He’s got this lethal way of handling his guitar and he’s sooo hot with it she thinks she’ll melt. All gig long he’s been looking at her. At HER! For a moment at the end she imagines he’ll pull her out of the crowd. More likely he’s told his security guy to let her through backstage.
She fluffs her hair as she approaches. The security guy, it turns out, is a gal.
‘He’s waiting for me,’ she says.
‘Sorry, sweetie. He isn’t.’
Ms. Security wiggles her ring finger at her. His name’s tattooed on it.
‘All part of the show.’