The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set

by Katrina Abbott

  Andres grunted his disapproval, but I pretended I didn’t hear. “Let’s move on, okay?” I said decisively, my voice cutting through the tension that was almost coming off my dad and the guys like heat waves off of the road in front of the bus. I was so over this topic of conversation and ready to get on with regular business.

  As everyone muttered in agreement, I looked down at the laptop in front of me. I’d just logged into the ticket sales dashboard and was excited to turn things around with some good news. “So. Last night’s gig, the poster stuff, and Zen Garden’s plugs—a combination of all three things, I’m guessing—resulted in us selling out for tonight and tomorrow night’s shows.”

  There was a weird silence as the guys took that information in. I looked around at them to see if they’d heard me. I was about to repeat myself when Darren spoke. “Whoa, seriously? We sold out a fu...freaking show?”

  I finally had something to smile about. “Now, remember these aren’t huge venues and tonight’s is just wristbands for the stage-front area at the festival, but nonetheless, there was a big spike of sales across the board overnight. Minneapolis is getting close to a sellout. Boise, too. I have a feeling it’ll happen by tomorrow if this trend continues.”

  The mood on the bus instantly improved at this news. Graeme and Andres high-fived, as did Sandy and Darren.

  “We need to keep that momentum,” Max—the only guy who hadn’t broken a smile—said and then looked at me. “Without the negative stuff, obviously.”

  “But how?” Graeme asked, looking around for ideas.

  “What if,” Sandy began, her voice soft. When everyone turned to her, she cleared her throat and went on, slightly louder. “What if tonight you guys did a cover of a Zen Garden song?”

  I looked at Dad. He blinked a few times as he considered it and then nodded and smiled. “I like it. I think that’s a great idea. Especially if you video it and we can post it fairly quickly and tag them, leverage that connection. That will give people something to talk about that we want them to talk about: that the two groups are friends. I’ll give Billy a call so they know it’s happening. Cross-promo is never a bad idea.”

  “We can have a band bromance,” Darren said.

  Everyone laughed. “Exactly,” Sandy said. “Maybe we could even do a bit of a rivalry online, like a team Wiretap versus team Zen Garden.”

  My dad smiled and I could see the twinkle in his eye. “Yeah, I definitely like that. Great job, Sandy.”

  My best friend beamed a little at my father’s praise.

  Dad’s gears were obviously turning. “When I call Billy I’ll see if we can set something up for Portland. I hate to let an opportunity pass us by,” he said, looking at no one in particular as he formulated his plan.

  Then he abruptly turned to the boys. “We can have a longer rehearsal this afternoon with the sound check but it’s not a lot of time to learn a whole new song. You need to really nail it if we’re going to post it and use it for promo. Think you can pull it off?”

  It was obvious that the boys liked the idea and appreciated that Dad was letting them decide if they could do it. I held my breath as I waited.

  “It’s a brilliant idea,” Graeme said and then pointed his thumb at Dave. “If any of us can take the lead, it’s him.”

  Dave blushed a little but he didn’t argue; how could he? Graeme was a hundred percent right and every single person on our bus knew it.

  The guys took a few minutes to discuss which of Zen Garden’s hit songs would be best to play but settled on doing an unplugged version of their latest love ballad. It would be perfect with just Dave and Max on stage playing their acoustic guitars (taking the pressure off the other guys having to learn it). Nothing said swoony boy band romance like a couple of hot guys sitting on stools, strumming acoustic guitars.

  As they talked about it, I logged into iTunes and downloaded the song. I then leaned over my dad and plugged my phone into the bus’s sound system on the panel beside him and played the song so they could listen critically.

  The guys didn’t have their guitars here on the bus, but as soon as the song moved through the opening bars, Dave had his eyes closed, memorizing the notes. I had every confidence that he and Max would totally crush it.

  Dad leaned into me and said, “You’re a good assistant. You’re making it hard to miss Linda, you know.”

  I rolled my eyes but was secretly pleased—being compared to Linda was high praise from him.

  “Well don’t get too used to me,” I said. “She’ll be back before you know it.”

  He gave me a weird smile. “True. But it’ll be bittersweet—I love having you with us. You’re really doing a great job.”

  “It’s only been a couple of days,” I said.

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t take long to see how great you’re doing. You roll with the punches and keep it together.”

  I leaned into him and laid my head on his shoulder. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “You know, I could make Kiki move all her makeup and hair crap out of that spare bunk and you could stay...”

  “Hey!” Kiki said after almost choking on her coffee. “My makeup kit is not crap!”

  “It’s a moot point,” I said. “I’m not sticking around once Linda’s back. Sandy and I are going back to the Hamptons for the rest of our well-earned summer vacation.”

  Andres caught my eye then and winked.

  Right. Because the second I was off tour, he and I would be an official couple.

  I smiled back at him but as I did, something ached in my chest. Something that had everything to do with what had happened right on that couch the night before. When Andres had been asleep in his bunk.

  I turned my gaze from his and shut the laptop closed with a loud click. “All right,” I said, sliding off the bench and standing up, tucking the computer under my arm so I could head back to the office and make myself look busy. “If we’re done with today’s debrief, I have lots to do and so do all of you. We have posters to sign, rehearsal, sound check, wardrobe, and the meet and greet all before the concert. I presume you guys need to be fed and watered in there, too.” I rolled my eyes as though they were high maintenance. They knew I was joking and all laughed.

  I started to turn away from them, when I thought about the venue and turned back to face them.

  “Don’t forget,” I said and zeroed in on Graeme who I knew to be a junk food addict. “Do not overdo it at the festival this afternoon. In fact, try to avoid eating from any of the vendors. You will be sorry if you eat too much garbage.”

  Graeme frowned and Darren even booed me, but I knew they were only joking. I could only hope they would take my advice to heart.

  Thinking

  That night’s meet and greet with the local contest winners was a much less formal affair, thanks to the event being at a festival; we were going for more of a fun, boy next door vibe.

  After rehearsal and taking some time to sign the posters, the boys had quickly wolfed down the order-in dinner I’d arranged for them. Then they’d taken showers in the school’s locker room and had gotten ready for the evening.

  They were scheduled to meet the dozen winners inside the school at a reception being held in a classroom. Then, after introductions and signing autographs, they’d all head out to the festival. The plan was for the group—both the band and the contest winners—to hang out by the various vendors and games. It was basically a staged photo op of them all having fun, like they were a group of friends just having a regular evening at the local summer festival.

  Personally, that it was completely staged felt weird to me. I couldn’t imagine ever being into something like that: hanging out socially with a bunch of strangers while people took pictures that would be used for promotion. But I also recognized that my many years around musicians as the jaded daughter of a producer crushed the novelty of it. Sandy told me to stop being a wet blanket and that the new
fans would go crazy at the opportunity, not caring how fake it was as long as they got the opportunity to fawn over an up-and-coming boy band (which included Andres, who was admittedly already a star).

  Thankfully, she was right.

  The twelve girls—mostly high school aged, by my estimate—arrived at the school with a media escort from the radio station. They tentatively crossed the threshold into the classroom, clearly nervous to meet the boys.

  Staying out of the way, I watched from the corner of the room as all dozen pairs of eyes widened when they saw the boys who were there just for them. The media escort—a middle-aged woman in jeans and a branded radio station golf shirt, made her way over to Dad and introduced herself. Dad began introducing the band as the contest winners watched in awe.

  I was going to go over and join them, when I was distracted by Sandy snorting beside me.

  I looked at her. “What?”

  She glanced at me, her smile wide as she leaned close and said, “Nothing, it’s just funny to watch their reactions when they see the guys in person. But I totally get it. I mean look at them. They’re hot in videos and pictures, but live?” She shook her head, not needing to finish her thought.

  Of course the guys looked amazing—if anything, they looked even hotter than the two nights before. I took a second to figure out why and could only conclude that their confidence was building, making them seem less nervous and more natural in talking with fans. Not that Andres had ever been anything less than confident since I’d known him, but the other guys’ vibes seemed different now, more relaxed. Not overly cocky though, which was a good thing—we needed them to be gracious to fans, especially at events like this.

  Whatever it was, they were total heartbreakers over there, schmoozing it up with the girls who were doing a lot of nervous giggling.

  “Wait until they watch them play tonight,” I added. I’d already seen Dave and Max rehearse the Zen Garden song and knew without a shred of doubt that social media was going to totally explode after that.

  That this event was a festival (with somewhat lax rules about audience members taping performances using cell phone cameras) was perfect for what we had planned. While our official stance on recording performances was that we were obviously against it for copyright reasons, having tons of new fans recording tonight’s show and sharing it via their social media, especially that song specifically, was only going to work in the band’s favor.

  Not to mention that Dad had been in touch with Billy to bring him in on the plan. Together they’d figured out how to leverage the performance in a way that would help both bands and start up a friendly rivalry that would continue to build until we got to Portland and met up with them. Fans already saw something simmering in the works. Sandy told me that some of them were already speculating about the bands doing something together.

  “I know, I can’t wait,” Sandy said, pulling me out of my thoughts and making me have to think about what she was responding to. Right: tonight’s performance. She kept her eyes on the new fans who were already clearly smitten with the guys (while being adorably nervous at the same time). “It’s like watching them fall in love for the first time.”

  That was a good way of putting it, I thought as she went on, “It’s kind of addictive, seeing it happen. Like watching the best romantic movie.”

  “Except it’s totally one-sided,” I said.

  “Cynic,” Sandy said.

  I laughed “Completely. But it has to be that way.”

  Sandy just nodded as we went back to watching. I was suddenly reminded of the night before; what had happened on the bus with Dave and what we’d talked about, Sandy being a topic during that conversation. “So, speaking of one-sided love,” I began, not at all sure what I was about to say, which was exactly why it was a bad opening. I should have thought it through before I’d said anything, but once it was out there, it was too late to pull it back.

  When I stalled out, Sandy turned to look at me. “What?”

  Ugh. What had I been thinking bringing this up now? How was I supposed to discourage her from being into Dave when it might seem like I was doing it for my own selfish reasons? Except, I kept reminding myself, I wasn’t with Dave. I wasn’t going to be with Dave. I had no desire to get with Dave.

  Did I?

  “Never mind,” I said, when it all jumbled up in my head. There was no way I could sort it out enough to come across as a normal friend who was just looking out for her. Anyway, what I’d told Dave still held—that she couldn’t do anything about her feelings for him as long as we were on tour.

  Except I got a little worried when she got all jealous and said things like, “That red-haired girl had better not get any closer to Dave. Look at her! She looks like she’s getting ready to climb him.”

  “Please,” I said, hoping to diffuse her sudden jealousy. “That girl looks like she’s going to barf from nerves. The blonde talking to Andres, flipping her hair and making pouty lips at him is way worse.”

  Sandy’s eyes widened a little more as she focused on the blonde I’d pointed out. “How are you not going over there to scratch her eyes out?”

  “Because I hardly think—” I broke off with a curse when the girl in question actually threw herself at Andres, tackling him and pulling his head down so she could kiss him on the lips. We were too far away to do anything but watch in horror as he grabbed her arms and gently, but firmly, pushed her away. Even though he had successfully gotten her off him, his face was a wide-eyed mask of ‘please help me’ aimed at my father. Thankfully, before it escalated, Dad managed to get between them.

  “You were saying?” Sandy asked sarcastically.

  “Shut up,” I said without heat and then sighed. “I should probably go help them manage this.”

  “Your Dad’s got it,” she said. And she was right; by the time I looked over again, everyone was smiling, even Andres, though his face looked a little strained. He must have caught my pitying brain waves because he glanced over at me then. I gave him an apologetic smile and a shrug.

  He shook his head a little and I knew he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He then turned back to the girl who seemed to be apologizing. Obviously she was harmless (mostly) but had just gotten a little overzealous. Maybe we were going to have to do a better job in debriefing the media escorts in advance of any upcoming events. I’d only looked at the next few dates’ files, but I had a feeling there was going to be one of these close-up fan events in just about every town and as the boys’ popularity grew, there would unfortunately be more episodes like this one.

  “I can’t believe you’re not freaking out,” my best friend said. “That was way over the line.”

  I turned and looked at her head on, seeing this as the perfect opportunity for a ‘teachable moment.’ “This is what dating a musician is like, Sandy. If you can’t handle this kind of stuff and trust the other person not to give in to the many, many temptations that will come at him every single day, you really shouldn’t get involved. And honestly? That was nothing. It’s only going to get worse from here.”

  For the first time since I’d known her, I think I actually got through to Sandy about what the life of a musician was really like. And what the life of someone dating one would be like.

  She swallowed and nodded and then said, her voice low, not that anyone on the other side of the room was paying us any attention, but still, “And you trust Andres to resist those temptations? The ones that are ‘only going to get worse?’”

  I turned my gaze back to him as he chatted with a couple of the other fans and thought back to last summer and what had happened between us when he’d thought I was just a groupie out for a good time. Even though I should have known better, it had really hurt when I’d caught him kissing that other girl.

  But I couldn’t dwell on that, I thought, shaking my head of the memory, reminding myself that we hadn’t been committed to each other at the time.
I’d assumed the hookup between us was more than it really was and it wasn’t fair to judge him on my mistaken assumption. I needed to focus on the words he’d said to me back at the beach house when we’d agreed we’d be together, how he’d promised me he’d prove to me that he could be faithful. That he would be faithful.

  I nodded. “I think I do,” I said.

  “Think?” Sandy said gently.

  I sighed and looked at her again. “Yes, think. I can’t know for sure. Of course I’m worried that my trust is misplaced, and that he’s going to mess up. But I’m going in with my eyes open which means that when I agreed to be with him, I decided to give him the opportunity to prove himself.”

  She frowned and cocked her head. “Do you? Do you really owe him that?”

  The words dissolved on my tongue when I opened my mouth because I guess my brain caught up and wasn’t so sure how to answer.

  Sandy filled the pause. “The correct response is that you don’t owe him anything.”

  “No, of course not,” I said. “But if I want to be with him, I need to give him the opportunity to prove his faithfulness to me.”

  “Relationships aren’t tests, Nessa,” she said. “You either trust him a hundred percent or you don’t trust him. There’s no such thing as sort of or mostly in trust. Do you want to be with him?”

  “Yes,” I said. Though as soon as the word was out of my mouth, I wasn’t sure if I’d said it because it was true or because it was the automatic response to her question. I glanced over at him and suddenly wondered if I should have been upset about that girl kiss-attacking him. Not because I thought he was into it or had encouraged it, but because he was my soon-to-be boyfriend and she had no right. Was I supposed to care more than I seemed to? “I mean, I think I do.”

  “There’s that think word again,” she said.

  It made me mad, but at the same time, I knew what she was doing.

  It was a rhetorical statement, so I didn’t bother saying anything (not that I’d come up with an appropriate response in the long and awkward seconds following it), but thankfully just then, Dad looked over at me and gave me a tiny nod. I recognized it as the signal to grab the box of rolled-up posters so I could hand one to each of the fans on their way out.