by F. X. Scully
"Don't want to smother you," he says.
In his absence, I shiver and he reaches over me, tugging at the side of the sleeping bag until it covers my body. I roll into it clutching it under my chin.
"You okay?" he asks.
I nod.
"You're sure?"
I nod again.
He gets up and, his back to me, cleans himself up. He's just as magnificent from behind. His ass tight and high, and muscles that shouldn't exist flow from the back of his legs to the back of his shoulders. I'm in heaven, even though I've just committed a hellish offense.
Lucas joins me again a few minutes later. I adjust myself, offering him some of the blanket.
"For the record," he says. "I really didn't bring you up here for this. I just wanted to say goodbye."
And what a goodbye that was.
I smile at him, even though I don't believe a word that's coming from his mouth. As far as I'm concerned, from the moment I agreed to leave the parking lot with him, we both knew we'd end up right here.
"So five a.m.?" I don't know why I keep asking. Other than the fact that I wish, just maybe, he'd respond with 'actually I've decided not to go'. But I know better than to dream.
"Yeah," he says. "My times almost up." He grimaces a little and I reach out to touch his face.
"Is it really that bad? Going away with your brother?"
He shakes his head. "It shouldn't be. But it's not exactly my kind of vacation and I'd rather just be hitting the books to tell you the truth. I just want to get school out of the way and on with my life."
"So you'll do it when you get back in September, right?"
He shrugs. "I guess."
"And then you'll look me up," I say. "And we'll finish what we started."
He grins, then rolls onto his stomach, propping his head up as he turns to face me. "I'm definitely looking you up when I get back. And when I'm on the road, I'm going to call you. Every night if I have to. I really don't want to lose touch."
I swallow hard, observing his intense gaze. None of this makes any sense. I met the guy less than three weeks ago and he acts like we're in the middle of some great love affair. I can't really complain. I wouldn't have expected this a few months ago. I wouldn't have expected him—the hot brooding guy who kept catching my eye—to end up here, next to me. Like this.
"Neither do I," I say. But for some reason, I know it's a promise neither of us will be able to keep. So, even though I don't want to, I add, "Have fun this summer, though. Okay? Like, real honest-to-god fun. Don't wait for me or anything. Just live your life like you never really knew me. As far as I'm concerned, this was nothing more than a fling. A stupid college fling. If you come back and you still want to call me, of course I'll answer, but I won't hold you to it. Okay?"
He stares at me for a moment, as though he wants to argue, but instead he simply nods. "Okay."
CHAPTER NINE
Dallas, Texas
Luke
Roscoe Black might be the only person in the world I would bend over backwards for. But this? I shake my head and lower myself back onto the chair. This is going too far.
My chest feels like it's about to cave in and my head has been swimming since we got here. I decided not to smoke that joint with Ryan. And when Dash pulled out a bag of 'shrooms I declined. I haven't even had more than a few sips of beer. All in a gallant effort to be more responsible. To hold onto a piece of myself over the next few months. Ever since I found out about this tour, I've been acting out. Smoking, drinking, just generally making bad decisions. Like almost fucking Sheila. And that night with Shannon almost convinced me to break my brother's heart. I nearly stayed back. I wanted to. So bad. But then she had to go and say something like that.
A fling? Really? Not even fucking close.
Now here we are at our first show, and I'm more terrified than I was on my first day of Kindergarten. No, this is ten times worse. I suddenly understand why so many of these guys have drinking and drug problems. How else do you stand out in front of crowds of thousands, night after night, and not shit yourself?
Damn it. My hands are sweaty now. How am I going to hold a guitar with sweaty fucking hands? I've dropped the pick so many times, I'm not even sure there's any point in using it. But with slick fingers, I won't be able to hit any of the right notes. And forget about singing. My jaw is currently cemented shut, because every time I open it to take a calming breath, my teeth start chattering. So I've opted to breathe in and out through my nose for the past twenty minutes.
"On in ten!" A guy with a headset and a clipboard calls from just behind the stage and now I know I'm done for.
I should just get up and leave. Roscoe will hate me for a good long while, but he'll get over it. Why did I agree to this? Fuck! What was I thinking? I don't belong on the stage of an amphitheater show. I don't belong in Dallas. I don't belong on this goddamn tour. I belong in Lewiston. At the library, studying Econ.
"Luke?" Sheila's voice startles me.
Yeah, I'm jumpy too.
She rests a hand on my shoulder and as much as I want to shrug her off, I'm all of a sudden frozen in my seat.
"You okay?"
I should nod. But I'd be lying. I should shake my head, but I can't fucking breathe. I place my elbows on both knees and hunch forward, holding my head and staring at the black floor.
"Oh, god." She crouches down in front of me. Her hands move to either side of my face. "Just breathe."
I can't. I fucking can't!
"This is a big deal, huh?" There's a smile in her voice as she speaks. "Shoot, I'm nervous for you. But, you know you can do this right?"
Can I? With sweat dripping down my forehead and freaking blinding me? With my hands shaking so hard I couldn't pick up a beach ball let alone a bass guitar. Oh, and have I mentioned the wobbly legs? That'll go over real well.
"Hey." She tilts my head up to look at her, but the blue eyes aren't helping. They're only reminding me of what I left behind. "Hey," she says a little louder this time. "You can do this. Remember what I told you back at that show in Lewiston?"
Now she wants me to recall days gone by? I can't even remember my fucking middle name.
"You're the talent," she says with as much conviction as if she was telling me that boys have penises and girls have vaginas.
And as if that's exactly what she's just said, I laugh.
She frowns in response. "I'm serious. You're a genius on that thing." She nods toward my guitar. "Roscoe's got a great voice, Dash and Ryan tear it up on the drums and keyboard, but you? With the bass and the voice? She drops her voice to a whisper. "One day you're going to be what they come to see. You're amazing, Luke. Don't forget it."
She stands up, offering me a hand. For whatever reason, her pep talk seems to have worked. My breathing is back to normal and I can feel my fingers again. I take her hand, rising to my feet, but don't say anything.
"What are you guys singing tonight?" she asks, even though I'm sure she already knows.
"The first song we wrote," I reply. "Ross and I."
"In Peace, right?" She grins and I can't help but smile back. "That's a good one."
I nod. It is. If it weren't for that song, performing it that night at Chagrin's, we might not even be here. We wouldn't be.
"All right," she says, still gripping my hand. "Five minutes. You got this?"
Five minutes. I nod. Shit. I'm starting to freak out again.
Sheila must sense this, because before my legs can give out on me or my hands can start shaking again, she's up on her tiptoes pulling me toward her. When her lips cover mine, everything stops. My thoughts, my fears, my mini-freak out halts in place and all I can think about or feel is her soft mouth on mine.
There's no tongue at first. She just presses herself to me so hard I can't help but give in. Then I start kissing her back. Not because I'm turned on or feel anything toward her at all, but because for whatever reason, it makes me feel like I'm in control of something again. Even
though she's the one doing all the work.
Her hands cup around the back of my neck, they move through my hair, grazing my scalp. Her tongue pries its way past my teeth to stroke my own and I welcome it. Before I know it, we're full on making out, everything that clouded my mind before not even a memory.
It isn't until I hear Roscoe yell "Thirty seconds!" that she pulls away and wipes her lips with the back of her hand.
"Better?" she asks.
I nod.
"Ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
Sheila
There is hardly any applause when the guys get on stage. I stand near the front, as usual, only this time it's not at all the same. And everything Luke was feeling backstage is suddenly stuck on me.
Their first show. The world, well at least Dallas, is about to be introduced to Roscoe Gold. I can only hope they love them as much as Lewiston does.
Roscoe begins playing the first rift and even though I hear a few obnoxious "boos" the crowd carries on like they're not even there—like they're nobodies. But I know better. Everyone around me looks bored, holding on to their homemade Megadeth signs, girls dressed in skin tight Suicidal Tendencies tees and a group right beside me toting a massive Alice in Chains banner.
And here I sit, feeling mostly insignificant, wearing my black tank with the gold record and the R in the middle.
Despite the crowd’s disinterest, Roscoe continues to play and I suddenly have to pep myself up. It starts with a reminder of the first day I heard them in Ryan's garage, to the first time I saw them play at Chagrin's. Then I think of my second show and my tenth. And how I all of a sudden had to fight my way into the little pub just to get a peek. Finally, I remind myself of the first night Coco and I handed out Diamond's t-shirts and stood in line to meet Roscoe at the end of the night. And when, just a few weeks ago, I finally noticed Luke. Then I remember this gig wasn't an easy one to get. Opening for The Clash of the Titans tour is huge and even though they're only one of a few other bands, the promoter still picked them. Roscoe Gold aren't nobodies. They're about to be on top.
And just as I recall what I said to Luke a few short moments ago. And that kiss.
He opens his mouth and starts to sing. That's when the atmosphere in the entire stadium changes. The booing Megadeth fans to my right suddenly shut up and take notice. The girls in the Suicidal For Life t-shirts stop their chatter and turn their focus to the stage as well. And when someone lets out a long, loud appreciative whistle, I can't help but smile.
Luke Black. The main attraction, just as predicted.
He looks nervous as hell, at first. Like he's literally going to faint right there on the stage, but he focuses his gaze on Roscoe for the first few bars, then finds me in the crowd. I grin back at him, bobbing my head to the music. By the time Ryan and Dash have joined in, most of the people have started to pay attention. There are still a few boos from drunken idiots, but for the most part Dallas seems to appreciate Roscoe Gold. By the end of the third song, they've grown restless, but the guys get the send-off they deserve and when I meet them backstage they're all beaming.
Even Luke.
The second I see him, I run toward him, throw my arms around his neck, wrap my legs around his waist and give him a juicy kiss on the cheek.
"Told ya," I whisper before jumping down.
I hug Ryan and Dash too, but for whatever reason, Roscoe's less affectionate than normal, so I offer him a congratulations and focus my attention on his brother again.
"You guys were amazing."
He shakes his head. "I can't believe I just did that. Did you see all those fucking people?" Both hands are in his hair, his eyes wider than ever. "Holy shit. I wanna do that again."
"You will, little bro." Roscoe slaps him on the back, guiding him away from me. "Our next show's in San Antonio, two days from now." He motions for Dash and Ryan. "Tonight we party."
If I didn't know any better, I'd think I did something wrong. The first show was incredible, the San Antonio show even better. By the time we left the El Paso County Coliseum, Roscoe Gold was on their way to becoming legends, just as I'd predicted. But what I'd missed was the very real possibility that they might just leave me in the dust of their success.
Luke barely remembers that kiss. Or at least it seems that way. He hasn't said anything about it and we've gone right back to the way things used to be. Him all but ignoring me.
I don't know why I'm surprised. He spends half the time looking for a pay phone. Probably still pining after the girl he left home.
Roscoe's attitude toward me has completely changed since the Dallas show. He rarely voices his inappropriate opinions about the way I look in my clothes anymore. And touching me? Forget it.
The only thing I can count on every night is our two-hour long game of Crazy Eights. While the others entertain themselves, we hole up in my room and play like we're a couple of professionals. I've been smart enough not to bother with the drinking portion of the game, and to be honest, it's one of the best parts of my day. But when it's over, it's business as usual.
Him and his ridiculous requests. The worst of which is fielding his groupies. I've gone from a member of the band to glorified assistant in less than a week.
Maybe I should be grateful. The way he'd acted before was getting confusing anyway. The hair twirling, the winks, the lingering gazes. I was starting to feel like a piece of meat. Nothing I would have hated a month ago, but being on the road with him, being in such close quarters all the time, made me more conscious of everything. My hair, my clothes, my breath. Because I never knew when Roscoe was going to appear behind me, just inches from my face.
I am grateful. A little disappointed I'm not having more fun, but grateful, nonetheless. I keep reminding myself, this is a job. It's what I signed up for. Even if it isn't as glamorous as I first thought.
Right now, though, it's the last thing I want to think about. I've only just arrived "home" and I'm exhausted. The one thing I do have going for me is the only real room on the bus. The guys were thoughtful enough to reserve it for me, which means at the end of the day I can at least shut them all out for a few precious hours.
I'm tempted to leave my dinner of take-out soup and crackers on the counter and jump in bed, but I'm starving. Not to mention I get the feeling it'd be gone when I woke up. The guys are at sound check, so I've got the whole bus to myself for a few hours and I want to enjoy it while it lasts.
I search for a clean spoon for ten minutes before I opt to drink my now warm tomato soup and soggy crushed crackers, and start on the dishes.
It's not like the guys eat inside the tour bus often—mostly just snack food and beer, but when they do, they never clean up after themselves. The tiny little sink is piled high with dishes, mostly crusted with food. At least now I know where the smell is coming from.
Thank god I never grew up with real brothers. I don't know what the hell I would have done. I'm suddenly missing Shannon ten times more.
After I've destroyed my manicure, I decide to pass a broom over the narrow floor, only to find we don't have one. So instead, I get down on my hands and knees, sweeping the crumbs and cigarette butts right out the door with a piece of newspaper. That's when I realize my precious time alone has come to an end.
Dash is stumbling toward the bus, flanked by two girls. Both bleached blond, both in short leather skirts and fishnet stockings. One with a halter, the other a chain-link bra top.
Awesome.
By the way he walks—a pronounced waver in his step, and the fact that his normally well attended mohawk is half flattened and stuck to one side of his head--I can tell he's drunk off his ass. At six p.m.? Seriously?
I sigh, pick up my purse from the table, and head toward my room. At least I remembered to buy earplugs this time.
When I push open my room door, I'm not prepared for what I see and even though I should look away, I can't. I want to, but I don't. Instead, I stare open-mouthed at Roscoe, head thrown back, pants around h
is ankles and a bimbo on her knees.
He doesn't register me right away. I guess she's that good at what she does. And in the next few seconds, he places both hands on the back of her head, before thrusting his hips in quick back and forth movements. My face burns and the sounds that fill the room make me want to gag. When he finally does notice me, his eyes widen, but he doesn't push her away and scramble to get dressed like I expect. Instead, a sheepish grin spreads across his face.
Still I don't move. I just glare back.
When he raises both eyebrows, I turn on my heel and storm out of the bus, nearly knocking Dash and his companions over in the process.
I plant myself on the park bench, stretch my legs out in front of me, and stare up at the sky.
I hate my life. God, I can't even believe I'm saying that. How can I hate my life? It's supposed to be perfect right now. The life I truly hated was the one I left behind. In what twisted universe is this one actually worse?
"You look like you could use a drink."
I sit up straight, turning my head to the side to observe the woman on the bench next to me. And I immediately want to be her best friend.
She's dressed in leather from head to toe. Seriously. From the beret that's expertly perched on her long blond hair to the knee high boots that nearly meet her patchwork skirt. Her lips are a stark bright red against her pale, creamy skin.
She sticks out her hand. "Paula Tracy."
I smile. "Sheila. Uh, Carlson."
"Roscoe Gold's manager, right?"
I sit up straighter now. "Um, yeah. How'd you...?"
"It's my job to know these things. And yours too, I might add." She pulls out a pack of cigarettes and taps the bottom on her knee. "I'm surprised you don't know who I am."
I smile. "So am I."
