His fingers hooked under the thin elastic band of my panties, and pulled them down over my thighs, until they slid down and came to rest at my ankles. He took the bottle of champagne from me, and took a swig, then dropped his head between my legs. He let a tiny trickle of the champagne spill out over the heated skin there, and the cold wetness made me jump. His hands silently held me down, and another burst of wetness poured over me and down, soaking into the robe. I tugged on his hair, but he didn’t stop. Over and over, until my grip loosened, and my head fell back. Finally, he came up to face me. I licked his face. “Like ‘Sea of Sin,’” I whispered.
The corner of his mouth twitched, and he poured some of the contents of the bottle into my mouth, until it trickled down my face onto my breasts. I licked my lips. He smiled, and it was a fearful sight. “I knew you’d understand. ‘It gets better and better,’” he sang. Then he took another swig, and pulled me roughly up by my legs until my thighs reached his shoulders. Slipping off the panties and throwing them aside, he then hooked one leg over his shoulder, pushing the other one over the edge of the chair. He opened his mouth against me, and the liquid slid out of his mouth. I could feel it, slightly cool and wet, inside, a different kind of wet. His tongue followed, entering me, slowly. I moaned.
Tristan raised his head slightly. “That’s it. This is what I want. Control. Don’t move. Don’t say a word.”
I closed my eyes as his mouth touched me again, his tongue insistent. Then his fingers were there, opening me up, until there wasn’t a part of me he hadn’t touched, tasted. He stopped for another drink, and again the coldness of the liquid startled me. He pulled away and watched me twitching under the slippery roughness of his touch. I felt, rather than heard him say “No.” Then his teeth followed his tongue and I jumped. His arms held me down, and I couldn’t move. My back was cramped against the chair but every attempt I made to shift was stopped with the pressure of his strong forearm, and I was pinned there, against his teeth, his lips, his fingers, moving. There was too much to process. My skin felt like it was dissolving beneath him, straight to nerves, blood flowing. He pulled at the delicate skin and his tongue found another part he hadn’t explored.
“So close, so close,” escaped, and one of his hands stopped what it was doing and slowly slid a long finger into my mouth. I ran my tongue around it. His quick intake of breath went through me like a shock. He started fucking my mouth with his finger, then added another. “Quiet. I’ll let you come. Trust me? You shouldn’t.” And his mouth began an endless series of patterns, slow, fast, circling around in some magical diagram. His hand left my mouth and returned to explore, and I was open beneath him, larger, smaller, a house of rooms I was lost inside. “Now. Now. For me. Show me,” Tristan murmured, and something within sped up just enough that I barely realized I’d been thrown over the abyss, the tension exploding as I writhed against his mouth and cried out, unintelligible noises. His voice was a low whisper. “That’s it, that’s it—let it go, let it all go. Give it to me.”
It was the last thing I fully remembered. Then I felt his arms wrap around me and lift me up, carrying me through the door into the bedroom, and placing me down on the bed. Then he was naked, over me, his hand wet from me and wrapped around himself, hard and slippery, and then he was crying out¸ coming hard. The heat of it hit my skin, and he was on me, in me, liquid, dissolved. He collapsed with a shout, and pulled me to him, and we were both wet with each other, dizzy, delirious with the speed that it had all flooded through us. Breathing hard, he pulled the sheets over us, and buried his head against my shoulder.
* * *
The repeated buzz ring tone of the hotel phone finally broke through my sleep, followed by a groan from Tristan and a squawk from me as he rolled over to get the phone. We had been completely stuck together. I rubbed my hand up and down my stomach, as I listened to the conversation.
“What? Oh fuck, that’s right. 10 minutes? Well, I’ll try.” There was a silence. “That’s your job. That’s right.”
It was James, of course, reminding Tristan he needed to be downstairs in 10 minutes—the car was booked to take him to the radio station for today’s interview. I knew that. I didn’t realize how late it was. Tristan slammed the phone down. “Fuck. Not in the mood. Fine.”
I reached out and squeezed his arm. I still felt dazed.
“I’m sorry Lils. I’ve got to jump in the shower.” He gave me a quick squeeze. “We’re good, yeah?”
I nodded, but it was clear that his mind was already on the business of the day—interview, sound check, quick signing at a record store in town. I lay back down on the sheets. I had the terrible feeling something had gone wrong, somehow. Or maybe it was just the abrupt shock of reality. The shower had already switched off, and Tristan burst through the door, towel wrapped around his hips, and proceeded to fish through his suitcase for suitable clothes. Except he was throwing it all on the ground. “Shit. Where are those jeans? Fuck.” He spun around and pulled a pair of jeans off a chair in the corner. “Right.” He dropped the towel, and pulled them on, tucking in his balls, and keeping a hand in front as he zipped them up. He grabbed the Iggy Pop t-shirt, and a leather jacket from the floor next to the suitcase. He scooped up all the clothes and threw them back into the bag, then jogged over to me and kissed me quickly on the mouth. “Sorry Lil. See you later, yeah?” and patting his pockets for wallet and phone, he ran out of the room. The door closed behind him.
The room seemed very quiet after he left. I was tempted to turn over and lie there for the rest of the day. Instead, I made myself get up. There was a little champagne left in the bottle. I finished it. I hated folding, but I took every shirt and pair of pants and tried to put Tristan’s suitcase in some kind of order. Then I got in the shower, and washed us off. What was left of the insanity. I didn’t know why, but I felt frightened. Like Tristan had moved on to an entirely other level. It was sudden, strange. And I couldn’t put together the pieces. Had I liked what we did? Yes and no. Yes. Mostly. But there was something about Tristan, something that maybe he hadn’t even noticed.
I kept turning it over in my mind, as I dressed, as I called for maid service to make up the room, as I waited for the elevator, as I walked out the door, avoiding a small group of three women, who were trying to look nonchalant, but one of them had a tattoo and another had a telltale Devised album poking out of a shoulder bag. I skirted the potted plants, fake I noticed, watched the doorman get a cab for a businessman with a shoulder garment bag and a laptop, and watched the buses go down the avenue as I walked past buildings, shops, sandwich places. I finally stopped at a coffee shop. I stared at the cup in front of me as though it would provide some answers. All I could do was watch him. Keep an eye out. But he was on the edge. The question was, the edge of what? Was it just tension, the end of a short bumpy tour? Artistic personality? Me? There was no doubt that the added stress of having me along on the ride was another strain, even as it provided some ways to relieve it. I thought of this morning, and blushed, remembering him, the intensity. Was it quick and crazy like that with AC? How easy had it been before to get that kind of release, without me? I picked at the cardboard of the cup. Abruptly the place seemed small, tight, the line of people waiting for coffee another barricade keeping me from the outside. My chest grew tight, and my throat went dry. Grabbing my coffee and my bag, I pushed my way through the crowd, my eyes practically shut against the lights, against the people that kept coming in. I forced my way outside and walked away as quickly as I could, trying to take deep breaths. Was it just panic? Was that what Tristan was feeling too? I went around the corner, and saw a concrete ledge setting off a pedestrian area. I made my way to it, and sat down, refusing to look around, just trying to get my bearings, to settle down.
I sat there for a while, recovering from the panic, thinking about the small canal and neatly groomed walkway outside our hotel window. Brownfield, no doubt. Perfect. In the center of t
he shit storm. The stress was incredible. I could feel it. Connected as we were, I could feel him. Feel the worry, even though he didn’t like to talk about it. And there was AC. And me. Everyone wanted a piece of him, and he just wanted all this to be a success. It was all like a ticking clock, every second ticking away another chance to make it work, or another minor disaster, like nearly missed radio interviews. It was a business. It didn’t seem anymore like you could roll up when you wanted, blaming drugs and a disregard for the rules. Now you were expected to be all that, a symbol of all rebellion, while keeping to a schedule and making sure the band got on the bus and saying the right things, not the wrong things when you were talking to yet another DJ on yet another corporate radio station. Especially here. Only 4 days left. It wasn’t that long. Why it seemed like we’d be lucky if we made it, I wasn’t sure.
I looked at my phone. Right now Tristan was on the air. Today’s radio station. The same questions, the same giveaways, the same smiles, the same handshakes. And I knew. I knew it was too much. He needed an oblivion that music wasn’t giving him, and that I couldn’t give him. And there was AC, his oldest friend in all this, who had been there in the bad old days, who knew him. He knew how to handle him but he was also blinded by his own needs. Like me. Trevor. Maybe Trevor. I got up and started walking. I’d call him. I needed to clear my head first. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. I wasn’t sure I’d know until I started speaking. But I had the awful feeling that I was going to burst into tears the minute I heard his distant, sardonic voice. He had saved him once. Maybe he could do it again. If he even needed to.
The phone rang, oddly clearer than the last phone call I’d made to New York. The woman who answered put me through right away. Perhaps Trevor had been waiting for this call. Knew it was coming, like rain. The phone kept ringing though, and finally it went back to the receptionist. “Look, just tell him Lily called. Can he call me as soon as possible? It’s urgent.” She wrote down my number, just in case, and I pressed end with a sense of fatality. Where the hell was he? There was no reason why he should be available, just because I wanted him and Tristan needed him, but I wanted him to be there. I walked for a bit longer, and when the lines of shops and offices petered out into warehouses, and signs for the highway, I turned around. I crossed the road at the next set of lights, and called the hotel for a cab to come get me. There was a diner another block down, and I went in and sat at the counter and ordered a coffee. The cab would have my number. There’d be other cabs. It didn’t matter. I half listened to the guy with the Caterpillar t-shirt make chit-chat with the waitress. They would go out. They wouldn’t have tortured sex. He wouldn’t be on the cover of a magazine, or on the radio, but he wouldn’t have to fight the temptation of drugs either. Although there was always the easy darkness of drink, unfaithfulness, violence. I turned away. I wanted them to make it, irrationally. They probably barely knew each other. Were probably married to other people. She came over and refilled my coffee and I tried to smile. It felt like I was admonishing her. Don’t let him fail. Don’t lose him.
I drank my coffee, grimly. The cheerful bell sung out a welcome for every newcomer who came through the glass and metal door. When the phone rang in my pocket, I ignored it, thinking it was the doorbell. Then I wrestled it out of my pocket, and nearly dropped it.
“Hello?”
The clipped, brisk tones of Trevor came across clearly through the air. “Good afternoon Lily in America. I heard you called?”
For a moment I couldn’t breathe. He sounded so calm, so reasonable, so far away from all this. “Trevor. Oh god. Thank you. So glad you called. Hang on a minute, I’ve just got to pay—do you want me to call you back?” I fished out a five dollar bill from my pocket and threw it on the counter, and slung my bag over my shoulder.
“No, Lily, that’s fine. Take your time. I take it something’s happened then?” Trevor’s voice was like a balm. I was fighting the urge to blurt out everything, AC, this morning’s weird sex, the drugs I was now sure were around all the time. I made it outside, but my moment of silence had clearly said enough. “Tristan? Of course. You wouldn’t call for yourself, but you sound awful. What’s happened?” He waited.
“Trevor. God. Tristan. No. He’s fine. Well, no. He’s not fine. But nothing has happened. Not yet.” I retraced my steps along the street. Damn the stupid cab. “But…”
Trevor interrupted me. “It’s the stress. That’s why we started with a small tour. I figured you having you on board would help as well.” He paused. “But it hasn’t?”
“I don’t know, Trevor. I’d like to think it has. I’m there, I listen. Eyes open, mouth shut.”
“But he’s said or done something you don’t trust and you’re frightened.” There was such an air of finality in the way it said it. I hung my head. I’d failed, clearly. I wasn’t supposed to be asking for help.
“He’s going over the edge. I think he wants me to go with him. Like a test.”
Trevor’s response was instant. “Then that’s a test you’re going to fail.”
“But I’ll lose him.”
“Is that what you’re frightened of? Or is it that you want to see how bad it gets?”
I was silent. I thought of this morning, and suddenly wished I’d never called. “I’m not going to lie. That doesn’t mean I don’t want him to be safe.”
Trevor was quiet. I thought I heard the sound of a match being struck, at a distance of 5000 miles and a great deal of technology. Finally he spoke. “Fair enough. Bravely said.” He inhaled again. “One of your best qualities.”
“Thanks. I guess.” I didn’t feel particularly brave. “What do I do?”
“What do you think you should do?”
I laughed, nervously. “Really? I think I should spend one more night on the fun ride, and then say I’ve had enough. I think you should come. I think he trusts me enough to use me. And I’ll let him. But I shouldn’t.”
Trevor sighed. “I knew I’d have to come over early.”
I tried to reassure him. “Look, it’s fine. There’s only a few more days…”
Trevor broke in. “And then there’s L.A. The awards show. And the reality is that he needs to tour.”
“It is about money then.” I waited for the light. There was a car rental place on the corner. I was almost tempted to hire a car and just disappear. Get the hell out. While I was still able to drive.
“Ah, is that what he said? Not the old ‘contractual obligation’ speech? Listen, Lily. It’s what he needs to do. What he has to do. No one stops being a musician or an artist. What the hell is he going to do, buy a trout farm? Open a restaurant? Fuck off.” He paused. “Not you. I apologize. But you must see that we have to make this work. There is nothing else. It’s his life.”
I felt the tears start.
Trevor must have heard something, because when he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Lily, love, it’s ok. You were right to call. Ticket in place. I just need to move some things around. L.A. already a definite. Seven days. A week. I’ll be there. If anything happens in the meantime, call me. Call me anyway.”
I murmured a thank you.
“And Lily? It will get crazier. Just hang on, but leave when you can’t see the way through—and when you think he’ll notice. I’m going to find a new manager. It’s time to recall James. Permanently, I think. I’ll see what I can bait the trap with. You—just stay close, and stay calm. What did Bob Marley say? ‘Everything’s going to be irie,’” he chuckled.
I tried to manage a laugh. “Ok.” I didn’t feel convinced, but the fact that he knew felt like a huge weight off my shoulders. “Thank you Trevor. I will keep you posted, I promise.”
“Yes, please do. I’ll call you in New York in a couple of days.”
“But I’m supposed to be here,” I protested.
“We’ll see. Talk soon, Lily. Look after
yourself.” And with that, Trevor was gone.
I walked for a while, in a daze. When I looked up again, there was one of the black and yellow cabs, with the name painted in yellow on the side. Thunder Cabs. He probably wouldn’t pick me up, but it couldn’t hurt to try. I waved. He pulled over and rolled down the window.
“Can you take me to the Residence Inn? In Bricktown? I’ll pay extra.”
He looked at me quizzically. “Did you call for a cab about 20 minutes ago? To go to that hotel?”
“Yeah, that was me. Sorry, I had an emergency phone call. Can you still do it? 20 bucks for you on top.” I suddenly wanted nothing more than to get back and face whatever was going to happen.
“Yeah, no problem. Get in—I’ll tell the dispatcher I found you.”
chapter sixteen
Houston
The flight down to Houston had been uneventful, even if it was a little weird looking down and seeing the ground go past so quickly. The spaces that had been overwhelming, almost suffocating in their endless horizons were now divided into different colored sections, like some child’s puzzle. Maybe it had been a good idea to get some distance, from everything. Tristan was still jittery. I didn’t think it was helped by the double vodka, and two trips to the tiny airplane bathroom. Even if we were flying in first class, I was a little worried that he was being too obvious. On the last trip back, AC had stuck out his arm, and stopped him. It was the first time I’d seen them touch in a couple of days. They’d been so careful. AC put his hand on Tristan’s arm. AC didn’t say anything, his eyes deep and expressive, focused on him, a slight frown marring his smooth forehead. Tristan looked back down at him. I watched as he shut his eyes for a second and gave an imperceptible nod. The whole encounter must have lasted 10 seconds, if that. AC removed his hand, and Tristan sat back down next to me, staring into space, his dark hair a contrast against the beige seats, and the almost opaque protective paper on the head rest. The front of the plane was shaped into a point up here. If you looked forward, it was like being on a rocket. Headed into space, but unable to see where you were going.
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