A whistle drags my attention away from the stage and to the guard. His shoulder is propping open the door under the sign, his head tipped to the side while he waits for me.

I’m about to catch up with him when I glance onstage one more time. The bassist has backed closer to the speakers, giving me a straight shot of the singer. He has his red and black guitar slung across his chest, a hand on the microphone stand. Only instead of starting the final chorus of the song, he’s looking offstage in my direction. Like right at me.

He lets go of the mic and pushes the dark, shaggy hair off his forehead. His brow draws in just as a tech bumps into me. Another pushes by me on the other side, flying up the steps. Realizing how in the way I am, I rush after the guard and offer an apologetic smile.

“Easily distracted,” I tell him.

He snorts, letting me pass him into the hallway. “Right.”

“I thought they would be finished by now.”

“There was a sound issue after the opening band. They only have one song left.”

We stop at an open dressing room with sparse furniture and photos hung all over the walls.

“Christian’s finishing up a call.” He glances at the yellow velvet couch set alongside the far wall. “You want to hang here for a bit or chance being swarmed by the band when they come offstage?”

“Here,” I answer fast. “I mean, this is fine.”

The guard ushers me inside and leans in to grab the knob. “Stay here so I don’t have to track you down. Cool?”

My eyes close at the same time as the door, and I let out a long breath. I collapse onto the center cushion and pull one of the throw pillows into my lap. Then I stare at a water spot on the ceiling, questioning whether Heath is completely out of his mind for sending me alone or only partially.

Originally, the director-turned-film-studies professor was supposed to be leading the charge on the documentary. Heath Erickson used to work on everything from music videos to indie horror flicks, and even though he “gave it up” for a house in the suburbs, he still can’t say no when a label calls.

My job as his TA quickly shifted from grading freshmen’s silent films to tagging along for music video shoots. He fired me at the end of the semester, only to rehire me as an intern for the next one, and then again for a summer program. The man found ways to keep me as his assistant without costing him a dime until I finished my degree last year.