by Joe Shine
“What’s up? Oh, hi,” I said, pretending to be surprised by his friend. I even pretended to be a little embarrassed by my seminakedness.
“Allow me to introduce you to my good friend, Akiko,” he said.
“Hey, nice to meet you,” I said, offering her my hand to shake. “I’m Bobby.”
“Bad timing?” she asked, looking at me and my towel-only attire.
“Pretty girl surprising you in a hotel room is never bad timing.”
Not even a blush. In fact, what was that, pity? Harsh. They followed me into my room.
“Do all of you shower at the same time?” she joked. “Cute.”
I ducked into the bedroom and threw on my jammies before joining them back in the living room.
“So, uh, how do you know Ryo here?” I asked her.
“We were neighbors as children,” Ryo answered for her. He sat down on the couch. Akiko was still snooping around the room, as if looking for something.
“So why are you in Brussels?”
“Her work,” Ryo answered again.
I was beginning to wonder if she’d ever answer herself.
“What do you do?” I asked, making a point to look right at her and not Ryo.
“Information security,” Ryo said, like it would mean something to me.
“I’m a hacker,” she said, finally turning toward me. She looked satisfied—like whatever she’d been looking for she’d found . . . or hadn’t found. “Ryo wants what I do to be something more professional-sounding, but I’m a hacker. That’s what I do. People pay me to hack their systems so they can make them stronger.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded.
“Cool. So basically you’re, like, paid to break stuff.”
“Yes,” she said, sitting down on the couch with Ryo.
“So are you two, uh, you know . . . ?” I asked.
“No,” Ryo said quickly. Too quickly, and with an embarrassed laugh that was too forced to hide how he really felt. I’ve been there, buddy. It sucks. Oh, Leggo, where are you . . .
“Oh, okay.”
There was a nice, long pause of super-fun, awkward silence after that. Akiko stood up. “Sorry to interrupt your evening. Ryo’s told me so much about you that I wanted to meet you.”
“Oh, really?” I looked at Ryo. He nodded. He’d never mentioned her to me. How he could never tell me that one of his closest friends was a hot hacker was something we’d discuss on the bus later. “Yeah, Ryo goes on and on about his Yakuza friends, too, so it’s nice to finally meet one,” I joked. I thought it was funny, but no one laughed. Ryo looked embarrassed. Akiko looked pissed.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“It is an insult to our culture and history that the world stereotypes us into a nation of criminals,” Akiko said.
“I’m really sorry. I just—”
“Good night, Bobby,” she said, and immediately left the room. Ryo followed her out but hesitated at the door.
“Sorry, Ryo,” I said.
“It is okay. I know you are only joking.”
“Can you make sure she knows that?”
He nodded. “Go drink the horses before you sleep, cowboy,” he said with a smile.
“It’s water the horses,” I corrected him, but gave him a polite snort.
“Water the horses? They are not plants. That does not make sense.”
“Neither does drinking horses.”
“No, it doesn’t, does it?” He laughed. “Now I must go speak with Akiko before she calls her Yakuza friends and gets you killed.”
I gave him another polite snort, but it was only to acknowledge the effort. I felt like a world-class a-hole and I deserved to feel bad. I didn’t want to know what she was saying about me, so I turned the volume on my Creepster Gear down and did my best to ignore them. I couldn’t mute it, though, and had to keep some volume. It’s hard to ignore words like “ignorant,” “witless,” and “stupid American.”
Chapter 17
Touch One Hair on His Head
I don’t sleep much since I don’t really need it, but the little bit I got that night was garbage. It was some of the worst sleep I’d had in a long time. My mind ran wild with visions of Akiko as a cowboy giving me her disappointed face as she shot me.
Even though we didn’t have a show, it didn’t mean we had the day off. Every city meant the same daily routine, our regular round of local PR. “Surprise” hosts at a radio station, guest stars on a local TV channel, some type of local honor. It was all pretty repetitive. The day flew by and before I knew it, I was with the boys in a limo, heading to the awards show. Akiko was with us and was going as Ryo’s guest. She still hated me and didn’t make any effort to hide it, so the ride was wonderfully awkward. She looked really nice, though. I mean, she was pretty darn hot in her scruffy hacker clothes, but all fancied up like this? Wow. Just wow.
It took forever to get down the red carpet. I know what you’re thinking: Poor guy has to suffer through people wanting to take his picture. Life must be so hard. But you have to remember I have to make sure no crazy hops the fence and tries to stab Ryo, so it’s doubly exhausting for me. Once we got inside, it was more fun and much less stressful. There was a lot of legit security and no press, so everyone could relax.
No one needs an excuse to come to Europe, so even though it was a kids’ awards show, everywhere I looked there were A-list movie stars and musicians hanging out and joking. Ryo was my regular wingman, but tonight he had Akiko, so I was on my own. I had nothing in common with these people and hate schmoozing, so I figured I’d head backstage and snoop around. Like anyone would stop me. Plan in place, I turned to leave. As I turned, a shoulder bumped into me. It was hard and done on purpose.
Tug Mansfield.
Tug was “me” in our archnemesis, Universal. The feud between our bands was totally fake, of course . . . or it should have been. But it wasn’t to Universal and especially not to Tug. He seemed to be especially into it. I think the label had forced them to say that they hated us so much that now they believed that they hated us. Weird how that happens. They never shied away from trying to pour fuel on the imaginary fire. Apparently this now included shoulder bumps at awards ceremonies. Have you no class, sir?
“’Sup,” Tug said to me, trying to sound tough. He had on a dark blue suit that was strategically dirty and ripped, a pink V-neck, and a black checkered scarf. A scarf?! I can’t even . . .
“Yeah, okay,” I replied, sounding as uninterested in this as I could and trying to walk around him.
Tug blocked my path and I kid you not, chest bumped me.
“Dance-off, son,” he said seriously.
I almost laughed. “Here?”
“Dance-off,” he repeated.
“There’s no music,” I added. Now, I’d heard he was a bit dense, but this was amazing.
He chest-bumped me again as he said, “You scared, boy?”
He looked over his shoulder toward a girl, his date, I guess, who seemed to be really eating this macho crap up. She looked like the trashy, bitter maid of honor who’d had too much to drink at a bachelorette party. Well, at least they have each other? Do two stupid parents make a smart baby? That whole two negatives equal a positive thing? Man, I hope so. If not, Earth is screwed.
“Let’s go, Sky.”
He began to bounce.
Oh my God, you’re serious. I didn’t know what to do. Instinct told me to hit him and put an end to it, but my instincts were something I’d learned to ignore because they’d always given me horrible advice. So then . . . good lord, was I really considering having a dance-off in the middle of this room to shut this situation down? How could that somehow even be an option? Tug raised his palms to taunt me.
“Maybe . . . later.” I slowly backed away.
“That’s right, son. Bac
k on up.”
He clucked. Like a chicken.
I turned away. God, I wanted to punch him.
“’Sup, son,” he said to someone else.
It was the grunt that followed that got my attention. I knew that sound: pain. I knew who made it: Ryo. Every nerve in my body spiked as I whipped around. Ryo was massaging his shoulder. The pain courtesy of a Tug shoulder bump. Akiko was at his side, glaring at Tug. She’d looked like she was about to throw down herself. I was sorta starting to like this girl. A waiter passed with a tray of beef satay hors d’oeuvres and I had to fight the urge to grab one of the skewers and stab Tug to death with it. I took a deep breath and strode over, planting myself between Tug and Ryo.
“Go make sure I’m sitting with you, huh?” I said casually to Ryo.
Ryo nodded, grabbed Akiko’s hand, and pulled her away.
“’Sup, son,” Tug said to me, raising his palms up in the air. “Back for more?”
If you didn’t know, there’s a major pressure point in your forearm. If you know where to grab, you can press down on the radial nerve and cause intense, knee-buckling pain with little effort. My mind shot back to the past for a moment. Like learning a new curse word and using it to death—that was all we did to each other at FATE the few weeks after we learned where to press. Walking down the hallway? Nerve pinch! Eating lunch? Nerve pinch! About to rappel out of a helicopter? Nerve pinch! Pretty stressful few weeks while we got it out of our systems. You had to assume that around every corner someone was waiting to cripple you.
I snatched Tug’s arm and dug my thumb right into the sweet spot. He whimpered and his knees buckled almost instantly.
“On your feet,” I whispered into his ear. I slapped a fake smile across my face as I grabbed his other arm and kept him from crumbling to the floor. “Don’t look around for help, and don’t make a sound, or I’ll press”—I added a bit more pressure with my thumb—“harder.”
Tug’s eyes began to water. He whimpered the saddest and loudest high-pitched squeal I’d ever heard come from a grown man.
People began to stare.
“We’re just two old friends catching up,” I said calmly while smiling and pressing. “Smile, Tug,” I ordered.
He tried to smile, but it looked more like he was showing the world his teeth. Satisfied that he would never forget this moment, this pain, I relaxed my grip. He immediately grabbed his forearm with his free hand.
I leaned over and whispered into his ear, “If you ever touch him again, I’ll break your legs.”
He stared back at me as if I were a stranger. Good. I’d scared the crap out of him.
I smiled, straightened up, and slapped him on the shoulder like an old buddy as I said loudly, “Great seeing you, Tug. Good luck tonight. Say hey to the boys for me.”
Backstage, a huge troupe of dancers caught my eyes. They were doing some really crazy dancing that looked oddly familiar to me. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.
When it ended, the choreographer in charge yelled out, “Okay, great, last chance for makeup and costumes, everyone!”
My stomach jumped. I knew that voice. The group scattered, and when I saw who was still in the middle talking to a couple of dancers, butterflies exploded in my stomach.
“Leggo!” I blurted out, and stepped out from the shadows.
She turned around and it took her half a second to recognize me. For that half second I felt like garbage. How could she not remember me? But then a huge smile burst across her face. “Bobby?!”
Like a zombie, my long-buried crush burst up through the hard ground and back to life.
She ran over to me.
“Hello, person I don’t know and have never met,” she joked.
I’d hoped for a hug. She delivered. A good hug too. A hug that meant something. Or one my crush convinced me meant something.
“I was hoping I’d see you,” she admitted when she let go.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m the choreographer for the dancers in the Solar One Tour,” she said like it was nothing.
My jaw dropped. “That’s awesome!”
“Thanks.”
The small group she’d been talking to before running over to me was still waiting and one called out, “Leggo?”
“Yeah, I know,” she said to them before looking back at me. “I gotta go get changed and stuff. We open the show. Good seeing you,” she said as she turned and started to skip off.
I had to say something. This couldn’t be it. Get her number, address, email, something, you fool. Do something.
“You wanna hang out after?” I blurted out.
“Yeah, totally. I’ll find you,” she said as she ran off with her group. “Good luck tonight!”
I looked around to make sure no one was looking before allowing myself a congratulatory “You know it!” out loud.
The show was about to start, but I needed to head back out to the front anyway. I hadn’t seen Ryo or heard his voice in over ten minutes. Whenever that happens, my insides start to squirm and the feeling won’t go away until I know he’s safe. I knew he was, of course. This place was crawling with security and then there was something about Akiko that gave me the feeling that girl could tear a man in half if she had to. But I had to know for real with my own two eyes (or ears would do).
I found Ryo safe and sound, like I knew I would, over in a corner with Akiko, laughing about something. And don’t think I didn’t notice that the moment I appeared, Tug quickly left the room. I met up with Akiko and Ryo as everyone started heading for their seats and the three of us went inside the auditorium.
We won Song of the Year, Album of the Year, and somehow the Lifetime Achievement Award, too. How that makes any sense for a band that’s only been together for a year and a half I have no idea. Someone, someday will have to explain it to me. I didn’t care about any of it—on many different levels—but mainly because all I could think about was Leggo. Had there even been other dancers up there during the show?
The end of this thing couldn’t come soon enough and when it mercifully did, I hurried out into the main lobby, where the after-party would be, and waited.
“Bobby!” I heard her call out behind me.
I spun around, stupid grin and everything.
“You were awesome,” I told her.
“Thanks,” she said shyly.
“I mean, it was no Moonwalk, but it was pretty good,” I joked.
She laughed. Her laugh was adorable. A good-looking dude suddenly appeared and handed Leggo a drink.
“Here you go,” he said with an Italian accent.
“Thanks, babe,” she responded.
Babe? Did I hear that right? Uh, what the . . .
“Oh, Bobby, this is Evander, my boyfriend.”
Boyfriend?!? What . . . Who . . .
“Hey, nice to meet you, Bobby. I’m a big fan,” Evander said, offering me his hand to shake.
I shook it, because that’s what you do.
“So how do you two know each other?” he asked me.
Deer in the headlights, anyone? It took every bit of control I had to not pull him in close and snatch the life out of him.
“Oh, uh, I consulted for a few days for their tour,” Leggo quickly answered for both of us. “Helped Bobby learn to Moonwalk.”
“Cute,” he said.
Cute?!? CUTE?!? I hadn’t had anything to do with “cute” since I was three. I would show him “cute” when I ripped his spinal cord out and wore it like a necktie. I would call it my “cute jewelry.”
“Oooh, crab cakes,” he said, and walked away.
“You okay?” Leggo asked. I can only assume my face had given me away.
“Oh, yeah, fine,” I lied. “I just, you know, uh, you look happy.”
“Love, you must try these,” Evander
called out, waving her over to the server with the tray of crab cakes.
“Gotta go,” she said with a big smile. “Great seeing you, Bobby!”
“Yeah,” I muttered.
I watched her hurry over to Evander Crab Cakes. It was hard being mad, seeing how excited she was. And besides, who was I kidding? Like I could ever have a normal relationship. I’d been linked. I’d given up everything when I became what I am. Why would dreams of a happy life with a family be any different? Love wasn’t in the cards for me. Not now. Not ever.
I mean, what did I expect? I get married and then tell my new wife that Ryo has to come on our honeymoon because he can’t be out of my sight for more than ten minutes? Come on. Pretty awkward if they don’t know why and even more so if they’re into it. No, Leggo was much better off without me in her life and I knew it. Every girl was. For the second and decidedly final time in my life, I had to leggo my Leggo.
You can’t control what the heart wants.
Oh . . . my . . . God, did I just use the lyrics to “The Start” to describe my feelings? Excuse me, I need to go beat the crap out of myself in the bathroom.
Chapter 18
That Blender You Sold Me is Crap
Tour dates in Lisbon, Madrid, Barcelona, Nantes, Paris, Amsterdam, Liverpool, Glasgow, and Dublin came and went without issue as I slowly got out of my funk. No matter how hard I tried to play it off, I was still really bummed about Leggo and Evander. What a stupid name. It wasn’t until after the Dublin show, our last show in Europe, during the flight back to the States that I finally, honestly got over it.
It was like a switch flipped somewhere over the Atlantic and I was back. Like Leggo had been a European problem that couldn’t cross the ocean. An Old World issue that had no business being in the New. Like monarchies.
We made a pit stop in New York to do a couple days of PR work to promote the upcoming US tour—a few appearances on some morning and late-night TV shows, the big radio stations, the usual. None of us really understood why we had to do this since the whole tour had sold out in minutes, but when the label says “do,” you do.