.

‘Are you the random girl with the Dylan?’ I ask in return.

She stares at me blankly, yes, she’s just Dylan’s type – nearly naked and entirely stupid.

‘Dylan never came back.’

‘Right,’ I reply. I’d pretend to be surprised to spare her feelings but I don’t think she’d even notice. ‘Well, can I have his phone, please?’

‘CD first,’ she insists.

Funnily enough I’m not in the habit of carrying around signed copies of any of The Burnouts’ albums, but I need that phone.

‘Sorry, we’re all out. It’s a busy time of year for him.’

‘Whatever,’ she replies. ‘No CD, no phone. Get me my CD or I’ll start forwarding photos.’

I cannot believe Barbie’s slutty brunette BFF is holding Dylan’s phone ransom.

‘OK, I’ll find you a CD,’ I promise her.

‘Awesome. Laters,’ she replies, slamming the door in my face.

‘Laters,’ I repeat to myself in a silly voice. I have no idea where I’m going to get one of Dylan’s CDs – let alone one he has signed. I suppose I’ll have to find the man himself for that, but I need the phone to find him in the first place. It’s a Catch-22 situation.

Chapter Three: The wrangler’s new clothes

As I am heading back down to the hotel lobby, I bump into Claire. The poor woman looks frazzled. Her short brown hair is all ruffled and unless she’s been dragged through that ditch she was talking about earlier, I’d guess she’s been tearing it out.

‘Here.’ She pushes a keycard into my hand. ‘The spare key for Dylan’s room, he’s your problem now.’

‘You already said that,’ I call after her, but she isn’t sticking around for a chat.

I place the keycard safely in my purse.

Originally I had intended to head straight home after the gig, but when I saw Dylan earlier he insisted that I stay in town for the night, so that I could go to the after-party with him. The hotel was fully booked – the only hotel in town – but Dylan talked me into staying by telling me I could share his room. That might sound a bit weird, but on tour it’s no big deal to share a room with your mates – male or female. Everyone is so used to living in such a small space on the bus, and often you have to crash wherever you can for the night. Not only would no one bat an eyelid about us sharing a room, but if there’s an after-party going on then there’s a good chance we’ll be there until the early hours. Well, that was the plan, but as you can see Dylan has stood me up for sex. It’s not even like I can enjoy a night in a hotel room on my own, because I’m going to have to waste my night tracking him down.

I hear girls screaming outside the hotel as more musicians are ushered in by Security. As I look outside, I see a lot of Dylan fans, but one in particular who is right at the front of the barrier could be the answer to my problems.

‘Excuse me, did Dylan sign that T-shirt today?’ I ask her.

‘He sure did,’ she tells me excitedly. ‘Not that long ago actually, he came out here and spoke to us. I’m his biggest fan.’

‘That’s great. How much for the T-shirt?’ I ask, cutting to the chase. If I can’t get the chick in room 192 a signed CD, maybe a T-shirt will do.

The fan gasps. ‘It’s not for sale!’

‘Come on,’ I reason, ‘I’m a friend of Dylan’s, I can get you something even cooler.’

‘Yeah, right,’ she says with a laugh. ‘If he’s your friend, why not get him to sign that dress you’re wearing?’

‘Like I’d let him anywhere my Alexander McQueen with his marker pen,’ I say, mainly to myself, although now I have her attention.

‘That is a nice dress,’ she says, smiling widely.

‘Thank you, it’s…’ I trail off because I know what she’s thinking. ‘No way! Never going to happen! For starters, I am wearing it, I can’t take it off. Also, do you know how much it cost?’

‘I have a rough idea,’ she says, raising her eyebrows. ‘I could never afford a dress like that! And anyway, I’m wearing this T-shirt. You can’t leave me topless.’

I massage my temples as I think for a moment. She’s right, I can’t leave her without clothes, but I can’t give her this dress. I love this dress. And if I’m being honest, even I couldn’t afford this dress – I had to skip meals just to be able to afford (and fit into) this dress. Well, when you’re rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous, you’ve got to try and keep up. The thing is, if I don’t find Dylan soon he’ll be in so much trouble. I suppose Dylan could buy me a new dress… but I’d still be bottomless in the meantime.

‘I don’t have any other clothes with me,’ I tell her honestly.

‘That’s OK, you can have my shorts too.’

Wow, isn’t she generous?

‘Fine.’ Well, what else can I do? I need that phone, so it’s bye-bye favourite dress.

The fan starts unbuttoning her shorts.

‘Erm, can we do this in the toilets or something?’ I ask her, just in time to stop her taking them off in front of all these people.

She nods, and I gesture for a security guard to let her past the barrier.

In the hotel ladies’ room we make the swap. My beautiful pink dress in exchange for her super-short denim jeans and her signed T-shirt.

‘A pleasure doing business with you,’ the girl says as she leaves the bathroom.

The pleasure is all hers. I’m lucky we are almost the same size, but this look is a little bit boyish for my girly-girl taste. Dylan will not only be replacing my dress, he’ll be buying me a whole new wardrobe to make up for this. My only problem now is that when I hand the T-shirt over to the girl in room 192, I’m going to be wandering around in my bra. Hopefully, if I call Mikey he’ll bring me a spare T-shirt or a hoodie.

I knock on the door of room 192 – again – and the underwear-clad girl answers – again.

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