Going on Tour

by Katrina Abbott

“You would have seen it if you’d been paying attention,” I said, trying to not sound defensive. “I wasn’t hiding anything.”

  She stood up and brushed off her butt. “So why didn’t you tell me?”

  Good question. But I had a good answer that was most of the truth of why I’d never said anything. “Because it was nothing. It didn’t mean anything and it definitely wasn’t supposed to be on the posters. They told us they wanted an almost kiss.”

  “So what happened?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Some sort of miscommunication between Rex and his assistant. Whatever it is, I’m sorry you got blindsided like that—I would have told you if I thought for a second that they’d put it on the poster.”

  She nodded. “I know you would have. And anyway, you’re with Andres, right?”

  “After tour...right now, we’re nothing.” I didn’t tell her about Andres’s stupid jealous chest-beating from a few minutes before in the bathroom. No need to stoke the fire.

  “I wonder why Dave didn’t tell me.”

  “He probably didn’t think it was a big deal, either. Same as me, he didn’t expect the poster to turn out like that.”

  “Probably. Anyway, once we’re done with tour...we have all that chemistry.” She wagged her eyebrows at me, making me laugh. I had yet to see evidence of this chemistry she’d been talking about but wasn’t about to dispute its existence. Except, I had seen that twinkle in her eye when she’d been looking at Darren earlier. Was she confusing her attraction to guys with her having chemistry with guys?

  I opened my mouth to ask her about that, but realized I didn’t want to know. And again, no point stoking fires that were well contained at the moment.

  “What?” she asked. “What were you going to say?”

  I looked up into the sky, squinting. “I lost my train of thought.”

  Sandy put her arm across my shoulders, turning me back toward the big glass building and leading me to the door.

  “I guess this means we’re good?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yes. I mean, I don’t think I was really mad—more surprised. I know you and Dave aren’t into each other. You and Andy are a thing.”

  “Exactly,” I said, very relieved.

  “So what are you doing about that poster?”

  I sighed. “I really, really hate how amazing it looks.”

  “I didn’t get a good look at it. Just that it was you and him kissing.”

  Glancing over at her, I gave her a sardonic look. “Trust me, it’s good. I hate it, but I totally get why my dad wants to use it.”

  She understood what my look meant. “You’re going to let him use it.”

  I took a big breath and nodded. “I’m going to let him use it.”

  “People will think you and Dave are a thing.” Her tone told me that bothered her, but it’s not like it was true or we could do anything about it. Anyway, it’s not like she was actually dating him (yet?).

  “I know. Maybe no one will know who I am.”

  Sandy let out a loud laugh.

  “You’re not going to tell anyone,” I said, more warning than question.

  “No,” she said. “But still.”

  I repeated my father’s words: “I’m in profile. It’s not clearly me, maybe I won’t be recognized.”

  She snorted.

  “It’s not like I’m famous,” I said and gave her a very pointed look. “Right, Sandrine?”

  She just looked at me for a second and then shrugged. “I won’t say anything.”

  Sandy and I returned to the meeting room where we helped with the rest of the posters. No more was said about them, so I had to think Dad had told the boys to just keep signing and not mention them again—whatever it was, I was grateful to not have to talk about it anymore.

  Then, after we made sure all was set up for the reception, Sandy and I went to watch the rehearsal and sound check. All went perfectly (the crew at the Hall of Fame had everything down to a science—any hiccups with setup were on our end) and we were done early, so the guys got to go chill in the reception room early.

  Dad debriefed them on what to expect with the meet and greet and gave some pointers on how to act: to smile as much as possible, to be gracious and do as many photos with fans (and soon-to-be-fans) as time would allow. Friendly was important, but there was a fine line and flirting was a definite no-no. No signing body parts. No kisses, even on the cheek, no matter how much begging a fan might do. No full-on hugs; side hugs only, just to be safe.

  This was all about good publicity and how they couldn’t afford to mess it up. In the age of cell cameras everywhere and the immediacy of social media, the boys were vulnerable and had to keep that in mind and be on their best behavior at all times.

  In fact, down the road, once they were big, Dad would put a stop to most events that put them in direct contact with fans, but for now, they needed the exposure. They needed the fans tweeting and Instagramming the hot boys of Wiretap.

  Once the debrief was over, I was at the snack table, deciding between a cupcake and a piece of cheese when a body sidled up beside me. A tall, great-smelling body. I didn’t need to glance up at Andres to know it was him, but I did anyway.

  Except the look on his face made me forget food. “What?” I asked, my smile dissolving.

  “The posters.”

  Only two words, but they were enough to set me on edge. “Please,” I said turning back toward the table and choosing both the cheese and the cupcake, putting both on my plate because who knew when I’d get to eat again?

  “Vanessa,” he said.

  I sighed and turned back toward him. “Andres, it’s nothing. No one will even know it’s me. And anyway,” I dropped my voice, looking past him to where the boys and Sandy were sitting and talking, but no one was watching us. “There is nothing between us,” I reminded him. Tour was just beginning, we had days, maybe even weeks together before we could start our relationship.

  “So you say, but that kiss...”

  Wait. What? Oh, he thought I was reassuring him that there was nothing going on between me and Dave? I shook my head, reaching for some carrot sticks, stalling as I tried to sort out what to say to him. I was conflicted, because most of me hated that he was being jealous, but at the same time, a small part of me loved it. But that small part also realized it was a moot point because he had nothing to be jealous of. Also, if this was a sign of things to come, I was probably going to end up throwing him off the tour bus at ninety miles an hour.

  “That kiss,” I hissed, with another glance over my shoulder to make sure we weren’t overheard. Not because I felt I needed to defend myself, but because I didn’t want anyone to know we were dangerously close to talking about a relationship. “...was nothing. It was staged by Rex and my father. Not that I should have to explain myself to you, but it meant nothing.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t have to like it,” I said, reaching for another piece of cheese. “It has nothing to do with you. Stop being a jealous caveman.”

  He clenched his jaw but finally nodded. “Sorry,” he said, actually sounding contrite as he leaned in closer, close enough that I could feel his breath on my neck. “Maybe I’m jealous because I want to be the one kissing you. And it’s killing me that I have no idea when I can kiss you again.”

  Okay, so that was unexpected. And apparently my body freezing in place was his cue to go on.

  “Why can’t I stop thinking about you, Vanessa?”

  I fumbled the cheese so it dropped on the table. “Andres,” I croaked, not looking at him. With a hand that shook, thanks to his words, I picked up the stray cube of cheese and placed it very carefully and deliberately on my plate.

  “It’s the truth,” he said, his voice melting my insides. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to be the one kissing you. I want to be the one on that poster so everyone knows it’s me, and only me, who kisses you.”

  Cavemen weren’t supposed to be sexy, but G
od... I had to clear my throat before I could speak, trying to act all professional. “That poster is for marketing. It wasn’t even a real kiss. I wasn’t even supposed to be on it, if you remember.”

  “I do,” he said. “But if I’d known...”

  Yeah, if I’d known, I never would have gotten out of bed to go to the shoot in the middle of the night, I thought. No point dwelling on that now.

  “It was staged,” I reminded him. “There would have been nothing romantic about it.”

  He didn’t say anything to that and after a long moment, I looked up at him because it was getting weird. His eyes were heavy-lidded, the dark, long eyelashes nearly my undoing. His pupils were huge, the chocolatey brown irises almost swallowed up by his desire. I knew it was desire because, well, I was feeling the same way, my heart pounding hard against my ribcage.

  His eyes drifted down to my lips and I had to swallow, my throat suddenly so dry, I knew I wouldn’t be able to speak, if my scrambled brain could come up with any words to say.

  “All right,” Kiki said, pushing up off the couch, her voice like a bucket of cold water over my head (thank God). “Time to make you boys all pretty before your new fans get here. Who wants to go first?”

  “Andy will,” I said loudly, knowing he’d be pissed about being volunteered, but if he didn’t get out of this room and away from me in the next point four seconds, I was going to do something stupid. Like drag his caveman mouth down to mine.

  I looked down at my plate as I avoided what was surely going to be a look from him, so I was surprised to hear his soft thank you.

  I glanced up at him and watched his chest expand as he took a deep breath. “It’s...sorry...I don’t mean to make it like this,” he said.

  I nodded. “You’d better go.”

  Thankfully, he did.

  Cupcakes, Carrot Sticks, and Refrigerators

  Dad left to check with the facility manager about something, so once Kiki had led the boys to the room where she’d set up the wardrobe and her hair and makeup kit, I sat down next to Sandy with my plate. I wasn’t really hungry, but it was going to be a long night and I’d be sorry later if I didn’t put something in my stomach.

  “So,” she said. “What was that about?”

  I looked up at her, slowly chewing a carrot stick.

  “That little conversation with Andy just now,” she clarified, nodding toward the food table.

  I chewed a bit more before I said, “Nothing.” Then, before she could call b.s. on me, I shook my head and came clean. “It’s getting hard to stay away from him. He was jealous about the poster and then started saying caveman things.”

  She gave me a sideways look. “What kind of caveman things?”

  “Stupid jealous caveman things.” I took another frustrated bite of carrot but moved it to the side of my mouth with my tongue and said, “That he wanted to be the one kissing me and that he couldn’t stop thinking about me. That he wished it was us on the poster so everyone would know we were together. Those sorts of caveman things.”

  Instead of saying something helpful, my best friend grinned and lifted an eyebrow.

  “Not helping,” I said.

  “You didn’t ask for my help,” she pointed out.

  “True.” I picked up a piece of cheese and nibbled on it. “But I need to stay away from him. You need to help me.”

  She did a double take. “How am I supposed to help?”

  “We’ll help each other. You keep me away from Andy and I’ll keep you away from Dave.”

  She twisted up her mouth but before she could say anything, I added, “And Darren.”

  “Darren?”

  “Give me a break,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I saw how you were looking at him this morning like he was a tasty morsel.”

  She looked like she was about to protest, but then her shoulders slumped. “You’re right. And he is a tasty morsel. They’re just all so...”

  “Musiciany?” I offered.

  “Exactly.”

  “We have to be strong, Sandy. We can’t be cliché teenage girls ruled by our rampant hormones. We need to be professional.”

  “I know. This is a huge opportunity and I don’t want to muck it up.” She was serious, too. She was getting caught up in the business side already and I could tell she really loved it and was good at it.

  “We focus on the business,” I said. “They are not sexy hot boys that we happen to share a bus with. They’re widgets that we’re promoting. Just think of them as products...I don’t know...refrigerators or...something really boring and lame and not at all sexy.”

  She looked at me like I was nuts. “I’m supposed to think of them as products and not mega-hot boys.”

  “Humor me,” I said, getting a little desperate as thoughts of Andres getting primped and ready for the stage crept into my brain.

  “Umm, okay, so how about....foot fungus cream? Adult diapers?”

  I laughed. “Okay you definitely win for the least sexy products of all time. How about something a little less...repugnant and more neutral. Something that you don’t think of as sexy but wouldn’t make you want to barf, either.”

  Sandy looked around. “Uh, how about...shoes?”

  “Yeah, that works. Shoes.”

  She cocked her head. “Unless you have a foot fetish.”

  “Sandy...”

  She smiled. “Fine. How about cell phones.”

  “Seriously? You’ve never met anyone who is unhealthily attached to their phone?”

  Cringing she nodded and said, “Fine. Refrigerators it is. Big and square, nothing sexy about those and I’ve never had an unhealthy attachment.”

  “Good,” I said, with a nod. “Now show me the social media posts you have planned for tonight.”

  She almost seemed relieved to be not talking about the boys anymore as she pulled a notebook from her bag. Or maybe I was just projecting my own relief. Whatever. The boys were now fridges.

  “I’m going to take a bunch of candids, of course, but here are some ready-made posts for the meet and greet.” She pointed at a list of potential tweets and Instagram messages that would caption photos of the boys with their new fans, tagging the radio station and the Hall of Fame. Some would be sent from her and some from Wiretap’s official account—she was running both, giving the Wiretap one a slightly more polished feel. Her personal account got her own brand of charm: part fangirl, part groupie. It was almost funny to see, since the persona she put on for her public face wasn’t quite what I knew of her. She was having fun with the boys, of course, but she was really treating the gig professionally and doing what was best for the band. She was focusing on what would be most likely to go viral, what would get them the most exposure. She was being very strategic—it was impressive.

  “I think my father needs to pay you,” I said suddenly.

  She looked up from her notebook. “Huh?”

  “You’re not just being a fan. You’re working for him. He should be paying you.”

  Her brow scrunched up. “No, that wasn’t part of the deal. I don’t...”

  “No, Sandy, it’s not right. He’s paying me and you’re doing a real service for him.”

  “But I’m not a professional.”

  I understood what she was saying, but I shook my head. “Yes you are. You may not have a ton of fancy marketing training behind you, but you have this huge following—one that you built from nothing—that he’s using to promote the band. It doesn’t seem right that he’s using that and giving you nothing in return for working your butt off.”

  Her eyes widened. “Nothing in return?” She laughed and swept her arm around. “You think all this is nothing? I get to see a brand new band from the inside out. Hang out with the boys on tour. I get food and shelter and the experience of a lifetime. That’s not nothing, Nessa.”

  “Still. It doesn’t seem right.”

  “Anyway,” she said. “I don’t want his money. Then I feel like I can’t say or do what I want.”
>
  Giving her a look, I said, “Uh, do I have to remind you that he approves all your posts before you put them up?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know that, but I get to write them. He doesn’t tell me what to say. Would I have that kind of freedom if I was on the payroll?”

  “Probably,” I said. “He trusts his employees. He trusts you. That’s why you’re here. If he didn’t trust you, he’d never have agreed to bring you on regardless of you being my best friend. You earned your spot on tour.”

  “Anyway,” she said, waving me off. “I don’t want his money. This is going to be the best summer of my life and I wouldn’t feel right getting paid for it just for taking pictures and posting some vlogs.”

  “Sandy,” I said, looking into her eyes. “It’s called a dream job. But it’s still a job, one that brings in money.”

  Her expression turned to one of annoyance. “I don’t want it to be a job, okay, Vanessa? Can we just drop it?”

  Shocked at her sudden anger, I held up my hand, the one that wasn’t holding the paper plate, palm toward her in surrender. “Of course. It’s your deal, Sandy, I’m just trying to look out for you and make sure you get what you deserve.”

  “What I deserve,” she said, waggling her eyebrows, “is a hot refrigerator for a boyfriend.”

  I laughed in spite of myself and then rolled my eyes at her obvious change of subject. I returned to my plate, abandoning the cheese in favor of the cupcake.

  “Look, Nessa,” she said after a long, awkward moment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go nuclear just then. The whole point of this summer was to not work. Truth is, my dad offered me a job at his Geneva office for the summer and I told him the last thing I wanted to do for the summer was work. What I really meant was the last thing I wanted to do for the summer was work for him, but I wasn’t about to split hairs. Anyway, if I take money from your dad, it complicates things and will become a big ugly ordeal, so best to just leave it as me basically being on holidays, following the band around like a groupie.”

  I wasn’t sure why she hadn’t just told me this when I’d first brought up getting paid, but her relationship with her parents was something she didn’t like to talk about. To say it was complicated was an understatement.