Her Biggest Fan

I can’t seem to walk away.

The stadium is mostly empty now, save for the crew tearing down the stage and the janitors sweeping up confetti and empty plastic cups from where the audience once stood. One of them says ‘excuse me, sir,’ as his pass across the floor meets where I stand. I take a step backward, allowing him to go by, then return to my spot.

She looked incredible. She sounded even better. The experience was like nothing I could have ever dreamed of. I’ve been a fan since she started singing, posting covers on YouTube; I’ve always seen the potential in her. She was my big break, essentially. The first artist I’ve ever managed, this was the final show of the first big tour I’ve ever taken as a talent manager.

The stadium was filled to the brim, standing room only. Young music-lovers, partiers, up-all-nighters, screaming at the top of their lungs when those stage lights shone on her. She beamed at their fanfare, smiling the way she does when doing what she loves. The sequins on her jumpsuit were like a disco ball, and her long brunette hair flowed behind her with the breeze of the stage fans. I stood in this very spot from the beginning of the show until this moment, with my hands in my pockets and my eyes glued to the stage as she performed like she’d been doing it forever. She was comfortable, proud, confident. Her husband, the lead guitarist, only added to the show. Their dynamic both on and off stage was enviable. They’re perfect for each other in every way.

I was at their wedding, only two years ago, at a breathtaking vineyard off the beaten path on the outskirts of her hometown. They’d met in college, when she was still sure that she would never make it in the music industry, and wanted a degree that she could build a life with. She’s always been responsible, logical. She didn’t believe in herself the way I did. The way I still do. The way I probably always will.

“Hell of a show, Dale,” a voice says, approaching from behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see the stadium manager, John Dillinger, coming to stand beside me. His headset is around his neck, now, no longer relaying messages from security or stage crew personnel. John and I have a history, we’ve known each other for years. It’s only right that the end of my first tour would be right here at home in Austin, with John coordinating every detail.

“It sure was,” I reply. “Couldn’t have done it without you.” I clap my hand on his broad shoulder to underscore my gratitude.

“Ah,” he brushes off my compliment. “We couldn’t have done it without her.” He nods toward the stage, indicating his reference to Sabrina.

I chuckle. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“There was a fella here watching, Dale,” John says quietly. “He manages the European circuit.”

I turn to look at him, eyebrows raised. He couldn’t possibly be about to say what I think he is. John sees the surprise on my face and smiles broadly.

“He’d like to talk to ya.”

My heart pounds in my chest. This must be a dream.

John gestures for me to follow him to the back of the stadium. I follow on his heels as he swipes his access card at a door along the back wall, leading me down a hallway and up a short flight of stairs to the sound booth. As we round the corner, I see a tall, slender, tanned-skin man in what is clearly a very high-end suit chatting with the stadium’s in-house sound manager as he leans back in his chair, the empty stadium and stage visible behind them through a window that takes up the entire wall.

“Ernesto,” John booms, opening his arms to embrace the man. John’s large hand wraps around the man’s shoulder as he turns to face me. “I’d like you to meet Dale Starr, Sabrina’s manager.”

Ernesto flashes a warm smile as he reaches out to shake my hand with both of his. “Mr. Starr,” he says smoothly, “it is an honor to meet you. Sabrina is an incredible talent, you must be very proud.”

“I sure am,” I say shakily, trying to hide my nervousness and appear as professional and suave as he does. “John here said you were looking for me, how may I be of service?”

Ernesto smiles again, gesturing that we sit at the nearby lounge area. He takes a seat on one of the couches, and I do the same directly facing him.

“Mr. Starr,” he begins, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands casually between them. The position pulls his sleeve back just far enough to expose a gold watch, which is clearly expensive enough that I can’t even identify its make. “I am not sure if you are aware of this, but Sabrina is making waves with her talent across the continent of Europe. Young people there are relating to her music, which has risen to the top of the charts a number of times during her tour across the States.”

I nod as he speaks. “We have seen some incredible numbers come out of Europe, she has quite the fan base there, which I have to say wasn’t exactly expected but a fantastic surprise,” I tell him. He flashes his brilliant smile again and nods excitedly.

“We want to keep that momentum going,” he says matter-of-factly. I glance at John, who leans against the sound booth, looking smug.

“We?” I ask. Ernesto nods again.

“Yes, I represent one of the largest tour management teams in Europe, we have sponsored tours for a number of big names in the music industry, many of which started in the States.”

I’m speechless for a moment. This guy isn’t just a big deal, he’s the deal.

“I am speaking with you now, Mr. Starr, at the end of your national tour,” he continues, “because we would like to sponsor Sabrina’s European tour. I believe you have not yet begun planning one, yes?”

“Yes, uh, that’s correct, we have not,” I say, tripping over my words as I try to maintain my composure. “That’s an incredible offer, thank you, Sir.”

Ernesto sits up, arms wide, smiling. “So that is a yes, yes?” he says joyously.

I try to hide my excitement. Everything in me wants to sign the dotted line right now, but it’s not up to me. “Well, ultimately, it’s Sabrina’s decision.”

“Bring her here,” Ernesto says loudly, “let us discuss with the star and celebrate together.” He winks with the last part, insinuating that he is thinking the same thought I am, which is that Sabrina will agree faster than Ernesto can even finish his pitch.

“I will go get her,” I say, “hang tight.”

Ernesto nods, turning to chat with John and the sound manager again while he waits for me to retrieve Sabrina. I casually walk out of the room, descending the stairs and exiting the door into the stadium before pausing to punch my fist into the air, doing a little happy dance, my loafers tapping on the dusty concrete floor. I exhale loudly, regaining my composure. I look up, meeting the eyes of a janitor as he places his broom back on the cart, finishing up his work. He raises an eyebrow and gives me a lopsided smile.

“We’re going on tour,” I tell him. His smile grows.

“Congratulations,” he says politely. “May many blessings come to you.”

I begin walking swiftly toward the opposite side of the stadium, near the back of the stage, bursting through the exit door and marching toward the large tour bus parked along the tall perimeter fence. I rap on the door until it opens, Sabrina standing atop the stairs, looking down at me with a puzzled look on her face. I smile at her, breathing heavily.

“What the heck is wrong with you?” she says. I smile wider.

“You wanna tour Europe?”

I watch as looks of confusion, disbelief and, finally, excitement cross her face. She shrieks, making me wince, then rushes down the stairs to hug me tightly. She releases me and looks me in the eyes, holding my arms in a death grip. “You mean it?”

I nod, unable to speak. Her joy is contagious, and makes this whole thing finally seem real. Eventually, I manage to say, “he’s waiting for us in the sound booth.”

“Well, let’s go then,” she shouts. She grabs my hand and makes her way back in the direction I just came from, towing me along like a young child determined to get in line for their favorite ride at the amusement park.

We make our way quickly to the sound booth, where Ernesto and John now sit in the lounge area, chatting casually. They both stand to greet us as we come through the door.

“Sabrina, this is Ernesto,” I say from behind her. She rushes forward to shake his hand.

“Sabrina Starr,” he says admiringly, “it is a great pleasure to meet you. As I am sure your manager has told you, we would like to sponsor your European tour.”

Shockingly, Sabrina manages not to jump up and down with excitement but is still gripping the man’s hand as she enthusiastically agrees. I watch as she sits down with him, listening to him give all the details on their plan for her next great adventure. I stand back against the wall, losing focus on their words and once again only watching her, unable to look away.

Memories come flooding into my mind of Sabrina as a three-year old, dancing and singing with her cartoons in the living room, performing as a pre-teen in her junior high talent show, the countless hours spent at music competitions throughout high school, and attending her choral showcases in college. The day she was offered to perform at the Texas state fair was the same day she asked me to be her manager. It was one of the best moments of my life, to know that my daughter, in all of her success, still wanted her dad by her side.

I’ve always been a fan.