I took some painkillers for my head, and sprayed my face from the bottle of Evian that I kept in the bathroom, fresh pure water at a premium on a tour bus. I needed water. Stumbling out past the bunks, the snoring and sense of warm man heat told me they were all asleep. I turned on the kettle, and boiled water for a cup of tea, then went over to the sofa. The rays from the rising sun were just starting to arch into the bus, stripes of warm yellow light that lit up the small living room and made a pattern on the wall, as the sun shone through the skylights and windscreen and tinted windows of the bus. I had my notebook with me as I sipped my tea and watched as the glow through the glass became clearer and whiter, and the sky turned from pink haze to bright blue space. Sunrise was over so quickly. It seemed to me that once, long ago, dawn had lasted longer.
Later, when the boys were up, drinking beer, watching DVDs, and trading insults, everything would seem normal. Normal for a tour. I closed my eyes for a moment, and thought about enjoying the calm. But it didn’t take long before I had reached for my notebook with a sigh. I traced the soft surface of the lined pages. “Nothing,” I whispered, “matters.” I stared into space.
What had Dave said? “Just send what you see, and let me worry about the structure.” I had thought it odd at the time, but I had a feeling he knew what was coming down the road better than I did. He’d been pretty insistent. “Just observe. Write down what you notice and send it along. Every day. I know how tours get. You’re going to get wrapped up in the stuff on the road, no matter what you say now.” So every day, I had been sending him something, however small. It was a lot like a tour diary. Fuck, it was a tour diary. And I would have to keep sending him my little observations, now even more heavily edited. I wondered how much he knew, and if he would work out what the hell it was all about. Maybe one day I would even be able to tell. When it was over. Because Dave hadn’t been wrong. I was right in the middle of it, and I couldn’t see anything.
Normal. For a tour. The band had called it a night probably only a couple of hours ago. It was 6 a.m. The end of the day for them, the beginning of the day for the rest of the world. The real world, which apparently was out there somewhere. People going to work. Getting up, making breakfast, waking up reluctant children, putting on their masks, preparing themselves to face the day. Off to work, waiting for the weekend, which was…when? I realized with a start that I had no idea how far away the weekend was, because I had no idea what day it was. I flipped through the book to see if I’d written down dates but in the collection of notes and description, but that had stopped pretty much right away. It hardly mattered, my life was here on the bus. I put down the pen, and buried my face in my hands. Maybe I did need to call someone. But my phone was in the bedroom. And I didn’t want to think anymore. So I got up and sat down closer to the front, so I could look out the window at the road.
“Good morning Hank,” I said quietly, not wanting to startle him, although I knew from experience he had an eerie sixth sense of when and who was up in the bus behind him. I guessed it came from a lot of practice driving a behemoth of a bus, containing precarious and volatile cargo, and judging from some of the experiences he had told me about with other bands, a necessary precaution.
“Good morning Lily. Up early, as usual.”
“Went to bed early.”
“You were the only one. What’s up, road fatigue?” His voice sounded friendly, almost sympathetic. Or maybe I just needed a friend.
“I guess.” I took a deep breath. “I guess it’s harder than it looks. Touring. Moving from place to place.”
“Ya think?” He chuckled. “I think you’re a natural. Like a duck to water. Looking at you, I thought, she’ll be off like a shot, once she hears the talk, sees what goes on. She’s a nice girl. But look at you. Still here.” He stopped talking for a moment, to pass a truck towing a car. When we were back in our lane, he started again. “Smarter than you are nice, or so it seems.”
“Smart? Smart enough, I guess…” I trailed off.
He looked at me in the rear view mirror. “Smart enough to have seen enough. Not to judge. Not really.”
“I suppose I want love though, just like any nice girl.” It felt like a confession.
Hank didn’t seem to mind, and treated it like the question it was. “It depends how much love you want. How much you need. How much you’re willing to ask for.”
“But…” I stopped myself. “It’s hard to ask.” I glanced over at him, and caught his eye in the rear view mirror.
Hank looked back at me. His expression was stern, but his eyes were soft. “My advice, Lily, is this. Don’t ask for what you’re not going to get. Be happy with what is in front of you. Don’t do things because you’re supposed to.”
I sat up, surprised. He smiled at me, before his eyes went back to the road. “How did you know?” was all I said.
“You’re not the only one who keeps their eyes wide open. Eyes open, mouth shut. It’s kept me alive this long. I recommend it to you. You’ll never know what people think unless you give them a chance to tell you,” he said.
A wry expression twisted my mouth into a small smile. “Eyes open, mouth shut. Ok.”
“That’s the ticket. And I don’t mean that fool writing you do. No one pays attention to writing. They know it’s all lies anyway. But say the right thing at the wrong moment, and that’s all you get remembered for.”
“Is that what happened?” It popped out before I had a chance to think.
Hank didn’t seem bothered. “Yeah, close enough. Close enough. But you know, some things aren’t worth fighting for.” He jerked his head towards the back of the bus. “Him, I don’t think you need to fight. That’s the one good thing about these free spirit types. If they want to go, they do.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“He’s the kind that will always do what he wants. He’ll hate you if you make him choose. Don’t do it, girl.” He chuckled again. “Unless you want to learn to drive a bus.”
I laughed. “Now you’re talking.” And I asked him some idle questions about gears, and the test to be a driver. It wasn’t what either of us was thinking about.
* * *
We’d been sitting in silence for a while, Hank watching the road, and me going between writing a few lines, and turning up my headphones, gazing out the window. There was a steadiness to it, the exit signs at regular intervals, the switching back and forth between the lanes, all the while going forward, the lines ribboning out beside us. It was hypnotic.
I hadn’t realized that I’d dozed off, but I was suddenly conscious of a warm body next to me. I opened my eyes, slowly becoming aware of everything around me, where I was, what was happening. I looked up, and there was Tristan, looking a bit sleepy himself, wearing only a white t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. He seemed larger than life, slightly unreal but still skin and muscle and blood pulsing through his veins. It was hard to reconcile everything I knew with his physical presence. He smiled at me when he saw I was awake.
“You can only sleep on sofas now, out here with Hank. I told you this would happen.” He grinned. Lower, he whispered to me, “Are you all right? You were really out when we crawled in last night.”
I curled myself up against him. “I’m ok.” It didn’t sound convincing, even to me. “I guess I didn’t sleep well, for all that.”
Tristan held me to him, softly, like he was taking special care. I closed my eyes and leaned my head on his chest. He was so much larger than I was. I just wanted to feel his arms wrap around me and hear his heartbeat, steady and solid against my ear. Until this feeling stopped. Wanting wasn’t getting though, and I knew he wouldn’t sit still that much longer, off to make phone calls, coffee, something. So I held on a little tighter, and curved my legs over his, so I could feel his thighs against mine. Hard muscles, soft skin, the slight scratch of hair. The closest I could get to having him wrapped around
me, keeping me safe. For a while. I breathed in, a big shuddering gasp, and I closed my eyes again. I wasn’t going to think. He was here, and I was here, warm in the grip of his strong arms. It was good enough.
Hank’s voice broke through my thoughts. “She’s good company, Tristan, that Lily girl. I’ve decided. I’m going to keep her on the road with me.” He stopped for a moment. “I think she’s got a taste for it.”
Tristan laughed. “Is that so?” He kissed the top of my head. “Queen of the road, then.” But I could feel his whole stance change. He tightened his arms around me, and pulled me up on to his lap, and now he really was cradling me, almost possessive. “I think you’ll have to find your own, Hank, mate. I’m holding on to this one.”
Hank let out a low whistle. “Is that so? Well, if you’re sure. Don’t forget, Lily. Offer still stands. Not many like you in this world.”
I smiled against Tristan’s chest. For a moment I loved Hank just as much. “I’ll never forget.”
chapter twelve
Minneapolis
The hotel in Minneapolis was a welcome change from the bus. Climbing down the big stairs, out on to the road, I felt like I’d disembarked from a boat—the ground still seemed as though it was humming and shifting under my feet. The hotel itself was nice enough, the usual collection of bad paintings, marble facings, and armchairs that looked more comfortable than they were. But we took one look at the room, another TV behind a fake mahogany cabinet, another pair of tasteful lamps, another polyester bedspread covered with the carefully handwritten welcome and pair of chocolates and decided we needed some sunlight and air.
Tristan had slipped us out the service entrance for a walk. Now he was laughing at my complaints of feeling seasick. “That happens sometimes. But you probably won’t be able to sleep now either, not that you’ve gotten used to the movement.” He stopped and winked at me. “Then you’ll become a real tour rat, unable to sleep, dozing off during the day, up all night.” I swatted him. He caught my wrist in his, and pulled me to him. “Then you’ll have to tour forever, with me, and we’ll never sleep. You’ll have to sing with me in trucker bars, telling stories of the road.”
“Will we have a trailer?”
“No, we’ll have a truck, and sleep on a mattress. When it’s clear and warm, we’ll put it on the roof, and look at the stars.”
I shook my head. “You’ll miss the city life.”
He took my hand. “I don’t know. Maybe I would. I like this though.” He waved an arm at the wide straight street, headed for the outskirts of town. “We could disappear out here. No one would find us.”
I linked my arm through his. “I think you’re pretty easy to find in a crowd. Look at you.”
Tristan frowned for a moment. “True. True. Easily solved. When we’re on the road again, I’m getting a trucker hat. Stuff all my hair underneath.”
“What about the leather jacket?”
“I haven’t gotten that far yet.” He stopped and turned me to face him. “You know, you can’t exactly go undercover anymore.”
I shrugged. “That’s because I’m with you. People stop to look at you. No one knows what I look like anyway. People might know my name from the writing, but there’s no face.”
Tristan frowned again. “Well, not anymore.”
“What? Why?” I tried to make a joke. “Am I super famous now, like you?”
Tristan didn’t look happy. “Didn’t Dave talk to you? He said he was going to call you.”
Now it was my turn to make a face. “I didn’t…I saw he called.” I looked away. “I didn’t feel like talking much. I’ve been emailing him with blog updates. It’s been all right, for the moment, anyway.” I didn’t mention that I hadn’t trusted myself to talk to him this morning. One soft word from him, and I might have been telling him all my worries. “I guess I should have called him.”
“You know, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Tristan smiled. “But he’s still your boss. Mostly, anyway.”
I thought about the other reason I didn’t always want to talk to him. That direction seemed a safer option. “Sometimes when I talk to him…I don’t know. No one likes to be reminded they lost. Especially not someone like that. Especially not Dave.”
“The ego of man. He’ll live, trust me.”
I looked up at Tristan. “I’m sure he will. Anyway, I know I made the right choice.”
Tristan gave me a little shove. “Are you sure?” Then he bent down and kissed me, his tongue teasing the corners of my mouth.
It just felt too good. I let my mind go blank, just feeling the width of his back under my hands, his skin, warm and with the faint smell of the cologne he’d tried out when we were out shopping yesterday on North Michigan Avenue still lingering on his hair. “Spray perfume in your hair, that’s what my grandmother always told me women did. I figured it would work for me too,” he’d said as he sprayed a little cloud of it around his head, and walked through it, while the saleswoman gazed at him like he had come to rescue her from a tower. He’d bought a bottle, and signed a card for her. The scent suited him, a complement to the way his skin smelled, sweet and salty, the smell of grass on a summer day, the smell of dark skies in the middle of the night.
The warmth of him, his quiet strength, the way he gave himself up to the kissing. Some people walked by, and he slowly pulled away, remembering we weren’t alone. “We could go back up to the room,” he whispered. I was about to answer, when he stopped me from speaking with another small kiss. “No, wait. What I was about to tell you. Dave. He saw the picture on Just Jared, and he told me he was going to run your pieces with a small headshot of you from now on. They’re updating the link on the website too.” He ran his hand through his dark hair. “He’ll talk to you about everything.”
“What picture?” I asked, slowly. “When did this happen?” I wasn’t sure I really wanted my face everywhere, but it looked like it was too late for that.
Tristan looked annoyed. “This morning. They’re quick. I told James to show you. Never mind—here. Look.” And he pulled out his phone, and starting pulling up a photo. He enlarged it as much as he could, so you had to scroll down to see the entire thing, but there it was. A picture of us coming out of the restaurant in Chicago, Tristan opening the door to a cab, me looking around as always, slightly wary. It was a very clear picture. The caption was pretty definite too. “Tristan Hunter, former lead singer with Devised, out in Chicago with his new girlfriend Lily Taylor, a writer for music magazine The Core. Hunter is on tour, promoting his new solo album, Some of Us Remember the Future.”
I stared at the photo. Then I looked up at Tristan. “Seems a bit of a coincidence.”
“Which thing in particular? It all does.”
I smiled at him. “That’s why you’re wonderful. Exactly. How did they know we were there…”
He finished my sentence for me. “…and how did Dave know about it practically before the picture was run?”
I nodded at him. “It’s a bit of a mystery. Either he’s having us followed, or they contacted him first before they went with it.”
Tristan shrugged. “He’s got friends everywhere. And enemies. It wouldn’t take a lot for someone to realize the connection between me, you, and the magazine, and think to call him for more information.”
“He probably bought the photo himself and sold it for more to Just Jared.”
Tristan laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” He grew serious. “But it does mean we need to keep an eye out.” He looked up at the sky. “It was only supposed to be a small tour.” He took my hand again. “Lily, I don’t want you to go out without someone with you, ok?”
I sighed. It was nice to be looked after, but I didn’t want to be guarded. “Tristan, I’ll be fine.”
“It’s a good idea. Really. Lily, listen to me.” He looked around, suddenly edgy. “
Let’s keep walking, ok?” He stood up and pulled me up with him. We walked for a few blocks in silence. Suddenly everyone on the streets seemed to notice us. Maybe it was just that we were giving out some kind of electric charge on the energy we were producing. Or that Tristan, tall, dark, and always looking like a rock star, even in a t-shirt and jeans, was attracting attention, as he did. Used to standing out in the crowd, Tristan seemed to take up more space than everyone else. He noticed I was looking around, nervously. “Hey, Lily love. Please don’t worry. It’s fine. It’s just that no one really knew what you looked like before, and now they do.”
“I know. I know. It’s ok. I’m famous. Can’t do my own shopping. But I’ll finally get a good table at the last minute.”
Tristan laughed. “Yeah, it’s got perks. No doubt. And most of the crowds are really good people…”
I finished his sentence for him. We’d been doing that a lot lately, I suddenly realized. “…but some of them aren’t too thrilled to see you hooked up with someone.”
He looked straight ahead. “I get threats too. You just ignore them, mostly.”
I stopped short, then looked around, and started walking again. We probably looked like we were on drugs or something, I thought. Not really walking with a destination. “Threats?”
He sounded so casual. “Sure. Mostly things about the lyrics or the evil of drugs, or the way I look, or just attention seekers. You know, like the people on Twitter who ignore everything you say, but respond to every announcement, every tweet with a plea for you to follow them.” He put his arm around me. “Some people just have their obsessional moment, it passes.” He pulled me closer to him. “But some are a little more insistent, say crazy things.” He shook his head. “It’s a little weird. You get used to it. Mostly. But for right now, I want you to be careful.”
“Ok.” I shrugged.
Tristan stopped again. “Ok? That’s it? No arguments?”
“No, why would I argue? You’ve been doing this longer than I have. You’re probably right. So now, I’m freaking out a little just walking around Minneapolis. In daylight. Hardly a war zone. No, whatever you want.” For some reason, one of the lyrics from a Pulp song came to mind. “What exactly do you do for an encore? Cause this is hardcore.”
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