A flash fiction about our Red Letters rock band. A little glimpse at what the public side of our one character’s life is like.

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Woods, and the band 2011

“No way that’s a piece about him,” Brandon the lead singer tried to tease the lady interviewer his way. “Our band are international celebrities, of course there are groupies and fan fiction that sound like us because people like us.” He wrapped an arm around the interviewer, adding “You like me enough to want to write about me, don’t you?”

But it always bothered me. What book were they talking about? I checked my phone, zoning out to the conversation and missing what else it would say, assuming Brandon was trying to flirt with the lady making eyes at me that I was not interested in. A search brought up self help books. Note to self, don’t put self in the search. I changed it to Woods. 

There were too many fan pages, declarations of love, and apparently a site dedicated to my dating history and shipping me with other celebrities. And so many fantasy stories about what other women wished I would do to them. I always got distracted by the hot stories by even hotter women who wanted in my messages.

Scotty, the drummer, elbowed me, and I smoothly covered my distraction. “Can you say that again, I thought Brandon might go on a bit more, since it’s such a topic of interest to him.”

“I asked how you feel about being written about.”

Josh, the other guitarist was closer to her, and I looked to him for help. He shrugged at me, and mimed strumming. This wasn’t a writing from my side question, and Remmy wasn’t allowed inside this booth with me this time. So, how do I feel about being written about when I don’t know what she means?

“A celebrity is a recognized face. So, yes, there will always be something on me out there.” I thought about my search and tried to play it off with a smile, letting the British accent do its thing on the word without saying it the way I missed saying it. “My love life tends to be of great interest, even more so than my ability to write.”

Neutral, honestly real but non committal. I thought I aced that pop quiz. The face on Remmy in the other booth told me I failed somehow. I couldn’t have done worse than Brandon, who wouldn’t win this interviewer over either, she wasn’t into his slightly sleazy cheesy ways.