Hide and Seek by James Patterson Read Free Book Online

lead singer, Andrew Tone, lithe and very sexy, stepped to the microphone and held it like a live snake. He ran a hand through his long, sandy-brown hair.
    “We're Alive and Kicking!” He raised his fist. The band hit its trademark downbeat. R.S.V.P. began to sing the song that was currently number one just about everywhere in the world.
    Next came “Champion of Myself.”
    Then the ballad “Loving a Woman of Character.”
    The audience was in an absolute frenzy. No one could understand what was happening. Tens of thousands of fans wouldn't come until nine-thirty, when, ordinarily, the local bands and warm-up groups would just be finishing.
    The music finally stopped. Andrew Tone stepped to the microphone. He held up his hands for silence.
    “Don't worry,” he said. “We'll sing those songs over again when everybody's here. You early birds deserved a treat though. You're the
real music lovers
, right?”
    Cheers. Some laughter. But the baffling mystery continued for the audience. What was R.S.V.P. doing onstage already?
    “We sang those songs for a special reason. ‘Alive.’ ‘Champion.’ ‘Woman.’ I know they're three of our best songs.
You know
they are.”
    Loud applause confirmed Andrew Tone's opinion of
their
opinion.
    “The thing of it is, these three songs were all written by our first—and only—warm-up act tonight. And this is the best warm-up act we've ever had.”
    Some in the audience might have known my name. Few could have realized I was a singer. Behind Andrew Tone, a bevy of stagehands wheeled out a piano. The stagelights went off and a spotlight hit the keys.
    There was a murmur in the crowd, expectant but wary. Everybody's curiosity was up.
    “
She
is a real woman of character,” Tone went on, speaking softly, away from the light. “It's her first live concert appearance—which is why we came out early. We wanted to introduce her. It's our way of thanking her for her songs.
    “I guarantee you one thing! This is the last time the lady will be opening for anyone. So listen. Hold on to your heads. Hold on to your hearts.
THIS IS THE MIND-BLOWING, HEART-STOPPING MAGGIE BRAD-FORD
!”

CHAPTER 15
    I LISTENED TO Andrew go on and on.
Too much
, I thought. He was raising their expectations way too high. He made it sound as though some scintillating world-class singer were coming onstage.
    He wasn't talking about
me
. He couldn't be. The building pressure put a steel band around my chest. I had a contralto voice anyway, and had trouble hitting the real high notes.
    I thought I wouldn't be able to play, much less sing. Not only didn't I feel like “a woman of character,” I felt I had absolutely no spine.
    I could barely breathe
.
    I made myself walk onto the massive concert stage. There was applause, sincere but scattered.
    I remembered Andrew Tone's words:
“It's her first live appearance.”
    I got my first full look at the slow-rising mountain of faces; the brightly colored, ragtag quilt of clothes; the streaming spotlight that made the piano look huge and frightening and self-important.
    Oh, God, I can't possibly do this. There's an entire city out there watching me
.
    A wave of panic suddenly swept over me. I felt exactly as I did when I used to stutter and stammer in school.
    I knew many of the orchestra players from recording sessions in New York. They were standing now and clapping for me too.
    “Cut it out, guys,” I yelled to them. “It's only
me
. Stop, stop, stop!”
    “Go get ’em Maggie!” a drummer named Frankie Constantini yelled at me. “You're the best.”
    Somehow, I made it to the piano. I even managed to sit down without fainting, or having a major coronary.
    I am considered tall at five feet eight inches, and Barry said I was “striking” that night, but I just felt gawky—the same way I'd felt as a teenager. I'd let my hair grow very long, and it cascaded down my back. At least I liked my hair. If nothing else, my hair was cool.
    “I was living in West