“Yeah,” she says sadly.
“That doesn’t mean you have to let him back in,” I say.
“I know,” she says, turning to look at me, “I wish I could. But...I think that’s it. We’re through, me and him. Jesus...we’ve only played one real show.”
I offer her my bottle. “You need a drink,” I tell her.
She laughs hollowly and accepts the offer. I watch her bring the bottle to her lips like an old pro. God, to be the mouth of that bottle at this very moment...Stop it! I chide myself silently. Don’t be that guy, Trent. I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to keep Ellie from noticing my growing erection.
“Thanks for stepping in,” she says, “I really would have been able to take him, but I’m glad I didn’t have to.”
“Has that happened before?” I ask cautiously.
“Never,” she breathes, “I have no idea what got into him...”
“He really loves you, I guess, and he can't deal with it,” I say.
“No,” Ellie sighs, “You can’t love someone and act that way. Mitch doesn’t even know me. He can’t possibly love me like he thinks he does.”
“I don’t know how you can write music like that together and not know each other,” I say honestly.
“Well,” Ellie says, “We divvy it up. He takes the music. I take the words. I mean, took...”
“You’re damned good at the words,” I tell her, resting a palm against my bus.
“Oh yeah,” she says with a little smile, “You were there...”
“I was curious,” I tell her. “I wanted to hear what you sounded like.”
“So?” she says, leaning her tanned shoulder against the bus, not a foot away from my hand, “What did you think?”
“Honestly?” I ask.
“Honestly.”
I level my gaze at her. “You’re unbelievable,” I say, “You’re absolutely amazing.”
“Really?” she asks, her eyes growing wide.
“Really,” I say, “Trust me, I’m not one for sugar coating, either. You’ve really got something, Ellie. Or do you prefer Eleanor?”
“It’s just Ellie,” she says with a happy laugh. I’m glad to distract her from Mitch’s bullshit for a minute, if I can.
“Let me guess,” I say, “Your parents were Beatles fans?”
She grins at me in her comfortable, unpracticed way. “That’s right. My name is Eleanor Rigby Jackson. A mouthful, right? But how did you know?”
“Oh please,” I say, “You can tell from a mile off that you were named after that song.”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“There’s a...sadness about you,” I say slowly.
“...Oh,” she replies, her smile falling.
“Not like, a morose thing,” I tell her quickly, “It’s more complicated than that. It’s not like you’re a sad person...at least, that’s not how it seems. It just looks like you’re longing for something. I don’t know. I’m probably just a rambling drunk.”
“I don’t think so,” she says softly. She’s looking up at me like she’s just recognized her own face in the mirror.
I hand her the bottle and let her take a long, long swig. For a little while, we don’t say anything. We simply listen to the rollicking sounds of the festival below, safe from our little pocket of quiet.
“You’re awfully nice for a womanizing asshole,” she finally says with a wicked little smirk.
“Aha,” I say, “The truth comes out. Is that what you really think of me?”
“Of course it is,” she says, “And that’s the way you want it, right?”
“I...”
“That’s what you show the world, anyway,” she says, her eyes trained on mine. “What I’m wondering...is whether or not that has anything to do with who you really are.”
“And what do you think?” I ask her. My voice has dropped low with something that feels like desire...only even more urgent.
“I...Can’t tell yet,” she says. There’s a tell tale blush rising in her cheeks.
“Well,” I say, swallowing down my sudden lust, “I guess you’ll just have to get to know me a little better, won’t you?”
“I guess I will,” she says, taking a step away from me. “Look...I’d better go find Mitch. Just to make sure he’s OK and to figure out logistics.”
“Sure,” I say, “I should get back to my band, too.”
“So long, Trent. Thank you,” she says, turning from me.
It takes every ounce of self control not to grab her by the hips and push her up against the tour bus. But I know that can’t be the way it happens. I realize something strange, something I’ve not felt in a long while. It’s not just that I want this girl...I actually like her.
Since when is that allowed?
Chapter Five
It took me half the night to find Mitch among the throbbing sea of people down the hill. When I finally stumbled upon my wayward band mate last night, he was as drunk as I’d ever seen him, sitting on a tree stump with a clown-like frown on his face.
It was quite the struggle, getting him back up to the tent to sleep it off. Especially now that people have a vague notion of who we are. Ever try smiling and nodding to excited almost-fans while hauling an entire human being up a marked incline? Not exactly my idea of a good time.
I hardly slept, though Mitch passed out cold. Now, in the early morning glow, I look over at my music partner and try to muster up the compassion to forgive him. Mitch has always been temperamental, but yesterday was out of control.
I don’t know what horrified me more—the kiss, or the near-slap. Both were presumptuous, uncalled for, and abhorrent to me. I keep trying to think of reasons why I should accept an apology and move on, but none of those reasons stand up. Mitch’s behavior yesterday was inexcusable...but we still have a show to play.
Leaving my slumbering partner to his boozy dreams, I creep out into the gathering daylight. I peer earnestly at the tour bus beside our meager little camp, but it doesn’t look like Trent is awake yet.
Thank god he was around last night. Not because I wouldn’t have been able to handle Mitch on my own, but because he made me feel so much better about the whole messed up situation. Somehow, I don’t have to explain anything to Trent. He just understands what I’m going through, without any coaching. It feels like he understands me. But how can that be possible when he doesn’t even know me?
I fetch myself something to eat from the blessed food tent and wait for Mitch to roll out of bed. Down the hill, the festival is waking up for another day of music and fun. Even though it’s happening right there, I feel like I’m a thousand miles away.
I wish I was just experiencing the festival as I always have—as an audience member. I always had this crazy notion that getting to do the thing I always wanted—playing music—would be some kind of special treat. My mistake.
A loud groan from within the tent alerts me that Mitch has finally awoken from his slumber. I peek into the tent and see my partner staggering toward me, bleary-eyed.
“Ellie...” he croaks, pulling himself out of the tent.
“You look like hell,” I tell him, “How much did you drink last night?”
“Not that much...” he says, squinting into the sunlight, “It was more the weed that got me.”
“Excellent,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I don’t feel very well,” he mutters.
“Neither do I,” I say, “But not because I can’t handle my booze. Mitch, everything that happened yesterday...It was unforgivable.”
“I know,” he whispers, looking miserable, “And I’m sorry, Ellie.”
“Fine, but that’s really not enough,” I tell him, “How am I supposed to play with you when I can’t even trust you?”
“You can trust me, Ellie,” he insists, grabbing onto me for support.
“God,” I say, wrinkling my nose, “You’re a mess. Why don’t you lie down in the back seat of the car and sober up a l
ittle? Take the day off. It’s not like we’re playing tonight.”
“OK...” he says, staggering toward the car.
I help him inside the sedan, which is less likely to cook him than the tent, and hurry to fetch him some water. Though I resent having to take care of someone who’s been nothing but horrible to me for the last twelve hours, someone has to make sure he doesn’t keel over and croak. I suppose I owe him that much, at least—basic human decency.
As I’m hurrying back again from the food tent, I see a figure stepping down from the tour bus next door. Trent’s long, perfectly balanced form straightens up as he waves to me. I smile back, and meet him half way.
He’s wearing dark jeans that hug his muscular legs just enough and a plain white v neck. How in the world can he be so effortlessly handsome? I don’t even bother glancing down at the ratty shorts and tee shirt ensemble I threw on before bed last night. He probably thinks I look like a ten year old at her best friend’s slumber party...though he’s nice enough not to show it. In fact, the only thing I can see in his face is a hint of concern, and a fair bit of interest.
“How’s it going?” he asks, glancing toward the pair of feet hanging from the open door of the car.
“Well, I found him,” I sigh.
“That’s not what I asked,” Trent says.
“We’ll be OK,” I say, more to try and convince myself than anything, “He just needs to sober up.”
“What he needs is a swift kick in the ass,” Trent grumbles.
“Maybe that, too,” I admit.
“You’re not going to play nurse all day, are you?” Trent asks.
“Hell no,” I say, “He gets provisions now, then he’s on his own.”
“Good,” Trent smiles. I notice the subtle little dimples in his cheeks that appear when he smiles at me. My knees actually start to tremble a little—I thought that only happened in movies.
“I’d better...” I say, a bit breathless.
“Sure,” Trent says, “Go ahead. But when you’re done wiping up Mitch’s spittle, get ready and come on over to the bus. I’d love to hang out with you today, now that you’re down a companion.”
“OK,” I grin, “Sure. I’ll just...I’ll be right there.”
We part ways for the moment, and my heart starts hurling itself against my ribcage. Am I nervous...or am I excited? Or am I about to be sick...no time to ponder the question.
I hurry back into the tent and rummage through my suitcase. I’ve got all my performance outfits folded neatly, but can I really wear a vintage romper onto a tour bus? I’m afraid I might be tossed out if I do. Why didn’t I pack any normal clothes, like a sane person would do?
The best I can manage is a flowing, Carole King style top and a thick leather belt. It’s still retro as hell, but maybe the rock and roll guys won’t give me too much trouble about it.
As I step back out into the sunshine, I hear a low groan emanating from the sedan. With a sigh, I turn and see Mitch struggling to sit up. He’s bleary eyed and red in the face, a look he’s not wearing very well. Feeling anxious to start the day off right with Trent, I bustle back over to Mitch with more than a little bit of annoyance in my tone.
“Are you OK?” I ask, “If you’re going to be sick, do it in the grass, not the car.”
“I’m OK...” Mitch moans, “But I’m...Where are you going?”
“Just...down to the festival,” I say shortly.
“What for?” Mitch asks.
“What do you mean what for?” I laugh, “What else does one do at a music festival but go to the music festival?”
“You’re not going to stay with me?” Mitch says miserably.
That’s it. I’m done. I plant my hands on my hips and level a sharp glare at my partner.
“Mitch,” I begin, “It’s not my fault that you got plastered last night and don’t know how to take care of yourself. I’m your songwriter, not your mother. And even if I was your mother, I would have disowned you after the way you treated me last night. So go back to bed and try to grow a sense of decency during your beauty sleep.”
He stares at me blankly as I turn and stride away from him. I round the tour bus, feeling more empowered than I have in years. This is exactly what Mitch and I need in our professional relationship.
Since we started playing together, he’s always been in the seat of power. But from now on, I’m not going to take his shit. We’re going to be equals in all things. And why not? After all, he needs me as much as I need him.
He’s got all the instrumental talent, sure, but I’ve got the voice. Without me, he’s just another gangly kid with a ukulele. And without him, I’m just another untraditionally cute songstress with too many vintage dresses. We’ve got a great act together, and I certainly don’t want to jeopardize that, but Mitch has to start meeting me halfway.
Maybe now that he’s got his stupid profession of love out of the way, we can start working together as partners. As adults, god willing.
I stop in front of the tour bus door, suddenly feeling very small. I stall for time, smoothing down my hippie top, tucking my tangled bob back behind my ears. Why the hell am I so nervous? It’s not like I have anything to prove to Trent or his band mates. Our sounds are on opposite sides of the spectrum, not to mention our levels of fame and images. I can relax. I need to relax.
With a cheerful (but not too cheerful) smile, I lift my hand and rap solidly on the door. With a hydraulic hiss, it slides open.
My mouth falls open as the tall, stunning woman I’d seen hanging around with Trent earlier steps into the doorway. She’s got an entire foot on me, though her three-inch heels certainly give her an advantage. There doesn’t seem to be an ounce of fat of her entire body, and what she lacks in body fat she makes up for in voluminous blonde curls and a staggering bust. She’s the quintessential center fold, right down to her skinny jeans and low-cut pink tank top. This is the sort of woman that Trent’s used to hanging around with? What the hell is he doing bothering with me?
“Oh,” the gorgeous woman says, crossing her arms over her massive chest, “You’re that alternative girl.”
Her voice is low, sultry, and absolutely deadly. I wince at her description of me—it takes a particular kind of bitch to turn the word “alternative” into an insult, but she’s managed it just fine. I draw myself up to my full height, trying to remind myself that “real women have curves”, or whatever. It’s hard to gain any sort of ground in the presence of someone like her, artificial confidence or not.
“Hi,” I say bravely, “I’m Ellie. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”
“I don’t see why we would have been,” she drawls. It doesn’t appear that she’s in any hurry to let me inside.
“Sorry,” I venture, “I didn’t catch your name?”
“That’s because I didn’t offer it,” she sneers.
“Um...”
“I’m Kelly,” she finally allows, holding out a perfectly manicured hand, “I’m Trent’s manager.”
“Oh!” I exclaim, shaking her hand vigorously as a wave of relief washes over me, “His manager!”
“That’s what I said,” she sighs, snatching her fingers away. “Is there something you needed help with? I don’t think that Trent is signing autographs right now.”
“Uh, no,” I say, “I mean, I’m here to see Trent, but not for...He invited me.”
“He...what?” she asks, her eyes flinty.
“He invited me over...to hang out, I guess?” I say.
“Why would he do that?” she demands.
“You should probably ask him,” I tell her. I’m just about through playing the two card to her queen. All this status nonsense is giving me a headache. “Is he here?”
“I don’t answer questions about Trent’s whereabouts,” she sniffs.
“Look,” I say, planting a palm on the tour bus, “I don’t know what you’ve got stuck up your—”
“Ellie!” Trent shouts from within the bus. I wat
ch him bound to where Kelly and I are locked in the staring contest from hell. He’s beaming ear to ear, oblivious to the awkward standoff he’s just interrupted. “I see you two have met?” he smiles.
“Oh, yes,” I say, grinning widely at the stony woman blocking my way. “Kelly and I are very well acquainted, now.”
“Brilliant,” Trent says.
“You didn’t run any social obligations by me, Trent,” the manager snaps, “What have I told you about adding items to your schedule without consulting me?”
“Oh, calm down,” Trent says, waving away her concerns, “Can we suspend the schedule bullshit while we’re here, please? We’re in the middle of a field in Kansas, for god’s sake. I think we can afford to be a little more causal than usual.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Kelly insists through gritted teeth.
“Kelly,” Trent says, “Rodger’s got enough valium hidden under the passenger seat to sedate a herd of bull elephants. Why don’t you make with the popping?”
He reaches for my hand and helps me onto the bus, pulling me past Kelly’s livid, quivering form. I get the sense that she’s the last person in the world I should want to cross...but crossing her feels so damn good.
I look around in awe as we step into the main cabin of the bus. It’s like a hotel suite on wheels! Big, comfy chairs stand against the wide windows, bunks hang down the corridor on either side, and there are even some more secluded rooms in the back. I can only imagine the insane parties this little cockpit has been witness to...how many women have come and gone from that back room.
But best not to dwell on the specifics.
“This place is amazing, Trent!” I exclaim.
“Yeah it is,” he agrees, heading to the fridge. He pulls out a couple of ice cold beers and hands one to me.
I take the bottle tentatively. “It is noon yet?” I ask.
“Just barely,” he smiles, cracking open the bottle. I shrug and join him. This is what Hawk and Dove is all about, after all—a suspension of real world rules, a total break from responsibility and decorum. A time to do whatever you want with whoever you want. I let my eyes graze down Trent’s body as he tosses the bottle caps into the trash. The thick denim of his jeans pulls taunt against his firm, shapely ass, and I can scarcely rip my eyes away.
Hawk and Dove (Rock Star Romance Novel) Page 7