The physical stamina and mental focus of touring is punishing if you aren’t used to it, and if you are, it’s so easy to become complacent. Complacency leads to mistakes…every note needs to be spot on; one wrong gig could bring negative publicity that affects whole tours.
Working at that pace eventually drains all your resources and that’s when long-term mental and physical fatigue sets in. Why else do most celebrities turn to recreational drugs? It’s usually to perk themselves up when they are dead on their feet because the demands of the job don’t let them have regular sleep and days off to recover.
****
Nine months after we’d broken ground in the US, CraVed had its first number one album. It was our third album release, aptly named Breaking Ground, and I was right back into the swing of things, much livelier for my sabbatical from alcohol and women. I had suppressed my thoughts about Hettie to focus on my goals, and with each day the gut-wrenching feeling I had about walking away from her again had lessened.
Caleb was still the bane of my life, shagging anything he could hold down long enough, and Brody was loved up to the nines with Dana. Because of this, I found myself hanging with Surge a lot. He was pretty quiet, but I got to know him a whole lot better and I found he had the driest sense of humor I’d ever come across. He was picky when it came to his women. I liked that about him. It was while I was with Surge that I broke my dry spell and got laid again.
From that point on I was less arrogant and more considerate of who I spent my time with. Don’t get me wrong, I could still be a shit when I wanted to be, and my alpha persona would raise its head whenever my position was challenged, but even though I had the occasional one night stand, the women I chose to spent time with had to be something special for me to want to give them my time.
I wasn’t a saint; four nights on a tour bus with Brody fucking Dana like there was no tomorrow, and performing to masses of excited fans, gave me the raging horn and sometimes I needed an outlet for that. I got so bad at one stage, when I brushed up against my best friend’s wife in the passageway I got a stiffy that could have cracked a block of ice in half, and it was an innocent encounter. I wasn’t even attracted to her. By day five we had woven our way up to the Colorado Mountains, pulled an overnighter at a luxury lodge in the resort of Keystone and I was relieved not to have another broken night’s sleep while Brody did his best to break Dana.
The accommodation was situated in the snow covered, picture pretty mountain town with crowds of vacation skiers, and when I stepped off the bus in front of the stone and wood building, I sighed with relief and took a deep breath. I never accounted for the thin air when I did that, it made my brain feel loose in my head for a few seconds.
I had two days off in the lap of luxury, sleeping in a California king-sized bed. It was the best news I’d had all week. Entering my suite shortly before 11:00 am, I barely dropped my carry-on before I got naked in that big, old bed and crashed out fast asleep. After the stiff mattress and cramped conditions of the bus, it was like falling asleep on a fluffy cloud.
When I woke up, it was pitch black outside and my cell was vibrating on my nightstand.
“Yeah?” I croaked, my tongue sticking dryly to the roof of my mouth. The thin air was so dehydrating.
“Are you eating with us?” Brody asked curtly.
“What time is it?”
“8:15 pm,” he replied.
“Jeez, I slept for nine hours straight?”
“You must have needed it. Are you coming?
“Yeah, give me ten to sort myself out and I’ll be down.”
“All right, we’ll wait in the bar.”
I closed the call and stretched out, once again basking in how good the bed felt. At that point I could have easily rolled onto my side, curled up, and slept for another nine hours. I forced myself out of bed in a sleepy stupor, grabbed a quick shower, and slowly came back to life with the continuously hot running water. The puny excuse for a shower we had on the bus ran cold every time someone turned the water on in the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later, I was dressed and ready to roll, so I headed down to the bar to meet the rest of the band.
As soon as I turned the corner I saw Brody out of the periphery of my vision, but my eyes met with those of a beautiful older woman. She looked in her mid-forties, and the way she held my gaze was unnerving. No matter how hard I tried I didn’t want to look away. I kept my eyes trained on her for longer than I’d ever looked at anyone for the first time apart from Hettie.
Suddenly her lips curved into an amused smile. Her beautiful, plump lips in deep red lipstick framed her perfect white teeth. I found myself smiling back. Brody slapped my back, and the distraction was enough to pull me out of my daydream, enabling me to turn to face him.
Looking over my shoulder, Brody patted my chest with a flat hand. “No wonder you’re looking, I’d even consider tapping that, and you know how I feel about Dana.” I frowned possessively, and he nudged me with his elbow. “I wouldn’t wait until after dinner to make my move, if I were you, Caleb also has designs on her.”
“Let him take his shot, it’ll be fun to watch.” I said, without looking back and slid onto the barstool.
“You know a lot of women think Caleb’s hot, Gray. I wouldn’t underestimate him.”
“I’m not interested in anyone who’s interested in a guy like him,” I replied.
“You were interested in Phoebe,” he countered with a smirk.
“Yeah, but she only went with him because he was with you when you met Dana.”
“True.”
“And Pheebs and I just kinda happened…after Lizzie.”
“All right, I get your point, keep your hair on,” he said, rolling his eyes to his hairline.
Even as we sat talking I could feel the woman’s eyes boring holes in my back. Caleb stood over by the window talking to Surge, sounding loud and obnoxious as a way of trying too hard to attract her attention. I’d seen the same routine a hundred times from him. Brody nodded in his direction and I slid off the bar stool, casually shoving a hand in my pocket. “Let’s eat.”
“What? You’re just gonna let him have her?”
“Nah, she’s not gonna let him have her. She’s waiting for me,” I answered confidently.
“Damn, that’s a pretty cocky statement, Gray.”
“She’s a salmon woman not a pilchard.” I smirked.
Brody chuckled, “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means she likes big and juicy not something she has to nibble at. Come on, let’s eat. She’ll be here when I get back.”
“And if she’s not?”
“Then she got what she deserves.”
Brody slapped my back again and followed me past the woman I’d locked eyes so hard with. Ignoring the whole scene, I never even threw her a glance on the way out.
“You’re too fucking cool for your own good these days,” he quipped.
“Nah, I’ve got some faith in that chick,” I replied as we sat, and lifted up the menus.
When our food arrived, Brody and I had a quiet dinner together. It was nice…peaceful. We chatted about our future band plans while Dana was still sleeping off her four days in the saddle with her man. Caleb and Surge never left the bar the whole time we ate, and I wondered if it had dawned on Caleb at any point, that with all the will in the world, the woman he was trying to impress wasn’t ever going to touch him…not even with a bargepole.
Once we’d finished our food, I told Brody it was time to make my move and stood up from the table, wiping my mouth with my napkin. Reaching down, I picked up the soda I’d been drinking and swallowed the rest in one gulp. “Come on, I’ll show you how it’s done,” I said with a wink.
Brody smirked knowingly and pushed his chair back, hands on the table. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got, stud.”
Together we made our way back to the bar area, and once again, I made a point of not looking a
t the woman. Caleb was being the life and soul of the room, and had managed to join her party by that point. Surge stood leaning against the window looking bored as his wingman. I nodded to Caleb, smirked wickedly at Surge, and sat back at the bar with my back to them.
“Fuck, that was some move, Gray,” Brody said, his voice laced with sarcasm. I figured he had the idea I’d changed my mind. I smirked. Of course, I hadn’t. I was lining her up. Signaling to the bartender for his attention, he came over bending his head close to me to hear what I wanted, mainly because Caleb’s voice was drowning out most other sounds around us.
“I’ll take a bottle of your best champagne, two glasses, and a cooler to go. Put it on room forty twenty-one’s account, thank you.” The bartender nodded his head and set about doing as I asked.
Brody’s smirk became a grin and he raised an eyebrow. “You’re a smooth bastard.”
“Watch and learn,” I prompted, my voice sounding cocky. I was a single man. I could afford to be.
When the bartender came back, I picked up the champagne flutes in one hand, the bucket containing the champagne in the other. Standing slowly, I turned around and stood facing the party in front of me. I knew I had it in the bag as soon as my eyes met hers.
Wandering over to their table, I leaned into Caleb. “You must be starving, you missed dinner.” Caleb stared up at me openmouthed, at least he had stopped talking. I turned to look directly at the woman. “You want to go somewhere a little quieter?” I asked, gesturing with the champagne and glasses.
“Sure, I’d like that,” she said in a slow, sexy Southern accent. Slender long legs uncrossed as she made a move to stand. Caleb’s face scowled in my direction. “Gray, and you are?” I asked, tucking the ice cooler under my arm so that I had a free hand. I completely ignored Caleb.
“Nadine,” she cooed, walking up close to me. My hand fell to her lower back as I led her away from the bar. Brody chuckled as we passed. Just as we were going out of earshot I heard him say to Caleb, “I’ll remind Gray to thank you tomorrow.”
“Damn, how do you do it?” Nadine asked, her eyes expressing her surprise. I thought for a moment she meant picking up women, and was glad when she elaborated before I could answer.
“That guy would drive me crazy if I had to travel around in a bus with him.”
“He told you that? Or you know who we are?”
“Both. He has a loose tongue, so I have you at a disadvantage.”
“He spoke about me?”
“More like he answered my questions.” She laughed out loud.
“Talking about questions, your room or mine?”
“Yours. If I’m going to be fucked by a rock star, it should be in your bed at the very least, right?”
“I have no issue on that score,” I replied. Silently, I was hoping I had the stamina to meet her expectations. I’d only had my hand for company during the previous couple of weeks on the bus, apart from one night when Surge was my wingman.
Less than an hour later, I needn’t have worried. We were still going at it after she’d sucked me off in the first ten minutes, got me hard again, and then rode me like she was riding a winner to the finish line. The best thing about her was she wasn’t shy in telling me what she liked, or how she liked it. I know we both had our expectations met from our night.
When we were done fucking, there was no awkward after-talk. She just slid out of the bed, pulled on her clothes and thanked me for taking care of her. If only all women were like Nadine. My life would be a hell of a lot easier. One night with a sexy cougar and a good night’s sleep, I felt completely refreshed.
****
During the following eight months, my life had become decompartmentalized. Thoughts of Hettie were stronger some days than others, and once I almost called then thought better of it because of how she’d left things. So my days consisted of sleeping, eating, playing music, and screwing the odd groupie whenever the mood took me…which gradually became more often.
I was doing better without women but I did notice when Phoebe stopped all contact. I still missed talking to her some days, but I guessed time had healed her heart and she’d moved on. I had learned a valuable lesson with her. Never to let any of the other groupies get close. They used me and I used them. End of story.
Chapter 15
Glastonbury ~ Gray 2013
After almost a year and a half in the United States, and with a second US-based album cut, we finally had some downtime. I’d weathered a lot during nearly eighteen months, getting past the anniversary of Lizzie’s death and I was glad I had taken a good hard look at myself. The last year had been the most difficult and uplifting of my life. Parts had been sad and not without its challenges, but I’d survived and considered myself as being a bit smarter about women.
During that year, although I loved the US, I became homesick for London. We hadn’t set foot in the UK once since our shift stateside; so when a unique opportunity arose for us to play at Glastonbury Festival, Brody and I were desperate to go. The festival held special memories for us because we had gone there as eighteen-year-old fans straight after finishing our final exams of high school.
Being asked to play, even if we weren’t the headliners, was a dream come true for CraVed. I was more than delighted to head back to our old stomping ground for a while. Playing in front of a home crowd at an honest-to-goodness festival was definitely something we had to look forward to.
Sleeping for two days straight came effortless to me. Jetlag had kicked my ass, mainly from the to-ing and fro-ing we’d done between LA, Florida, New York, and Chicago in the previous weeks. The two and three hour time differences between those time zones, followed by the five hour change forward to the UK knocked the stuffing out of me. Not to mention we drank most of the way back. Lifestyle-wise I had lapsed back to my old ways much to the delight of Brody who’d missed his drinking partner.
By the third day, I was up and ready for rehearsals. There was no way I had wanted to fuck up on stage at Glastonbury. Fortunately, the guys in the band were of the same mindset. Two days of six hour rehearsals and my fingertips would have bled if it weren’t for the calluses, but our band practice was on point and we were more than ready for our debut at such a famous event.
The only part I wasn’t looking forward to was getting there. The road to the festival was always backed up for long hours, sometimes up to six or seven just to get into the farm where it was held.
When I found out about our mode of transport to reach Glastonbury a new sense of privilege washed over me. All the bands were transported via helicopter which, although exciting, I personally felt it was a shame as it meant the bands didn’t experience the event from a fans perspective before performing there. I remembered Brody and I sitting in the traffic in my secondhand Austin Mini Clubman, packed tightly with our tent, sleeping bags, and two six packs of lager the last time we were there.
That car had meant the world to me. My dad had bought it for me for my eighteenth birthday. I’d crashed it three months after the festival that fall, wrapping it around a tree three days after my nineteenth birthday when I skidded on some wet leaves as I drove around our village.
Viewing the festival site from the helicopter gave me a vantage point like no other. It looked part village with temporary buildings and portacabins and part refugee camp with all the hastily erected tents.
The rain was falling, on our arrival, and the ground had already gone to shit, but the unpredictable English weather never dampened the spirit of the place. As the helicopter hovered above the field I found it hard to believe animals had been grazing those very pastures a couple of weeks earlier, and would again once the festival was over.
We only had one day instead of the four days the campers had, but it was awesome to wander amongst the crowds without being recognized too much. We’d been away for a while, so people who recognized us hesitated, unsure it was definitely us. When we were semi-famous, people tended to leave us al
one. At Glastonbury there were so many famous people it didn’t seem to matter.
When I listened to the sounds of a couple of the newer bands it gave me a feel for how the music styles were changing, what was in and what was on the way out. The true classics never died a proper death. Those tunes were cyclic, returning once a decade or so to be sung as they were intended, or as a cover with a new arrangement if someone had the balls to mess with what wasn’t broken in the first place.
After a couple of hours, I headed over with Brody to the stage we were performing on and to meet up with Caleb and Surge. I was excited to meet the headline band, Vanderlight, when a familiar, soft voice I recognized instantly called out my name. “Gray?” Turning, I saw Brody standing beside Phoebe and my heart squeezed at the sight of her. A rush of sad memories from the last time I saw her hit me full on and I felt ashamed about how I’d treated her.
Taking in her appearance she looked a sight for sore eyes. Walking over beside her, I scooped her up in my arms and swung her around in a circle, excited to see she didn’t hold a grudge. She looked fantastic, smelled even better, and most importantly her smile was contagious.
Dropping her to her feet, I hung onto her with one arm around her waist and leaned far enough back to check out the length of her. It didn’t matter that she had on huge, green gumboots, her long, slender legs looked more inviting in them. I smiled at her; she looked like a turtle sinking into a huge puffy pillow coat that looked like it may swallow her head whole. One thing that was different was her hair. Usually, it was pristinely presented, but her platinum hair was soaked so thoroughly that it hung in long, blonde ringlets, while the appearance of her skin was incredible: shiny and radiant.
A water droplet fell from her hair, ran down the side of her face, and carried on down her neck until it disappeared into her blouse. That single tiny spot of rain was probably the sexiest thing I’d seen in a while.
“Look at you. You’re more stunning than ever, sweetheart,” I admitted honestly and leaned in to kiss her cheek. Phoebe shunned me and moved her head slightly away from me. As far as I was concerned she may as well have turned her back on me altogether for the effect it had. I noticed her body language had stiffened, and dropped my hands to my sides in response. For a second I had no clue what to do with them until I stuffed them into my leather jacket.
Notes On Love Page 15