What made us both turn to look at the head of the table? I can only imagine it was Tristan, whose entire posture was that of a wildcat about to pounce on its prey. What the hell had happened? I’d tuned in to their conversation for a minute, when demographics had started to get to me. They’d only been talking about sports, about football—soccer over here. Suddenly I realized exactly what was going on. Tristan and I had been chatting earlier about the news of the 25-year-old soccer player, who had quit his team, and then come out as gay, finally doing an interview about it. Tristan had mentioned that it had taken a lot of courage, but that he wished the guy could have kept playing, even though he understood why he stepped down. I had looked at him, wondering if he was going to say anything else. But Tristan had just muttered that the music business wasn’t quite there yet, and hadn’t mentioned it again. But it must have come up.
The bassist was looking at Tristan. “Of course he left, man. It’s not natural. It’s against what the Bible says. No one wants a fucking fag on their team.” He laughed. “Looking over your shoulder all the time. If I thought somebody on my team was a gay boy, I’d carry a weapon. Man’s got to defend himself.”
Tristan looked stunned, then furious. “The Bible? Really? That’s your reason?” He put his fork down, very carefully. “So you think you don’t know any gay people?”
“If I do, they know better than to get to know me. Otherwise maybe I’d have to persuade them they need to stop their sick behavior.” He took a swig of beer. “My friends and I used to be very persuasive back in high school. No limp wrists in our town.”
I looked at my half-finished dinner. A skin was forming on the cooling sauce. It all suddenly looked glazed, the wrong colors, the meat like a bloody wound. I look a sip of water and prayed not to be sick. I glanced at AC. He was sitting there, gripping his wine glass.
Tristan looked at his hands. “So you like beating up gay men. Or maybe just anyone who’s not like you.” He lifted his head up, and his eyes were black. “Why don’t you start with me then?”
There was nothing I could do but watch what was about to go down. Annie, next to me, whispered in my ear, “What? What’s going to happen?” I waved at her to be silent. She carried on. “He can’t do this. Not here. I don’t know who’s out there. I’m going to run damage control. Text me what’s happening. I’m getting the car. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to leave.” And she jumped up from the table. Tristan and the bassist were still staring each other down.
“Look man, I don’t want to fight you. I don’t like being around gays. That’s all.”
“Say it again,” Tristan said slowly.
The bassist shrugged. “Tristan, dude, I didn’t mean anything by it. Gay people do what they want. Just not around me. If I don’t want Adam Lambert sleeping in the bunk next to mine, it’s my business.”
Tristan laughed. I knew that laugh. I winced.
“Except this is my tour. So everything is my business.”
“It’s wrong, man, that’s it. Anyone will say the same thing.”
Tristan relaxed his posture slightly. Jack thought that meant he was off the hook. I knew it meant he’d made his mind up. He crossed his arms. “So that’s what made you say if someone gay was on your team you’d carry a weapon?”
I couldn’t even look at AC.
My phone buzzed and Tristan called over to James at the same time. “James—take care of the bill, please?” He stood up, and shook out his arms, and put on his leather jacket. It looked like he was suiting up for battle.
Tristan walked over to the bassist, and stood in front of him. It forced Jack to tilt his head right up to see him. Then he said, “This is the way it is.” The bassist raised his arm and started to get up, but Tristan stopped him with a look. “I suggest you think of your future. I’m happy to say you left for a better offer. Provided you play the next four nights and keep your fucking stupid ass mouth shut. Or not. Leave now. Right now. Say what you like. Publicity won’t worry me.”
I looked down at my phone. The text from Annie said she had a car waiting outside the kitchen. Tristan looked over at me, and I mouthed “kitchen” at him. He waited for me to get up, nodding to the drummer, who was still sitting there, slightly open-mouthed. He started to head towards the back of the restaurant, clearly thinking that we were following. But AC was frozen in his seat. I came up behind him, and rested my hand on his shoulder, bending down to whisper in his ear. “Come on my friend, I’ve got a bottle of Barolo that needs an opinion.”
And as he stood slowly, I put my arm around him, and we walked tentatively towards Tristan, whose tall frame was nearly to the doors. Then Tristan turned around, checking we were behind him, and caught sight of me, supporting AC, who was clearly upset, though doing his best to hide it. Those eyes took in the whole picture, my arm around him, his arm slung over my shoulder, his pale face. His eyes grew dark, and his hands balled up into fists.
AC noticed as well and roused himself from where he had been leaning on my shoulder. “Dude. Tristan. Forget it. He’s an asshole. I just…” He squeezed my hand, and went over to where Tristan was holding open the door to the kitchen, his shoulders set against an invisible army. “Leave it mate. He’s just ignorant. And Tristan—you know this isn’t just about me.” Tristan stood there, rigid, as the clatter of pots and pans and tickets being called out went on behind us. AC went up to him and forced him to look him in the eyes. “Tristan. You’ve got my back. I know that. I wouldn’t be here except for that. But I’ve got yours as well. So forget it.” He repeated it more forcefully. “Forget it. Let’s get the fuck out of here. We’ve got a tour to finish and we’re bigger than this.”
Tristan nodded silently, and turned to walk through the kitchen. We followed him, a small line snaking over the big red floor tiles, skirting the line chefs who were getting meals out while glancing around at us, clearly wondering what the hell we were doing back there, so close to boiling pots and flaming pans. It smelled good, but I had no appetite. I was drained by the whole thing, the fight and the tour, and I just wanted to get the hell out of there. We finally reached the doors to the outside, and walked past the dumpster. Annie was there waiting. She looked grim, and it was strange to see one of the support team at the wheel of a car, instead of the usual drivers. She must have jumped in her rental car and come right over. The engine was idling, and the bitter smell of car exhaust made me feel sick again for a moment. She gave a brief wave when she saw us. The locks popped up on the door a moment later, and AC got in, followed by me, then Tristan, who slammed the door with a fury.
“Is everything ok, Annie? Any press downwind?”
She shook her head. “No, checked it out, made it look like we had an announcement. Told them you’d be available tonight after the DJ set, answer a few questions. Threw the dog a bone. Don’t think our boy will go to the press. Nothing happened, right?”
Tristan was silent. AC had his eyes closed.
Annie asked again, but this time her voice had gone up an octave. “Nothing happened, right?
Tristan’s voice was his usual lazy drawl when he was holding back some huge emotion. “Depends what you mean by nothing, Annie.”
We were waiting at a light, the steady click of the indicator expanding the silence. The light changed, and we turned across the traffic. I wished we could just drive away and disappear. Annie finally spoke. “Tristan. Throw me a bone. Not that kind. If I’ve got to get on the phone to the label, calm them down, just tell me what you did. I can’t do damage control if I get the story last.”
Tristan laughed. “You mean, did I come out? Or did I punch someone? Was there blood? No, no, and not yet in no particular order to all of the above, Annie.” He ran his hand through his hair, and flicked an invisible speck off his red jeans. “All publicity is good. You, of all people, should know that.”
Now it was her turn to be silent.
We got out of the car in front of the hotel. Annie handed the keys to the valet and said she’d be back in an hour, and we headed inside. AC and Tristan walked through the lobby, looking neither to the left or right, while Annie glanced around, glaring at anyone who looked like they were heading in our direction. We made it to the bank of elevators, and she jabbed at the button. “Listen, Tristan. Be careful out there. There are people following your every move.” AC looked pale.
He came and stood very close to her. “Two answers to that. That’s nothing new. And I’m not changing my life.”
Annie turned to me. “Please make him understand. And be visible. Talk about the female fans. Romance. Music. Keep posting, but try to have a delay of a day or two from where you are.”
I looked at her. “I usually do anyway. Do you really think there is something to worry about? And what?”
Annie shrugged. “Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. The usual. But he just had a public fight about gay rights. We don’t know how many people have something on their cell phone, but we’ve got to figure at least one does. And you’re about to head through the Midwest, down into the South. Most of what people do still has a statute on the books somewhere against it. You’ve read the stories. Tour buses being boarded. Hell, even Willie Nelson gets it, and you guys don’t have anywhere near as much country cred. Just keep it clean.”
I really did roll my eyes then, and grabbed Tristan’s hand. “No sodomy, no drugs. Got it.”
Tristan squeezed my hand. “Annie, thanks. Let me know if you hear anything, and send me the interview questions for the Kansas City radio station. Thanks again, see you later. Text me if I’m not where I should be for the press.”
Tristan, AC, and I got in the elevator, and as the door shut, AC started talking nervously. “Tris, look. This is nice, the being on tour thing. I love playing with you, you know that.” The elevator stopped at the gym level, and two women in bathrobes started to get on.
I held up my hand. “Sorry, we’ve got a sick guest here. Please take the next one.” And I pressed the close door button as they stood there, open-mouthed.
Tristan was leaning against the back wall of the elevator. “Nicely done, Lily. Think I’ll hire you as the tour manager. Couldn’t be any worse.” He looked stricken. “That’s not what I meant. You know. No. Fuck this. AC. You’re not leaving the tour. You won’t break my stride, career, or whatever else you’re thinking. Do what you need to. I’m there. But leaving isn’t an option.” He had a funny look on his face. “Didn’t you just tell me that this wasn’t just about you?”
AC glanced at me. “Did I?” He gave a weak smile. “Fine, I’ll stay. But I hope you’re still saying that when you can only play state fairs and two-bit casinos.”
“Shut up. We’ll all go live in Berlin. I’ll sing cabaret. You can dance. Lily will tell fortunes, there will be absinthe and opium and the nights will be long and sweet.” He laughed as the door opened. “In fact, let’s fuck up the whole thing. That sounds fairly tempting.”
AC did smile then, and he turned to go down the hall to his room. Tristan pulled at him. “No. Don’t trust you. You stay with us. Quick clean up, then we can face the music. Literally.”
We got ourselves ready, and headed back out. I was a little nervous about the whole thing, but was trying to put on a brave face for Tristan’s sake. AC just looked numb. I didn’t hold out much hope for tonight. It was supposed to be a fun idea, Tristan playing some of his favorite music. Now everyone was too distracted, too tired. But he was used to this, putting it all to one side to be in the spotlight. Me, not so much.
The doorman got us a cab, and the driver took us to the side entrance for the venue without a word, thankfully. Not a fan. Just a normal person. Tristan tried the door and found it locked. He banged on the door in annoyance, and when no one came after a minute, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and pressed the speed dial. “And where is James in all this mess? Seriously, I’ve got to sort this shit out,” he said, more to himself than to me.
Another minute passed, and the door was opened by a chastened looking venue employee. James was a foot behind, pretending he was annoyed. Tristan gave him a look. “Where the fuck is the VIP room here? Can we go there? Now? Thank you very much.” James looked like thunder, but Tristan ignored him.
AC slipped behind me. “You’ve got to love him when he’s like this.” He pulled me back slightly so we were a few steps behind. “In this game, Lily, someone’s got to play the diva. Better that it’s him than anyone else.”
The VIP room had the catering, the red velvet sofas, the local rich kids. But the music sounded tinny, and the paper tablecloths were already ripped and soggy from melting ice. People were drinking, talking in their groups. They’d all looked up when Tristan came in, but they were playing it cool. I had already spotted the two women who would definitely be coming over at some point, trying to get Tristan talking. Tristan gave a quick look around, then whispered in my ear that he was going to check out where he’d be doing the music, and left. On the other side of the room the drummer was sitting by himself, a bottle of beer and a shot in front of him. The bass player was there too, but sitting with James, who I imagined was trying to get him to stay. I looked away, and went and asked for a decent cold beer. Clutching it, I sat down on one of the sofas, under the ducts for the ventilation system. It hit up against what looked like a drain pipe and there was a patch of grime where the two connected. But it was dark, no one cared. I didn’t even notice I was holding the bottle of beer against my head, until I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was AC.
“Hey,” I said, and we clinked bottles. “Are you ok?” I gave him a little one-armed hug, which he didn’t return.
He shook his head. “Yeah, I’m all right. I’m…it was just a shock, that’s all. I don’t ever feel…I should be used to it. We don’t really have to talk about it, yeah? But I’m fine. What about you? Are you ok?”
He was giving off a weird vibe. I didn’t like it. But there wasn’t a lot I could do. “I’m ok. Felt a bit sick before.” I took a couple of deep breaths. “We’re out of here tomorrow, thank fuck.”
AC lent over. “Sick? Why?” His face was very tense.
“What he said. It’s disgusting. I mean. That there are people who are so ignorant. Cruel. Prejudiced. Still. And that he could be so fucking clueless about Tristan.” Shit. I looked at my beer, then back up at AC.
AC raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, not realizing how Tristan would feel on that issue. When he’s so…”
I looked at him. “Open.” I tried again. “Well. On stage.” I drank more beer. “Performing.”
AC gave me a look. “Performing. Exactly. Playing to the crowd. Being outrageous.”
This was not going the way I had thought it might. Of course AC would never say anything. Not without Tristan on board. The loyalty between them ran deep. Everything I was saying sounded wrong anyway.
“I wish we were going now. I feel like every place we stay I want to leave.”
He grimaced. “Yeah—and we’re on the bus with bass boy.”
I finished the beer. The end always sucked. I needed a shot. And another beer. Maybe they’d cancel each other out. The bus. The fucking bus and all of us on it. I’d forgotten all about that in the interim luxury of hotel life and separate rooms. Well, that wasn’t going to work. “Look, AC, I know Tristan won’t care. He can get them to do this. We need another bus. I’m going to go talk to him. Hang on.” AC looked startled, but I mouthed at him “be right back.” Getting up, I went and dropped my empty bottle off at the bar, and picked up two more. I looked down at the main room. Tristan was over on the other side, chatting to the guy by the decks. They were nearly ready to start, so I didn’t have a lot of time. I quickly found the exit to where the regular people were, and went down the stairs to the main floor. There was a lot more air down here. Slidin
g in between the crush of people, I made my way through the crowd over to the stage. One of the bouncers approached me, but I flashed him the laminate, and waved over at Tristan. He waved back, and I hopped up onto the raised area where the computers were, and walked over to him.
His smile was quick and brilliant, and just as quickly hidden. He glanced around, like he was looking for someone, but turned back to me when he didn’t see anyone. “What’s up, Lily?”
I handed him one of the bottles. “Brought you a beer. AC’s upstairs. He knows I’m down here. I’ll go get him for the set, not to worry. But can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Yes, of course. Yeah.” He excused himself and we went out to the little back hall at the side of the mini stage. “What’s up?”
I didn’t want to waste time. “Look, can the tour afford another bus?” He looked surprised, but remained quiet. “AC really doesn’t want to sleep in the same space as Jack.” Tristan raised his hands to stop me, but I didn’t want to be interrupted. “He won’t tell you. He doesn’t want to be a burden, believe me. But he is more than a little unnerved by what was said.”
Tristan looked serious. “I’ll ask James. It’s a little last minute, but we might be able to get one to meet us tomorrow. Or a driver and car until they sort it. It’s only another week, not even.” He was thinking out loud. “People will party tonight while they are doing the load out. Then either crash right away, or hang out. AC can come sleep in our room. Or not sleep. Watch some movies or something. An all-nighter. Like the old days. Yes.” He looked happier. “A car at least. Maybe they have a bus they need to move. Nothing fancy.”
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