Going on Tour

by Katrina Abbott

  The way my father looked at me then told me I was right.

  “Well?” Linda said. “That’s a good point, Tony. Does he want to? Have you talked to him?”

  Dad scrubbed his hands over his face. “Not yet. I wanted to have a plan in place before I did.”

  “This was only supposed to be a temporary gig,” I said. “That’s the reason he signed on. I don’t think you would have gotten him on board if this was meant to be something permanent.”

  Dad sighed, dropping his hands to his lap. “True. But I think it’s been more fun than he thought it would be. I think he’ll go the distance if we ask him.”

  Linda was shaking her head. “He sees it as a time-limited thing, you can’t assume he wants to stay on.”

  “No,” Dad said. “I can’t, you’re right.” Then he turned to me. “What do you think, Nessa?”

  “If he’ll stay on?” When my father nodded, I continued. “I don’t know. I think you’re right that he’s having a good time, but I have no idea if he would consider it long term.” I thought back to our conversation in the sauna. “I’m not even sure if he knows if he’d be on board if you offered him a permanent spot. I do know that he wouldn’t feel right about staying on if someone else loses their spot because of him. I doubt he would do it if that was how it would have to work.”

  “From what I know of him, I think you’re right,” Dad said and then looked back up at Linda. “What do you say about six members?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know, Tony. Three guitars plus a bass?”

  “I know,” my father said. “It would be different if they were simply a vocals band and we’d just have to squeeze another mic in and adjust the choreography, but I’m just not sure how it’ll work with three guitars.”

  I didn’t want to be the one to mention that Andres had had a successful solo career, and could again. Because even if it was true, I didn’t want them to think I would ever offer up a suggestion because of personal feelings. I didn’t want Andres out of Wiretap, but maybe it made sense on a professional level. Still, no way was I bringing it up.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to. “What about if you put Andy out on his own again?” Linda, who was apparently a mind-reader, suggested.

  “He’s Wiretap’s biggest draw right now,” my father said.

  “At the beginning he was,” I said. “But now with the whole Zen Garden thing and how much they’ve already grown in reach, maybe we’ve gotten them far enough that he isn’t as necessary as he was.”

  Dad shook his head. “It’s still too soon. We want to leverage the connection with Zen Garden for sure, but we have to ensure the buzz is sustained through the rest of this tour. We have too much invested in him being the anchor we need to sell tickets. Taking Andy out of the band would have disastrous results right now. Not to mention that people who’ve bought tickets for the tour bought them knowing he would be performing. We can’t do that to his fans.”

  He was right, of course. We all paused, obviously thinking about how to work it all out.

  “No matter what happens, I really don’t want to lose Will,” Dad said, breaking the silence. “But he’s just not ready for a solo career yet.”

  “You don’t even know if he wants a career, solo or in a band,” I pointed out.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I need to talk to him. But we should have a few scenarios in mind so we have something to offer him.”

  “If he doesn’t want in, it’s moot,” Linda said. “But if he does, you’re right: we need options. So we can have six members or split someone out. The obvious choice would be Andy, since he already has a following and he’d suffer the least. But like you say, that would leave Wiretap vulnerable and isn’t feasible with all the tickets we’ve sold with his name on them.”

  Dad nodded.

  “So I think the only option that’s viable at this point,” Linda said with a shrug. “Is to figure out how to accommodate six, unless you’re willing to buy out someone’s contract to keep it at five.”

  She said the last part like it was an afterthought, as though it wasn’t really an option. I knew my father well enough to know it wasn’t; he wouldn’t do that to any of the guys. And I was glad—it would be Chris who would be the one who got cut and after suffering a medical issue along with the fact that he needed this gig as much as he really wanted it—I would hate it if Dad crushed his dreams.

  Sure enough, my father quickly responded: “No, I don’t want to do that. Not only would it be heartbreaking for Chris, but it would never sit well with Will how he got his spot, no matter how much better a musician he is. I wouldn’t want to foster that sort of thinking with any of them—that they’re so easily replaceable.”

  The truth, one that my father knew as well as anyone, was that the guys were replaceable; the pool of boy band wannabes was huge and where one guy left, a thousand were ready to take his place. But I knew where Dad was coming from. It was a tough enough business for musicians, and there was no sheltering them from much of it, but he would never contribute to the many cruel realities they’d face throughout their careers. One of the things that made him a great producer and manager (and all around great guy to work for) was his loyalty to his musicians.

  “So let’s figure out how to work it with six,” Linda said, as though it was the only real option if Dave wanted to stay. “There’s plenty of room on the bus and we can figure out how to work a contract for Will if he wants on board beyond his temporary one. But talk to him—you need to start there. This all might be moot.”

  “You’re right,” Dad said. “I’ll need to talk to him today. Chris is scheduled to join us tomorrow. He’ll come on board, but I’d like him to watch a couple of gigs and rehearse with the guys before he does a concert—no telling how rusty he might be.”

  “I bet he’s been practicing like crazy,” I said.

  Dad smiled at me. “You’re probably right. But he’ll still need to rehearse to get into the groove of the band. Even in these past couple of weeks, the guys have changed and improved so much.”

  He turned toward the screen. “Okay, so listen, Linda, let’s go over the numbers on that last batch of statements you sent me yester—” he stopped mid-word and turned to me. “The rest of this is numbers and stuff you don’t need to worry about. If you want to grab a shower or do whatever, you can go ahead.”

  I recognized his dismissal and nodded as I got up, happy to not have to sit through a boring discussion about financials and things that had nothing to do with me. “Glad you’re on the mend,” I said to the screen.

  “Thanks, Nessa,” Linda said. “I’m going to update the itineraries for Portland and beyond and I’ll send them to you. And don’t forget I’m putting that money in your account for petty cash—you shouldn’t be buying groceries out of your own money. But good job keeping all those receipts.”

  “I will, thanks,” I said and then turned to my dad. “I think I will take that shower while it’s just us in here.”

  “Thanks for your input on everything,” he said with a smile and gave my hand a squeeze before I left to grab my stuff and head into the microscopic bathroom.

  The Boise event went off without a hitch. In fact, it was an amazing tour stop. The guys had fun at the zoo, which showed in Sandy’s footage, there were no crazed fan incidents at the meet and greet, and the concert was, in my opinion, the best one yet. The crowd was totally buzzing and were obviously there because they wanted to see Wiretap, not just because it was the only thing going on in the town.

  Whatever it was, the guys were gelling perfectly and rocking the stage like crazy; I felt a huge rush of pride as I watched them from the wings.

  While they were all crushing it out there, my eyes kept being drawn to Dave on the far side of Graeme, looking every bit the rock star along with the other guys. I was itching to tell him the news that my father was going to ask him if he wanted to be a permanent member of Wiretap, but of course I couldn’t. Because while Dave and I were f
riends, I had to respect my father’s role as the boss and that meant it was up to him to approach Dave first.

  But that didn’t diminish my enjoyment of the concert one bit as I watched them, taking in all of them as they performed Brooklyn Girl. It was their first single that was quickly climbing the charts, even faster than we had dared to hope it would.

  Still, I wondered how it was all going to go down.

  I had to think Dave would be into joining—I hadn’t been lying to my father when I’d said he was having a good time. He’d as much said it himself and it was obvious he meshed with the other guys. They completely respected him as a musician even though he had originally come on to fill in for Chris. They knew he was a rare talent, but I hoped none of them would feel threatened or put out by him joining. Musicians’ egos could be tender things, I knew. Of anyone, I could imagine Andres feeling a little threatened by Dave’s talent. I’d already seen glimmers of it; while no one had said it out loud, Andy knew Dave was a better musician than him. But would he let that fact get in the way?

  I hoped not.

  I sure wasn’t about to let any weirdness between Dave and I get in the way. Dave was born to be in this band and while it might be an adjustment for them to have six members, at this point, that was the best plan that still included everyone. And really, what fangirl would ever complain about a boy band having six hot members instead of five?

  (Not So) Sweet Dreams

  The bus shifted, knocking my head into the outside wall. I groaned even before I was awake enough to realize fully what had happened, but then that groan woke me up even more.

  Yay, tour bus living.

  Rolling onto my back, I blinked open my eyes but wasn’t alarmed when I couldn’t see anything—I’d gotten used to the complete darkness inside my bunk. Also, the gentle swaying of the bus as it motored down the road reminded me where I was.

  I fumbled around for my phone and squinted when a press of the home button brought the screen to life so I could check the time.

  Not even six a.m. Sigh. Too early to get up, almost too late to go back to sleep. Then, as I did a little self-scan, I realized I had to pee. Not really badly, but living on a bus with lots of other people meant bathroom lines, even at weird hours when everyone should be asleep. What seemed like a non-urgent need for the bathroom can quickly turn urgent when there are five people ahead of you.

  Stifling another groan, I carefully pulled the curtain back on my bunk and listened. Other than some heavy breathing and a few snores (that were loud enough to be cute, but not so loud that they were annoying), all was quiet on the bus except for the white noise of the engine and the bus’s air conditioning units.

  I rolled over onto my stomach and stuck my legs out into the aisle, climbing down past my father’s bunk and then the junk bunk at the bottom as quietly as I could.

  “Nessa?”

  The whisper came from the front of the bus and was so quiet, I almost thought I was hearing things. But no, as my feet landed softly on the floor and I turned, I saw Dave’s head at an angle, leaning out into the aisle. As I walked toward him, I saw he was sitting on the leather couch by himself, almost invisible in the barely there overhead lights that were always on for safety.

  He was wearing what I’d come to know as the guys’ standard issue pajamas: t-shirt and flannel pants, bare feet. Actually, I was wearing much the same, except I always wore socks to bed or my toes froze in the air conditioning.

  “What are you doing up?” I mostly mouthed as I got close.

  He just shrugged.

  “Insomnia?”

  That got me a nod.

  I lowered myself down to the couch next to him, careful to sit so we weren’t actually touching, but close enough that we could talk quietly and not disturb anyone. “Run of the mill insomnia or prompted by something specific?”

  “Your dad asked me to stay,” he said.

  I nodded, not pretending like I didn’t know what he meant because of course I would, and I owed it to Dave to be honest about it.

  “When we were getting dressed for the show tonight—last night—he pulled me aside and told me he’d like to keep me on.”

  “What did you tell him?” I asked, hating how important his answer was to me. Me, the girl who hadn’t wanted to come on tour until she felt like she had no choice. But in that second, I realized it wasn’t just me, Vanessa, friend of Dave, who wanted to know if he was going to stay on because it was a great opportunity for him. But also Vanessa Capri, interim tour manager wanted to know. That girl really wanted him to stay because she knew it was best for the band.

  Dave blew out a breath and shoved his fingers through his already messy (and adorable) hair. “I told him I’d take the night to think about it, but between you and me?”

  He waited for me to nod as he looked at me pointedly, then, once I did, said, “I’m not going to do it.”

  My heart fell into the bottom of my gut. “What?”

  “Shhhh,” he said, looking past me toward the bunks. “Don’t wake the beast.”

  Of course, he’d been referring to Sandy and I cringed, not having realized I’d spoken so loudly.

  I froze for a second, listening, but when there was no crash of a body coming out of the morgue, I knew we were good.

  “Sorry. But why?” I asked, barely over a whisper.

  “This is all so hard on my mom. She only agreed to it because it was a temporary thing.”

  “Agreed to it?” I did a double-take. “But you’re eighteen.”

  He sighed. “I know. I realize I can go ahead and sign on if I want and there’s not much they can do. But my dad says she’s really stressed out about me being on tour. She’s so worried about me getting caught up in that life.”

  I looked around the bus. “This is hardly the wild and crazy life. You told her that, right? I mean, Tony told her that when you were first coming on board. Wasn’t that enough?”

  He shrugged and looked down at his fidgeting fingers. “No. It wasn’t enough. Not after what she—and my grandmother—went through. I mean, she was resigned to it when it was just a couple of weeks but if it was a permanent thing?” He didn’t go on, just shook his head.

  “It would be such a waste of your talent,” I said, not wanting to make him feel worse, but I was overwhelmed with disappointment. “You know that, right?”

  It was a long time before he looked up at me and nodded. “Yeah. I do know. But I can’t. I can’t do that to her.”

  “But if you know in your heart that this is what you’re meant to do, you have to do it.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Is this your dream, Dave?”

  I held my breath as I waited for his answer but it took him so long to speak that I had to let it out and take another.

  “You know...I didn’t think it was. I thought I just liked playing. To be honest?” he said and then laughed sheepishly as he shook his head. “I didn’t think I was that good. I...it sounds stupid and it’s sort of embarrassing, but I didn’t realize how good I was. I thought everyone had the ability I do to play clean the first or second time hearing something.”

  “Seriously?” I said with a snort and then covered up my nose with my palm before I went on, lowering my voice again. “You honestly didn’t know how good you were?”

  “God, I sound like an arrogant dick, don’t I?”

  I grabbed his hand and then let it go once I realized I’d even done it. “Arrogant? I seriously think you’re the exact opposite of arrogant. You are crazy talented. You really didn’t know?”

  “I had no way of knowing,” he said. “I mean, I played a bit at school, but I guess I never really had the opportunity to stretch, to work to my potential. I thought it just came easy to me.”

  “Your grandfather had to know how good you were.”

  “I didn’t feel comfortable playing too much with him until near the end,” he said, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothing out into sadness. “And by then he was il
l, so I’m not sure he would have noticed my skill level. At that point it was more to take his mind off his illness and the fact that he was dying.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, helpless to offer real comfort over his loss. I had a feeling his grandfather wasn’t the only one who had been eager for a distraction, either.

  Dave shrugged. “I... you know what would have been cool?”

  “What?”

  “To have played with him on stage. I mean, I knew all his band’s songs,” he said with a chuckle. “You know, as much as he totally messed up his life, when he would talk about playing back in the day, I saw the light shining in his eyes. He loved it. He lived for it. I bet he never felt as alive as when he was on stage.”

  I reached for his hand again and held onto it this time, squeezing it. I gave him a long moment to reflect before I said, “Is that how it is for you?”

  He blinked several times before he nodded. Finally he looked up at me, the sheen of tears shining in the muted overhead light. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s how it is for me.”

  My heart broke in that moment but at the same time, his words made me determined. “We need to figure out how to make this work for you. I don’t know how, but tell me what I need to do to make it happen.”

  He dropped his chin, avoiding my eyes as he blew out a long breath. “The band will manage without me, Vanessa” he said.

  I was almost insulted that he thought that’s what I was about. “This isn’t about the band.” When he didn’t look up at me, I reached out and tilted his head up with a finger under his chin, leveling my gaze at him. “This is about you. You following a dream that you probably always had but forced away because of your grandfather and all your family stuff.”

  “Nessa,” was all he said, turning his head to the side, wrenching away from my touch as he squeezed his eyes closed.

  “You know I’m right.”

  Shadows moved across his cheek as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. Finally he nodded. “Of course you’re right.”