I started writing this with the intention of submitting just one story. However, the potential for subsequent chapters is high. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is in no way meant to defame Britney Spears' name or her character. It's a complete fantasy, based slightly on my life.
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When I was hired into the catering staff at the local arena, I was completely unaware of the perks that came with the job. It turns out that once you have gained a few months of experience, you are able to cater for the celebrities when their concerts roll through town. Now, I'm not one to brag about this aspect of my job, because so far I've only worked with the likes of Good Charlotte and New Found Glory. Not until recently have I had cause to really discuss the goings-on of the backstage area.
My second-ever concert catering gig happened to be for Britney Spears. I'm sure many of us have had some fleeting sexual thought over the pop singer at one time or another, but my passion for the star had been over the top since I saw her sexy cover for Rolling Stone magazine, clad only in her underpants. This had inadvertently stirred feelings inside myself that I had never really taken notice to, since I had solely focused on gaining the attention of boys, as do all college girls. I was confused by these new feelings, and yet I knew exactly what I wanted.
Despite my utter excitement at getting to wait on Britney Spears hand and foot, catering to her every whim, I was actually heartbroken. I am meant to be a professional at my job, which translates as "don't talk to the stars unless they talk to you and don't bother them for picture or autographs, they're there to relax before the concert." And with that thought in mind, I headed out from my dorm and across town to the arena.
After passing through the obligatory security check at the back gate and having my ID checked twice for validity, I finally got into the arena's backstage area. I find my boss, get my official "working" backstage pass and get sent to the catering room to clear tables while the crew of the show has their supper. It was about two hours until show time when Britney herself showed up for dinner after the crew cleared out to do final preparations for the show. Of course, I blended into the walls, as I am to do unless I need to clear a plate or fetch a soda. To my surprise, once Britney had helped herself to the buffet and sat down, she acknowledged my presence with a polite, "Hello," to which I blushed and managed to nod in return.
This was much to her amusement as she laughed and said, "What's your name? Amber?" she says after glancing at my nametag. "Well Amber, no need to be so professional and just-so about everything, I'm not planning on turning in any complaints about you not doing everything perfectly."
"Thank you Ms. Spears," I replied cautiously.
She set down her fork and laughed again, slipping into that sweet Southern drawl. "I thought I told you to drop the formalities? Just call me Britney."
A bit amused myself, as well as relieved that I wasn't going to be walking on eggshells all night around this pop star, I graciously thanked her.
"Please, have a seat, I'm sure you've been on your feet all day," she said, gesturing towards the seat across from her. Even though I had only been at work for an hour and my feet were quite all right, I accepted the offer, excited to have the chance to maybe get to know her.
"So," she began, noticing my uneasiness about starting a conversation, "Tell me Amber, how old are you?"
"21," I answered, starting to relax a bit, knowing she, too, was 21 and this could turn into some sort of common ground for a conversation. "You're 21, too, right?" I ventured.
"Indeed I am. Was your birthday all it's cracked up to be?" she asked me.
"Well if going to Applebee's with your parents and grandmother for supper is how 21
st
birthdays are meant to be, then yes!" This apparently struck her funny bone, as she started cracking up.
"Sounds like you really partied it up then! That's ok though, partying isn't really that big of a deal anyway, as I'm sure you know by now." Indeed I did know by then, I never have had much taste for alcohol or smoke-filled clubs. I liked how she seemed to be reading me like a book, sort of like she could read my thoughts. Hopefully she couldn't read all of them.
Our age was definitely a great jumping off point for us to become acquainted. Not only were our partying days behind us already, but we were both striking out equally in the dating field; me from focusing so much on college, she from never being in one place for more than a week at a time. To my shock, she also disclosed to me that it had been months since she'd been close to anyone in any way. I did hope she didn't notice my ears turn red.
She was also fascinated about my stories about my college professors and the often-amusing activities that happen in a classroom if you pay attention to other students instead of the professor. Apparently, she missed not having the experience of going to college like other people our age. After telling me she was going to spend the week in town to relax before flying to her next show, she asked if she could tag along to one of my classes. What is a girl to do when Britney Spears wants to follow her around for a day? I definitely did NOT reject her request.
The conversation eventually fell into an uncomfortable silence and Britney checked her watch. "Shit! I need to hit wardrobe, I'm on stage in 30!"
The sudden outburst shaking me out of my serene little bubble, I stammered to reply, managing to say, "OK nice chatting with you, good luck!"
"Thanks, great meeting you! I'll find you after the show, don't disappear!" she said as she rushed out the door. And with that, she jogged out the door and around the corner to get back to her dressing room.
After waking myself fully from my dream world, questioning if I'd really just had a girl-to-girl chat with THE Britney Spears, I managed to clear away her dishes without dropping a single fork – that is, until someone ran past the catering room, shouting, "Thanks again for the girl talk, Amber!" It startled me so much that I dropped the two plates and glass that I was carrying, dropping it with a loud clatter to the floor. I spun around, having not really heard what was yelled, expecting to get to release some tension by yelling at a new non-catering employee that hadn't yet learned not to be boisterous backstage. However, when I did turn around, prepared to launch into a verbal attack, it was in fact Britney, who had stopped at the door once she realized she'd made me drop the dishes. Instead of a verbal assault, I managed to smile and pretend like I'd meant to drop them.
"Oh! Oh I'm sorry Amber I didn't mean to scare you, I guess I should have realized you'd be cleaning up and wouldn't expect someone to run past like that yelling at you," Britney apologized as she rushed in to help me pick up the broken pieces of china. We both ducked down to start picking up, but unfortunately we timed it just right and we ended up head butting each other at full speed, setting both of us on our asses and into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, both of us holding our heads.
"Ooooh…damn…my bad, I sure seem to be bad luck for you tonight, making you drop your dishes and head butting you like I'm Dennis Rodman or something."
"Don't worry about it Britney, don't worry we have 2000 more plates in the kitchen. I don't know about my head though! I can't really replace it!" By now my previous inhibitions about being myself around Britney had gone by the wayside, and my sarcastic comments set her laughing all over again. "Don't you need to be on stage like…now?" I reminded her.
"Oh shit, yes! Thanks!" With that, she hopped back to her feet and offered her hand out to help me up, which I happily accepted. She pulled me back up and held onto my hand for what seemed like a second longer than one normally would, and I felt a fingernail scratch the underside of my wrist ever so slightly. Was that a wink? No, she didn't wink, must have a piece of glitter in her eye. Both of us noticing the sudden silence and tension, we dropped our hands and bid each other hasty goodbyes just as I heard the music volume rising to an earsplitting level and she sprinted off. Minutes later I heard the crowd erupt into a roar. It made me shiver, remembering that odd moment we had just shared, and knowing that she was now in front of 20,000 screaming fans that wanted to be near her – and I was the one that got to be closest.
I've worked many a boring, endless night at wedding receptions and corporate banquets, but never had a night passed so slowly. Once the concert starts and everyone is busy keeping the show running, the catering staff has nothing to do, allowing me to use the access keys and my backstage pass to watch the concert from the side of the stage (another perk of the job!).
Watching Britney dancing, gyrating, and tossing her hair was getting to me so badly that I had to sit down on the cool concrete floor to let myself clear my head and calm down. I glanced back up when the music to the current song ended and caught her looking straight down at me. She'd jumped offstage for a wardrobe change and five-minute break while her dancers took over. I know I broke into the stupidest silly grin when I saw her, but Hell I didn't care. I couldn't help but notice she had broken out in a sweat all over her body and was panting from her heavy dance performance.
"Hey, enjoying the show?" She asked, once again offering her hand to me to pull me up to my feet.
"Yes absolutely, it's great, you're an incredible dancer," I managed, truthfully wanting to tell her how incredibly sexy she looked up there in her belly-baring halter top and torn up jeans. But instead she was standing in front of me, looking incredibly sexy in her belly-baring halter top and torn up jeans. Again, I couldn't hold back my grin.
I noticed she was still holding my hand. She noticed this time, too, but this time we didn't let go and laugh nervously. Our eyes locked, and we just stared at each other, neither of us knowing what to make of it. I knew we both felt it, I could see it in her eyes – we both felt the same rush of electricity when our hands met. I squeezed her hand slightly, and she smiled in response. Yes, she had felt it, too. "Oh no! I've distracted you again, I'm going to make you late on stage tonight if it kills me!" I said when I snapped out of our moment, hidden from the mass of screaming teenagers by a thin curtain. She laughed and scampered off to her wardrobe change.
"God," I said to myself as I pulled a couple chairs in from the hall to watch the remainder of the show, "what the hell is happening?" I sat down and propped my feet up on the extra chair, half daydreaming and half watching the brilliant performance in front of me.
