SEPTEMBER 01, 2011
PORTLAND
12:28 AM
Scout, wake up. We’re almost there.
She is awake, but her eyes are closed, and her head leans against the plastic window of the Falcon X7 — her Falcon X7. Jay is talking to her. Scout smiles, betraying her slumber.
Okay, okay.
Scout rolls her head on her shoulders, her neck popping audibly.
How far out?
We’re descending.
Okay.
Bob Dylan, Scout’s cat, hops into Scout’s lap, forcing her to sit up and acknowledge the cat’s demands for scritches. The cat yawns.
You and me both, Bob.
Scout stretches her arms above her head and twists her body left, then right, her back cracking once with each turn. Jay looks at her over the glow of her tablet.
How long was I out?
Jay shrugs.
An hour, maybe. Not super long.
What time is it?
Two-thirty.
Scout nods and pulls on her hoodie, which was folded under her head like a pillow. The hoodie features a unicorn drawing on the front. Under it, the text says, ‘I’m Uni-horny.’
As the jet taxis towards its hangar, Jay gathers their various electronics and accessories and stuffs them into her travel bag. Scout pets Bob Dylan and looks out the window as the lights of PDX smear across the rain-streaked window of Scout’s Falcon X7 as it rumbles along the tarmac.
Jay checks her phone.
I have a text from your mom.
Scout doesn’t look up from her cooing to Bob Dylan. After a moment, Jay speaks again.
What should I tell her?
Scout only shakes her head and scratches Bob behind the ear.
As the jet slows and then stops, Scout gathers the cat, a gray Maine Coon, and guides her into her Louis Vuitton cat carrier. Bob doesn’t put up a fight. She knows the routine.
12:47 AM
As Scout descends the stairs to the tarmac, she is flanked at the front and back by handlers, bodyguards, and Jay. The group heads to the three black Cadillac Escalade SUVs parked in the hangar. The middle Escalade is designated as the home car, and that’s where Scout and Jay go.
Inside the Escalade, Scout pulls off her hoodie and stretches her arms behind her head. She wears a baby-blue camisole, tan velour sweatpants, and white-and-red Converse All Stars. Jay takes her laptop out of her leather bag and opens it. No music comes through on the stereo. Scout stares at her phone.
1:20 AM
The three SUVs arrive at The Nines hotel in downtown Portland.
The entourage walks together through the lobby towards the elevators. People whisper and point, but no one approaches Scout.
1:26 AM
Scout enters the suite. Three suitcases are stacked in the open closet. Dresses and outfits are on hangers. Her make-up and toiletries are arranged carefully in the bathroom. The walls are papered in a tasteful, muted gray, and all the artwork was removed before she arrived. Two acoustic guitars rest in stands near the wall by the TV.
Scout opens her backpack and fishes out a protein bar. She unwraps it, takes one bite, and drops the rest into the silver trash can in the kitchen.
1:54 AM
Having gone through her nightly routine (shower, white silk pajamas, brush teeth, and cleansing her face with multiple applications of chemicals and moisturizers), Scout slides under the covers in her bedroom. She is asleep within minutes.
8:30 AM
The alarm on Scout’s phone chimes, and she opens her eyes. The phone, plugged into a charger, vibrates gently with the alarm. Scout rolls over and picks it up. She reviews her messages, emails, and news updates and goes through her other morning phone routines. The selfie she posted has accumulated hundreds of thousands of likes, favorites, comments, shares, and other accolades on social media. People tell her that they’re shaking and crying. People tell her she’s perfect. People tell her she’s a worthless cunt and should kill herself. People tell her everything.
9:01 AM
Someone knocks on the front door of the suite.
Scout answers the door and lets a young woman into the room. She pushes a cart with a tray covered by a plastic dome. Scout lets the woman set the table. When she is done, Scout takes her hand and puts a fifty-dollar bill in it.
Thank you. Your work is very appreciated.
She touches the woman’s arm with her other hand, guiding her towards the door.
Scout sits down to eat her breakfast: scrambled egg whites, a half piece of dry multigrain toast cut diagonally, a thin slice of cantaloupe, and a teacup of watered-down apple juice. She picks at the food with her fork, eating tiny bites like a bird.
9:23 AM
Scout sits on the edge of the hotel bed, her hands resting in her lap. The room is silent save for the gentle tick of the clock in the other room. After a moment, Scout picks up her phone and texts Jay.
9:30 AM
Someone knocks on the front door. Scout opens it, and an older man enters carrying a toolbox. Scout takes him to the living room and shows him the clock. He promptly removes it and heads to the door, carrying the clock. Scout touches his arm, and he turns. She takes his hand and presses a fifty-dollar bill into it.
Thank you. Your work is very appreciated.
He nods and leaves.
9:52 AM
Scout sits on her bed, her hands resting in her lap. Her phone is on the bed next to her, face down. The room is silent. After a long, tense moment, she goes into the living room, grabs the Martin guitar from its stand, and walks back into the bedroom.
Scout sits on the bed next to her iPad, which records a voice memo. She sings and plays a song she is working on, humming the lyrics she hasn’t figured out.
When she is done, she saves the voice menu to the cloud service her producer Dustin uses, and texts him the link. With that done, Scout texts Jay that she is ready to go shopping. Jay has already arranged for the artisan dress shop in Portland’s West End to be closed for her arrival.
11:17 AM
Scout walks with Jay towards the elevator. She is wearing a pair of red high-waisted shorts, a black and white striped sailor shirt with a Peter Pan collar, black Keds with red laces, and she carries a white parasol.
As she and Jay walk down the hall, they pick up the rest of their entourage. By the time they reach the elevator, they are eight people strong. Jay and Scout take the elevator to the left; the rest of her group take the elevator to the right.
11:19 AM
Scout and Jay enter the lobby. Scout’s entourage follows close behind. It is much busier this time of day. As she walks through the lobby, Scout notices a young girl at the counter with her father. The girl, perhaps six, is staring at her. Scout smiles at the girl, who waves apprehensively. Scout waves back. The girl giggles, and Scout approaches her, laughing about nothing in particular.
She’s a big fan, but she’s shy.
The father says, barely able to speak.
Oh, that’s okay, I’m shy too sometimes. What’s your name?
Scout asks the girl, barely acknowledging her gawking dad. Scout and the girl, Amber, exchange words. Scout makes her feel special, appreciated, and seen. She has a gift: being able to calm nervous children and their excited parents. It comes with being the kind of person she is.
Scout asks the girl if she’d like a photo, and the girl says yes. They pose together for a selfie. It will be the single most important moment of that young girl’s childhood. Both Amber and her father will be lifelong Scout Farrow fans.
11:28 AM
Scout sits in the back of the Escalade. Peter, her makeup artist, is riding with them and quickly applying her standard daytime face for public appearances. Scout sits with her eyes closed as Peter dusts her cheeks and eyelids with makeup. Jay sits next to her, looking at her laptop.
Rick wants to know what you’re doing for your cover song.
Scout speaks without opening her eyes.
Okay, so who’s from Oregon? Anyone?
Jay seems to think for a moment, then searches on her laptop. After a few seconds, she responds.
Sleater Kinney. Woody Guthrie. The Decemberists. Dandy Warhols. Eliot Smith. Courtney Love. Mason Williams…
Scout laughs, almost angrily.
I’m not going to Classical fucking Gas live.
After a long moment of silence, Scout speaks.
I’m going to do Doll Parts.
Jay searches on her tablet.
Do you need the chords?
Scout does not look up from her phone.
No, I do not. It’s an A, a C, and a G, over and over again. Easiest song in the world.
11:36 AM
Scout, now angry, is ranting. Peter holds a stick of lipstick next to her face, waiting for her to stop talking.
It’s really uncool that he’s being this way. I don’t know what his fucking problem is.
Jay speaks without looking up from her laptop.
What do you want him to say? Or ME for that matter? He’s right. It’s a bad decision. I agree with him.
Scout opens her eyes and looks at Jay.
And that’s why you’re a fucking Judas.
Bitch, I’m not a Judas. I’m protecting you. I’m looking out for your best interests.
Scout shakes her head, and Peter stops short of putting on her lipstick so she can speak.
My best interests are having you in my corner, not ganging up with Rick to undermine my choices.
Jay scoffs. Peter leans in to apply lipstick with a makeup brush.
May I interject?
Scout and Jay both look at Peter.
Please. I need SOMEONE on my side.
Scout says, as Peter dabs under her bottom lip with a handkerchief to clean up an accidental smudge.
While I agree that it’s a bad idea —
Scout rolls her eyes, and Peter stops talking for a beat before continuing.
However, I also believe that it’s important for an artist to feel heard when creating their art. If doing that song is what you need to do to express yourself, I think you should do it, even though it’s a terrible idea.
Scout sighs.
I don’t think you’re helping, Peter. I appreciate the effort, though.
Peter nods and holds up a small mirror for Scout, who peers at her own face. It is a dramatic but not unexpected look. Scout’s signature face. The red lip, the severe brows, the little beauty mark drawn at the corner of her mouth. It is how people have come to expect her to look, and Scout is already becoming bored with it.
After a long moment, she nods and hands the mirror back to Peter, who puts it into its spot in his train case, along with the rest of her travel makeup.
What should I tell Rick?
Scout lets out an annoyed huff and looks at Peter, who shrugs.
Useless!
She says with a laugh. Peter laughs along with her, but Jay does not.
Well?
Scout shakes her head, already done with the entire conversation.
Tell him I’ll decide on stage. How about that?
Jay puts her hands up, exasperated, and starts composing a text.
Very grown up. Expect pushback when you arrive tonight, I can tell you that much.
Let him push back. I don’t care. Do you care, Peter?
Peter sighs.
I care so much. You know that, honey.
I do know, baby. You’re the best.
The disarming voice of her driver comes from the front seat.
Miss Farrow, we’re about two minutes out.
Scout nods at Jay as she speaks.
Thank you, Leroy.
Then to Jay.
I’m sure we’ll have more of this conversation with Rick tonight. Right now, I need to center up, and you’re stressing me out with this cover song fuckery.
Jay holds her hands up again.
Okay, sure. Let’s center up. You too, Peter.
Scout and Peter close their eyes. Jay opens her music app on her laptop, and peaceful new age music begins playing through the Escalade’s stereo system.
Ooh, that’s pretty.
Be quiet, Peter. We’re centering up.
Oh, right, sorry.
Peter mimes zipping his lip, and Jay cuts him a look. He closes his eyes again and takes Scout’s hands in his own.
Focus on my voice. Picture a ball of white light spinning in the air between us. As you focus on it, your —
Scout interjects.
Do we need to use white light to center up in a moving car?
Yes. Shush.
Okay, go on.
Jay takes a long breath in through her nose.
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out through your mouth.
Scout and Peter do as they are instructed.
Visualize the white light filling this Escalade, protecting us and Leroy from any negative forces or invading evil influences that may want to harm us.
Peter opens his eyes.
What evil influences?
Scout opens her eyes as well.
Alright, we’re centered up! Let’s go shopping!
11:56 AM
An inferno of flashbulbs and screaming envelops Scout as she walks to the storefront. She smiles coyly and enters the artisan dress shop. The photographers don’t follow her into the store. They know the deal. It’s an arrangement that was established years ago. Jay sends some texts letting them know where Scout will be and when, and they keep a respectful distance and tone. For the most part, they leave her alone otherwise.
12:25 PM
Scout exits the dress shop carrying two shopping bags. More photos. More screaming. Far more screaming as fans have gathered now, and they also want photos. Scout speaks with everyone waiting outside the dress shop. She smiles. She is funny, kind, and self-deprecating. She makes eye contact. She touches arms. She touches hearts. They take from her. She takes from them. All are complicit.
12:38 PM
Scout sits in the back of the Escalade, looking at her phone.
Do you need some milk?
Scout nods without looking up from her phone. Jay looks at her for a moment, watching her tap away on her phone.
Scout.
Jay says, resting her own phone in her lap.
Yeah?
Scout says, still looking at her phone.
Look at me, Scout.
Scout looks up at Jay.
What?
They look at each other for a moment, Jay seemingly analyzing Scout’s expression.
What?? I said yes.
You can’t do anything to him. You know that, right?
Scout rolls her eyes and goes back to looking at her phone.
I know.
I’m serious. You can’t. It’ll be bad.
Scout scoffs and sets her phone down again.
Fuck, okay. I won’t do anything to him.
Jay looks at her again, then opens her leather attaché case.
For clarity, could you define ‘anything’ for me?
You know what I mean.
Fine. Can I have my milk?
Jay nods and pulls a red zippered bag out of the attaché case.
1:01 PM
Scout brushes her teeth, looking at her phone. Jay hands her a bottle of water, and she takes a swig, rinsing her mouth.
Spit. Don’t swallow. You’ll get sick.
I know.
Scout spits red-tinged water back into the bottle.
1:20 PM
The coffee shop is closed. Scout sits at a table with a handsome young man, an actor named Jeremy Frances. They ignore the photographers who snap pictures through the window. They smile, laugh, and appear to be having a lovely time.
2:15 PM
Scout sits in the back of the Escalade, looking at her phone. Jay is furiously texting next to her.
How does it look?
Jay narrows her eyes as she looks at something on her phone.
It’s good. You look good. There’s nothing troubling at all. It’s all just very clean and positive, as near as I can tell.
Scout looks over at Jay, gauging her expression.
Does it read as friendly or romantic?
Jay flips through pictures on her phone. She sends a message to Scout’s phone.
Look for yourself.
Scout opens Jay's message and looks at the photos from her coffee date with Jeremy. The pictures are innocent enough. Scout looks cute. Jeremy looks aloof and charming, as he does most of the time. She closes the gallery and returns to her phone.
Have you set up my appointment for today?
Jay answers without looking up from her texting.
Of course. She’ll be ready for you when we get to the hotel.
2:38 PM
Scout lies face down on a padded table in the living room of her suite. She’s nude. A large woman with hair so blonde it’s almost white is massaging Scout.
2:56 PM
Scout lies on her back now as another woman, this one with facial piercings and bright, red-dyed hair, is waxing her.
3:40 PM
Scout, now dressed in a cornflower blue sundress and white slip-on canvas shoes, sits on the couch in the front room of her suite. Scout speaks into her phone, which is connected to a wired set of earbuds. Jay also has earbuds and listens to the conversation but doesn’t participate. Scout talks with a radio DJ about her upcoming album, her current tour, her friendships with other singers, her privacy, feminism, and related topics. It’s a prerecorded interview that will air the following morning in Washington, the morning of her Seattle show. She has two more interviews to do. They will be virtually identical.
4:25 PM
Scout stands in the shower, her hair in a plastic shower cap and her Oral-B toothbrush in her mouth. She works the toothbrush in and out in a careful, measured rhythm.
Scout exits the shower and dries off with a towel. She puts the toothbrush in its cradle on the sink and walks naked to the bedroom, and puts the cornflower blue sundress back on. She brushes her hair out, putting it back in a canary-yellow headband.
Scout’s phone rings and she answers it. It’s Jay, who tells her that Jeremy is at the hotel and is ready to come up. She tells her to send him up in five minutes.
4:50 PM
Jeremy knocks on the front door, and Scout answers. He reeks of marijuana. Scout kisses him on the mouth and pulls him into the suite and towards the bedroom by his belt buckle.
Hello to you too!
He says.
Don’t talk.
Scout says as she sits on the edge of the bed, pulling her dress up over her hips.
Oh wow.
Jeremy says as he pulls the front of her dress down over her breasts and starts kissing her nipples, which are soft and pink.
Go down.
Jeremy smiles up at her and drags his teeth along her thigh. When he runs his fingers along her opening, she hisses softly.
No fingers.
She says, looking at the gray ceiling again as Jeremy eats her out. She pulls her legs back, and he again runs his fingers along her slit and down to her ass.
I said no fingers.
Scout suddenly sits up and slides to the floor in front of Jeremy, where she looks up at him.
Take it out.
Jeremy nods, unbuckles his belt, and opens the front of his jeans, his cock standing up at attention. Scout strokes it with her hand, looking up at him. Now it’s Jeremy’s turn to look at the ceiling, unable to maintain eye contact with Scout. Her eyes have a clarity that frightens him. Scout takes him into her mouth, and he finishes almost immediately.
Jeremy sits back down on the bed, his hair sweaty and hanging in his face. He looks mildly confused and unsure of himself. Scout leans forward and kisses him on the mouth, giving his cum back to him.
5:25 PM
Scout and Jeremy are dressed and composed. She is smiling and laughing. He is laughing because she is laughing, but he’s still not sure what’s happening. She guides him to the door, puts a fifty-dollar bill in his hand, and tells him that his friendship is appreciated and that they will talk soon. He looks at the fifty dollars as she closes the door.
5:38 PM
Scout loads her toothbrush and brushes her teeth for the third time that day. When she's finished, she opens a package of baby wipes on the counter and drags one between her legs.
5:50 PM
Scout sits on the edge of the bed, looking at the wall. Her eyes move back and forth as music plays in her head. After a few minutes of this, she starts to hum, muttering words to herself. The song gathers in her mind like cotton candy on a paper cone until she finally picks up her guitar and works out the chords. The song is vaguely about Jeremy, though she leaves out the most pertinent clues. She sprinkles in just enough truth to give The Scouts something to pick at, looking for answers.
6:20 PM
Scout walks down the hall, again picking up her entourage on the way to the elevator. Jay joins her in the left elevator; her guards and tour manager, Rick, take the right elevator.
They arrive at the ground floor at the same time, and they all exit the elevators and begin making their way across the lobby.
Scout signs autographs and poses for photographs with fans outside the hotel. She wears a loose-fitting gray men’s shirt, dark blue pixie pants, and blue Keds with white polka dots. There are no paparazzi. Strangers on the street take photos of her with their phones.
6:50 PM
Jay unlocks the door to Scout’s dressing room. There is no art on the grey-painted cinderblock walls. As per her rider, the long folding table against the back wall is covered in food, candy, and drinks. A large bowl of ice and Waiakea bottled water, a tray of frozen melon cubes, a bowl of unwrapped red Starburst candies, a tray of Turkish delight, five hot-pink plastic containers of Bubble Tape, and a single frosty glass bottle of Pepsi Cola.
Where’s Bob?
He’s in the bathroom, I imagine.
Scout opens the bathroom door, and Bob Dylan comes sauntering out, rubbing against her leg. She leans over and picks him up. He purrs. She purrs back. Jay sits on the leather couch that was also in her rider.
How’s the couch?
Jay looks down at the couch as though she hadn’t noticed that she was sitting down.
It’s fine. Totally fine couch. Did you really need a new couch? What was wrong with their couch?
Scout sets Bob Dylan down on the couch next to Jay. He immediately jumps down and goes into his cat carrier, which sits on the floor next to the bathroom door and his litter box.
Well, the Red Hot Chili Peppers were here last weekend. If you want to roll around in ass-sweat, cocaine, patchouli, and desperation, I’m sure they can bring that disgusting thing back in here for you to lick.
Jay raises an eyebrow and shrugs.
I don’t know. I’ve met the Chili Peppers. They seemed alright to me.
Scout heads into the bathroom, talking louder as she gets farther away from Jay.
I’ve met them too, you know. I stand by my assessment.
Scout closes the bathroom door and starts the shower.
6:55 PM
Scout strips out and goes to the shower, which has a poured-concrete floor and a shower curtain, like in a gym or a prison. She reaches in and adjusts the temperature to how she likes it, almost unbearably hot. She’s brushing her teeth again.
7:23 PM
Scout, now dressed in a pair of black leggings, a knitted cardigan over a white shirt with an AD/HD logo on it, made to look like the band AC/DC, stands in front of the table, looking at all the food.
Don’t do it.
Jay is looking at Scout. Scout turns back to Jay, a piece of Turkish Delight in her hand. She pops it into her mouth and starts to chew. Jay just watches her, shakes her head when Scout swallows, and goes back to her tablet.
Someone knocks on the door and Jay gets up to answer it.
Are we good?
That was Rick talking to Jay.
I think so. Scout?
Scout nods, still perusing the catering. People file in. Almost immediately, the room is full of twelve people, all swarming around Scout, Jay, and the candy.
Close the door. I don’t want Bob Dylan to get out.
Scout says, taking a seat on the couch next to Jay. Rick walks up to the two of them.
How the fuck did you weasel your way out of sound check?
Scout doesn’t look up from her phone.
I do what I want.
Jay looks at Rick, then at Scout.
Scout. Come on. Play nice.
Scout huffs and puts her phone down.
What? I had other things to do. We know what I sound like. It the fucking same as it did at Oracle Park, same as it did at the Staples Center, and as it did at the fucking MGM Grand. It always sounds the same.
Jay sighs and picks up her phone again. Scout stares at Rick, who stands with his arms crossed.
All I’m saying love, is that sound check is actually important. I saw what you were doing today. I saw it all over the internet. That’s great that you’re courting actors, but you also have a job.
Scout shakes her head and puts her hands up.
Okay? It’s important. I’ll be there tomorrow in Seattle. We can soundcheck all you want.
Rick taps his foot, clearly annoyed.
You’re being a goddamned brat.
He looks to Jay for help. There is none. Scout stands up and steps closer to Rick so that she can speak more quietly.
I’m not being a brat, and don’t talk to me like that, or we’re going to have a fucking problem. Understand?
Scout says, very softly, but just enough for Rick to see, and for her to see his face drop. He nods.
I understand. So, what are we doing about this cover song? Because I need to impress upon you what a colossally misguided idea your song choice is.
Without breaking eye contact, Scout steps back and also crosses her arms.
Why? I want to do it. Explain to me why you have such a problem with it.
Rick puts his hands out and looks up, addressing God.
Thank you. That’s all I’ve been asking for. The problem I have is that you absolutely do not want to invoke Courtney fucking Love publicly. She’s fucking BEETLEJUICE. You call her name and way down in her cartoon, imaginary world, her eyes will roll up, and she’ll grin and your life will become chaos. You do not need that drama.
Scout scoffs and steps back, then does a slow clap.
Very impressive. You know what I think? I think you’re being a fucking misogynist, that’s what I think.
Rick pinches the bridge of his nose.
Of course you do.
Scout looks at him for a long moment.
Clear the room. Now.
Everyone in the room looks at her, then starts shuffling out. Rick looks around, then back at Scout.
Am I leaving or staying?
Staying.
Once everyone but Scout, Jay, and Rick are gone, Scout starts pacing.
I’m doing the fucking song. It’s one song. It’s acoustic, it’s in my key, and I can play it all by myself. I don’t care that she’s complicated. I don’t care if she was or is a junkie. Lots of people are junkies. James Taylor, Ray Charles, Billie Holiday. They were heroin addicts too. You going to tell me not to do a James Taylor song? Just because I play a song by a complicated person doesn’t mean I endorse everything they’ve ever done.
Rick stands there for a moment, thinking about how he wants to respond. He tents his fingers under his chin.
Billie Holiday and Ray Charles and James Taylor are very different people from Courtney Love. None of those people are going to come show up at your fucking house asking you questions. James Taylor isn’t mental.
Scout scoffs.
You obviously don’t know very much about James Taylor. What about Brian Wilson. Huh? You made me fucking sing God Only Knows, one of the notoriously most batshit crazy songs to try and sing by the way, and I didn’t gain 200 pounds and build a sandbox in my bedroom, did I?
That’s not the point, love. You know it. These people are tragic geniuses. They’re music royalty. Coutney Love is not that.
Scout shakes her head. Rick continues.
Besides, think about where you are. Do you think the people, in the most pretentious, hipster city on the west coast, want to hear Scout Farrow singing Hole?
I think they do, yeah.
Rick shakes his head now. Scout walks over to the catering table.
Think about who’s in your audience? Little girls and their chip-on-their-shoulder, Portland parents. The ones who know Hole’s music don’t want to hear a pop star sing that song. Their kids don’t know who Courtney Love is. You would be playing to an audience of yourself.
I always do.
Scout pops a red Starburst candy into her mouth.
I feel like you’re being deliberately difficult. Courtney Love is still causing trouble for people. She will make your life ten times more complicated, and then I’ll be putting out all those fires. I don’t need that headache.
Scout sits back down on the couch next to Jay. She turns to Jay, who sets down her tablet.
Ah, see Jay, Rick here doesn’t want to put out fires, even though that’s basically his job description.
Rick turns and goes to the catering table. He picks up the plate of sliced melon and starts eating a piece. When he’s swallowed, he responds.
I just don’t want my job to be more difficult than it already is. I think that’s fair. Also, yes, you’re paying me to put out fires. Also, all these people. These hundreds of people depend on you, and ONLY you, to keep your shit together so that they can feed their families.
Scout looks up at him.
I can make it work. I can do the song well, and they will love it.
Rick shakes his head.
Please don’t do this.
Scout goes back to her phone. Bob Dylan hopes up into her lap and she starts cooing to him. Once it becomes apparent that she’s no longer listening to Rick, he leaves.
7:54 PM
Scout walks with her head down. She’s wrapped in a long white silk robe that covers her stage outfit. Rick walks in front of her, and Jay follows close behind. They navigate the backstage area of the Moda Center quickly, stepping around coils of cables and massive stacks of road cases, brand new and spraypainted with the SCOUT FARROW title stencil. Scout smiles as she runs her finger tips along the polished wood edge of one of the cases.
As they get closer to the stage, the hall becomes increasingly more crowded. Roadies and dancers and backup singers, technicians, suits and administrative people. All sorts of staff are milling about. Rick pushes through the crowd, making room for Scout and Jay as they approach the curtain that covers the entrance to the stage.
8:06 PM
Scout holds hands in a tight circle with her bandmates and dancers, going through the motions of their pre-show motivational speech and pep talk. Scout finishes up.
This isn’t our first show in Portland, but it’s our first ARENA SHOW in Portland, and we’re going to have a fucking amazing one!
They cheer, and Scout laughs and drops her robe. Jay picks it up and hands it to Lisa, the costume manager. Scout is wearing her costume for the first act of the show. That costume is a pair of black booty shorts, ripped fishnet stockings, a white crop top with the RAMONES logo on it, and a black leather vest. It’s her bad girl outfit, and it’s what she wears for the first six songs of the show. Lisa designed this outfit and it matches the tone of those six songs. It’s her angry set, and it requires a certain Hot Topic sheen of distilled Riot Grrl wardrobe choices. It isn’t something Scout would have chosen for herself, but she doesn’t hate it either. She’s worn it, or variations of it, five times so far on this tour. Twice in L.A. Once in San Francisco, and Three times in Vegas. She expects to wear it at least another twenty times in North America.
The rumble of the crowd’s chanting is almost deafening. Everything around them shakes with it. The lights go down, and the crowd goes ape shit. The rumble turns into a massive wave of thunder that rolls over them. Scout stands there for nearly a minute with her eyes closed, listening to the sound of tens of thousands of human beings screaming for her.
The band gets into position under the stage. The dancers find their entrance marks. Jay walks up to Scout and touches her arm.
It’s time.
Scout nods and walks to her place on the elevator that brings up through the floor of the stage. Technicians check her mics, and Lisa gives her costume a once-over with a lint roller. Scout bounces on the balls of her feet, waiting for her cue.
The band goes up, and the crowd screams even louder. The sound is like a train bearing down on her. The sound of the guitars that start Captive Heart, the lead single from her most recent album, The Escalation of Scout Farrow. That song is currently number four on the charts.
Scout stands with her feet square with her shoulders and her hands at her side. The drums kicked in on Captive Heart and the elevator brings Scout up into the cacophony of sound and light.
9:38 PM
Scout sits on a stool. She’s no longer wearing the Ramones shirt and booty shorts, but a pair of shiny vinyl pants and a deceptively comfortable corset top. It isn’t actually a corset, but a stretchy material over a bendy plastic structure that allows Scout to sing and play guitar without being uncomfortable.
She’s in the middle of her acoustic set. Four songs. A song from the new album, one of the B-sides from her early days, one song from her last album, and one cover. These songs she plays solo with the guitar. The audience is almost dead silent as she speaks into her microphone.
The person who wrote and sang this song was instrumental in shaping me as an artist, and as a song writer. They wrote about love and heartbreak and disappointment and the pitfalls of this industry.
Scout looks to the side of the stage. She can’t see him but knows that Rick is there, watching, and she narrows her eyes. She strums her guitar, the first sustained A-minor chord that starts Doll Parts. She lets the air she was holding in her lungs out and closes her eyes and strums a few more times, instead of walking down to the C, that’s next in the song, she lights onto a series of bright, aggressive, angry Ds, Es and Gs, then back up to A-major. The audience roars to life when they recognize American Girl by Tom Petty. She hits every chord with as much anger and resentment she could muster into her little porcelain hands. The pick splits between her fingers and she throws it at the crowd and pulls another from her stand.
As the words fall out of her mouth, unprocessed and without any thought about their meaning, she abuses her guitar and shouts the lyrics, nearly inaudible in the sound of the crowd singing along. She closes her eyes and she sings and strums. The song is her own arrangement, from her solo days playing at open mics, and she can play it in her sleep. It’s a song the Scouts know well, because it’s one they’ve heard her play on YouTube a thousand times.
When Scout opens her eyes and looks out at the audience. She can feel the energy radiating from them. It’s like standing twenty feet from the sun. It recharges her, and her playing becomes less furious and more enthusiastic, and her voice climbs and climbs, until she’s practically screaming the last ‘Oh Yeah’s from the song.
10:26 PM
Back in the dressing room, Scout sits on a chair in front of the vanity. She’s got a towel draped over her head and down the back of her neck. Jay enters as Scout picks up a water bottle and unscrews the cap. She takes a drink and Jay gently takes it from her.
No more water. You’ll make yourself sick.
Scout stares at her for a long moment.
Give me the bottle.
I’m not your enemy.
After another uncomfortable moment, Scout nods and looks back down at the floor.
I want that fucking limey shit fired. He can’t talk to me like that. Especially not in front of people.
That’s something we can talk about with management about, but Scout, Rick wasn’t wrong. American Girl killed and Doll Parts was a big risk. It could have gone sideways really easily.
Scout shakes her head and looks at her reflection in the vanity. After another moment, she looks at Jay’s reflection behind her.
I would have killed that song.
I know. And you still can one day. Maybe. We’ll see. But at this point in your career —
I got it, okay? I didn’t sing it. I fucking chickened out.
Jay turns Scout’s chair around and gets face to face with her.
No, you made the correct choice.
Scout rolls her eyes and stands up.
I made the safe, easy choice. Since when have I been about safe and easy?
Jay stands up too and takes Scout’s hand.
Since you became an industry. People are counting on you.
Then they should trust me to know what I’m doing. When it comes to music, I’m the boss, remember? That’s what we said. That’s what they said.
Jay squeezes Scout’s hands in hers.
I know, and you’ve been really good about letting us handle the logistics and the business decisions. And yes, you are the boss when it comes to the music, but this isn’t just the music. It’s the whole show. That’s a product that needs to be protected. You have all of these professionals that you hired to do these jobs, and Rick’s job is to run your tour. That’s what he’s doing, and part of that job is making sure you —
Scout drops Jay’s hands, turns away and walks to the catering table.
Hey, you really shouldn’t Scout.
Everyone’s getting really comfortable telling me what I shouldn’t do.
Jay gets annoyed.
Then stop making bad choices, Scout. Go to sound check. Play the songs we picked at the beginning of the tour. That’s all you have to do. Just do the job. Do the tour, as we planned it. Because it’s a GOOD plan. It’s a good show. You know it is.
Scout turns around with a piece of cantaloupe in her hand. Jay shakes her head. Scout pops it into her mouth.
You’re just screwing yourself when you do that, you know. You're going to get sick.
Scout shrugs.
Well, you can’t purge until after the meet-and-greets. Can you wait that long?
Jay’s phone buzzes and she takes it out. Scout groans and leans her head back.
Do I have to?
You know you do. It’s important.
Okay, I’m going to shower. Give me fifteen minutes.
Jay nods, still looking at her phone. Scout goes into the bathroom and closes the door. After a moment, the door opens, and Scout puts Bob Dylan out of the bathroom and closes the door again.
10:39 PM
Jay and Scout walk down the hallway from her dressing room to the green room. Scout has showered and is now wearing a fashionably distressed ballcap from Disneyland, a pair of blue velour jogging pants, and a baggy long-sleeve waffle knit shirt, also fashionably distressed.
Around fifteen people are waiting in the green room when Scout enters. These are contest winners and sick kids. Scout beams, radiating joy. The energy she consumed on stage is now practically radiating out of her, and it’s by design. It’s something she’s good at, putting on the charm high beams.
She poses for photos; she touches arms and makes children laugh. She smiles and laughs with the dying children, knowing that for some of these kids, it will be the thing they take with them on their journey to the end. She thinks about that, as she speaks with them and jokes and tells them that they’re special and valuable and that she loves making music for them.
Scout smells sickness in the air. It’s something she’s learned to live with, because it’s a big part of the job, establishing the elemental goodness of Scout Farrow, the pop star. Scout Farrow, the person was barely there, retreated into her head while the monster performs for the children and their quietly weeping parents. It’s the only way she can get through it.
11:26 PM
Scout and Jay climb into the back of the Escalade. Once they’re settled, the SUV pulls out of the Moda Center and onto the street. Jay lets out a sigh.
Despite the tension tonight, you put on a fucking great show. You should be proud. You all should.
Scout looks at her phone and nods.
Yeah.
They sit there in silence for a long moment.
Did you actually fuck Jeremy?
Scout shrugs, not looking up from her phone.
Who said I did?
Perez Hilton seems to think you did.
Jay turns her tablet around, showing the explosion of pink and exploitation
Who gives a fuck what that scavenger says?
You do, and you know it.
All I’m saying is that I don’t think anyone even takes him seriously anymore. Did he draw a dick on Jeremy’s picture?
Jay nods and shows her a picture of her and Jeremy, and there are crudely drawn dicks and semen on the pictures, which is his signature. Scout shakes her head.
Great. Well, I’m glad that’s covered.
So, did you, or didn’t you?
Scout smiles and Jay shakes her head.
I knew it! Why? He’s so… vapid.
Scout puts her phone down and shrugs.
Why not? Because I could. He has a story no one will believe and I’ve got a song.
Jay nods.
And the more you keep doing this kind of thing, the more rumors are going to start sounding like the truth, because they’ll BE the truth. Then people won’t know what to believe, and they’ll believe all of it.
Scout seems to consider this, then shakes her head.
I don’t care. I don’t really care anymore about what people on the internet think of me. I care what my fans think of me, and I care what my benefactors think of me. Other than that, I’m letting go of that worry.
Jay nods.
Okay, fair enough. That said, I wanted to tell you that overall, everyone is really happy with how this tour is going. You’re killing it every night.
Scout smiles.
I know.
Then added.
Thank you, Jay. For saying that.
Jay smiles back.
Are you tired?
Scout shakes her head.
Not really, no. I’m actually pretty wired. Hungry.
Jay nods.
Well, we’re almost to the hotel, and we’ll get you some milk, and you can take an Ambien, or whatever you need to do, then we’ll leave in the morning for Seattle.
Scout sighs.
Okay. I guess I could sleep.
11:40 PM
Scout enters her suite and Jay follows, carrying her leather case and looking at her phone as she walks. They both drop jackets and purses as they walk through the suite to the bedroom. Jay goes to the bedroom closet and takes down a red plastic case and walks to the bed. Scout sits on the floor, next to the bed, and Jay sits on the bed. Jay opens the red case and hands Scout a plastic tube, an alcohol wipe, and an IV needle. Jay takes the alcohol wipe, rips open the package, and wipes a spot on her thigh, above the back of her knee. Scout hands her the tube and needle. Jay carefully inserts the needle under her skin and into her femoral vein. She picks up her phone and sets a timer for 45 seconds and hits start, then lies down on the bed.
Scout leans against the side of the bed and puts the other end of the tube into her mouth. Jay unclips a plastic clamp on the tube, and blood travels along it and into Scout’s mouth. Scout closes her eyes and drinks the blood that runs into her mouth. Jay looks at her phone while Scout moans softly as she sucks.
12:03 AM
Scout is in bed, the light is off, and she’s looking at her phone. A soft buzzing comes from under the covers as Scout flips from picture to picture in her phone’s gallery. On her phone, images of bloodied people flicker across her vision. Some of them are famous, but not all. In the photos, Scout is clearly visible, licking blood from bodies, smearing it across her own naked skin. These are photos she’s taken, and there are hundreds of them.
With a series of spasmodic jerks, she cums, then drops her phone. After a moment of recovery, she pulls the electric toothbrush out from under the covers and tosses it in the general direction of the trashcan.
Scout plugs her phone in and puts it on the nightstand, then with a full belly, she rolls over and goes to sleep.