A Little Night Music by Andrea Dale, Sarah Husch

to avoid the worst of them. My boys will keep an eye out. Hannah, give us a list of who’s allowed and who’s not.”
    She made a note in her phone. “Will do, Andre.” She saw Sam check his watch. “Showtime?”
    He nodded. They all rose, but before she could step away from the table, the manager touched her arm. “A word?”
    They stepped to a corner while Nate and Andre headed to the door. Some of Gina’s equipment cases cluttered up a table next to them.
    “Here’s the deal,” Sam said. “Other than drugs, Nate’s personal life is personal unless he chooses to talk to me about it. So I’m not going to ask for details.”
    God, he did know about last night. Knew, or guessed. Plus, it wasn’t as if Nate hadn’t been obvious at the table.
    “Sam, I—”
    “Just keep your eye on the job, is all I’m saying,” Sam said, surveying her. “No distractions, no interference.”
    Hannah felt a tweak of annoyance. “Absolutely not,” she said. She didn’t bother telling him it was just a fling, anyway. He said he didn’t want to know the details. “I’ll put him back on top, Sam. That’s what I’m here for.”
    “Glad we’re on the same page.”
    Outside, the crowd had grown in anticipation of Nate’s appearance. A wave of shrieks swelled when the fans spotted him. Despite her experience, despite doing a lot of shrieking of her own at his concerts, Hannah still wasn’t prepared for the reaction. At least it was gratifying that the info she’d leaked to the FoxFanatics bulletin boards had been noticed. Andre and the rent-a-cops scattered around stiffened, but the women—maybe thirty in total—didn’t try to rush the flimsy barrier. They just pressed close, waving paper and Sharpies and CDs and posters, shouting Nate’s name.
    Nate turned the full force of his smile on them, and the noise faltered, just for a second before rising even higher. He raised a hand in greeting, then made a motion that implied signing an autograph, and mouthed, “Later.”
    Good. Every fan he could connect with was one who’d spread the news to her friends. Who’d continue to buy CDs and concert tickets and anything else that featured Nate.
    Hannah made a mental note to ask Sam if they’d ever worked with the FoxFanatics—maybe offer a limited edition fan club T-shirt, preferred seating at some of the concerts. Anything to entice them to spend more money on their hero.
    She crossed over to stand with Andre and let Gina take over, then glanced back at the fans. They’d subsided in their squeals, enough so that Hannah could hear the barking of the hundreds of sea lions that made their home on floating docks just off the pier. The young women vibrated with excitement, flipping their hair and even touching up their lip gloss without taking their eyes off their idol.
    Hannah put a hand to her own hair, which she’d pulled back in a big clip to keep it from getting in the way. Back at the hotel, it had looked artlessly tousled. Here, compared to the young women’s coifs, it felt haphazard and boring. And she didn’t even want to think about comparing her businesslike outfit to their casual, flirty ones. She might be wearing expensive pants and a silk sweater, but she knew it was dull in contrast to the fans’ tight jeans and skimpy camisole tops, the thin fabric making it obvious how chilly the weather was.
    Gina had started snapping shots. Hannah turned her attention back to Nate. He stood on the wooden boards scoured silver-grey by time and salt, casually leaning against the railing, dark hair whipping around his face in the wind.
    Hannah watched as her friend coaxed the reluctant musician into posing for the camera. She could sense his discomfort with the posed shots, and knew instinctively that even after all these years, he still found being the subject of a camera’s lens disconcerting. She couldn’t think of too many pictures she’d seen of him that had affected her as deeply as the ones that had been taken