Sandy glanced at me over her shoulder before she reassured Lindsay, “It hasn’t happened, I don’t think. But don’t worry. We keep the groupies far away from the guys. They want access, they have to get through me and Nessa first. Right, Nessa?”
As I came up beside them and Lindsay looked up at me, I could tell Sandy’s reassurance wasn’t coming across as being quite as, well, reassuring as she’d intended.
“What Sandy means,” I said. “Is that my dad makes sure fan interaction stays very professional.” I just hoped she hadn’t seen the incident with Andres and me that had been all over social media before we’d had a chance to get rid of it.
Lindsay nodded, looking slightly less clenched but still somewhat uncomfortable.
I hardly blamed her; I knew as well as anyone how brutal dating a musician could be. And the tour had only just begun—she had the rest of the summer to get through.
Carb-Loaded
My father wouldn’t have told the rest of the band that he was asking Dave to stay on until he got his answer, so when the two of them joined us a short time later, I was the only one to know the bad news. I wasn’t about to let on that I knew about it, either, not wanting to betray Dave’s confidence (plus, it would be way awkward if my father found out I knew Dave was going to turn him down before he did). So while I saw the stress on Dad’s face that told me Dave hadn’t changed his mind at the last second, I played along like their conversation was no big deal. The other guys had assumed their meeting was them making plans for Dave to transition out of the band and fly home, and I guess that was true enough because that was exactly what was going to happen once Chris was back on board.
It hurt to see my dad so disappointed, but as I watched him greet Chris and introduce him to Dave, the seed of an idea planted itself in my head. I just needed to get my father alone. That wasn’t going to happen at this noisy table, so I shelved my idea as I returned to the oversized laminated menu, thinking as my stomach grumbled, that maybe Darren had been onto something. A big stack of pancakes suddenly sounded like a good idea.
Once we’d all eaten, Dad asked for the bill and sent the guys back to the bus, asking me to stay behind with him, Chris, and Lindsay. Kiki and Gary finished up their coffees and used the facilities before heading back as well.
Dad went over the plan for Chris to come to the venue for rehearsal and sound check—letting Lindsay know she was welcome to come for as much of the day as she wanted. I had a feeling he was trying to set her mind at ease, showing her that the boys were always busy and being on tour was grueling work and it was just that: work. While the life of a rock star seemed glamorous, the reality was a lot different and he liked all people involved to have a realistic view of what to expect.
Not to mention, if she was uneasy about Chris going on tour, she was going to make it harder for him to focus on his job, which would affect everyone.
For his part, Chris was super excited, almost bouncing in his seat while Dad went over everything. Obviously not afraid of hard work, he was ready to get to the business of being an official member of Wiretap again.
Once Dad was finished the debrief, he asked if either of them had any questions. Chris wanted to show Lindsay the bus, but Dad said there’d be time for that later in the day. For now, we needed to get on the road to the venue so we could start setup—plenty of time to tour the bus later.
When neither Chris nor his girlfriend had any other questions, Dad shook both of their hands and told them he was looking forward to seeing them both at the venue. Lindsay looked more relaxed, though a bit sad, which was to be expected. The tour wouldn’t bring the guys back this way, so it would be weeks before she’d see Chris again.
They left just as the waitress came by with the bill and the credit card machine. “So,” I said as Dad held the bill out at arm’s length so he could read it. “About Will.”
He dropped his arm and looked at me, his mouth twisting down into a frown. He sighed and said, “He’s decided not to join.”
“I figured. But...what if you talked to his parents?” I suggested. “See if you can convince them.”
He froze for a second, looking like he was considering the idea, but then he shook his head. “He’s eighteen, I can’t circumvent him and go to his parents.”
“But if you could set their minds at ease, tell them how good he is. The opportunity he’s throwing away...”
Another sigh escaped him. “Nessa, believe me, I am disappointed about it, too, and I wish he’d had a different answer for me. But I can’t go behind his back to his parents. I suggested he talk to them, but you know how stubborn he is. Anyway, maybe he really doesn’t want it as much as we thought. Maybe it was fun for him as a time-limited thing. He could have other plans, you know; not everyone wants to live on a tour bus out of a suitcase.”
I knew better. He didn’t have other plans; he was simply focused on his mother’s fears. And maybe, I realized in that moment, maybe he was hiding behind the excuse of his mother’s fears because of the real reason of why he didn’t want to go on tour. He was afraid. Not of failure, as many musicians were when they first started out. Because we’d been pumping him up since the day he’d signed on, telling him he was exceptional, showing him that he had what it takes to be a bona fide rock star on his own merits, not just because he looks hot on stage with a guitar in his hands. He’d seen how good he really was. For the first time in his life he was made really aware of his rare talent. No, he wasn’t afraid of failure.
After living in the long shadow of his grandfather, Will Davidson was afraid of something way scarier and more dangerous than failure: he was afraid of success.
“I don’t think so, Dad,” I said. “I think it goes beyond that. He’s throwing so much away.”
Dad pulled out his wallet and put his Visa into the machine the waitress handed him. “He’s an adult, Nessa. There’s not much we can do other than try to convince him. And I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
I didn’t doubt he had. I was sure my father had offered up everything in his arsenal to try to get Dave to stay on, but I knew as well as he did how stubborn Dave could be. Just look at how many times he’d turned me down when I’d first tried to get him to audition. It had taken Chris bailing at the last minute and that promise of it just being one show that had made him change his mind. I’d practically had to back him into it.
Thanking the waitress, Dad passed the machine back to her and tucked the receipt and his credit card back into his wallet. “Come on, we’d better go,” he said as he pushed back his chair and got up.
As we walked toward the door, he put his arm around me and pulled me in in for a side-hug. “It’ll be fine. We’ll carry on with the band. Chris’ll get up to speed quickly and it’ll all be great. They were fantastic before Will was even an option, they’ll still be fantastic without him.”
I gave him a look.
“What?” he said.
“You’d better become a better actor in the next two minutes because I don’t think the guys are going to believe your line if that’s how you deliver it.”
He cringed. “Really? It’s that obvious?”
I gave him an apologetic nod. “You’re right that the band will be great even without Dave. But I understand your disappointment because you see how much better they’d be with him. Plus on a personal level: I know you wanted to make him.”
“I did,” she said with a sigh. “Ah well, Nessa. Not much I can do. I’m tapped out, done trying.”
He might have been done trying, but I wasn’t. I had one last arrow in my quiver. It was a big risk, but what’s that saying: with great risk comes great reward?
As we drove the final short leg to the venue, I pulled all of the assorted crap out of the as-yet-unused bottom bunk that would be Chris’s after he came on board at the end of the night. After I told the guys to take their junk and store it elsewhere, I got a clean set of sheets out of
the tiny linen cupboard to make up his bed and get it ready for him.
“You never make my bed,” Darren said with a pout from his own bunk across the aisle. I had no idea how he could lie there and not get a stomach ache after eating a giant plate of pancakes, against my advice, of course. (Though to be fair, I had also had a big plate of pancakes which were now sitting like banana-flavored rocks in my gut.)
“Nope,” I said as I stretched into the back of the bunk to tuck the sheet in. “And I won’t be making Chris’s again, either. I just figured by the time everyone gets back on the bus, we don’t need him crashing around trying to do it himself.”
“So are you really going to leave us when Linda comes back?” he asked. The sad tone in his voice made me turn and look at him straight on.
“Yeah, what’s wrong, you going to miss me?” I joked, trying to downplay that I was going to miss him—all of them.
“First Will and then you?” he said, his signature smile gone from his face. I’d never seen him so serious when he looked me right in the eye and said, “Yeah. I’ll miss you both. Everyone will.”
“Don’t forget Sandy—when I leave, she comes with me.”
“Aw, you’re taking away the fun one, too?”
I rolled my eyes and then had to turn from the emotion in his. “Yeah, well, you’re not rid of us yet.”
And if I had anything to say about it, they wouldn’t be rid of Dave, either. Not for a long time. I just needed to get everyone off this bus first so I could have five minutes alone with my files and my phone.
Girl Bonding
I wasn’t prepared for my plan to slide into place perfectly. I mean, one hopes that happens, but, just like on tour, plans often go sideways and you have to plan for contingencies. Not this time. It kind of worried me that I’d missed something that was going to come back to bite me in the ass.
What I also wasn’t prepared for was the guilt. I had put my plan into action on my own, not telling anyone. I knew that was going to piss off all parties involved (plus Sandy who was going to freak out that I hadn’t included her) but keeping it on the down-low was going to ensure it didn’t get out in time for someone to put the kibosh on it. Despite my anxiety over what I was doing, it was all for the greater good.
Unless it fell apart, in which case, I was going to deny, deny, deny. And if that didn’t work, then I’d just beg hard for forgiveness.
But I didn’t like the roiling pit in my stomach which wouldn’t go away until after everything went down. And I couldn’t blame it on the banana pancakes—those had been digested hours ago.
It was going to be a rough twenty-four or so hours, I thought as I half-listened to the crew chatter back and forth in my headset over the muted concert out on stage. The techs knew their jobs and did them well under the leadership of the production manager, so unless I heard my name, I wasn’t on deck for anything during the show.
“This is so cool,” Lindsay said, drawing my attention back to her and Chris who were standing in the wings just behind me, watching the show.
Chris’s eyes were fixated on the stage as he seemed to be absorbed in taking mental notes, but Lindsay had the wide-eyed look of a fan.
I took a step back so I was beside her and leaned close “They’re good, huh?” I said. “I wish he could have played for a hometown crowd and so you could see him in action with them. I’ll make sure Sandy gets some good footage of him once he starts, though. It’s going to be surreal for you, seeing Chris up there with them.”
“Totally,” she said. “I mean, I’ve always known he was good, but this is...” She shook her head.
I looked into her eyes and said, “Has he prepared you for everything? The ugly parts, I mean.”
She swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. As much as he can, I guess.”
“You have to assume that anything that doesn’t come from one of our feeds probably isn’t true. There will be crazy fans calling themselves his girlfriend. Propositioning him constantly. You have to trust him and know crazy fans will say anything. If they can get recognized for it, even better.” I glanced over at Chris but he seemed very focused on watching the band. I turned back to Lindsay. “Better yet, stay off social media. It’ll just make you crazy and no good ever comes from following what fans say.”
“I want to see what’s going on, though,” she said. “With the band...”
“If you just subscribe to Sandy’s YouTube channel, you’ll get the highlights. Plus, Chris will be in contact with you, I’m sure. There’s Wi-Fi on the bus, though don’t get offended if he doesn’t message you every night—it’s exhausting work. If you don’t hear from him, it may be because he’s face-down in his bunk, not off with some groupie who’ll trade favors for tickets.”
Her eyes widened. “Is that what groupies do?”
I nodded. “Some. But not on this tour—my father is serious about keeping it clean. This is what the guys sign on for.”
“Chris showed me the contract,” she said. “So I know those are the official rules, but...”
“With my dad there’s no divide between official rules and what really goes down. He’s not a babysitter, but he won’t allow that kind of thing to go on. Chris couldn’t find a better manager who will make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”
“Which is exactly the way he wants it,” she said. “He wants to be a star, but he doesn’t want to do it at the expense of the rest of his life.”
“He’s on the right path. He can make it,” I said. “But it’s still going to be a challenge. It’s a lot of work and rehearsal. Not to mention the bus gets smaller every day you’re on the road. It’s not the glamourous life everyone thinks it is.”
She nodded. “Thanks for the reality check. It’s going to be hard for both of us.”
I darted my eyes at Chris again. “It will be hard. But he’s obviously devoted to you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right now, I think he’s devoted to that stage.”
I smiled. “You’re right. But he’ll be on that bus for no more than ten minutes before he starts missing you. The novelty does wear off—trust me, the guys live, breathe, and sleep the music and thoughts of home.”
She shrugged. “We’ve talked about this a lot and while I’m going to miss him, I’d never hold him back from his dream. If we’re meant to make it as a couple, we will.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” I said. “I’ll make sure to remind him,” I added with a wink.
Just then, Sandy walked up to me. She’d been in the green room, cutting some video last time I’d seen her.
The look on her face made my stomach roll over. “What’s wrong?” I said, by way of greeting, stepping away from Lindsay out of earshot. If I was about to get handed my butt by my friend who was pissed about my not including her in my secret plan, better to have it done in semi-private.
“Probably nothing,” she said, holding her phone toward me. It took me a second to realize whatever it was, it didn’t have anything to do with me.
Her Instagram app was open to a hashtag search for the band and it showed a picture of Max on stage playing, reposted from his own account.
“Okay,” I said, looking from the screen up to her. “So?”
“Look at the caption.”
I did and read it out loud. “Max Lindstrom, hottest member of hashtag Wiretap. Hashtag survivor, hashtag boyfriend, hashtag one true love.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, so she’s a bit obsessed. Not the only fan to post stuff like that, Sandy.”
“No,” Sandy agreed. “But she posts a lot. Like, hourly. Her entire feed is filled with stuff about Max.”
“Just Max?” I asked.
“Yeah. The first few were the whole band, but she seems to have zeroed in on him.”
“She must have a type—the broody, tortured guy.”
Sandy nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”
“I’
m sure she’s harmless.”
“I know, I just...something about it feels off.”
“You’re just paranoid because you can’t understand why anyone would be into him.”
She rolled her eyes and said, “You’re probably right—it is surprising anyone would think his scowls are sexy, especially after living with him. Anyway,” she paused, looking at Chris before she lowered her voice and asked, “He going to play tomorrow night?”
“No,” I said. “Dave—sorry, Will—will finish out tomorrow night as they open for Zen Garden and then Chris can start in San Francisco if he feels ready. If not, then Salt Lake, but I think he’s chomping at the bit to get started.”
“And he’s good with that?”
I nodded, looking out toward the band because I didn’t want Sandy to read anything on my face. “Yeah. He said he doesn’t mind being flexible for a few days.”
“Too bad he doesn’t want to stick around,” she said, drawing my eyes back to her. “Your dad must be so upset he turned him down.”
“How did you know he asked him to stay?”
“Please,” she said with another dramatic eye-roll. “That is a small bus, Nessa. Way too small for secrets.”
She was wrong about that. I hoped.
“Anyway,” I said, clearing my throat.
“Tomorrow will be good, though,” she said, looking out at the stage. “I can’t believe it’ll be his last concert.”
I really hoped she was wrong about that, too.
Farewells and Secret Plans
The drive to Portland was only about three hours. Before that, Chris would be saying goodbye to Lindsay and his family, so while the crew went ahead, the rest of us lingered in Seattle longer than normal, having something of an after-concert reception at Chris’s favorite Italian restaurant.
I’d called early in the day when we’d gotten the idea and they were happy to set up their private room for us and promised they didn’t mind staying open late to accommodate our party. Sandy took a lot of nice promo shots of the place, promising the owner it would be more than worth their while once she gave them some free publicity, courtesy of Wiretap.
The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set Page 40