With the Band

by Jean Haus

  The members of Griff come in, and I notice that the stage is being changed over. I put down my camera and go lean against the far wall, watching the band members as they start to unwind.

  Surprisingly, the members of Griff don’t seem much different than Gabe or Sam. They stand around drinking beer and talking. Though they’re sweaty and flushed, girls hang on them. A bottle of whiskey makes a round. I’m kind of let down. I’m not sure what I was expecting. Maybe something more wild and crazy? Other than the plethora of black clothes and rocker hair, this suite resembles a fraternity party. A boring one at that.

  I pick up the camera again and take some more pictures, but when Sam and the girl move to a couch, irritation boils inside of me. I let my camera hang from my neck and get a second bottled beer. Leaning against a chair behind Romeo and Justin, I gulp half of it down. Sam was right. This isn’t going to be an easy six weeks.

  I concentrate on watching Brookfield, the best-known band on the tour, and by the time a guy leans on the chair next to mine, my anger is pretty much under control.

  “Hello there,” he says. His sultry tone is impossible to miss.

  “Hi,” I say slowly, trying to place him because he looks familiar.

  “Couldn’t help but notice you over here all alone.” His smile is warm yet somehow sly.

  The black jeans and buttoned-up shirt have me guessing he is from Griff. I search his long face with its slightly crooked nose. He has that thin, sexy rocker look that dismisses good-looking. Finally, I put the pieces together and recognize his black, wild hair. He’s the guitarist for Griff.

  He brushes a silver-ringed finger on my arm. “You the shy type?”

  I lightly tap the camera around my neck. “No. I’m the at-work type.”

  His head tilts in a question.

  “I’m with Luminescent Juliet. Kind of their personal promoter.”

  “Really?” His dark eyes travel the length of me, pausing at the slice of naked midriff. He inches closer. The tips of his black boots brush my flip-flops. “You’re going to be with us the whole tour, kitten?”

  Leaning away from him and the kitten reference, I nod. Like the others in Griff, he appears to be in his late twenties, but his pervy comment makes him sound older. Even too old to be in Brookfield. Those guys are actually in their late thirties.

  He takes a long draw from his bottled beer, then frowns. “You with one of them?”

  I shake my head. “I have a boyfriend at home.”

  His thin lips curl into a satisfied smile. “At home, huh?”

  “Yeah, we’ve been together for almost a year,” I say, exaggerating my relationship with Bryce, hoping this guy will back off.

  “Ah, but he’s not here.” He puts out a hand. “Name’s Rick. Guitarist of Griff.”

  His egotistical tone implies my panties should drop now that he has announced who he is, but I keep a straight face. “Yeah, I saw the concert,” I say, shaking his hand. “I’m Peyton. Your set was great but I should get going. Long day of travel tomorrow, you know?” I step back, unexpectedly longing for the couch at the back of the bus, but he doesn’t release my hand.

  He tugs on it. “Where you going? It’s early, not yet midnight, Peyton.” His voice purrs over my name.

  “Lots of work to do tomorrow,” I say, trying to pull my hand from his grip. He’s about to find out that this kitten sometimes has claws.

  He tugs me closer. “How about one more beer?”

  “I—”

  “What’s going on, Peyton?” Sam asks, suddenly appearing next to us.

  Rick releases my hand and stares at Sam with narrowed eyes. Sam stares back with a tight jaw.

  Testosterone hangs in the air between them. I force a relaxed expression. “Nothing much, just heading back to the bus.”

  Sam tilts his head toward the exit. “Let me walk you there.” He is not asking. He is commanding me. Yet my desire to get away from Rick overrides the irritation from Sam giving me orders.

  “All right,” I say, taking in Rick’s frown. “Nice meeting you. See you around.”

  Watching me with a gleam in his gaze, he nods, lifting his beer as a good-bye.

  In the hallway, Sam asks in a furious tone, “Was that jerk hitting on you?”

  Not wanting to start anything, I shrug. “He just wanted to have a beer with me.”

  “Yeah, that’s all he wanted,” Sam says as we step onto the elevator. He pulls the striped beanie out of his back pocket and yanks it on.

  I cross my arms in front of me and lean against the back wall. “I can take care of myself, Sam.”

  His hand grips the elevator rail. “Did you want to have a beer with him? Should I walk you back up?”

  Ah, how quickly my savior returns to being a dick. I will not lose my temper. I will not lose my temper. I. Will. Not. Lose. My. Temper. “Yeah, you ruined everything, couldn’t you tell I was playing hard to get?”

  I glare at him as the elevator doors open. “He’s so famous, I’d do anything to sleep with him, even forget about my boyfriend.” I breeze past him into the hall.

  “You do have a past with the whole band thing,” he says, catching up to me.

  Keeping calm. “Sure, I dated a singer. I liked him.” Actually, I thought the sun rose and set on his stupid ass, and believed I was in love. Teenagers are dumb. “There’s a bit of difference.”

  We step out into the cool night. Apparently, high altitudes allow for hot days that turn chilly after sunset, and I shiver as we talk under the glow of the lights in the parking lot. With Sam following a few steps behind, I march past the other bands’ buses—they each have two—then the roadies’ buses. Of course, because we arrived so late, our bus is the last in the long line.

  “So, what about me?” Sam asks.

  I keep moving, don’t turn around to look at him. “What about you?”

  “Why did you sleep with me?”

  I nearly trip as my body seizes up from a mix of anger and embarrassment, but I force myself to keep my cool. I will not let Sam get to me.

  “I told you never to bring that up again. It was a mistake. We both know it.” I reach for the little flap of a door handle. “Alcohol and heartbreak were to blame.” Fuck! The handle doesn’t move, which means the bus is locked. I give the door a quick rap with my knuckles.

  Sam grabs my hand to stop my knocking and presses both of our hands against the fiberglass door as he leans forward, his body shadowing mine, so close I can feel his warmth. Although he’s behind me, I catch the scent of whiskey. “So you used me?” he says harshly. His mouth is inches from my ear.

  “What are you talking about?” My voice breaks on the last word. I’m nervous about his closeness.

  “You and Seth broke up, then you used me to get over him.”

  “What?” I gasp and half turn, forcing him to step back a little. “No. It just happened. You know that. Or were you that wasted?”

  He releases my hand and moves away. “I know you never considered me as anything more than a friend before that.”

  I rap on the door again, and say over my shoulder, “You still can’t be pissed at me about that night.”

  “Pissed? No. Aware of what kind of person you are, yes.”

  “And what kind of person am I?” I ask, my teeth clenched.

  “Self-centered. Bitchy. Stuck up.” His tone is laced with spite.

  “Because you think I used you?” I bark, turning to face him. “You are a hypocrite. We go to the same college, asshole. How many coeds have you been with? Even I know some of the girls you’ve slept with.” My tone is spiteful too when I add, “Or shall we say used?”

  He glares down at me, his lips tight. “They know what they’re getting into.”

  “And you knew how I felt about Seth!” I roar, and start pounding on the door.

  At last, the lock rattles from the inside and the door opens. Gary is already going back up the stairs as I step up into the bus. From the bit of interaction I’ve had with hi
m, it has become apparent that he doesn’t consider socializing part of his job.

  I turn around. “Good night, Sam,” I say snottily. Then I shut the door in his face.

  Chapter 6

  The sound of Gary’s faint snores fills the bus as he sleeps on one of the couches in the front room. Meanwhile, even though I set up my bed, brushed my teeth, and took a very quick shower, I can’t fall asleep. Since Sam opened his stupid mouth, my mind can’t stop straying to the past.

  To Seth. That name was once elation and pain wrapped in one. I rarely let myself think of him. When I do, I remind myself that everyone has growing pains and difficult passages in life. That’s what Seth was for me, and remembering that fact helps me deal with the memories. He was the first boy who ever chased me, my second kiss—my first had been a sloppy affair after a freshman homecoming dance—and my first boyfriend. Though we went to different high schools, we spent hours texting and talking on the phone. I lived for Saturdays then. Thought about nothing but being with him.

  I was euphoric that he wanted me. He was the lead singer of the Bottle Rockets, the popular band that played at all the parties that summer and autumn, and so girls hit on him all the time. When he’d first declared his love, I lived in a haze of teenage hormonal love for months. It was a change to be adored. At the start of high school, I’d been chubby, and the stigma had stayed. No boy in my school had ever shown any interest in me. Seth, on the other hand, treated me like a prize. Bought me flowers. Took me to dinner twice, and serenaded me once. Showed me how sensual kissing could be while being patient with me.

  Then, after three months of bliss, everything changed. He became more persistent about sex. It didn’t feel right—I was still too self-conscious about my body—and I became more resistant. Then our conversations turned difficult. He started accusing me of talking behind his back, mocking him to our friends because he couldn’t get me to sleep with him. He even insinuated I was cheating on him, his tone so angry that it set my heart trembling. Still in love, I’d beg forgiveness even though his attacks were based on nothing. Round and round the cycle went for two months. Until the night the whole thing exploded and we broke up, and my choosing Sam’s shoulder to cry on turned out to be the final nail in the coffin, and the intro to six months of rumors and hurt.

  I’ve always refused to think of that night. At first it was connected to my desire to bury the Seth breakup, because thinking about it hurt too much. Then, as I started putting the painful episode in the past, it seemed stupid to dredge it up and try to process the whole thing. But now it’s almost four years later and I can’t sleep because Sam’s accusation stings so badly. Did I use him? No. We were both drunk. We both let things go too far. And that’s it.

  At least, I always believed so.

  Clutching the blanket wrapped around me, I roll over miserably.

  Maybe it’s time to face that night, reconsider it now that I’m older, and try to truly move the fuck on. I close my eyes and, for once, don’t block the memories. Instead, I allow my mind to dredge up every painful detail.

  Jill was in the farmhouse, partying, and I was outside in the cold winter night, crying. I walked to her parked car, the gravel of the driveway crunching under my feet, then leaned against the side door and sobbed. The smell of cow patties hung in the cool air. The darkness and silence of the winter night was intensified by the lights and laughter coming from inside the house. The full, shining moon created eerie shadows in the apple orchard along one side of the driveway.

  Seth was making me crazy. All week, he’d been texting me, calling me, telling me how he couldn’t wait for the weekend, and couldn’t wait to see me, yet within the first hour of my arrival at the party, he’d started slinging his accusations until we were in a full-blown shouting match in the kitchen. It had started with him saying I was a bitch who was holding out on him. At first, I’d tried to reason. But he’d kept it up, heaping on more abuse, not caring that everyone at the party could hear. Finally, something snapped. Instead of taking my usual approach, denying everything and dissolving into hopeless tears, anger rose up in me.

  “Seth,” I’d said, “who the hell do you think I’m cheating on you with?”

  “Half of the guys at your high school, you slut!” he’d screamed, his face twisted in an ugly sneer.

  Something had gone dead in me then. I’d looked him in the eye. “It’s over, Seth,” I’d said. Then I’d run outside before I burst into tears.

  I silently pleaded with the universe to send Jill outside. When Seth had started his verbal attack, she’d had been in the living room. Was it possible she hadn’t heard? Then I realized that she might have gone upstairs, hooking up with the guy from college she’d been watching for months. If that was the case, I was going to be out there forever.

  A car pulled up and parked at the end of the long line. I stooped down, hoping the newcomers wouldn’t spot me. One person’s footsteps came closer, crunching across the gravel. When it was clear the lone person was going to walk right past and spot me either way, I straightened up, tugged out my keys, and pretended I was finding the right key to open the door.

  “Peyton?” a male voice asked.

  Crap. I let go of the handle.

  “Just getting some air,” I said, trying to steady my voice and hide that I’d been crying.

  “It’s a bit cold to be getting air.”

  In seconds, Sam stood in front of me. A fifth of something dangled from one hand, a book from the other. Parties sometimes bored Sam, so he always brought something to read. “You and Seth fighting again?”

  I nodded and sighed, then looked at the ground.

  He stepped closer. “You okay?”

  “I’m all right,” I said tightly, still refusing to lift my head.

  He stepped closer. “Hey, you want me to get Jill for you?”

  “No.” Jill’s last three weekends had been ruined by Seth and me fighting. Each time, she’d left the party with me, then listened to me cry all night. If she was hooking up with college boy, whom she’d been flirting with for weeks, I wasn’t going to ruin it.

  “Well, you can’t sit out here. It’s too cold. Come on, I’ll walk you in.”

  “Thanks, but no,” I said. Sam was always helping me too, after these stupid fights. Seth made me cry. Sam helped me laugh. “I’m not going in there. We fought in front of everyone. Broke up in front of everyone.”

  He sighed. “Okay, come on. We can hang in the barn.” Though it was dark outside, he somehow read the confusion on my face. He laughed. “No worries. We won’t be hanging with the cows. There’s a small office in the back with a space heater.”

  I shook my head. “Um, aren’t you supposed to play tonight?” People flocked to every party the Bottle Rockets played at. I knew that as soon as they started the first song—and usually they played only three or four—the house would be packed wall-to-wall. All the band members got some attention, but it always seemed to me that more than half of the girls were in love with Seth.

  “Midnight. Seth wants a big crowd, but everything’s set up in the basement since Wes’s kit is already there.” He nodded toward the barn. “Come on.”

  I reluctantly followed him past the other cars and across the driveway to the barn.

  “You’ll see,” Sam said over his shoulder, leading the way. “The office really isn’t that bad for being in a barn. Wes’s dad even sleeps back here sometimes when a cow is sick or whatever.”

  We went in a side door and down a dark hallway, where the scent of cows got stronger with each step. Sam stepped inside a dark room at the end of the hall and tugged on a chain hanging from the ceiling, and the space was then encased in a soft glow. There was a desk, shelves behind it filled with books, an old couch covered with afghans, and a space heater that Sam flicked on before shutting the door and turning to me.

  At the sight of my tears in the light, he shook his head. “Seth’s an asshole.”

  Seeing the pity in his light blue eyes sen
t more tears falling down my cheeks. He set the fifth on the desk, then pulled me onto the couch and into his arms as usual. I was always crying on Sam’s shoulder. It had become so constant, just the feel of him was comforting. After letting me cry against his coat for a few minutes, he asked, “What was it this time?”

  “Same old stuff,” I mumbled into his coat. “I’m a cheating, rumor-spreading bitch.”

  He sighed into my hair. “I’m not sure where he gets this shit, but my blind brother needs his ass kicked.”

  My fingers curled around the lapel of his jacket. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “All right.”

  I glanced around the room. “Thanks for showing me this place. I was freezing my ass off outside. But you don’t have to stay in here with me.”

  “Maybe I want to stay in here with you.”

  A cow’s muted moo filled the silence until Sam said, “‘She Don’t Use Jelly’ by the Flaming Lips.”

  A sad giggle escaped me. I could always expect a laugh with Sam around. “‘Satan Gave Me a Taco.’ Beck.”

  He smirked down at me. The first few times we met, Sam and I had tried to one-up each other on musical knowledge, but we soon became convinced neither of us knew more than the other. Then Sam started this game of trying to match songs. No one else seemed to get it but us.

  I sat up a little but Sam’s arm stayed around my shoulders. “Are we supposed to be in here?”

  “Wesley doesn’t give a shit, and his parents are in Florida for the winter. He turned eighteen this year, so they pay him to keep up the farm for a few months.”