The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set

by Katrina Abbott

  But it had been something of a long day and the next day would be even longer, especially considering we’d be at a festival and Wiretap would be going on earlier than normal. That meant the guys had to be up and ready to go earlier than they were used to.

  At about one-fifteen a.m., I noticed the servers were starting to wilt, so even though the guys were still having a good time, it was time to wrap things up. I texted Gary to come pick us up and then looked down the table at my dad. He was pretty much asleep with his eyes open and I couldn’t catch his eye.

  Just then, Kiki looked at me and gave me a decisive nod before she stood up. “All right gang, let’s move this party out to the bus—whoever doesn’t have a bunk is going to have to say goodbye.”

  There were a couple of groans but the boys started pushing back their chairs and saying their goodbyes to Lindsay and Chris’s family before they filed out to use the bathroom on their way out to the bus.

  Dad had already paid the bill (leaving, I’m sure, a very generous tip) but made a point of thanking the restaurant owner with a smile and a hearty handshake (while Sandy snapped a photo).

  Chris’s stuff was already on the bus, so he put an arm around Lindsay as they made their way outside into the sticky evening, his mom and extended family trailing behind. Dad and Kiki brought up the rear.

  When we got to the curb, Dad and Kiki got on the bus as I stayed on the sidewalk, watching Chris hug his family members in turn until it just his mom was left. He smiled down at her as she wiped tears away. “It’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll be in touch a lot. Just think of that kitchen reno you can do now.”

  She gave him a look. “This is your money. You’re earning this for you, Christopher, not to renovate my kitchen.”

  He pulled her into a hug and whispered something into her ear that made her nod and whisper back. I had to turn away, feeling like I was gawking at a private moment. I smiled at Lindsay, who was obviously waiting for Chris to have his goodbye with his family before she could say hers.

  “Thanks again for everything,” she said to me. “It’s not easy sending him off, but getting to know you and Sandy, knowing who he’ll be with, has made it a little easier.”

  I nodded and then like we were old friends, we hugged before Sandy stepped in for her turn.

  Chris’s family tore themselves away and headed back to the parking lot as Lindsay promised she’d join them in a few minutes.

  Sandy and I climbed on the bus, leaving Chris and Lindsay to have a few minutes alone.

  “Get your face out of the window,” I said to Darren, pushing him away from the tinted glass. He looked like a kid in the back of the family car as his parents drove up to Disney, kneeling on the seat, drooling out the window. “Jeez, give the guy some privacy.”

  “He’s just jealous,” Graeme said from his spot on the couch opposite.

  Darren turned and sat down on the sofa, facing his bandmate. “Damn straight. We’re like monks on this bus—if one of us is getting some, the rest of us have to live vicariously.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Nice way to welcome him back—spying on him and his girlfriend for your own perverted enjoyment,” I said sarcastically.

  Although I kind of got his point.

  Eventually, Chris said his goodbye to Lindsay and came onto the bus, losing the melancholy as the guys all stood to greet him as though they hadn’t been with him only moments before. It was like a new start, I realized, a new era for Wiretap. I glanced over at Dave, who was smiling as he stood there and it was only because I was looking for it that I saw the tiniest glimmer of sadness in his eyes. He saw Chris’s return as a new era, too, one that he wasn’t going to be a part of.

  It just shored up my resolve that my plan had to work.

  Playing at a festival was a completely different beast than playing at a ticketed venue, one that began with us rolling in in the middle of the night while mostly everyone on the bus was asleep. Thankfully, we had it all pre-arranged and with the crew ahead of us, they’d staked out a spot for the bus in the secure lot that fans wouldn’t be able to access.

  Still, I didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning as my worry kept permeating my dreams. But when I finally allowed myself to roll out of the morgue at just after five, I was relieved that the bus was exactly where it was supposed to be. As I walked to the front, I could see out the windshield that Gary was outside on the trampled grass, talking to a couple of guys from the crew who were holding steaming cups. They looked relaxed, so I knew all was well.

  Relieved, I turned back into the bus, only to find myself face to chest with a wall of gray t-shirt. Craning my head back, I looked up at Dave. His eyes were sleepy and he had a weird smirk on his face.

  “Sorry,” he said as he stepped back from me. He stretched his arms overhead and yawned, not bothering to hide it as he rolled out his shoulders.

  I caught his yawn and covered my mouth with my forearm.

  “So,” he said. “Last one, huh?”

  I didn’t pretend I didn’t know that he was talking about his final concert. “A big one,” I said. My plan aside, it would be a big concert, thanks to all the buzz around Wiretap and Zen Garden that Sandy had been ramping up. The plan was that Wiretap would open and then the two bands would play a song together before Zen Garden would take over and play their set.

  And if that wasn’t enough to solidify the band bromance, I had planned a post-concert reception at a hotel in town. It would give everyone an opportunity to wind down after the event but also would allow Sandy and the guys to take lots of pictures to post on their various social media accounts. It was a great opportunity for the bands to cross-promote, but at the same time, it would also be Dave’s sendoff.

  That was the official story, anyway.

  He nodded and looked down at me long enough that it started to get weird.

  I dropped my eyes. “Out of the way, boy band,” I said. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  He didn’t move. Actually, when I moved to the left to get around him, he shuffled to his right, blocking me. I looked up at him. “What?”

  “You won’t be able to call me boy band much longer.”

  I couldn’t read his expression to know if he was thinking that was a good thing, so I snorted and said, “You’ll always be boy band to me. Now step aside.”

  He did, but I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked away from him. I fought the shiver that worked its way up my spine, not wanting him to see whatever it was that was going on inside my nervous system.

  I grabbed my phone and my toothbrush on the way to the bathroom and once the door was locked with me inside, I texted Billy Hopkins: Everything all set?

  It was still early, so I didn’t expect an immediate response. I put the phone on the tiny shelf as I turned to use the toilet.

  By the time I was done brushing my teeth, he’d responded: All set. Guys are on board. Your father?

  Still doesn’t know. Please don’t tell, I sent back.

  Don’t like keeping secrets.

  I know. This one’s on me. While my father and Billy had become reacquainted and had even spoken a few times since the day we crossed paths at the Hall of Fame, it didn’t change the fact that they had a dicey past where trust had been an issue. I didn’t want to ruin their newly patched up relationship and was totally committed to owning this transgression. I just hoped it wouldn’t come to a point where I was going to have to plead my case and do a lot of begging for forgiveness.

  Our bus is two down from yours. See you soon.

  I slid my phone into my back pocket and took a few deep breaths before I left the bathroom, pasting an innocent smile on my face.

  The rest of the morning passed in a whirlwind of chaos—with it being a festival, the backstage facilities were not what we had gotten used to, as in there were none. That meant our bus was our green room and there was no time for rehearsal, let alone a decent s
ound check; plenty of opportunity for things to go wrong, without even factoring in what I had planned. I tried not to focus on everything that might get messed up, trusting our techs to get everything right—from tuning guitars, to setting up pedals and mic stands. They were pros.

  While the guys made their own breakfasts (mostly Pop Tarts) and coffee on the bus, Kiki, Sandy, and I brought in all their outfits from the gear truck. Kiki set up a dressing room and a makeshift styling chair, muttering about having to work in cramped conditions.

  The good news was that once we finished helping Kiki, Sandy and I had some free time. We used it to wander around the festival, taking in some of the booths like we were regular festival attendees, half-listening to a local garage band who was playing up on the stage to open the day’s concerts.

  Sandy had wanted to go meet up with the Zen Garden guys, but they were off at a local TV station doing an interview, so she was going to have to wait until after the show.

  We were in front of a booth of folk art jewelry when the guilt suddenly got the better of me, making me blurt out: “Uh, so I’m planning something crazy.”

  Sandy put the ring she’d just tried on down and slowly turned to look at me sideways. “What do you mean, something crazy?”

  She had reason to be surprised, since she was normally the one to make the crazy plans.

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the table, not wanting to be overheard as I filled her in on my plan. As I outlined what I had put in place, I watched every emotion wash across her face. Once I was done, I bit my lip, waiting for her response.

  “That’s perfect,” she said. “It has to work.”

  “You’re not pissed that I kept it from you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Of course I am. But probably for the best. I’m bad at keeping secrets.”

  “Exactly,” I said, relieved that she understood and that I’d gotten it off my chest, if only to one person.

  She nodded decisively. “But I’m glad you told me. I can help now that I know to keep my camera on and focused. This is going to be amazing.”

  This time I hoped she was right.

  In the Wings

  “It never gets old,” my father said.

  I looked over at him and gave him what I hoped was a smile, but I was so nervous, my face felt weird, like Play-Doh, so I couldn’t be sure.

  He smiled back, so obviously my expression was passable. “When I was your age, I wanted to be them,” he said, nodding toward the stage where the guys were playing the opening bars to their last song before the encore.

  That statement got my attention. “Really?” I asked. “I thought you always wanted to be a producer.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. I wanted the rock star life. The fame, the girls.” He grinned sheepishly. “Mostly the girls, honestly.”

  “Dad!” I leaned into him. “Don’t say that to your daughter.”

  He shrugged. “It’s true.”

  I glanced out at the guys, who were totally killing it, and then to the crush of girls down on the grass in front of the festival stage. They looked like they were ready to stampede the stage if the security barrier gave way. “Fine, but don’t let the boys hear that. They’ll think you’re a hypocrite.”

  “I know,” he said, rubbing a palm over his cheek. “It was different then, though. It’s a much faster life these days; it’s so much easier to ruin lives. Social media that can ruin a career in literally seconds with one tweet. Not to mention the pressures are worse now. Drugs are stronger, there are girls looking for big payouts from paternity suits...” He sighed. “Anyway, it wasn’t in the cards for me to be on stage, but looking out at them,” he paused and we both turned to watch the guys before he went on, “This is so much better. I love making stars way more than I ever would have liked being one.”

  “You are my star,” I said as his arm came around me and he hugged me into him. It was corny, but it was true. Also, in the business, he really was a star—Tony Capri was known as the best of the best.

  “I love you, Nessa,” he said, planting a kiss on the side of my head. “You’re a good kid. I’m so glad you came on the road with us.”

  “Just remember you said that,” I said.

  He looked over at me. “What does that mean?”

  I swallowed and gave a little shrug.

  He frowned, his expression going from confused to wary. “What? What did you do?”

  “You’ll see,” I said in a tiny voice.

  “Vanessa...”

  The song was coming to a close which meant the cat would be out of the bag soon enough. “Just watch,” I said, jutting my chin toward the stage. “You’re not going to want to miss this, are you?”

  As the guys held the final chord of the song, a roar went up from the audience. I couldn’t help but grin as they took their bows and then jogged off the other side of the stage into the wings. They grabbed bottles of water and toweled off their sweaty faces while the crowd below applauded, cheered and chanted “Wiretap, Wiretap!”

  After about thirty seconds, Dad gave the guys the signal and they ran back out to the stage, taking up their instruments again to play the encore.

  We’d decided against doing the unplugged songs for the festival set, so they’d saved Brooklyn Girl for this last tune.

  Graeme stepped to the mic stand. A hush went over the crowd as he opened his mouth to speak.

  “Thank you, Portland!” he said in his charming accent.

  Dave and Andres did a couple of power chords, ramping up the energy as the crowd roared.

  “We loved playing for you and appreciate you coming out to see us. And thank you for making our song Brooklyn Girl such a hit already. So with that in mind, we saved the best for—”

  He broke off in confusion because the crowd had suddenly gone from nuts to insane as Eddie, lead singer for Zen Garden led his band out onto the stage, tiptoeing up behind Graeme.

  Eddie held his finger to his lips, but the audience just continued screaming and whistling until he came right up to Graeme, put his arm around him and leaned into the mic.

  Graeme’s eyebrows went up high on his head as he looked at the long-haired rocker next to him. It was pretty funny seeing the two of them together—they couldn’t look much different from each other.

  “So,” Eddie said with a grin, looking sideways at Graeme, doing a great job of making it look like none of this was planned. “We heard you guys like playing our songs.”

  Of course he was referencing that night when Wiretap had done the Zen Garden cover.

  “You might have a good tune or two,” Graeme said with a cocky shrug.

  “You’ll get your turn,” Andres said into his mic. “We’re not done here.”

  “Oh really?” Pete, Zen Garden’s badass guitarist said, leaning into Dave’s mic. “Maybe we should show you how it’s done?”

  Predictably, the crowd somehow took the cheers up a notch. Or ten. Then broke out into laughs when Mark, the band’s drummer, dramatically walked out toward the drum kit with a stool held over his head. He put it down right beside Darren’s and nudged the Wiretap drummer over so the two of them were side by side. They jostled each other a little and even Dad was laughing at their showmanship that seemed so natural.

  Darren even did a big harrumph move that earned him a ton of laughs.

  “So what were you just about to play?” Eddie asked.

  “Brooklyn Girl!” The crowd shouted before Graeme got the chance.

  “Right then,” Eddie said in a fake British accent that earned him an eye roll and head shake from Graeme. “Brilliant, let’s do this. Brooklyn Girl!”

  And then the nine of them: the five guys from Wiretap and the four from Zen Garden, busted into the song like it had never been played before. Even Dad had been a bit worried about it since the two groups hadn’t had a chance to practice together, but you’d never know it wa
tching them now.

  We never would have been able to predict the way Eddie and Graeme’s voices twined together as the lead singer for Zen Garden took the harmony.

  “I don’t know whose idea this was,” Dad said, turning to me with wide eyes, “but it was a damn good one.”

  “It was Sandy’s,” I said, looking out into the crowd and easily finding her on the sidelines, videotaping the show. One of the members of our crew was with her, acting as her security detail to make sure she didn’t get jostled in the crowd.

  “Remind me to thank her later,” Dad said and then turned back to watch the band.

  I did the same but a moment later he returned his gaze to me. “Wait a minute. What was...” he shook his head. “Was I supposed to be mad about something?”

  Crap. I thought he’d forgotten.

  “Just watch the show,” I said casually.

  He lifted an eyebrow but when he couldn’t stare it out of me, he sighed and returned to watching the band.

  When the song was over, the guys took their bows—all nine of them—to the thunderous applause and wolf whistles from the crowd.

  “Wiretap!” Eddie yelled into the mic. “Everyone go buy their album!”

  “Cha-ching,” Dad said with a laugh, as even he clapped along with the thousands of fans out on the grass, though maybe for a different reason.

  I laughed, but didn’t take my eyes off Eddie because of what was coming next.

  The Wiretap guys all waved at the crowd, took a few more bows, and even threw a few kisses before they started to make their way off the stage.

  Eddie watched them go and I was suddenly worried he wasn’t going to do his part when he then looked out to the sea of fans, leaned into the mic and said, “You know, I do kind of like playing other people’s songs sometimes.