Superstalker: A Lady G Thriller

Chapter 6 - Riding the High

She came offstage smiling her thanks to the crew, hugged the foreman and maneuvered little Julie through all the scurrying and congratulations over to her parents. Made sure they knew what the address was for the party she was giving later, turned and headed for her dressing room, her costume people and the first of her after-show callers close behind. A couple of cameras flashed, couldn't tell if it was paparazzi who'd snuck in, or work people taking souvenir shots, her happy to pose with them if they liked. She was on a high, and why not? The concert couldn't have gone better. Her moves had been right-on, the songs came out as good as they ever had, maybe even better, and the crowd, her homecoming crowd, had been totally with her. 

So why was she getting this sense of the jitts?  

Like there was something in the air not good. Almost like a smell. Actually was a smell. The scent of a threat, maybe a kill (she'd sung about threats and kills in the show). For just a second it had been there. 

For whatever reason, it made her think of her young hustler friend, Toko, who she'd thumbs-upped during the encores. Something about that Asian girl he was with, some vibes coming off her that maybe weren't so good. Maybe trouble, the girl in trouble. Christ, where was this stuff coming from? 

She came into the dressing room and sat down at her makeup table, reached over and opened a bottle of water and took a swig. 

"Here, let me do this," her dresser said, lifting the feathered bird-of-prey headpiece off her. "You were fabulous, darling, they loved you." 

"Thank you. We all made it happen." Her meaning it, remembering time in the lower ranks back when. 

And then she thought of that first guy she'd passed just as she came offstage. Something about him, something off. Wished she could remember his face, him pretty much in shadow and blurred as well, her being on the move.  

"Gaga?" 

She turned around. It was Marvin Vandeki, columnist from Billboard.   

"You were terrific," he said. "Got a minute for me? 

She smiled. "For you, always."  

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I had to pee and so did Szu. We shuffled and bumped our way through the milling crowd, everyone loud, stoked by Gaga's performance, the two of us going separate ways at the rest rooms. "I'll meet you back here," I called over my shoulder and headed for the Mens.   

And that was the last I saw of her. 

I came out and waited. And waited. Figured it was crowded in there and she had to stand in line for a stall. But after about ten minutes, I took out my phone and tapped in her number. Got no response. I left her a text to call me and went over to one of the ushers. Showed her Szu's picture I had on the phone and asked her if she could check out the Womens, see if Szu was in there, maybe having a problem. 

The usher came out a couple minutes later shaking her head. "Sorry, I couldn't see her. I checked all the stalls when whoever was in them came out." 

Where the hell could she be? 

I thanked the usher, gave her five bucks and headed backstage. Maybe she'd gone right to Gaga's dressing room – except I'd been keeping that part of the night a surprise. She wouldn't have known to go there.  

I went back there myself, showed the security guy the pass Gaga gave me. He pointed to where a bunch of folks dressed in shabby-chic were standing around talking about the show, waiting to get in and congratulate Her Ladyship. And why not? She'd been great. We all wanted to ride her high.