Chapter 12: Forty Voicemails

The headline was in red capital letters.

ROCK STAR'S "MUSE" IS A SIZE 22 FAN WHO LEFT HIM FORTY VOICEMAILS.

Stevie held the phone up in front of my face on the empty stage, and I read it twice.

"Forty," I said.

"Forty," said Stevie.

"I left one."

"I know you did. I know, babe."

The article had a photo of me at the merch table with a red circle around my stomach.

It had a quote from "a label source" who said the singer had been "targeted by a fixated fan."

It had a ten-second clip of my voice, stitched together from three different sentences.

It sounded like begging.

"I'm so tired," I heard myself say, tinny, from the phone. "I need you. Please."

The rest had been cut away.

My mouth went dry.

Jude took the phone from Stevie and read the whole page without moving.

When he finished, he set it down on the amp.

"Forty," he repeated softly.

"There's one voicemail," I said. "You have it. You have the only copy."

"I do."

"Then how did she get it?"

"The label backs up my phone." His voice was flat and awful. "It's in the contract. I never thought about it."

He turned and walked three steps away and put both hands over his face.

I had never seen him cry.

I went to him, and he caught me hard and held on.

"I did this," he said. "I played it for everyone. I handed it to them."