“Yeah, let me have a look. Maybe a glass of wine or something.” He came over to the table, and picked up one of the burgers. “Looks all right.” He took a bite, and walked over to the window, chewing. “Nice view,” he gave a half laugh. He looked at the burger.
I took a bite of mine. It was ok. Hotel food. “It’s all right.”
“Yeah, it’s ok.” Tristan came back over, and put the burger down on the plate, and picked up a chip and contemplated it thoughtfully before putting it in his mouth. He crinkled up his face. “Greasy.” He wiped his hands carefully on the napkin. “Maybe a glass of wine. I think I’m too worn out for this.” He looked around the room. “Smaller than usual, isn’t it?”
I looked at the pale green walls, the prints in their gold frames. It was a box. All I could see were the corners. I breathed in. It suddenly felt more cramped than the bus had. “It’s not brilliant, is it?” I didn’t want him to see my growing sense of panic, but maybe if we talked a little, lay down. “Tristan?”
But he was heading back to the bathroom. “Be right back. I feel like complete shit, Lily.” He shut the door and the shower went on. It wasn’t enough to hide the sounds of someone being sick.
I sat down on the bed and waited. It wasn’t the food—we’d barely eaten. It was exhaustion. Stress. And nowhere to go with it. The noises finally stopped, and the shower ran a while. Then Tristan emerged, drying his hair with a towel, his skin paler than I’d ever seen it.
“Lily. Are you ok?” It seemed a funny question coming from someone who was obviously ill.
“Yes. Tristan. Can I do something?” I tried to ignore the prickles under my skin. I felt light-headed. What the fuck were we going to do?
“No, it’s ok. Look, I’m going to get a sleeping pill from AC. He’s always got something.” Tristan was putting on a pair of jeans as he said it. “Do you want one?”
“Sure.” I was about to ask if I could come too. I clamped it down. I didn’t think this was just about the pills.
Tristan paused at the door, bare chested, his jeans caught up at the top of his ankle boots. “I won’t be long. I want to make sure he’s ok.”
“Sure.” There wasn’t a lot to say. He gave a weak smile and the door closed behind him.
I looked around the room. Then I walked over to the desk, and flipped through the pads, trying out the pen on a couple of sheets. I put the pen back in the drawer, and went back to the table, covering it all with the napkins. There was nothing wrong with the food, but the smell of greasy burgers and fries was making it worse. I opened the door and looked up and down the halls. Nothing. I pushed the table out, wincing at the noise of plates and cutlery crashing together as the table went over the threshold.
I stood out in the hall. This hotel had red pink carpet with a small repeated white diamond shape. The line of sconces lighting the hall repeated, separated by a print, and a door, at neat, regular intervals. The ceiling felt like it was getting lower, and the hall longer the more I looked, like some kind of optical illusion. There was no sound. Even the elevators were still. I shut the door. Back inside, I gave the room another once over. All normal. Green. Small. I went into the bathroom and flushed the toilet and washed my face and hands. I avoided the mirror. Then I went straight to the minibar, pulled out a beer and two small bottles of bourbon, and arranged them neatly on the table in front of the sofa. The remote finally switched on, and I turned down the volume on the Weather Channel, as I watched the outlines of states with pictures and numbers changing in front of them, and men in raincoats standing by highways. I unscrewed the cap on the first little bottle, feeling reassured that there were others in the minibar. Two swallows emptied it, and I opened the beer. And bottle in hand, watching the local forecast, accurate and dependable, I settled in to wait.
chapter fourteen
Kansas City to Oklahoma City
I hadn’t waited that long. A couple of hours later, around 2, Tristan had rolled in, looking slightly less sick, but no less pale. He raised one eyebrow when he saw me on the sofa, but hadn’t said anything, just beckoned me over. I’d switched off the TV and walked over to him. He smelled faintly of cigarettes and the outside and something else I couldn’t quite place but that seemed familiar. He wrapped me in his arms, and we just stood like that. Eyes wide open, but mouths shut, I thought. I had a feeling that if I could have seen his face he would be staring at the wall, the same way I was. He finally released me, and started removing my clothes, and his, carefully, as though he were putting a lot of thought into it. When we were both naked, he looked at me, and holding out his hand, he helped me get into bed. We arranged ourselves under the covers, his arm around me. With his free hand, he switched off the light, as we settled in.
Then we both started talking at the same time. Tristan gave a small laugh. “You first,” he said.
“How’s AC? Is he ok?” It seemed a safe question.
“Yeah, he’s all right. We’ll get past this.” He ran his hand through his air. “We had some decisions to make. With the radio show tomorrow as well.” He held me closer. “You’re ok. Right?”
I nodded.
“Fuck, I forgot about the sleeping pill. Too busy doing real drugs. At least I don’t feel sick anymore.” Tristan gave a low laugh. “Now I just can’t sleep.”
I stared at the ceiling. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Tristan shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. You shouldn’t drink so much.”
“Maybe I should have a taste of what you and AC are doing.”
Tristan was quiet for a moment, then rolled me on top of him. In the gloom of the darkened room, his eyes were remarkably bright. He studied me for a minute. Then he kissed me, a short soft kiss, his mouth fitting to mine comfortably. I felt some of the tension release, and I sank against him, my head on his chest. He stroked my hair. “You’re probably right, at that. Let’s see what we can do.”
And we had stayed like that, his hand idly smoothing over my hair, until I had drifted off to sleep, anyway.
* * *
The interview the next day was embarrassing. The host of the show started off on the right foot by calling the album “Remembering the Past,” then asking if Tristan was worried that his style of music wasn’t as popular as the stuff in the charts like Rhianna. Tristan tried his best to be diplomatic, and talked about the fans worldwide, and the loyalty that they’d shown after Devised split up. But the host just carried on. I had the impression that he was hoping for a blowup. Tristan became increasingly sarcastic.
The radio host played the single from the record then announced proudly that he actually had set up a quiz for the guys on football. American football. Tristan smiled politely. “I never watch it,” he said, “but you must be a big fan. Is something important happening?” The questions were all about options, and trades, and trophies. We all made terrible guesses. AC kept giving him the names of basketball players. Every time the host said “But that’s basketball,” AC would answer, “Really?” I tried to answer a few questions as well, but the radio guy made sure to talk right over me after the first few words.
But I had my own segment. The host had turned to me and said, “So let’s meet Lily. We don’t want to leave out the girlfriend. Look what Yoko did.” He turned to me. “Do you feel you’re like Yoko, a difficult woman?”
I stared at him. “She’s an artist. Difficult to understand maybe, for some people. If that’s what you meant, then yes.”
The guy gave a big guffaw. “Tristan, you’ve got your hands full there.” Then he asked where I liked to shop.
“Places where things are for sale, generally,” I responded. Tristan rolled his eyes. The next question was which celebrity I’d go out with if I could. “You, of course,” I said, “But only if we can shop together. I really want to get you some new clothes.” AC started laughing so hard they cut to an advertisemen
t.
But Tristan was trying his best to keep it together. After the ad ended, he stepped in right away and mentioned the concert the night before and how great the fans had been, before repeating the correct name of the album. The guy started in again with another inane question and Tristan stopped him. “Sorry, mate. I’m not finished yet,” he said in that slow way he had when he was getting annoyed. Then he went on to give the upcoming dates, the name of the album, and nomination for the awards show. “I didn’t know you were nominated,” exclaimed the host. Tristan smirked. “That’s all right—you didn’t even know the name of the album when we started.” But Tristan thanked him at the end, a total professional, and signed autographs for some of the staff, and he and AC signed stuff for the little group of fans that were waiting outside the radio station.
But seeing as I’d received a text from Dave that morning asking if I was all right, before he asked for an update on the status of the project, I was perfectly aware how fast the gossip had traveled. Now it was out there, I was the official girlfriend. Tristan had even managed to get in the plug for our relationship where he had explained that now that we were a couple, it wasn’t really fair to the band to put up with our lovesick antics. Tristan had been grinning, his dark shades giving him a forbidding aura, as he leaned over and kissed me, holding up the microphone for the sound effects, while I giggled nervously. But when we got in the car, Tristan turned to me. “You know that guy was trying to catch us out, don’t you? Sometimes it’s better to just answer the questions.” He saw my face. “Not that you weren’t right to be annoyed. The guy was an annoying prick.”
I was about to answer, say I’d never asked for this. I could feel all the repressed emotion coming to the surface. All the things I hadn’t said. “Tristan, not really fair on your side. You drag me into this, to play a part. I don’t see…”
AC interrupted. “You can’t give her a hard time for standing up for herself, Tris. You got in a few of your own digs. And you’re used to this shit.” AC gave me a hug. “Funniest fucking thing ever. Stupid asshole. Football or shopping. For fuck’s sake.”
Tristan stared at both of us, frowning. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. “This is what I get. Well deserved.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m tired, I haven’t really eaten in 24 hours…” he glanced over at AC.
AC laughed. “I hear nothing tastes as good as…,” he smirked.
“Skinny feels,” I finished for him.
“That too.” AC winked at me.
Tristan was trying not to laugh. “Bloody hell. You two. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
chapter fifteen
Oklahoma City
Six long hours later, we had arrived in Oklahoma City. We were still in the middle of nowhere, or it felt like it, but it seemed like we were closer to something. It was a day off in the middle, which had seemed like a waste, but now that it was here, was the best idea ever. We’d gone for a walk, got followed, jumped in a cab, and gone back to the hotel. Tristan had ordered pizza, AC had come over, we’d watched two terrible movies on Pay-Per-View, and we’d all crashed out on the sofa. AC finally woke up and staggered back to his room, and Tristan and I had fallen into bed. The sheets were soft, and so was the mattress, and we both finally slept for longer than three hours.
The next morning, the arrival of room service was announced by the knocking at the door. I went and answered it, and was greeted by an excited smile that quickly fell when his eyes took me in. Greg, according to his nametag, gamely pushed in the cart, and set it up, straightening out the white linen tablecloth with precision, testing the heat of the insulated carafe of coffee, uncovering the basket of croissants with a flourish. I had a feeling he would have waited around and offered to feed us. He looked like a sweet guy though, a kind of sick hopefulness still dancing around his eyes. I took pity on him, and gave him a quick smile before calling out. “Tristan! Come sign the bill, ok?”
We heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and the door to the bedroom opened, and out came Tristan, in a pair of low-cut briefs and an Iggy Pop t-shirt. I glanced over at Greg, who looked as though he had just seen a ghost. I hid my smile, and hoping I wouldn’t have to catch him if he fell, I prompted him. “Hey Greg, thanks for setting it all up so nicely. Have you got the check? And maybe you’ve got something you’d like to be signed, if you wanted an autograph—for you, or a friend, maybe?” I tried to be casual. I didn’t think I’d read him wrong, as he looked like he was hyperventilating. But I wanted to give him an out, in case he didn’t want to.
Tristan was smiling. “Hey Greg, thanks a lot man.” He held out his hand. Greg stared down at their hands joined, and then slowly looked up. It was easy to forget, being around Tristan all the time, that he was usually at least an inch taller than everyone around him.
Greg looked like he was having trouble talking, but he finally got there. “Tristan, man, wow, surreal. We…I’ve…down in the kitchen, drew straws…so awesome to meet you, man.” He gasped for air. “I’ve been a fan from the start, dude…uh…thank you.” He pulled out a copy of the first CD from inside his uniform coat, and handed it to Tristan.
“Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve seen one of these. Nice. The Japanese pressing.” He signed his name with a flourish. “Are you coming tonight?”
“Fuck yes!” He blushed a bit, and lowered his voice. “Yeah, totally. Really looking forward to it.” He stood there for a moment, just kind of stunned, until Tristan spoke again.
“Well dude, thanks so much. Go over to the merch table tonight, give them your name, we’ll have a t-shirt for you.” Tristan started walking towards the door, and pulled it open. Greg still looked slightly dazed. Tristan put his hand on his shoulder. “Good to meet you man. All the best.” And he closed the door, shutting out the image of Greg’s face, still looking bemusedly at Tristan and the CD in his hand.
I went and sat down at the cart table and poured out some coffee. Tristan was still standing there. “You want some coffee, Tristan? Sorry about that. He just looked needy.”
“Shit, yeah. Please. No, he seemed a nice guy. You usually get a couple of fans in the hotels. Not always.” He laughed. “Like the other day. But mostly. I’m glad you called me in, that was nice of you.” He sat down and started idly toying with the end of a croissant, dunking it in his coffee, and taking a bite. I watched him swallow. He ate like that, in silence, then shook his head. “Coffee not great.”
“No.”
“Croissants kind of bready too.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a hotel,” I replied. “The usual.”
“Maybe he didn’t deserve the t-shirt.” Tristan laughed. “No, I’m kidding. That’s the trouble with sleep. It gives you energy to complain. But it makes you crazy. The dissatisfaction. You know? I’m glad you’re here.” He drank some more coffee and made a face.
“You want something else?”
“It’s ok. There’s always the minibar.” He glanced over, and passed a hand in front of his eyes. “You know, anything I want, I can get it? Someone will bring it? If I want drugs, sorted. Women—almost easier than drugs. I can start doing almost anything, and someone will come and either help me do it, or remind me I need to be on stage—and help me afterwards.” He flung an arm out. “Anything. I want. No one will stop me for any reason—except to perform. My fucking contractual obligation. That’s it. The smallest portion of the day.”
He got up, and before I could stop him, he had pulled open the minibar, and grabbed the bottle of champagne on the bottom shelf. “The rest of the day to fill with anything I want, all the time, and twice on Sundays if I claim I need it to get on stage. Or through the day. Or to write a song.” He twisted open the cork, and drank from the bottle, before handing it to me. I looked at it, uncertain. “Go on Lily, I want you to.”
“And if I don’t want to?” I said slowly
.
Tristan came closer. “But you do want to. I know you do. You’re here to see it, see it all. You didn’t realize that’s why you wanted to come along, but I think you know it now. You wanted to see how we change on the road. See what most people don’t see.” He thrust the bottle at me. “Take it.”
“I’ve got to write.”
“Yes, true,” said Tristan. “But you want this for you. You want it all. Go on. Take it.”
“You make it sound like it’s all bad.” I took the bottle. “Like it’s always too much. It was ok at first.”
“It always is. But no. It’s not all bad. Or too much. Not at all. And some of the experience you can take home with you. Some of it you do take home with you, whether you should or not.” He did a twirl in the room, his hand gripped around an invisible microphone. “For example, I get off on being worshipped. Watching people get nervous around me. Tricky thing to bring home.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Drink.”
And he watched me take a sip of champagne. It was cold, and slightly bitter, and I felt instantly better having the bubbles pop on my tongue, the familiar sensation. I took another drink. I looked up at him. “Maybe. But you’ve been through it all.”
He laughed. “Have I? I guess I have. But I still want more.”
“Not like this.”
“Yes, just like this. You don’t even realize, but you get it. Most people just read about it, the mix of fantasy and lies. Or they’ve had it, but they’re too fucked up to remember.” He knelt down in front of me, his eyes alight. “I think you’re able to do it all. Fantasy, lies, and truth. Maybe.”
His eyes were almost changing color. There was that strange intensity in his look, as he ran his hand down my face, along my neck, over the rise of one breast. “What do you think?” He slowly untied the cord of my robe, and opened it. The cool air in the room hit my skin, making me shiver. His eyes were locked with mine. “Alone, or together? How do we go down?” I shook my head. “Not sure yet, are we? What can I do to help make a mind up?”
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