See Her (Turn it Up Book 1)

by Natalie Parker

  “Ready?” she asks, draping her arms around my neck.

  “No way, we can’t go anywhere now. You’ve got me worked up again.” I gently kiss her below her ear.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. It’s that dress’s fault.”

  “It’s 80 and humid, what do you want me to wear, a snowsuit?”

  “No, forget it. I just have to stay here and make love to my hot-ass wife over and over.”

  Her face turns serious. “You can’t miss sound check, Jack. Think about last time,” she says pulling me tighter and resting her head on my shoulder. “We can’t go down that road again. We have to have balance this time.”

  “You’re right,” I say, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I just feel like I have three weeks I want to make up for.”

  “And we will. Just think,” she says in my ear. “After the show tonight, you’re going to have a lot of adrenaline. And I am more than happy to be your outlet.” She finishes that thought with a kiss on my neck. God have mercy on my cock.

  31

  Mayzie

  I enjoy reuniting with the rest of the guys and watching the sound check. The concert rocked, the guys playing better than ever. We stuck around to watch part of The Shock Wave’s set before heading back to the hotel.

  That night we made up for a lot of lost time, but we also talked about a lot. We decided that for future tours, I would stay home for the first two weeks. We’ve learned from this experience, but it took some convincing on Jack’s part. After some reasoning, he finally conceded that it was important for him and the other guys to focus on being a band during that time, and get a road routine down before I join them. Even though the separation was difficult and filled with challenges, it was an important test for our relationship, and we passed. Now we know we can do it, and the next time won’t be as painful. He didn’t like the idea, but agreed it was better than going through the same thing again.

  Next, we agreed on only doing after parties a max of three nights a week while on tour. The other nights, the other bands and managers would just have to understand that we needed our time together.

  We also agreed that when we’re apart, we stick to a two drink limit if we go out. Getting hammered to deal with our emotions turned out to be a wrong thing to do, on both our ends.

  And finally, we decided not to pay attention to any gossip stories, and talk to each other when something was printed that had been blown out of context. If we’re always communicating, then we always know what’s going on.

  The plan is to leave on the bus the next morning and drive all day to Atlanta, where the guys will have a night and most of the next day off before playing another show.

  The next morning, Jack and I sit in the window seat of the bus for most of the trip, plotting our ink. We still haven’t gotten tattoos together, and we thought we’d find a place in Atlanta and use his free time to go get it done. Our wedding date was September 9th, so we’re thinking of getting something with 9/9 integrated into it.

  The following afternoon in Atlanta, we go into a tattoo parlor to get a 9 together with a backwards 9 so that they form a heart, with the words ’Only Ours’, from the song Jack wrote me, in script below it. I get mine on the inside of my right wrist, and he gets his on his left. We thought it would be cool if they touched when we hold hands. When we walk out of the parlor, we are greeted by a handful of photographers. We’re both in our sunglasses and ball caps, which I’m hoping will help hide our surprised expressions. We both freeze for a moment, and turn to each other.

  “Shit,” Jack mutters.

  “Hey Jack, are you guys working things out?” shouts one of the dipshits.

  “Did you guys get tattoos? Do they match?” shouts another.

  “Jack, are you hungover right now?” There is a handful of them shouting, followed by rapid camera clicks.

  What the fuck? Are they just following the band on the road?

  “What do we do?” I ask. “They ambushed us. They’ve already got about fifty pictures by now. It’s too late to run or hide or anything.”

  “Well, remember what George and Erin told us, we show any kind of annoyance or anger, then we feed them.”

  “Right,” I say. And before I think it through, I turn to the cameras, pull my sleeve up to show my bandage and stick my tongue out at them. Mature, right? Jack leans his head down by mine, and does the same, making more camera clicks go off at a ferocious rate. I try to stifle a laugh as Jack takes my hand, and we walk right past the lowlifes, heading down the street.

  Sure enough, the goofy picture of Jack and me, holding up our bandaged wrists with our tongues out like seven-year-olds is splashed all over the web pages the next day. What do we do? We print it out and put it up inside the bus. Ron called us to tell us that wasn’t the best way we could’ve handled the situation, that the best way is to show no reaction like we’re completely unaffected by the paparazzi’s presence. We shrugged him off. He’s right, in a sense, but I don’t think we can be expected to keep a straight face 24/7. I think we have to let off some steam and have fun with it once in a while.

  As the tour makes its way back up the East coast, we encounter photographers more and more. They snap away and yell things at us, trying to get a reaction. Hell, trying to get anything that would sell a press story. If a photo is snapped of Jack hugging a fan, he is automatically cheating on me. If I’m photographed walking along side Matt, then we are having an affair. Jack and I have learned to laugh it off but we keep our guard up, knowing they will up their game at some point.

  And it isn’t just the press. Some fans can be seriously vicious. One day, Erin and I were walking together toward the venue’s stage in Baltimore to watch the sound check. The Shock Wave decided to add a song to their set and bring Turn it Up on stage to join them, and we were excited to see them rehearse it. We were walking up a path leading to the stage that had been cordoned off, with venue staff stationed along it. There were fans gathered around, hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone from either of the bands. As Erin and I approached, I saw some frowns immediately take place on some of the female fan faces.

  “Get ready for some serious tongue-lashing,” she says, without breaking stride. “Don’t react, and smile as big as you can. They hate that shit” she grins. She’s got years of experience in this and I trust her, so I follow her lead, smiling like I don’t have a care in the world. Sure enough, noise and commotion elevate as we get closer, and a variety of colorful words are shouted out. We’re whores, we’re gold diggers. We’re not good enough for such hot, successful guys. Oh, and one fan is apparently carrying George’s love child. Erin smiles and waves through all of it, making some faces turn seriously red with rage as security holds them back. I do the same, as I’m told I’m a bitch. Before we know it, we’re through the open area and are obscured by the side of the amphitheater we’re walking behind.

  “You’re right, that was fun,” I say, sharing a giggle with her as we make our way backstage.

  “And when you can help it, smile for the paps too. Not necessarily at them, but when you know they’re there. Looking happy gives them nothing to work with.” Jeez, she’s a goldmine. I don’t know what I’m going to do when the bands aren’t on tour together anymore. She and George have settled in L.A., since that’s where the label’s home base is. I wonder if Jack and I will eventually have to do that too. I don’t like the idea, but that’s our life now - at least if things keep going the way they’re going.

  The tour continues to take us up the eastern seaboard, and I’m looking forward to seeing the shows in NYC and Boston. For the most part, the schedule is busy, but predictable. Predictable in the sense that it’s still totally unpredictable. The guys are constantly tired, but they roll with it. When they’re gone, I hang out with Erin or I spend time writing. Since we’ve pushed through the difficult beginning, I’ve been inspired, and have been working on something not work-related; but it would be cool if it could be one day.

&n
bsp; I’ve been keeping a journal of this crazy new life, and putting it together in an article. If it could lead to a blog, or even a book, I could get out of copywriting and hopefully start writing about what I want as a job, which would be so amazing.

  My only complaint on this tour is that I’m itching to dance. This bus needs a dance floor. I wonder if the guys become successful enough for an upgrade, if I can request that. As well as an actual bed for Jack and me. And the dogs. I miss the crap out of them and I hope they can come on tour with us in the future.

  “What’s on your mind?” Jack says, sliding onto the bench beside me at the table. He caught me staring into space instead of at my laptop screen.

  “I’m mentally designing our next bus. It’s going to be a mobile ranch, complete with dance floor and doggy condo,” I respond.

  “Yes,” he says, with an exaggerated nod, letting his arm rest on the back of the bench behind me. “So, guess what?” he says, absent mindedly playing with my hair.

  “What?” I ask.

  “First, everything’s going really well with the song and the tour, so they want to extend again. We’re going to join The Shock for the Midwestern leg.”

  “Are you serious? I can’t believe this is happening!” I smile and lean into him. “Congratulations, baby,” I say, resting my chin on his shoulder. “I’m really not surprised. You guys are so amazing out there.” He’s looking at me, searching my face. “What? Aren’t you happy?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I’m pumped. But I’m a little worried.”

  “About what?” I ask.

  “I’m worried about how it’s going to affect you. This is our first tour, and it’s turning out to be a long one. Do you feel like you might want to leave again?” His voice is quiet, and his eyes are gently searching mine. I consider his words for a few seconds. This is a tough way to live, and I do feel like a tag-a-long sometimes, but it’s not always going to be this way. I’m happy for the band and what’s happening for them.

  “No,” I say confidently, and gently. “Look, full honesty? This is hard,” I wave my hand around the bus. “But it’s not impossible.” I look him right in his dark blue eyes as he rests his chin on his hand, listening. “It’s a trade-off. The dream you’ve had for ten years is coming true, and the trade-off is we have to live on a bus for a while. There are worse things.” I shrug, shaking my head. He leans in and brings his lips to my cheek, letting them linger there for a few seconds before bringing his head back to look at me with so much love and gratitude in his eyes.

  “You’re…” he starts, but shakes his head like he can’t find words. “I can’t get over you.”

  “I can’t get over you either,” I say, as he leans into kiss me on my lips this time. “Second?” I prod him to tell me the rest.

  “ECHO wants to move forward and do an album.” This time, my jaw drops and my eyes widen to their limits. I probably look ridiculous. I shake my head with my mouth still hanging open. I have no words. I just stare at him in amazement.

  “You did it,” I finally choke out. His smile is shy and modest as he nods his head at me, looking at me through his lashes. “Oh my God,” I say, cupping my hands over my mouth, so the words sound muffled. I put my arms around his neck and rest my head on his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his soft white t-shirt against my cheek as I breathe him in. My soul is swelling with warmth and joy with what he just told me. This is monumental, and his happiness means so much to me. He deserves every bit of it. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “You helped.”

  “Jaaack,” I say on his shoulder.

  “Maaaze,” he responds. “Argue all you want. You don’t know the ways you helped make this happen.”

  “You wrote the songs. You play the music. You’re the one who goes crazy on stage.”

  “You gave it new meaning.”

  “Nope. Sorry. This is all you. OH!” I gasp. “And the guys!” I jump up and run over to Matt and hug him, screaming like a little girl. Matt awkwardly hugs me back, giving Jack a confused look. I then assault Josh as he comes out of the bathroom, throwing my arms around this waist. After that, I run to the front of the bus, in search of Chris as Jack watches, smiling and shaking his head.

  Jack

  I’m happy for myself and the guys. I’ve always wanted this, but never imagined it would actually happen. I kept working for it anyway, because that was the one thing that brought me joy and gave me a sense of purpose. For ten years I’ve played my ass off, formed a brotherhood with these guys, and we all kept striving upwards. I wrote and co-wrote songs until I felt my tank was empty. We recorded performances and posted them constantly. I was never worried about my age or how long it would take. There are plenty of legendary musicians out there that took decades to be noticed, and when they finally were, they changed music as people knew it. I just kept rolling, and if it never went anywhere then I was happy to keep playing.

  And now… our music is finally out there. People all over the country are hearing it, loving it, and wanting more. My mind wants to explode. There’s more excitement, pride and satisfaction filling my soul than I know what to do with. Right now, I’m just immeasurably thankful and am giving that the respect it deserves. Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet, or maybe I’m scared it’s too good to be true. Maybe I feel undeserving. I may not be showing my excitement the way Mayzie is, but then again, we’re experiencing this on different levels.

  I marvel at my bubbly brunette as she bounces all over the bus, giving out hugs and high fives, excited for me and the rest of us. She’ll never take any credit for this, even though it’s due. And it’s not just her support and hanging in there with me through all the chaos. Don’t get me wrong, that is a significantly huge part of it, but the part I can’t seem to get her to understand is that I was on the verge of giving up when she came along, like a bright new sun parting the grey clouds that had been shrouding me for so long. I was punching a clock, going through the motions, with a handful of meaningless relationships and encounters mixed in. My only true joy was playing music for the crowds at the local bars, and nothing in my life could inspire me to write new material. In my eyes, each song is a story, and I hadn’t had anything to tell in so long. Nothing to say, nothing to express.

  Then one day, after my sister pushes me to change up my mundane routine, I get awkwardly approached by this ray of light with shimmering grey eyes and a smile that took hold of me and brought me to life. And it still does, every day. And that is only the tip of the iceberg. Underneath all that are endless layers of love that she gives. She not only gave me more stories to tell with my music, but she made me want to.

  The band is a major part of who I am, but she’s given me something else to live for, to be thankful for. My love for her doesn’t parallel my love for the band, it completely surpasses it, leaving it in the dust. I love my brothers and will always give everything I can to this entity we’ve created. Imagining my life without it is hard, but imagining my life without Mayzie is impossible.

  With a flash, she’s back beside me, breaking me out of my reverie.

  “Wanna go make out in the bunk?” she asks.

  “Yep,” I say as I speedily scooch off the bench.

  32

  Mayzie

  The shows in NYC and Boston are like nothing I could’ve imagined. The crowds in those cities were bigger than any of the other shows I’d been to, and the guys were totally feeding off it during their performances. Jack’s crazy stage personality seemed to come up a notch or two, and the rest of them followed suit. In Boston, he even pulled a Marty McFly, playing his guitar on his back while lying on the floor, while Matt held the mic down for him to sing into. I’d been to concerts in the past, but before I saw the other side of it, I never realized how much give and take there is between a musical act and their audience. I found myself screaming and jumping around backstage whenever I’d see the guys getting fired up. And holy hell, did it lead to some amazing after-show nookie.

  Erin and I have be
come closer than ever, and she and I have fun getting dolled up before shows. It also gives both of us someone to cling to at the after parties when the guys have to schmooze.

  While in New York, Ron hijacked the guys and pulled them into the studio to record ’Breakthrough.’ It was convenient, and the label wanted it ready as the next single.

  We’ve learned that we get a break for the holidays before the Midwestern leg of the tour, and it starts right after the bands play in our home town. After that show, we will have two weeks to ourselves at home, and I couldn’t be more relieved or happy. Two weeks for Jack and me to be what we were before the tour, and it’s going to be so wonderful. Not to mention how amazing it will be to see the dogs. I’m hoping to get into the dance studio for a while too.

  Now, here’s the problem with going home, after playing a rock concert in your home town. People know where you live. There’s a crowd of twenty or so people hanging around on the sidewalk in front of our little house, most of them young girls, wearing skirts that could double as belts in the middle of December.

  “Whoa! Pull over!” Jack says to the driver of the black SUV we’re riding in the back of. The driver finds a place between cars on the side of the street and pulls over a few houses down from ours, thankfully before anyone in the peanut gallery notices us.

  “Aww,” I say, reaching out my hand in the direction of our house. “Home… it’s right there.” I moan out. “Can we make them leave?”

  “You’re better off finding somewhere else to stay,” the driver says over his shoulder. “Even the police wouldn’t be able to do much.”