by A. m Madden
Thank all that is mother-fucking-holy our eight-week tour went off without a hitch. All in all, it’s been a success. Cliffhangers did an awesome job opening for us. Printed reviews have all been favorable. Our fans are as loyal as ever, and their numbers have multiplied astoundingly. Jack and Leila didn’t have a wacko ex or criminal after them. They are in full-blown baby mode. All in all, it was a good tour.
Because of Leila’s pregnancy, Jack’s overprotectiveness has reached new heights. Hunter and Scott’s grumpiness has as well. The moodier they got, the more Jack and I messed with them. They’re so easy to mess with. The only time during the tour that they behaved themselves was when their girls joined us in Chicago and Miami.
In spite of the fact that I’m not happy about touring the country as a bona-fide rock star, I love the life of touring the country as a bona-fide rock star. I’m having a love/hate relationship with touring. The high I feel when performing is only that much fucking better doing it as a rock star on the road. But…I hate the way I’m so exposed to the world. I also hate the living arrangements. My miniscule bunk, which has been home for two months, I won’t miss. I won’t miss hearing Mr. and Mrs. Gag-Me through the walls. I won’t miss listening to Hunter jerking off. I won’t miss Scott’s fucking snoring.
My curtain flies open and Hunter announces, “Band meeting. Jen is on the phone.”
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” I spit out before he moves on to pound on the bedroom door.
Jack says “Ignore it, they’ll go away.”
“I heard that,” Hunter says, undeterred.
“We’re sleeping.”
“Nice try. Get out here, Jen is on the phone.”
We are hours from home, what could possibly be so important it can’t wait until we pull into New York? It takes a few long minutes before we all assemble around Hunter’s cell phone. Once Jack walks in, he looks around at our faces and asks, “So, what’s so important?”
“I have some news.” Jen answers his question over the line. “Rolling Stone wants to follow up their article with a series of feature articles detailing your lives. They will have a mini biography on each of you, as well as a recap article of the band.”
“You’re shittin’ us?” Hunter asks, all bug-eyed.
“No, Hunter. It’s true.”
“Holy fuck! This is fucking awesome.”
“The rest of you agree?”
“Of course we agree,” Jack answers her next.
Crap…I don’t.
This is not good news, by any means. This can be a fucking nightmare. The first article was about DL, and my part was easily handled in a few sentences. Fuck, an entire fucking article written about me? I literally zone out as they all celebrate the news Jen just dumped on us. How am I going to get out of this one?
Jen calls for Jack over the phone.
“What?”
Jen asks him some questions, which I barely hear. My thoughts are on this fucking article. Did I honestly think I could go about my pathetic life, dodging my past and laughing in its face while becoming famous? Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now. No use worrying over something that hasn’t happened yet. I’ll take each dart as it comes at my head…and then I’ll destroy the person throwing it.
Jen starts to question Jack on the DC stop. She’s interrogating him on the tiny snafu that happened after our show. Jack answers some questions and then shuts her up saying, “Not sure what you are talking about. Bye, Jen. We’ll see you tomorrow after the show.”
When he shoots daggers at me for covering my ass, it causes me to spontaneously laugh.
“Fuck you,” Hunter says to me.
“What?”
“You should have come clean. It was your mess.”
“Literally,” Scott puts in his two cents.
“Fucking jackass,” Hunter whines.
“I’m innocent,” I say, trying to keep a straight face.
Leila giggles and Jack tries to hold in his own laugh.
That night was hilarious. After our show, we were chilling backstage. I had security bring me the hot chick that was flirting with me all night. She was already tipsy when she got to me and things were quickly going downhill. The sole purpose of me hunting her down was to get some. I decided it was time to get her to my room, get down to business before she passed out.
I ushered her out of the backstage room. On our way out of the arena, she saw Hunt’s drums sitting innocently and took off for them. She sat and started pounding on them. Her boobs bounced vigorously as she did. Hunter came barreling toward her, and the chick went pale. Without warning, she barfed all over his precious drums.
Chaos…complete, hilarious chaos ensued. I couldn’t stop laughing. Hunt turned all shades of purple. He went off on me, blaming me for the whole thing. What the fuck? I’m not the one who barfed on them. Weeks later, the ass is still holding a grudge. Even now, he sits glaring at me as if it happened minutes ago.
He’s unintentionally funny as shit. “Hey, Hunt?”
He throws me a murderous look. I have to bite my lip to stop me from laughing out loud.
“What do you do if you accidentally run over a drummer?” He continues to glare at me, and I proceed undeterred. “You back up.” He turns a new shade of red. So, I press on. “No? How about this one? What do you call a drummer with half a brain?”
“I’m going to pummel you,” he responds through clenched teeth.
“Errrr…wrong answer. A drummer with half a brain is gifted.”
Scott hides his snicker with a cough. That sends me into hysterics. Hunter starts whipping Fruit Loops at my head. I’m laughing uncontrollably as I deflect them with my arms.
Once the box is empty, he says, “Yeah? Just for that I’m going to go jerk off in your bunk.” He takes off for my bunk. This fucker is about to die.
I reach him just as he gets to my bunk, and for the next very long minutes I proceed to make his life miserable.
“What did you do to him?” Jack asks when I saunter back to my seat on the couch.
“Nothing. I just kept throwing one-liners at him. He’ll hide for the rest of the trip. You’re welcome.”
“Hey, man, I’m all for busting Hunt’s chops, but don’t you think you’re laying it on thick?”
I may be shamelessly using Hunter to get out my frustrations, but so fucking what? “No,” I deny.
“Those drums are his pride and joy. Your chick barfed all over them.”
“She’s not my chick, and I’m not her keeper.”
“Whatever,” Jack shrugs, because he knows there’s no way I’ll admit any of that was my fault.
“Trey, I know you aren’t that cold and insensitive,” Leila picks up where her husband left off.
“You, too, Little Lair?”
“Cut him some slack. For me?”
This chick gets to me. For some stupid reason, I let her. She calls me out every time I’m acting like an ass. Why do I care what she thinks? I think because deep down inside, I want to please her. I don’t have any feelings for her. I really do feel as if she is a sister who just likes to annoy me. I also like having her in my life.
“What?” she shrugs when I sit watching her behind my shades, refusing to concede. She cracks her beautiful smile and mission accomplished. I now feel bad for how I treated Hunt. That dude has been miserable without his chick. Now I feel sorry for the jackass for all I’ve done to him.
Goddammit.
“You’re a pain in my ass, Little Lair,” I admit, once I realize she did it again. She made me feel something other than indifference.
“Trey, you’re about to be an uncle. I want my baby to look up to you guys, to idolize you. I know you want that, too. Even the Grinch had a heart. I know yours is in there somewhere.”
“Nope, I’m heartless,” I deny her claim.
“No, I think it’s been broken. I think you’re afraid it will be again. Isn’t there a tiny part of you that’s tired of acting like you don’t give a shit?”
Damn it, Leila has this uncanny way of pegging me. I’ve never, ever given her a clue to my inner thoughts. It baffles me how she sees right through me.
“I don’t,” I deny her claim.
“Yes, you do.” She gives me her mega-watt smile and adds, “You give a shit about me.”
Fuck.
“Fine, I’ll apologize to Drum-Head once he comes out. Happy?”
Leila beams at me like a proud mom. “Very. Thank you.”
“Hey, Little Lair…”
“Stop,” she raises her hand and stops me from continuing. “Do not ruin our moment.”
“Okay, I’ll save it for later.”
“I can’t wait.”
Hunter appears from his bunk with a pissy look on his face. He ignores us and pours himself a new bowl of Fruit Loops.
“Amatto.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, man.”
“For what?”
Dickhead.
“For the drums, for busting on you, for being a prick.”
He turns to face me. “You’re forgiven.” He walks to where I’m sitting and demands, “Now kiss my feet.”
“Fuck off.” I punch his leg away and turn to Jack. “Can I kill him now?”
“Yeah, go for it,” he gives me permission.
Hunter takes one look at me and bolts, leaving more Fruit Loops in his wake. Leila giggles, and I smile at her.
“You’re still a pain in my ass,” I accuse her, even though I’m finding her to be adorable right now.
“But you love me,” she brags, raising her chin defiantly.
“I don’t love. I heavily like you.”
“Whatever.”
“Okay, you’re going to be the disciplinarian. I’m impressed,” Jack says before he bends to kiss her.
“I’m not surprised.”
“We have at least another hour to go. Let’s take a nap.”
Ugh, here we go. Before they can set off my gag reflex, I stand and say, “Nap my ass. Go screw your brains out. Scott, you can go be with your boyfriend. I’d like some peace and quiet. You all gave me a headache.”
“I need off this bus and away from you all, no offense, Leila.” Scott barks out, out of nowhere. He suddenly stands and starts babbling. “You’re all driving me fucking crazy. I can’t wait to get away from you, no offense, Leila, and fuck Patti’s brains out. I’m this close to hitchhiking. You’re all getting on my fucking nerves. Jack, you aren’t the only man on Earth whose wife is having a baby. Jesus Christ, enough with the fucking nagging already. And Hunter and his goddamn jerking off two feet away from me, not to mention Mr. Joke-Man and his humongous ego, you are all getting on my fucking nerves.”
Joke-Man?
He stomps over to the fridge, and while speaking in tongues, his head pops out to utter an insult at us. His eyes are glazed over and his face is red as a tomato. I laugh again at Scott’s response to the situation. It looks like he’s gonna blow his stack.
This shit is better than TV.
After Jen’s phone call, I spent the rest of our trip home mulling all sorts of scenarios around in my head. I can’t worry about the ramifications of becoming more popular with each passing hour. It literally feels like we gain fans by the minute. They find us, and they make their appearance known. Either through our website or the other nonsense places that Jen set up in the social media world, they let us know that they know who we are. This upcoming Rolling Stone article is going to blow us up even more. They think they know who makes up DL. They may know the others, but regarding me, all they know is Trey Taylor is the bad boy of the group. They know I am a mystery. They know I am a loner. I’ll just fill the articles with all the lies I’ve told over these years and add some more lies. There’s no need to share anything truthful.
They DON’T know my truth. At the moment, there isn’t a person on earth who knows the connection between Trey Taylor and Trestan Barton. I remind myself daily that no one knows who I am. That bit of reality is what keeps me going. That and living my pathetic life doing the two things I do happen to love, fucking and playing. Sure, I’ve been doing both while on the road, but being back home makes it easier on me. Fucking in that damn bunk is not fun. It was a short tour, yet I feel like we’ve been away for years.
From the front seat of the bus, the New York skyline appears in our vision like the finish line in a marathon. Its as if it’s crooking its finger, personally calling Trey Taylor back home. Seeing the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, they remind me of Taylor’s tourist bucket list. The memory of her sitting at the edge of the creek, rambling off random places she wanted to see still breaks my fucking heart like it was yesterday. My nostalgic moments may come a lot less frequently than they did years ago, but when they do come they still fucking wreck my heart.
Taylor would have loved New York. She would bask in all of the culture, the diversity. She would have loved it as much as I do. Besides Leila, this city is the only thing that warms my cold, unfeeling heart. I love living here. I’m not sure what will face me in my future or who will find me to take me down, but I’m positive nothing could cause me to leave New York.
Hunter says, “Holy fucking shit!” as our bus pulls up to curb.
There’s a crowd in front of The Garden and a police presence to control them. We’re hot shit around these parts. We were after we returned from our last tour. We were recognized everywhere. We had Jack and Leila’s security dude accompanying us whenever we appeared in public together. From the looks of things, our popularity has grown even more while we’ve been gone.
Hunter comes up behind me and asks, “They for us?”
“Apparently,” I respond, not nearly as enthusiastic as he is.
Fucking awesome, I think sarcastically to myself.
The rest of our band looks out the windows of the bus, in awe as the mob that erupts into cheers. The volume of their screams is so loud that their noise travels into the bus.
“Shit, this is unreal,” Scott says to no one in particular.
Our bus is the first of the three to arrive. Standing at the curb is a very familiar redhead. She watches the bus, scanning the darkened window as if she could actually see us staring back at her.
“Why is Lori here?” Hunter asks Leila.
“Um, she came to welcome Matt back,” she says while nervously looking at me. I overheard Leila on the phone with Lori while we were on the road. I only heard one side of the conversation, but the gist was clear. Lori was struggling with feelings she still had for me. Leila was playing devil’s advocate, trying to convince Lori I’m not the man for her. She should stay with Matt. They are perfect for each other.
On the other end, Lori argued causing Leila to keep reminding her of all my lesser qualities. I don’t know if Leila truly feels that way about me, or if she was just trying to push Lori in the right direction to spare us both. I never mentioned it to her. I don’t want her to feel bad about it. I understand why she said what she said. She’s right. I am not meant for Lori. Since then, I’ve wondered if Leila’s words convinced her. I decided to handle the situation myself. I had planned on calling her, but since she’s here I may as well get it over with.
“Hey, can you guys give me a few minutes. I want to talk to her alone.”
Leila and the guys all gawk at me like I’ve lost my mind. Jack is the first to speak. “Sure, Dude. We’ll wait here.”
I go to the back to retrieve my guitar and bag, and then head off the bus toward her.
Her face pales when she sees me walking straight to her. “Hey,” I say casually.
“Hey. How are you?” she asks as her eyes roam over my face.
“I’m great. Tour was awesome.”
“Yes, I know. You all should be proud.”
My head fills with all I want to say, but I can’t get my brain to work my mouth. After a few long, awkward moments of silence, she smiles and says, “Um, well…I need to go.”
“Wait,” I manage to s
ay, stopping her in her tracks. I close the distance between us. I can beat around the bush, but I decide to get right to the point. “You, me, it was great, but it’s done.”
Her eyes widen in shock. It’s clear from the look on her face she did not expect me to say that or anything like it. She lifts her chin a fraction as if she’s trying to let me know that I don’t affect her any more. “I know that,” she says defensively.
Her conversation with Leila comes to mind. The things I heard did not sound like a girl who was moving on. “I’m not sure you do,” I add in a pathetic attempt to get her to walk away from what we had. This is my chance to cut ties with Lori Banzini.
“Trey, I have to go. Just get to the point.” She’s embarrassed and her tone gets snippy.
“I overheard Leila on the phone with you.”
“Leila is always on the phone with me. Can you specify?”
“I’m not it for you. Move on.”
She levels me with an ice-cold glare. There can be no mistaking my words or my intent.
“Well, no worries. I have moved on. It was great. I had a blast, but I know Matt is it for me.”
“Good. I want you to be happy.” I skim my hand down her beautiful face and quickly walk away. The feelings that I had for her are still simmering just below the surface, but this is for the best, for both of us. She will have a much better life with Matt.
Sometimes I feel that she does it on purpose. Jen just loves to fuck with us. I feel like death warmed over. Hung over is an understatement. The fact that I am sitting here in this conference room at nine fucking a.m., the night after our closing show, proves she’s evil. When Jack broke the news we needed to meet with the Rolling Stone reporter at nine fucking a.m., I decided it was easier to stay up all night than to attempt to get up at that ungodly hour.
Our closing show at The Garden was epic. The after party backstage was even more so, I think. I don’t remember much. What I do remember is three roommates…a blonde, a redhead, a brunette, and me. Those three rocked my world last night. It was a fitting end to my dry spell. Ha ha, dry spell. Most guys would consider no sex for a week normal.