Page 107 of Love Deep

I laugh. “Neither can I,” I say.

“Do you think we’ll meet Vivian again? She did send us the tickets.”

“Oh, honey, she’ll be super busy getting ready to sing beforehand and likely she’ll be exhausted afterwards. I don’t think we’ll see her.” I brace myself for Riley’s disappointment, which still has the ability to grip me by the heart. We have VIP tickets, but there was no mention of a meet and greet.

“Yeah, that makes sense. This is her job. She’s not on vacation like she was in Star Falls.”

My little girl. She’s growing up. I don’t bother to tell her she wasn’t on vacation in Star Falls.

“But I did get to meet her. Not many people can say that. No one else in my class has met her.”

“I bet they haven’t.”

We show our tickets to the staff member on the door.

“Welcome,” they say. “Please make your way to the VIP lounge up the stairs and to your right. One of my colleagues up there will direct you.”

“VIP lounge?” I mumble, as we head toward the stairs.

“It means very important person,” Riley says.

“Thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes on a smile. Riley doesn’tquite understand the implications of being directed into the VIP lounge. I’m not sure I do. It’s not like we’re actual VIPs. Maybe it’s not a big deal.

“Please, may I see your tickets,” a uniformed man says at the top of the stairs. I pull out the tickets again.

“Just this way.” He indicates we should go through a door. “There is direct entry to your box from here.”

Our box?

We push through the door into a bar area. It’s a fairly small space, with a glass window overlooking the auditorium. There are a few people on one side of the window talking. They’ve all got suits on and look quite a lot older than Vivian’s average fan. I thought I was going to be the oldest one here tonight. And we’re not dressed up. Riley has her Vivian Cross t-shirt on with plain leggings. I’m in jeans and a white shirt. I’m not sure how long we’ll last in this VIP lounge.

“Drink, madam?” a waiter with a tray of drinks asks.

“Is this alcoholic?” I ask, pointing to a champagne glass that looks like it’s holding orange juice.

“Yes. Or if you want something non-alcoholic, we have virgin mojitos over at the bar.”

“Mommy, can I have a mojito? Frankie said she had one when she went to Miami last year and they were the best.”

I swallow, wondering how much a virgin cocktail will set me back at Radio City Music Hall. Probably a week’s worth of groceries. “I think we’ll stick to water,” I say. “Mojitos are too much sugar on top of an already exciting evening.”

Riley shrugs. “Boring.”

“Water is available at the bar,” the waiter says.

I’m going to have to ask for tap water. They probably only have bottled. We head over to the bar and I ask forwater, and as predicted, the bartender opens a fresh bottle and pours two glasses. I pull out my wallet, where I’ve stuffed my dollar bills. He slides two glasses over to us. He doesn’t ask for any money.

“How much is that?” I ask.

He grins at me. “It’s no charge, ma’am.”

“Oh,” I say, a little surprised. I pull out a couple of bills and set them on the bar. “Thank you.”

“Thankyou,” he says.

I pick up both glasses and hand one to Riley, before heading across the room to look at the auditorium.

“Is that the stage where she’ll be performing, Mom?” Riley asks.