From the Street to the Stars (Andy Nebula: Interstellar Rock Star, Book 1)

Chapter 5: The Girl in the Dressing Room

I had a quick impression of wide, bright-blue eyes and short black hair, and then my unexpected visitor squealed, almost as loud as a hydra. After a painful few seconds her squeal resolved into words. "You're Andy Nebula!"

"In the flesh," I said, extremely aware that all that was between me and her was the not-as-big-as-I-would-have-liked towel in my strategically placed hand. I quickly wrapped it around my waist.

The emitter of the squeal was a girl a standard year or two younger than me. She wore a glittergold blouse emblazoned with a half-holo of my face, which winked at me whenever she shifted position. Below that were mirrorcloth tights, and below that transparent platform shoes that made her look like they she was floating barefoot ten centimetres above the floor. Her toenails were painted silver. "I'm sorry, I didn't—I mean, I knocked first and—"

"Never mind." At least she didn't have a camera... not one big enough for me to see, anyway, although of course there could be a camdot hiding somewhere among the sequins of that glittering blouse. I'm going to make Marcel fire our security team. First a flashman, and now a groupie? Fans were never supposed to see Sensation Singles in unscripted situations. They might realize we were ordinary human beings, and we couldn't have that, could we?

Well, she could see I was an ordinary human being, all right, and getting to be a chilly one, because there was a cold draft blowing in from the corridor. "Look, you're not supposed to be here," I said. You'll have to leave, I intended to add, but—

"I know!" she said breathlessly, ducking inside and closing the door behind her. "Isn't it wonderful? Just like in your vid, when Bloodstone tells you to get off the planet and instead you sneak into their hideout and Rocket Rick sees you and says—"

"'You're not supposed to be here,'" I finished for her. "Yeah, I know, but you're really not supposed to be here. You'll get in trouble."

"It's worth it to see you!"

I sighed. "All right, great, anything for a true fan, but would you mind doing me a favour?"

"Anything," she breathed.

"Turn around so I can get dressed?"

"Oh!" She blushed, and quickly faced the wall. "I've got my eyes closed, too!"

"Orbital." I dropped the towel and pulled on underwear and then the first outfit I could find—an all-black affair, synthileather pants and microfibre shirt. "All right, I'm decent."

She turned, then frowned. "That's not what Andy Nebula wears."

"I left Andy Nebula on stage." I grabbed a brush and quickly ran it through my wet hair. "Call me Kit."

"You mean—Andy Nebula's not your real name?"

She sounded so shocked I had to laugh. "'Fraid not." I tossed the brush aside, got some socks (also black) from the dresser, then sat down on the bed to pull them on, followed by my favourite pair of soft-soled boots. "Look, what's your name?"

"My name? You want to know my name?" You'd have thought I'd just handed her a million feds. "Meta."

"Well, Meta, I'm glad you like my Single, but if security finds you they're going to be very upset and they're going to ask you a lot of questions, not very gently, and then they're going to throw you out, even less gently. Plus, this whole dressing room is going to be sealed and moved to my ship in a few minutes. So, I really think you should get out however it was you got in—"

"It was easy," she said. "An old man came running out and all the Security people chased after him and I just walked in."

I groaned. "Great. I'm lucky a thousand fans didn't come into my room while I was naked."