We stood there for a minute, and I was turning to go, when he reached out to stop me. Suddenly I was wrapped in his arms, pressed against his chest, his lips on my forehead. He held me like that for a moment, before his hands dropped to my hips, and he made me face him. “You know, Lily, you’re an incredible woman. Person. I was wondering if you were going to be jealous, possessive. Most people are. But you’re a fighter. And loyal. To my friends too. I like that.” He kissed me. “Lovers, and mates.” He held me to him again, and whispered in my hair. “I’m fucking lucky, is what I am. And you…are very special.”
chapter thirteen
Minneapolis to Kansas City
We were all sitting in the new bus—AC, Tristan, and I, heading to Kansas City. After the DJ gig in Minneapolis, the three of us went back to the hotel in a cab. We didn’t even say goodbye. James was given the task of telling them we’d see them in Missouri. I had glanced at the drummer’s face as we left the club. Judging by his expression, I think he had wanted to say something to Tristan. The bassist, Jack, just looked angry. There had been an unspoken understanding that it would be a good idea to stop socializing with both of them, the bassist and the drummer, despite only one of them being at fault, and only see them at sound checks and the actual gigs. We were closing ranks. It made sense, mostly. As we were all yoked together for a few more days, no one wanted a repeat incident. Looking at Tristan, I didn’t think a round two would end as peacefully, despite his calm reassurances.
Tristan’s long legs were stretched out, tightly encased in his usual black jeans, his booted feet crossed on the table. The wide screen was playing some car chase movie that he wasn’t watching. AC was sitting at the kitchen table, back leaning against the wall, his legs bent, feet on the bench, looking at his laptop. I was reading a book I’d picked up in the last truck stop we’d been through—nothing spectacular, but I was vaguely curious to see how the spy was going to escape his double life. I laughed to myself—life and art mixing yet again. Playing the public role, getting used to the photographers rushing us as we went in and out of hotels, the obligatory night club visits, posing against the backdrop of advertisements, being sure not to block any of the logos, while we attempted to look at once mysterious and approachable. The zeitgeist, the tone of the age. Anyone could reach out to us, ask for an autograph, send a tweet—as long as it didn’t say anything, and they kept their distance. As much as Tristan wanted the connection with the fans, and with everyone on the tour, it was time to put up some walls.
Besides, the electronically fabricated closeness was only an illusion. There was some connection to reality, like the tweets that mentioned fellow musicians, or artists whose work we wanted to bring some attention to. We. Actually, at Tristan’s suggestion, I had taken over doing most of the tweets. James was delighted to not be burdened with any more work, as sending out press kits to radio stations and checking on us seemed to exhaust him. For my part, I was happy that he had one less instant input to the media circus that was keeping an eye on us. Even so, when we switched from one bus with all of us crammed in, to one for the band, and one for the three of us, someone had leaked the arrangements to the gossip columns. Dave had texted me as I was getting on the new bus. I had a feeling I knew who the leaker was, but then again I now had a choice of enemies to pick from. Why and who was his final question by text. Complicated and not sure yet was my response. Dave hadn’t replied, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t doing some research.
Then Annie had called us frantically from Chicago, and said she was flying into Kansas City to manage the PR for the rest of the mini tour. She suggested we abandon the bus, and fly to Houston from Oklahoma City, then have a driver take us to Dallas, and on to the last date in Austin. We’d kicked that idea around, and finally agreed. That left us with only two more nights on the bus. I wasn’t sure I’d miss it. I didn’t have the same romantic feeling about life on the road that I’d started out with. And I missed Hank. AC looked anxious, and I wondered if I had been the only one this morning who had noticed that he and Tristan were barely touching, saying “excuse me” if they needed to go anywhere near each other. Considering they had been falling all over each other every time one of them made a joke, or imitated the front desk reception, who seemed to have permanently established themselves as Tristan’s least favorite people, the sudden distance and silence felt ominous.
If the traffic was ok, we were due to arrive just before 4. Enough time to do the sound check, then get some air, or come back to the bus. That left three hours to go. I turned a page, then turned it back again. And another. I looked at the words in front of me. I hadn’t really been reading, just looking at the type, thinking. Sighing, I started again at the last place I could remember. The book was fine. I wasn’t. The tension was making the air thick with unspoken feelings, misery. I gave up on the book, and put it down, breaking the spine with a low crack. Tristan winced. I shrugged an apology. “Anyone want tea?” There was silence. I tried again. “Beer?”
AC threw me a wan smile. “Yeah, I will, Lily. Thank you.” He waved away a glass. “No, bottle is fine.” I looked over towards the driver, who I noticed was watching us in the mirror. I wished Hank was there. I realized I had come to rely on the moments of weird camaraderie we had developed, watching the road together. I had opened the beer when I remembered that technically, we weren’t supposed to drink while the bus was in motion. Usually no one cared. The driver gave us another glance in the mirror, then turned back to the road. Last minute bus and driver. He’d probably been told we were all junkies. Maybe Annie was right after all.
I placed a bottle down in front of AC, then walked over to Tristan and handed him one. He nodded thank you, a frown creasing a line between his brows. AC had turned back to his computer. I went and got one for myself. This was clearly one of those times when tea wasn’t going to cut it. We all sat there, nursing our beers. I looked out the window towards the road. Miles and miles of highway, thousands of cars headed somewhere, for something. The clouds moved by. The sky here was bigger, the land flatter. I felt like I could watch a cloud start from one end of the horizon and move to the other. Weather was coming in, and a strong gust pushed at the bus. It seemed like it wouldn’t take much to flip us over if there was a storm. Not out here. And almost on cue, the sky began to get darker, and the first raindrops started hitting the windscreen. All of the headlights came on, and the traffic slowed down. I laughed. Too perfect. A dark day to match a dark mood. Both Tristan and AC looked at me, then returned to what they were doing, or what they weren’t doing.
Tristan’s phone buzzed, and we all jumped. He looked at it angrily for a moment, then picked it up. “Yeah, hello.” There was silence. “Yeah, hey Annie. What’s up?” He listened intently. “I don’t really think…” He waited. “Yes, record company protecting their investment. That’s what they do.” His tone changed. “Annie. Listen. Calm down. You haven’t been involved in a bit of gossip, but trust me, love, I have. Overreacting just tells them they’re right.” He was nodding his head. “More sympathy towards the drugs. Yeah, probably true. Shall I go OD somewhere? I’m sure that can be arranged. Change the story.” Tristan looked over at us, shaking his head. “Annie. I’m kidding. Have you got any Xanax? It’s all going to be fine.”
He listened again. “Do I care? No, not really. I care about the music. I care about what people actually think and do in their lives apart from the manufactured truths that they get throttled with from day to day.” Tristan was pinching the bridge of his nose as he listened. “Annie. Fine. I will play their game. For now. Mostly because I don’t have a better playbook at the moment, and there’s more gigs to get through. Then New York. Then L.A.” He listened again, and drained his beer. I went to get another one, and Tristan nodded at me gratefully. “I may have a different idea then. But for now, that’s fine.”
He took a big swig of beer, and nearly spat it out again with a noise that was a cross between a laugh an
d a shout. AC was watching him carefully. “Is she what? Is Lily my beard? Are you fucking kidding me? Actually, yes, but she’s working on turning me.” More silence. “No, I won’t say that tomorrow. Really, Annie, you’re a nice person, I’m sure, but come on.” He stood up, holding his beer. For him, the conversation was clearly over. “Text me the details. No, don’t text James. He’s got a lot going on. Yeah. Right. Tomorrow. See you there then.” Tristan tapped the screen, and threw the phone onto the sofa, and disappeared into the back.
I started to go after him, but AC called me back. “Don’t, Lily. I mean, do what you want, but I think he’s got to process all this.”
I came over and sat down at the table, across from him. “Not sure how you process insanity. Yes. You’re probably right. I mean. You know him. Well. I do too, but…” I stopped. “Fuck, AC, what’s going to happen? And why is this so bad? Am I missing something here?” I tried not to think of what I knew.
AC shot me a quizzical look, then his face softened. “Tristan and I…have a lot of history. You know that. You know the whole story of what happened with him and his ex-wife, Alixe. Paul is under her spell completely. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind seeing all this solo success go adrift. And they might not be the only ones. And…,” AC looked at his beer, then back up at me, “I’m here. They’re not. Tristan probably should have let James go, but he thought that might make it worse. Well, it is worse.” He looked down at the table.
“But damage control? It was just an argument. Not even any punches thrown. So what if the guy is a bigoted asshole. At least bassists aren’t as hard to find as drummers,” I joked lamely.
AC grimaced. “Yeah, true. But…” He stopped. “It’s not my…” He paused again. “Look, Lily. You’re a smart woman. You can figure this out. Count on your fingers. See how far you get. How many gay or bisexual rock stars are there? Let’s stick to men for the time being. Freddie Mercury, right. There’s one. He’s probably the most famous. Did you know that Queen initially had a lot of success in this country but no one knew what they looked like.” He thought for a minute. “Still. Freddie. Who else? The Eighties were good—Frankie Goes to Hollywood, George Michael. Still, not really rock, right? Not really alternative. Ok, the Nineties, you had Kurt Cobain saying, what was it, ‘I am not gay, although I wish I were, just to piss off homophobes.’ Nice. Of course he said he wasn’t gay, and then he shot himself, so. Bowie. Well, he was a pioneer. Iggy Pop. Weren’t they lovers? But wasn’t Bowie’s biggest success in this country after all that? We’ve got the pioneers. The people who broke the rules. The artists. Lou Reed. Bowie. Of course, they did wind up partnered with a woman, but they didn’t lie about who they were and what they did. That was the 70s. I don’t know, there must be more, right? But where are they? Not a lot. A little like sports, you’ve got to figure the stats alone show somebody’s not telling the whole truth.” He drank some more beer, and began tapping his fingers on the table. “Tristan. Is a rulebreaker. But he’d also like a career. And he’s pissed as hell for being put in a position where he’s got to…”
I finished his sentence for him. “Lie, or tell the truth?”
AC met my eyes. “That’s about the size of it.”
I started to say something and thought better of it. “Beer?” He nodded, and I pulled open the fridge and took out two more. Another hour to Kansas City. I hoped there was something stronger backstage. I flipped open the tops, and came back to sit down. I didn’t want to ask, but I could feel the question banging around my head. Dave’s face came to mind, looking at me regretfully. Another image came to mind, something I’d promised myself I wouldn’t think about. Fuck. Why couldn’t I learn to keep my mouth shut? “AC?”
“Yes, Lily.”
“You care about Tristan, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “I always have done. We started in this game together. It’s been a long haul, through a lot of craziness. Sure.”
I didn’t push it. The other question was still pushing at me, though. I took a sip of beer to try and make it go away. It wasn’t going. “AC.”
He smiled, amused. “Yes, Lily.”
“This is going to sound really stupid.”
“That’s ok, Lily. If we were drinking Barolo, at least our honesty would seem slightly more noble. But we’re on a bus with beer. Hit me up.”
I took a deep breath. “This would all be a lot easier if I just knew.”
“Knew what exactly, Lily?” AC looked very tense.
“I…what am…AC…be truthful. What am I to him? Am I just a beard? Does everyone know but me?”
AC was smiling again. He chuckled into his beer. “Beard. I can’t believe you’d even ask that.”
“But is it true?”
“No,” said AC and his one word was echoed by the man who was suddenly at my side.
I looked up at Tristan.
“Slide over, share your beer, you must be drunk to ask that. Beard. No. Ok? Believe me. Believe AC. Many things you are to me. Beard, not one of them.” He took a swig and emptied the bottle. “Besides. I’m good, but not that good.”
AC laughed. “Money. You could always fake it for money. Nothing like cash to guarantee erections.”
Tristan laughed, and it was though all the pressure had been let out of the room slowly, and things didn’t seem quite so breakable. AC smiled at us. “You bastard,” Tristan said. “Revealing my money fetish like that.”
AC lifted his bottle. “What any true friend would do.”
We all sat there for a few minutes in silence, before Tristan spoke up. “So. Might as well get this out of the way. Annie-who-needs-Xanax-badly has set up a radio interview for us tomorrow morning. 100.5. The Rage.” He drew it out. “The home of alternative in these parts, apparently. And we are all to go on. Lily will play beard, I mean girlfriend, and be revoltingly feminine.” He turned to me. “Believe it or not, I think Annie will be turning up tomorrow with appropriate record company approved apparel. You will giggle and say you’ve never met anyone like me, and no, we haven’t discussed marriage…yet. AC and I will punch each other, talk about beer,” here he raised his bottle, “and AC will mention the model he is looking forward to meeting up with again in L.A. next week.”
AC laughed. “Wow. Really? Are you going to do it?”
Tristan’s expression darkened. “We. We are going to do it, because reacting is never a good stance.” He put his arm around me. “And it protects both of you. From all this crap. And it’s true.” He tried to smile. “Well, not the model. You can’t pull a model for shit.”
AC put on a hurt face, then laughed. “What do you mean? That last model I slept with was incredibly…”
Tristan interrupted. “Thin?”
AC laughed. “Yeah. No, Tris, she was a nice girl.” He looked at us. “Just not for me.” He got up and headed towards the bathroom, then turned around. “Hey, great idea. Call Trevor. He’s got books of models. Get him to line up a few for L.A. Three should do it. Because all real men can get it up three times a night.” He walked off singing the KC and the Sunshine Band song, “That’s the way, uh huh uh huh, I like it, uh huh, uh huh.” His laughter trailed back, then the door opening and closing brought it to an end.
I looked at Tristan. “Really? We’re going to do this?” I wanted to ask him a million questions. Tell him I knew why we were doing it. But I sat there, and waited for his answer to a question I hadn’t needed to ask.
His eyes were far away. “I don’t like it either. But until I think of another way to handle it, we’ve got five days to get through.” He kissed my cheek. “It’s not a lie. We are together, and I do care about you. Obviously. More than you realize. It’s just no one else’s business. But they want happy heterosexuality, I can do that. Rather just do sexuality, but we’re halfway there.”
* * *
The concert was good, not great, an
d the bassist seemed to be playing either to the crowd or to the drummer. There was no interaction between him and Tristan and AC. I couldn’t imagine why someone would throw away a chance like this over some stupid prejudice, but then again, people did a lot of things I didn’t understand. I was happy to get back to the hotel room we’d booked at the last minute, and try to have some quiet time. AC had retreated to his room, begging off the offer of watching some movie. He hugged us both, and winked at me. But he looked exhausted. Tristan headed to the shower as soon as we came in, and I ordered some room service. When the bell rang, I signed for it at the door, and let them push it over the threshold, before I said I’d take care of the rest. The server protested, but I thanked them, pulled out another bill that I didn’t even look at, and pressed it into his hand. I shut and locked the door, and pushed the table to one side.
“Table or bed?” I said to Tristan, as he emerged from the shower, dripping wet, a towel slung low around his hips.
“Bed, I think. What have we got?”
“Hamburgers. They look ok.”
“After the shower, I barely feel hungry. Too tired.” Tristan pulled on a pair of running shorts, and stood there, drying his hair with the towel.
His face was drawn. He looked almost ill, the circles under his eyes becoming more pronounced. I suddenly felt very worried. It’d been stupid to think all this was going to just be a blip on the radar. “Do you want a drink? Try and eat something, maybe.”
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