Between a Rockstar and a Hard Place

by Portia MacIntosh

  ‘Ok.’ I pull myself to my feet with what little energy I have left. ‘One last sweep.’

  Chapter Fourteen: Girls will be boys and boys will be girls

  It’s 5:30pm and we haven’t found Dylan. Not only have we not found him, but we’ve no leads. It really is game over now.

  Finally defeated, Troy and I get back in the lift to head up to the room I was supposed to be sharing with Dylan. He might not be on the bus at 6pm, but at the very least I can make sure his stuff is. I imagine anything we leave in the rooms Mrs Williamson will have passed on to an exorcist so she can thoroughly cleanse her hotel of us “festival people”.

  ‘No one can say you didn’t try, Nicole,’ Troy assures me, but I feel like I’ve let everyone down. ‘Not only has he had sex with everyone in town – female and male – but he’s been all over the place and you’ve followed him everywhere. At the end of the day, you’re just his friend. This isn’t your problem. If I did this, I wouldn’t expect my friends to have to track me down, that’s what his tour manager is for.’

  I think about Claire and how mad she is going to be when she realises Dylan isn’t on the bus. Dylan is The Burnout’s front-man, sure the charity gig can go on without him, but what’s a band without a front-man? All music and no lyrics.

  As we step out of the lift I take the spare keycard that Claire gave my from my bag.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Troy says, following me along the corridor.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘Don’t you need to go pack your things?’

  ‘My tour manager can do it, he works for his money.’

  I look at him and laugh – because if I didn’t laugh, I’d cry – and as I go to push the door open Troy grabs me and kisses my passionately, ushering me through the door and into the room with the skill of someone who does this all the time. As he pushes me back onto the bed I can’t help but notice how uncomfortable it is. It’s only as we stop kissing for a second that we realise the bed is moving – no, it’s not a ghost, someone is in it. Have I come to the wrong room? This is the room Claire told me to come to. Still on top of me, Troy pulls back the covers and sure enough there is someone underneath me, and that someone is Dylan. In his own room, in his own bed, alone – well, until Troy and I joined him.

  ‘Nic, please don’t have sex on me,’ Dylan says with a groan, pulling the covers back over his face.

  ‘Oh yeah, because you’d never do that to me.’

  ‘That was one time,’ he replies with a chuckle, wiggling free from underneath us.

  Troy and I stare at each other in amazement for a movement. We’ve found him in the one place we never would have considered looking for him.

  ‘Dill, I’ve been looking for you all night, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I was tired,’ he replies, pulling the covers up over his face.

  ‘Yeah, I’m not surprised,’ Troy chimes in.

  Dylan sits upright in his bed and glares at Troy.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asks defensively.

  ‘This poor girl – your friend – has been chasing a trail of tail all over town to try and find you.’

  ‘I can’t help it if the ladies love me,’ Dylan says smugly with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

  ‘Yeah, and the men,’ Troy quips.

  Dylan, who didn’t look that healthy to begin with, goes ghostly white as he realise that we know about Lola.

  ‘You’re lucky this girl cares about you,’ Troy continues. ‘Because without her you’d be in big trouble right now, and can you imagine the headlines if she sold your secrets. Don’t take her for granted.’

  ‘What headlines?’ Dylan persists, not knowing to quit while he’s ahead.

  ‘Take a wild guess, Dylan Queen,’ Troy says with a laugh.

  Dylan jumps out of bed and goes for Troy, but I step between them.

  ‘Come on boys, crisis averted, there’s no need to fight.’

  Dylan points a finger right in Troy’s face. ‘Fuck you, X Factor boy,’ he yells as he backs down.

  ‘Dylan, be nice to Troy, he’s spent all night helping me find you. Now quick, pack up your things and let’s go, we’ve got twenty minutes to get you to the tour bus.’

  Dylan does as instructed, and while we have a little time alone together Troy and I say goodbye.

  ‘Well, it’s certainly been fun,’ he says.

  ‘It has – in places. Mainly the places with you.’ I smile.

  'Nicole, can I ask you a question?'

  'I do,' I sing in reply to the marriage proposal I knew he was never going to make.

  'Hey, I just met you-'

  'And this is crazy, but here's my number, so call me maybe,' I interrupt, never one to be able to resist a sing-song.

  Troy laughs and shakes his head.

  ‘Seriously, Nicole. I’ll be in Leeds in a few weeks. Can see each other again?’

  ‘I’d like that,’ I tell him honestly.

  Troy pulls me close and kisses me again.

  ‘Get a room,’ Dylan says, dumping his bags by the door and shooting me a look like I’m the one holding things up. 'Preferably not one that I'm sleeping in.'

  Way to ruin the moment, Dylan.

  As the three of us make our way to the lift, things feel a little awkward.

  ‘Troy just invited me to one of his gigs,’ I say to fill the silence. ‘You should come too, Dylan.’

  ‘Ha! Can you even sing, X Factor boy?’

  ‘I wasn’t on the X Factor, and yes, I can sing.’

  ‘Course you can.’

  I don’t know if it’s because Dylan and Troy are bickering or if it is because we’re running out of time, but this is one of the longest lift journeys of my life. The silence doesn’t last for long before Troy starts singing.

  ‘Well I'm not the world’s most physical guy but when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine, oh my Lola, lo-lo-lo-lo Lola. Well I'm not dumb but I can't understand why she walked like a woman and talked like a man, oh my Lola, lo-lo-lo-lo Lola.’

  It doesn’t take long for Dylan to catch on that Troy is singing Lola, that song by The Kinks about a romantic encounter between a young man and a transvestite.

  ‘Oh, very funny,’ Dylan admits, a smile starting to spread across his face. Thank God he can see the funny side.

  Down in the lobby, Troy kisses me on the cheek before going back to his room, leaving me with a generous fifteen minutes to get Dylan to the tour bus which, thankfully, is just outside.

  ‘Here,’ Dylan says, handing me a small paper bag. ‘I bought you something.’

  I carefully open the bag and tip the contents into my hand.

  ‘They’re pleasure beads,’ he tells me. ‘They-‘

  ‘Oh, I know what they do,’ I say, laughing. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Although I’m not sure you need them,’ he says, nodding in the direction Troy just walked off in.

  ‘None of your business,’ I reply. ‘Now, let’s get you to the bus.’

  ‘Not so fast,’ Dylan says, putting an arm out to stop me. ‘What about our tradition?’

  ‘Dill, we’re late, balls to tradition.’

  My friend fakes a gasp, but he’s right to. When we started this little tradition we said we’d always stick to it, no matter what.

  ‘Come on, I saw one outside, it will take us five minutes.’

  ‘Ok,’ I say, following his lead. ‘Tradition is tradition.

  Chapter Fifteen: Is he a pig? He sure eats like one

  When you're on tour with a band, as surprising as it may seem, you end up with this little family unit. Everyone takes on a role and finds a way to live together. As immature and as rubbish at being a woman as I am, I sort of take on the female roles - I certainly end up playing mum to Dylan all the time. Sometimes it's mum, sometimes it's part-time wife (although not with Dill) and sometimes you're like an annoying sister, winding the boys up about their hair or the dumb girls they bring back to the bus. Whatever r
ole you take on in the family, you are a family, with an unrelenting, unconditional love for one another and lots of weird and wonderful traditions. When I visit my parents at Christmas we always watch It's A Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve because it is tradition. When I'm on tour with Dylan we also have our traditions... only they're a little different.

  Dragging me out of the hotel by the wrist - and not in the direction of the bus - Dylan leads me along the pavement until we are out of sight of the front door.

  'I told you I'd find one. Spotted this one last night at some point,' he says proudly.

  'Oh, so you do remember parts of last night?' I tease.

  'Only some, but I'm working on it,' he replies, swigging a bottle of beer that he didn’t have five minutes ago when we were in the lobby, so God knows where he got it from.

  We are standing in front of a large map of the town. You know, the ones they put up for tourists that usually have a "you are here" sticker on them. We are standing here because one of our traditions is to, how shall I put it, decorate them with a few family heirlooms. I'm not sure how it started, but I know where. We were in Glasgow for a gig and for some reason (we were hammered) we ended up decorating the "you are here" map like a Christmas tree - with our underwear, hooking it on the fancy corners of the metal frame. We ended up taking photos of ourselves posing in front of the sign, and then when we were in Manchester a week later we thought it would be funny to do it again. A new tradition was born. These days I don't wear fancy pants when I go places with Dill because I know I'll be ditching my draws at some point. No one knows about this little tradition, not even Dylan's band mates. I don't think anyone would understand why we do it - I don't really know myself, it's just a silly drunk tradition, but it's our silly drunk tradition and I'll do it until I run out of underwear or we get arrested, because I’m starting to think it might be frowned upon by the authorities.

  Dylan removes a pair of black boxer shorts from his pocket and waves them at me. No, he didn’t removed them in advance to make this quicker and easier, they were probably just holding him back last night and cutting into his sexy time.

  'Did you leave yours in Troy's mouth?' he teases me. 'I can wait here while you go and get them.'

  I fake a laugh before impressively removing my thong without taking off my new shorts. We check to make sure the coast is clear and that there are no cameras on us - because we're pros at this now - before swiftly leaving our mark on this weird little town and snapping a few photos.

  Like nothing happened, we stroll back along the pavement towards the front of the hotel. Another one for the family album.

  'You there,' a man's voice calls from behind us.

  I feel a wave of panic wash over me - did someone see what we just did?

  'Dude, I didn't forget you,' Dylan calls back.

  Dylan wanders over to a homeless man and empties out his pockets, dropping a variety of sweets into the man's lap. The man is clearly delighted and Dylan looks all warm and fuzzy because he did a nice thing for someone other than himself.

  As the homeless gentleman tucks into his Skittles with real enthusiasm, Dylan turns to me.

  'Nic, check it out, we're like E.T and Elliot.'

  'Dylan, he's a man not an alien,' I whisper.

  'It's the same, though. Can he come on tour with us?'

  At this, the homeless man stops chewing and looks up, he's clearly up for a little partying.

  'Oh, you know it would be ok with me,' I lie, them both staring at me expectantly, Dylan like a child asking his mum if his friend can stay for tea. 'But it's up to Claire, she's in charge.'

  The homeless man looks back down at his Skittles, clearly disappointed.

  It's not because he's homeless that I don't want him tagging along, it's because he could be anyone - a murderer, a psycho, a Steps fan - it's just too much of a risk. It's funny because I'm not even going with them, and yet Dylan asks me for permission. I know Claire will say no, though.

  'Let me go run it by my manager,' Dylan tells the man excitedly.

  As we hurry in the direction of the bus I look at my watch and realise it is actually ten past six - ten minutes after Claire told me the bus would be leaving. As I worry about how Dylan is going to react to being marooned by his own people in a crazy town where he has slept with almost everyone, we turn the corner and there is the tour bus, with Claire standing outside.

  I link up with Dylan and, moving my lips as little as possible, warn him, 'Do not ask Claire if you can bring some random man on tour with you. Oh, and be nice to her, you mistook her for a fan earlier.'

  He laughs, neither trying nor wanting to hide his amusement.

  As we approach the bus, Dylan jumps on first.

  'Please, I'm just trying to do my job, if you want an autograph write to my fan mail address,' he teases Claire as he passes her. She doesn't look amused, but at least she waited.

  'You didn't leave at six,' I say to her once Dylan is inside.

  'I knew you'd be late. You're always late, Nicole.'

  We laugh together. She is absolutely right, I am always late.

  'I knew you'd get him here though,' she continues. 'You've always been able to control Dylan, I wish you'd teach me.'

  'It's a gift and a curse. Well, I'd better head to the train station.'

  I wave at the blacked-out windows of the bus, just in case anyone is looking out at us.

  'You got much work over the next couple of days?' Claire asks me.

  'Not much, just typing up yesterday's events - from the gig, that is.'

  ‘Did Dylan cause trouble last night?’

  There is no sense in telling Claire the truth, so I shake my head.

  ‘I found him, he was in his bed. He was in bed for most of the night, actually,’ I reply – because that is technically true.

  'Sure he was. Well we've got the charity gig tonight, Sheffield tomorrow and then Leeds the day after that. Tag along. We can drop you right at your door.'

  'You just need someone to look after Dylan,' I reply with a laugh.

  'True, but you're a part of the team and I hate being the only girl on this stinking bus.'

  Before I get chance to reply the driver approaches us.

  'If we're going to get there on time we need to leave now.'

  'Well, Nicole,' Claire prompts. 'Are you up for a few days on the road?'

  Am I up for a few days on tour? With no clean clothes (or any clothes of my own for that matter), no knickers, little make-up and a dying phone battery/no charger? I open my mouth to speak but we are interrupted again, this time by Dylan.

  'Come on, wild thing.' Dylan grabs my arm and pulls me onto the bus. 'You can help me start a rumour about how small that X Factor kid's cock is. I'm thinking via Twitter.’

  And just like that, I'm hitting the road for a few days. Never mind the fact that I have an actual job, and people who will expect me to turn up for work in the morning. It's a good job I was going to say yes to Claire, isn't it? But I'm sure the office can manage without me for another day or three...