Going on Tour

by Katrina Abbott

  “Good. I’m kind of glad,” I said, loading up my bristles with paste. “I was having some serious buyer’s remorse. You know that stuff is basically butter and sugar, right?”

  “It was really good,” Sandy said with an appreciative hum. “I mean, so the guys said. I wouldn’t know.”

  I gave her a sardonic look in the mirror.

  She smirked back before she waved me off and continued with her debrief. “Anyway. Will was pissed about what Andres did. Like really upset. He was pacing in the bus until I took him outside and told him you and Tony were handling Andres. He...it was weird.”

  What was weird was that at some point I was going to have to explain to my best friend that the guy she was crushing on was (unless I was completely off base) actually into me. I was surprised she hadn’t caught on to that fact, especially now. I loved her, but God, she could be so clueless sometimes.

  I stopped brushing long enough to ask, “What about when Tony returned?”

  She turned, putting her back against the counter and then hopped up to sit beside me, arranging herself between two sinks. “He told everyone that he spoke with Andy about the post—we took it down, by the way—and why he shouldn’t have put it up in the first place. Not like anyone else needed the lecture about social media, but...” She shrugged as her words trailed off.

  “It can’t hurt to remind them,” I said. “Better to be safe than have to deal with this again. I can’t even imagine what I’ll be facing once I turn my phone back on.”

  “I can deal with it, if you want,” Sandy offered. “I can disable your accounts. At least for now until this all blows over. You don’t need to deal with all that stuff, especially when all the trolls come out.”

  A wave of relief washed over me just then, making me realize just how tense the social media stuff made me. Of course it wore on me, but maybe I’d been in denial about just how much. “That would be great, thank you. I’m busy enough with venues and everything...”

  She shrugged, but hopefully she knew how much of a burden she was taking off my shoulders. “Anyway, Tony said he and you had it handled and no one was supposed to bring it up unless they had specific concerns. I think he meant Will, specifically. Even after Tony was done, he still seemed pissed about it.”

  Made sense though now wasn’t the time to get into why.

  I leaned over and spit the mouthful of toothpaste into the sink before looking up at her and asking, “And then when Andy returned?”

  She shrugged. “When you weren’t with him, I grabbed your toothbrush and left the bus.”

  “How did he seem, though?”

  She looked up at the ceiling as though thinking about it and then returned her gaze to me. “In one word? Bummed. Maybe embarrassed, though I’m not sure if that would be from what he did or the fact that he got so epically busted for it.”

  “Either is acceptable,” I said after rinsing and turning off the tap. “Apologetic, remorseful, either of those would work.”

  “Too right,” Sandy said as she hopped down off the counter.

  “I dumped him, by the way,” I said casually as I flicked the last drops of water off my toothbrush and put it in its holder.

  She froze. “What?”

  I looked up at my friend. “If he knew me at all, he never would have posted that picture. I’m not a groupie—I don’t like that attention. He can’t seem to understand that.”

  “But didn’t he apologize?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But there was more to it than that. I realized we’re really not compatible.”

  “You said he was a good kisser,” she offered.

  I laughed. “He is, but it’s not just about kissing, you know, Sandrine.” And even if it was, it was telling that I’d been secretly wondering what it would be like to kiss Dave. Really kiss him. Not just a pretend kiss with an audience.

  Sandy stared at me for a long moment and then nodded. “You’re right. I guess he...I don’t know. It’s weird. I can’t imagine dumping a rock star.” She laughed. “I mean, I always thought it would be them doing the dumping.”

  I knew what she meant, but it pissed me off. Did she think I should stay with him just because he was famous? No, of course not, but still... “They’re just regular people, Sandy. You shouldn’t put them on pedestals. I mean, sure Andres has that ego and I guess he’s had a while to develop it, but look at the other guys. Dave, Darren, Graeme, and even Max. They’re just normal guys, right?”

  Her face contorted into a frown. “You can’t put Max in there with the other guys. There’s nothing normal about him.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  She rolled her eyes. “He’s just...” she glanced over her shoulder as though worried he was behind her. I didn't bother to tell her we’d have heard the door squeak if he’d tried to sneak up on us; she was just being paranoid. “He’s so mopey.”

  “He’s been better lately,” I said, because it was true. While he wasn’t the social butterfly she was obviously hoping he’d morph into, his public presence had improved. He’d become a lot less moody, even in just the past few days since Linda and my dad gave him the attitude adjustment. “He went through a lot, Sandy. You can still count it in weeks since his girlfriend was killed in that accident.”

  “I know,” she said, shrugging and looking down at the floor. “And I feel bad for him, but...I mean, I try to cheer him up so he’s not such a downer, but...”

  I chuckled. “He’s resistant to your charms. Is that the real issue here?”

  “Maybe,” she mumbled and then looked up at me and rolled her eyes again. “Okay yes, it bugs me that I can’t cheer him up. I can normally cheer anyone up, but he’s a lost cause. He’s going to grow up and be the guy whose house neighborhood kids cover in toilet paper.”

  I laughed at her frustration. “No. He’s going to grow up and be the guy who has a security team to make sure kids don’t toilet paper his mansion,” I corrected. “No matter how broody he is—which I think works in his favor as long as he isn’t outright rude to anyone—that guy is talented. Probably more than either of us realize.”

  “Still...”

  If I didn’t know her better, I’d think...no, he so wasn’t her type. Sandy liked outgoing, fun guys and whatever Max was, no one could ever describe him as being either fun or outgoing.

  “Come on,” I said as I slid an arm across her shoulders and led her to the door. “We’d better get out to the bus before my father sends out a search party.” I sighed. “I guess I have to face Andres sometime and try to get over the awkward.”

  Sandy reached for the door and pulled it open as she nodded for me to go through first. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in his bunk sulking by the time we get there. He did not look like he was in any mood to stay up and socialize. Especially since all the fudge was gone.”

  I didn’t want to set a precedent of us avoiding each other for the rest of tour, but as we left the locker room to head back to the bus, I really hoped she was right. At least about Andres—I could have used a bit of that fudge.

  The Night Before

  While it was a little tense, thanks to the stuff between Andres and I and the fallout on social media after what he’d done (which thankfully, Dad and Sandy were managing without me) we were all busy enough that the next two days passed in a blur of what was quickly becoming same-old, same-old.

  It made me laugh to think that an amazingly successful tour that was rocketing Wiretap up the charts and selling out shows could be considered same-old, but after five days straight of meet and greets, daily debriefs, concerts, paperwork, checking on venues, putting out fires, and wrangling boys, which included making sure they were fed and watered at least three times a day, I was exhausted.

  That didn’t even take into account the strain of being at close quarters—bumping into each other, having to wait to use the bathroom, asking Darren to stop constantly tapping every hard surface (drummers!), breaking Graeme of his habit of leaving used tea bags on the
counter, reminding Andres to turn his phone down at night, and so on.

  We were definitely getting to know each other on a very personal level, but as the days wore on, the boys were getting cranky—we all were—and while everyone really tried their best to keep it buried and get along, that bus was getting smaller and smaller almost with every passing hour.

  Max was probably the only one who wasn’t outwardly annoying in some way. So when the fact that he was like a ghost became irritating, I knew it was time for a break.

  The good news was that after the gig in Minneapolis, we’d get on the bus for our drive through the night and when we woke up, we’d have a one-day layover. The drive between Minneapolis and Boise was over twenty hours which obviously wasn’t something we could ask our drivers to do in one day (actually, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t even legal for them to drive that long even if they wanted to) so we would stop around the halfway mark for a much needed day off.

  We’d have a whole day to relax and catch up on personal errands: laundry, work out, do some shopping, or even just quietly read a book. But most importantly, we’d get some time away from each other.

  The cherry on the sundae was that, before tour, Linda had booked us all hotel rooms for that day. So while it wasn’t going to be the Four Seasons and we wouldn’t even have a whole night to spend there, we’d get to relax and nap in real, full-sized beds that didn’t lurch when Gary hit a pothole in the road. No one was going to complain about the hotel not being five-star because it meant privacy, bathtubs, and not hitting your head on the ceiling when you sat up in bed.

  Plus, having rooms meant we wouldn’t have to worry about spending the day on the bus, not slamming doors and using sign language, worrying about waking Gary while he took his well-deserved rest.

  But first, we had to wrap the Minneapolis concert and get on the bus for the first leg to Boise.

  Thinking about it had me positively giddy as I helped with teardown. I was humming as I coiled cord when Sandy came up to me, looking determined.

  I was suddenly worried she was coming to deliver some bad news until she said, “What can I do?”

  “We’ve got this,” I said. She didn’t normally help with the physical stuff, which was fine with me. She did plenty of work with her cameras and laptop, not just with her own videos, but managing social media for most of the guys (and had shut down my accounts—I felt blissfully disconnected from all of it). Also, that niggling thought in the back of my mind, reminding me she wasn’t even getting paid, made it feel not right giving her grunt work to do.

  She shook her head. “The sooner we pack up, the sooner we’re on the road. Sooner to bed, sooner to our day off.”

  “You know, you can quit anytime,” I reminded her. Though she knew I was completely joking and would never want her to quit.

  Because while I was bone tired and never would have chosen to come on tour, I was actually starting to have a good time. Things were still a bit weird with Andres, but we were managing. Pretending there was no tension between us was making things passable and the other guys seemed to take it all at face value. Even Dave.

  Actually, if there was any real source of awkwardness, it was because of him. That whole conversation we’d had where he’d refused to answer my question was still hanging between us. We’d been dancing around it since that night, with the odd telepathic look or vague comment that could never be construed as more than friendly banter. But he and I both knew there was more to it.

  The worst part was not knowing where it was going. What his intentions were. I hate being blindsided, but couldn’t help but think I was being set up for something. But what? And whatever it was, was I going to be—

  “Nessa?”

  I shook off my thoughts, quickly focusing and realizing Sandy was staring at me, an amused look on her face.

  “Sorry, zoned out there.”

  “Obviously.” She nodded, knowingly. “It’s been a long day. Week, actually.”

  I put the cord I’d finished coiling into the crate to go on the truck. “No kidding.”

  “I can’t believe it was only one week ago today that we were eating lobster on the beach. It feels like forever ago.”

  “Now you understand why I wanted to stay behind, right? Lobster on the beach versus working like a dog nearly twenty-four-seven.”

  She laughed. “In some ways, I get it. I mean, I honestly don’t have any idea what city we’re in and don’t think my back will ever be the same after sleeping in the morgue, but come on. We’re going to tell our grandchildren about this summer. You don’t tell your grandkids about a summer sitting on your butt at the beach. I don’t care how epic that lobster boil was.”

  She was right, but I wasn’t about to let on that I thought so. “Grab that cord,” I said, pointing at one of the cables taped to the floor. “Are the guys on the bus?”

  “Yeah,” she said, kneeling down on the floor to pull up the black tape. “Awaiting pizza.”

  I started at the other end of the tape. “I’ll have to report back to Linda that the food at today’s reception sucked.” Not that the guys ever ate much before a show (let’s just say Graeme learned that lesson the hard way after he’d puked mid-way through a show—thank God he’d been able to hold off until Max and Dave could do an impromptu unplugged song to cover for him), but we counted on snacks to tide them over until after what was not just a performance, but a grueling workout. Anyone who thought musicians didn’t work hard had never really paid attention at a show.

  Today’s meet and greet had included what basically amounted to a box of Ritz crackers and some questionable luncheon meats and cheap, processed cheese. Not that we expected a venue to pull out all the stops—the fans were too preoccupied to care about food and it’s not like Wiretap was The Rolling Stones, but having food that was edible shouldn’t have been too much to ask.

  Movement in the corner of my eye made me look up to see my father approaching. “Hey, Dad,” I said, returning back to prying the stubborn tape off the floor. “We’re almost done here. Just a couple more cables to come up.”

  “I told the boys to save you some pizza,” he said.

  “More than one slice each?” Sandy asked. She was only half joking, because that’s precisely what the guys had done two nights before, leaving us exactly one slice each. Thank God there were snacks on the bus, though as I thought about it, I realized I was going to have to do some shopping on our day off to restock the cabinets—those boys were big eaters.

  “Yes,” Dad said with a shake of his head. “Let me know if they don’t. You girls work hard too, and it’s part of my job to make sure you don’t waste away.”

  I crumpled all the tape up into a ball and tossed it toward the garbage bin, swooshing it in. “Three points,” Dad said absently. “Anyway, the reason I’m out here is to let you know that I need you two to help Kiki with some errands tomorrow.”

  I love my dad, but seriously, in that moment after the torture that had been the last five days, I wanted to punch him in the face. Hard. Sandy must have thought the same, as evidenced by the long groan escaping her as she moved on to another line of cable.

  “It’s our one day off,” I said. No, not said: whined. “It’s bad enough we have to go grocery shopping.”

  “I know,” he said, holding up his palms “Just do this one thing for me.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Probably something really horrible, if he’s refusing to tell us while we’re still able to call an Uber and run away,” I stage-whispered to Sandy.

  “Damn, you know me too well, kid,” he said, amused. Whatever his errand was, I didn’t think it would be truly terrible. He was my dad, after all.

  “Fine,” I said. “Before or after groceries?”

  “Not sure. I’ll ask Kiki and will let you know.”

  Before I could try to get more out of him, he wandered off to help the guys on the crew load crates onto the truck.


  “So much for that day off,” I said as I stood up and tossed more tape in the garbage.

  “No kidding. If it’s the boys’ laundry, I’m out. He is not paying me enough to do teenage boys’ laundry. In fact, he could not pay me enough for that.”

  “You and me both, sister.”

  Sandy got up and brushed her hands off on her Wiretap shirt before she looked around. “Well, looks like we’re done here. Let’s go get some of that pizza before it’s just crusts.”

  Spaaaaaahhhhhh

  Kiki wouldn’t tell us where we were going, either; she said my father would kill her if she did. She must have given the driver directions when Sandy and I weren’t paying attention, because once we climbed back in the town car and got ourselves buckled in after dropping all the groceries off at the bus, he just pulled away and started driving without question.

  So I had no idea where we were headed, which bothered the control freak in me more than I liked to admit. What I did know was that while Kiki, Sandy, and I had been in the grocery store, the driver had returned to the bus and had taken the boys to a local laundromat with their piles of clothes.

  The three of us had gone first thing to get it out of the way, while the guys had still been sleeping, (because I did not want to be sitting in the laundromat with a group of grumpy boys grumbling about how they hated doing their laundry—the point of us having a day off was to get some time away from each other). At least they didn’t have to worry about their concert wardrobes—Kiki was on top of keeping those clothes clean and ready to go.

  Laundry was not my favorite thing to do, either, but it felt good to have it done. Not that I had a lot of clothes on tour after joining so unexpectedly. But what I’d had on when I’d gotten on the bus that first night and the few things I’d bought along the way were now clean and folded, tucked into the end of my bunk.

  Less than ten minutes after leaving the bus, we pulled into a strip plaza and I scanned all the stores for clues: pet food, bank, dollar store, pizza joint, framing shop, bookstore, drug store. I was just about to turn to Kiki and demand what the deal was when my eyes caught on the sign at the end and knew exactly where we were headed.