In the Absence of You

by Sunniva Dee

  Tonight, I feel brave.

  “Do you find me attractive?” I ask, blushing in the dark.

  “Baby,” he whispers back. “You’re ridiculously hot. Fucking exotic and sexy as hell. I can’t get enough of you in bed, all right, and I want to touch you whenever you pass me, on the bus, at venues, wherever. But when a dude’s hung up on someone and can’t get a grip on his life, even the gods can’t change how wrecked he is.”

  I shake my head in his hands, feeling tears prick my eyelids. It means everything that he gives me a chance to prove him wrong.

  “Please understand, Aishe. I can sleep with you. I can sleep with anyone out there. But, fuck me, there’s nothing I can do about Zoe.”

  “Just give me a chance,” I push out. My tears drip down my temple to his fingers, and he curses quietly.

  “I never meant for it to go this far,” he whispers. “I never meant to hurt you. We should have quit after that first time.”

  “No,” I object while he dries my tears with his hand. “I’m glad it happened. I can be what you need, Emil. I can.” I hiccough. “I can help you get over her.”

  “You want to be my rebound girl?” he asks, and the tender way he strokes my cheek makes me understand what a dumb idea he thinks it is.

  “Yes.” I don’t mean it. That’s how our relationship will start, sure, but it will develop. He’ll see how he loves me. I’ll be the perfect girlfriend, and once he catches on, he’ll be so thankful I didn’t give up on him. “Just open up. Be with me instead of being sad.”

  “I’m not in the business of causing heartache. You’ll feel used. You’ll feel awful,” he warns me.

  “Only if you sleep around. The tour is over in three weeks,” I say, feeling hope leak into my bones. “No harm if we can’t stand each other by then.”

  “Says she who just cried in my arms,” he murmurs, and despite the words, I wonder if he’s entertaining the thought.

  “Give me a chance,” I repeat. “I’ll talk with Shandor. He won’t interfere. Let’s be together for the rest of the tour.”

  Air leaves Emil’s lungs in a long, worried exhale. “You’re serious. You want to be my tour girlfriend.”

  A terrible idea. “I do. You like me…”

  “Aishe, I have no love left in me.”

  A rock made of granite hits the bottom of my stomach. I don’t understand. No, no, I don’t, but if I tell him, I won’t have the next three weeks to prove that life goes on without Zoe. I won’t get to show him what things can be like with me.

  Tour girlfriend.

  I flinch, surprised when his mouth connects with mine, deepening a kiss that’s all tongue and moisture. My heart does triple-beats, hoping I’m interpreting him correctly. “Tour girlfriend,” he whispers between kisses. “This is so wrong.”

  I have interpreted him correctly. “Sometimes wrong is right,” I whisper against his mouth as he touches me again. “Life isn’t hell, Emil. I promise you will smile again. Even offstage you’ll smile.”

  EMIL

  Aishe walks the aisle of the bus with hips swaying and skirts flowing. She glances at me from beneath long strands of midnight-black hair striped red, and when I meet her stare, her lips roll in a smile. She’s never far away, guessing my wishes, sometimes before I know them myself, handing me extra ice, a napkin—a fork.

  In restaurants, she rests her chin on my shoulder, lending warmth and support. At night, I don’t have to make an effort. She comes to my bunk on her own. On hotel nights, Bo has Troll factor in an additional hotel room, because I’m calmer with Aishe, he states.

  I am calmer with her. It’s been five days since I announced our arrangement to the band. I waited until we stopped to fill gas at a truck stop. She and I decided we’d break the news at the same time, so she got off to meet up with Shandor on the crew bus.

  “So, dude,” I’d started, referring to them all as one. “Aishe and I are gonna hang out on the tour.”

  “What do you mean, ‘hang out?’” Nadia asked, tangling her arm with Bo’s in the corner of the back-lounge sectional. As always, the two of them got up early and packed up the flip-out bed to turn it into a common room before the rest of us even woke up.

  Uncomfortable, I shrugged. “Everyone knows what ‘hang out’ means.”

  “She’s his tour girlfriend,” Troy explained, voice cold with disdain.

  “You were listening to us last night? Perv,” I said.

  “Right, like you’d have to listen. You’ve got to quit grunting when you come, asshole.”

  What?

  After Bo, the single most careful being on this tour is Troy. Quiet, cool, polite. Measured in everything he does. Unlike me, Troy never speaks without thinking.

  “What’s your problem, Troy? Just say it.” I crossed my arms, staring at him until those weirdly light eyes met mine. He opened his mouth, stare flashing with anger. Elias thumped back in the seat, entertained, rocking the cushion behind us.

  “Nothing,” Troy clipped. “Be careful with her. That girl’s too good for games.”

  “I’m not playing a damn game, all right? You know what I’d do if I played games?” I let out a laugh. “I’d play games that had nothing to do with chicks and a whole lot to do with Russians.”

  “Russians?” Elias twisted his lip, considering because he’s a moron. I couldn’t tell if he was acting or just that stupid. “White Russians? Or does it involve bullets?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Elias!” Bo never explodes, and yet he did yesterday.

  My brother. I love that guy so much I’d follow him to hell and back. I wish him all the best, always. I don’t know if I’ll be there for the always. I’d like to meet his baby one day.

  Fuck.

  Troll froze at Bo’s outburst. Slowly, he closed his laptop and steadied his elbows on the table. “All right, calm down everyone. Go ahead, Emil. What’s the deal with Aishe and you?”

  “We’re going to try out the relationship thing,” I said, which I might not have done if Troy hadn’t turned into a goddamn prick and Bo hadn’t exploded. I couldn’t look at Nadia. Because of Bo’s reaction, her eyes had turned glassy. She stroked her boyfriend’s arm, and he slid into repair mode, tucking her against him and kissing the top of her head.

  “Aishe’s telling Shandor as we speak. As you might know, he’s not a fan of her being with anyone, especially not me.”

  Nadia had more questions, I could tell, but she didn’t speak up, probably because she didn’t want Bo to blow up again.

  “So she won’t be your, quote, unquote, ‘tour girlfriend?’” Troy asked, his voice dripping with contempt. “You’ll be in an actual relationship?”

  What the hell?

  I whipped around, glaring at him. “Yeah. Okay, guys. Here’s the thing: Troy likes to take notes on what I do with my sleepovers.”

  “Do you understand that she’s not some random chick you can play with, Emil? We’re talking Aishe! Get it?” Troy sucked in a breath, reeling himself in late.

  “It wasn’t even me, dude. She was the one suggesting it. She wants to be my tour girlfriend, okay? I told her I wasn’t ready for anything besides groupie action, but she insisted, and we’re giving it a try.”

  “Oh how noble of you,” Troy muttered. “Bet you accepting had nothing to do with the free flow of sex.”

  Elias snorted out laughing, while Bo leaned forward, meeting Troy’s glower with one of his own. “Troy, let it go. Let’s hear him out.”

  “I don’t have to promise her anything. That’s the whole point! Plus, this way she won’t have to see me with someone else.”

  “As I said: noble.”

  “What’s your deal, Troy?” I shouted. “I don’t know how to not be with her, okay? She’s insistent, beautiful, sweet—I mean, what am I supposed to do? Share if you’re full of awesome ideas on how to handle this.”

  “How about saying no? Or is that too simple of a word for you? When she climbs into your bunk, tell her fucking no!”
r />   “Shut up, dude. Have you ever tried to reject a girl and have her not listen? I’m sad as shit twenty-four seven, and the last thing I need is a girl I like walking around being as sad as me because of me. You’re just— Ah fuck you all. This way, at least one of us is happy.”

  Elias was the only one finding our exchange humorous. He couldn’t stop snickering. “Aww, poor Emil,” he pouted out. “He’s so sought after the chicks decide where he puts his cock now.”

  The bus door opened and closed as I lunged for Elias’ neck. Troll wedged between us and kept the jerk out of reach.

  “Excuse me for trying to inform you guys nicely!” I roared. “You’re all a bunch of bozos.”

  “‘Bozos?’” Elias laughed, slapping his knees like some cartoon character while Bo dug his fists into me from behind, helping Troll keep me from bashing Elias’ face in.

  “Discussion over,” Bo snarled. “Aishe just returned, and this isn’t a band meeting where we vote on shit. Emil has informed us that he’s got a girlfriend, and we’re happy for him. We’re not against it, and we’re not making fun of him.”

  Aishe’s silhouette grew bigger as she tiptoed down the aisle on high heels. Seconds later, she breached the bunk area and peeked in through the door to the back lounge. “Hey, guys.”

  “There she is. Come on in, Aishe,” Bo said, recuperating his cool self. “We were talking about you.”

  I studied my tour girlfriend, hoping she hadn’t overheard too much. I shouldn’t have worried; in Aishe’s stare, I saw a female with a will of steel, someone who knew what she wanted—someone who just got what she wanted.

  I’d had that vile feeling of having made a mistake, but watching her made me relax. She didn’t hesitate when she slid an arm around my neck, and I tilted my head to better receive her kiss, showing my friends that I was in this one hundred percent.

  “Hey, baby,” she murmured, easing seamlessly into her new role as my girlfriend. What balls, especially considering the disagreement she’d walked into. “Do we have their blessings? Shandor’s were… a bit forced.”

  Her statement loosened the tense mood around us. Of course, Elias was the first one to laugh, damn hyena. Next, Nadia let out an unused giggle. Bo loves it whenever Nadia finds something funny these days, so a smile broke through on his face too.

  “Well, congrats, kids. We’re happy for you,” Troll said, instigating polite mutterings of “cool” and “good for you.”

  It’s strange to have a no-brainer girlfriend with me on tour. We’ve got this quiet understanding. Being with me makes Aishe happy. She’s company to me. She gives me heat when I need it.

  I’ve gotten into the groove of not signing boobs or making tramp stamps with Sharpies, but if I’m honest, I didn’t stop for Aishe. I did it for my bitchy girl back in Los Angeles.

  For Aishe, I don’t sleep with anyone else. I don’t miss the thrill of one-night stands, because really, it never was my thing. When I catch up with Aishe after a show, there’s no sadness in her eyes now, and that makes me feel damn good.

  “The Entertainer” is still my favorite. There’s nothing better than pointing my gun at myself at the end and pulling the trigger. Oh the rush, even if it’s not real.

  When I sit up, vision hazy with lust and victory, I find her black stare below the stage. Red feathers and shiny hair form a silhouette, right there at the very front.

  Every night, she breaks away from her stand for “The Entertainer.” She wants to support me. Send me a message, maybe, but it’s one I don’t want to learn, a first no from this girl. I’m not tour-dating her to get noes.

  All of my noes should come from Zoe.

  Only once did Aishe ask me to drop the revolver act. It was after I got us the 1897 replica without a permanently affixed orange plug. I explained that it’s not happening. She’s a smart girl, so she didn’t push her luck and she hasn’t asked me since.

  Aishe is busy packing up her after-show merch. I don’t feel guilty when I get off stage, lock the door to one of the dressing rooms, and call Zoe.

  My Zee, she doesn’t pick up. She never does. I star-sixty-seven her and get ready for her to not pick up again. When I’m right, I imagine her at Scott’s diner in L.A., working late, a double shift—because she’s not out on a date with some dipshit—and I sing Percy Sledge’s “When a Man Loves a Woman” to her.

  Zoe doesn’t understand. If she did, she wouldn’t shun me. Smoky, husky, and road-worn, my voice does what the rest of me can’t do. I don’t start my voicemail with words she won’t listen to. I dip straight into the middle of the song, for lyrics she needs to hear.

  I tell her I love her.

  I tell her I gave her all that I am.

  I tell her I’m desperate. That I’m trying to remain sane. That her love is precious, so precious, and I ask her to please, please not treat me so bad.

  When the beep cuts me off, it’s ironic. We’re the biggest indie band in America. Tonight’s venue held eight thousand ecstatic fans, some crying when we left the stage after our last encore. I’m about to head into a meet-n-greet where girls will go apeshit—they’d do anything I asked of them just for a small piece of me—

  Yet, here I am, pleading for crumbs from a phone company that’s blocked my communication with the only person who matters.

  Air bursts out of me in a chuckle. Isn’t it great though? There’s always something keeping the emperor grounded.

  The door handle rattles.

  “Dude, you got the deli trays in there?” Elias yells.

  “Yeah, hold on.” I let him in. Then I scan the corridor, which is clear, with the exception of a long, green skirt and a myriad of bangles flowing toward me in a steady rhythm.

  I cross my arms and wait in the doorway. It’s nice to watch her walk like that, small feet peeking out below the silk and dark eyes trained on me. Aishe sees me. Oh yes, always. It’s good to be the center of her attention.

  When she arrives, delicate fingers trace my cheek, and she explains that I need to shave. She can’t wait to get to the next city, she whispers, because she wants me alone in a hotel room. She’ll personally shave me too, she says.

  Silly.

  I close my eyes, surrendering to Aishe’s touch, enjoying her comfort and letting it replenish me. The vacuum after Zoe doesn’t disappear, but it’s smaller with Aishe close by. There’s guilt over not paying back all she gives me, but what can I do?

  Life’s full of bullshit, and some of it has to be suppressed. For me, that something is guilt. There’s nothing I’d rather do than erase everything about Zee and chuck in all that Aishe deserves.

  “How are you?” she asks, catching on to my mood.

  “Oh fine. Good show, right?” I ask, clearing my throat. It’s not like I’ve been cheating on her by singing to my ex.

  “Very nice,” she agrees, eyes light at first, then darkening as she thinks about my Russian roulette spoof. I don’t want her to focus on it every time. It’s only the fifth night, but I see a pattern.

  “Don’t do that,” I say. “You can’t decide over me.”

  “I know. Sorry. It’s just sad to see you happy when you click the trigger.” Her lip trembles, but then she lets go of me and heads for the deli trays. Bo enters, asking for the cheeses. I point—next to the veggies—and he fills a small plate and takes it with him, to Nadia, I suppose.

  By the time Aishe turns, her lip isn’t trembling anymore. She’s brave again, the way I want her. My perfect tour girl.

  AISHE

  It’s a hotel night in Southern California. My love fire and I, we’ve been together for ten days now. We’re together every minute between shows and after shows. I get my moments where he sees me, light blue eyes shimmering with gratitude and tenderness, but then there are the others where he disappears into the shadows of Zoe.

  He still gets sloshed after the concerts. Not always, but quite a bit. At least he doesn’t flirt with groupies anymore. He keeps a comfortable distance to them and upholds
his respect for me. With it, he keeps Shandor’s watchful gaze at bay too.

  Me, I’m where I’m supposed to be. Whenever my eyes rest on my man, everything behind my ribs softens.

  I can’t resent Zoe. I don’t understand why she cut Emil off without allowing him to defend himself, but I overheard their conversation at a show a few weeks ago, and Zoe has baggage too. Who am I to judge anyone else? Here I’ve been on a forever-quest to dodge my plague, only to muddle up in the midst of it with Emil. Shandor’s biological mother would be sad for me if she knew.

  Strangely, it doesn’t take long to come to terms with your destiny. After half a decade of fleeing, I spent a few months trying to trick it. Now, here I am, trying to form it instead.

  Oh when I sneak out after tonight’s show to arrange candles, put on perfume and new lingerie, it’s because I haven’t won my forever yet. I’m on it—I’ll be on it until he’s exactly where he needs to be.

  In two days, Chavali and Kennick will meet us in San Diego. Emil and I aren’t in a place where I can test his dedication to me, but I’ll ask him—ask him sweetly—if he’d like to meet my sister.

  This morning, Troy and I shared a taxi both ways to the San Francisco Bay area. As usual, he spent more time in music stores than anywhere else, while I picked up my goodies for my hotel night with Emil.

  On the way back, Troy’s dark lashes swayed upward, revealing stunning olive eyes as he asked, “Is it everything you thought it would be, Aishe?”

  His question was out of context. My brain, my logical sense, told me there was nothing to respond to without asking for clarification. But I knew. Every step over the last days, Troy has kept a quiet focus on the development between my boy and me.

  My exhale shuddered out. I could talk with him if I wanted. After months on the road together, he hasn’t once told me what to do. Emil used to beg me to give up on him for my own good. Shandor gives his opinion at every turn. But Troy? What he asked me in the cab was pure and open, untainted by judgment. I sighed while I packed the lingerie, the perfume, the CD of romantic ballads, below my knees in the cab.