Unfortunately, the encore was three of Melbourne’s biggest hits, high-energy both in performance and crowd reaction, including my favorite, “Parietals.” As soon as I waved goodbye, I raced back to the bathroom.
After dry-heaving for what felt like an hour, I was certain I’d never eat again.
A few minutes after my retching stopped, the door opened. I wanted Mandy but got Beckett instead. He handed me a towel and leaned back against the door. “It’s totally normal, just so you know,” he said.
“Awesome. Can’t wait to do this again.” I was mortified that he was seeing me like this. He was trying to be nice, but I just wanted him to go away.
“I mean, you’re not used to the adrenaline of this type of show and don’t know how to pace yourself. You’ll get the hang of it.” He smiled.
“I better.” I twisted my hair up into a knot. Getting all that hot hair off my neck felt so much better. I blew out a long, shaky breath and clung to the sink.
“We’re ordering food. You want anything?”
“Yeah. Double cheeseburger and a shot of tequila.” I glared at him in the mirror.
Beckett laughed. “Just thought I’d check. Bus call isn’t until two.”
I was looking forward to my first night on the bus. Exhaustion was setting in. “Where can I take a shower? I’m dying for one.”
“Back in the dressing room. You better hurry, there’s already a line.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You look clean.”
“I was first. Have to be quick around here.” Beckett smiled in a way that could best be described as smug. It wasn’t his most attractive look.
So the day had started out rich with possibility but ended with me fighting for bathroom privileges. Sounded about right.
7
Fans lined the back fence and cheered when they saw me. I waved and went onto the bus. When the doors closed behind me, they booed. Sheesh. It wasn’t so long ago that I’d been one of them, waiting outside the fence.
The bus was empty, which gave me a chance to poke around. The first section after the driver’s cabin was a living room/kitchenette with a flat-screen TV mounted over one of two couches that faced each other, two mini-fridges, a sink, and a couple of cabinets. A small booth took up the other side of the aisle just before sliding doors that led to the next compartment.
Suitcases cluttered the middle of the aisle. I found mine and took out only what I’d need for twenty-four hours, including toiletries, pj’s, and a change of clothes.
My shower wasn’t for another half hour. Jared had so generously informed me that I could go after him and Malcolm. I guess chivalry really was dead. At least on the Business of Music Tour.
So I pulled my hood over my sweaty rat’s nest of a hairdo and went back out. Maybe now that these fans had seen me perform, they’d actually talk to me. It was a theory. “How’s it going? Did you guys have fun?”
They murmured, “Great show,” and other vague compliments, then stuck CDs and pieces of paper through the slats. Some wanted my signature more than they wanted to talk; others congratulated me on a smooth integration into the band. If I had to win fans one at a time, I was willing to do it. Occasionally one of the guys would pass by, which was obvious from the spike in cheers.
When I went back to the dressing room, someone was in the shower. I banged on the door. “Jared?” I yelled.
“No!” Winston shouted. “You were signing. Kam’s after me. You can go after him.”
Nice of Jared to look out for me. I left my stuff by the door. Rob and Mandy looked like they were in “do not disturb” mode, counting cash and going over receipts in the production office, so I moved on.
The bar was still open, and Malcolm and Beckett, both fresh as daisies, held court with a bunch of girls. Could they be more predictable? I was not hygienically prepared for that scene and wasn’t sure I’d be welcome anyway.
I looked at photos on the wall of all the bands that had played here. There was even a picture of Melbourne from an early tour. I studied Hollis. Objectively she looked regal, her WASPiness radiating through glam rock clothes. She didn’t seem inauthentic, just cool. I smoothed down my hoodie.
The bathroom was finally free, but it was also trashed. Soaking-wet towels were piled up against one wall. The floor looked like it had been finger-painted with dirt. Bits of stubble coated the sink. Good thing I’d already thrown up absolutely everything in my system. I needed to buy shower shoes, stat.
I took a deep breath and was about to cross the threshold when Mandy careened around the corner. “Can I shower next?”
“After me. I puked my brains out and do not feel human.”
“Please, Chelsea? Some bitch threw her beer on me because I didn’t have any small T-shirts left.” She was hunched over, exhausted. Her shirt was crusty and molded to her body.
I’d thrown up, but at least my job had some glory. What the hell, I’d waited this long. “Go ahead.”
“You’re the best! I’d hug you but you’re gross.”
“Yeah. Don’t expect to get too clean in there.”
I was still waiting for Mandy when Rob came by. “Almost bus call. Don’t get left behind.”
Did that happen? Was it two a.m. already? I banged on the door. “Hurry up! I need to get in there!”
Mandy came out fifteen minutes later. “Were you knocking?”
“Did you happen to notice that it’s practically bus call?”
Mandy looked sheepish but mostly thrilled to be clean. I wanted to throttle her.
—
I walked onto a thumping bus, where my bandmates were hosting a full-blown party. Just what I was in the mood for. Pem and Beckett played video games while girls sat around mixing drinks. I staggered in wearing my rancid clothes. I’m sure I didn’t look thrilled, and I bet I didn’t smell very sociable either.
“Is there a laundry hamper or something?” I asked.
They didn’t take their eyes off the screen. Pem made a face like I was nuts, and Beckett said, “Um, not unless you brought one.”
I grabbed my pj’s from under Beckett’s butt and headed for the sliding doors.
“You don’t want to go back there,” one of the girls said.
I stopped and turned.
“Yeah, sorry. We’re leaving soon,” another one said.
“Not that we want to,” the first one said.
“Those are the rules,” Pem said. “Everyone off by bus call.” He finally looked at me. “You look and smell just…offensive. Why didn’t you take a shower?”
I visualized flipping him off and sat at the table. Neither he nor Beckett seemed overly motivated to mingle, yet there was an easy familiarity between them and the girls, almost like they were cousins. The girls were nice enough and seemed interested in my (short) history with the band. When I explained about American Pop Star, one of them wrinkled her nose. “Really? How did I miss that?”
“ ’Cause. We try to pretend it never happened,” Pem said. He was really starting to respect me.
“Don’t listen to her,” another girl whispered. “She’s drunk. Anyway, you’re much sweeter than Hollis. She acted like her shit didn’t stink.”
I was thankful when the bus driver climbed on board and gave the two-minute warning, like we were in preschool.
The entire crew, including Mandy, materialized at once. Rob banged on the sliding doors. Moments later, two girls stumbled out fully dressed, but matted hair and smeared makeup gave them away. Mandy and I exchanged looks.
All the guys got cheek kisses as the girls filed off and made promises to text. Finally, only the people who were supposed to be on board were left. Malcolm emerged from the sleeping area looking very pleased with himself.
“Do you have to wait until the bitter end?” Pem asked.
Malcolm shrugged. “They wanted to spoon. Who am I to say no?”
“You’re a real gentleman,” Oscar said. The crew laughed. Malcolm was a crack-up even if he was kind of crazy.
�
�Listen up!” The bus driver wore a threatening “interrupt me and die” expression. I hoped I didn’t look as cowed as I felt. “Who here has never been on a tour bus?”
“Like, I’ve been on one, but never overnight,” Mandy said, totally leaving me hanging with my hand raised like an idiot.
“Your answer would be no, then,” Rob said. “Raise your hand.”
Mandy huffed but put her hand up.
“Number one rule: Do not take a dump on this bus. Ever. You wait till we get to the venue. If there’s an emergency, let me know and I will find a place to stop. Got it?” He stared hard at Mandy and me. We nodded. I, for one, was ecstatic that this rule was in place.
“Number two: Don’t drink the water. Use bottled water to brush your teeth. There’s a shower on the bus. Don’t use it.”
Oh my God. I was going to have to sleep in my own stench and filth. It was all I could do to not break down.
“Rules three and four: Do your own dishes. Make your own beds. Five: I do not like extraneous people on my bus. Except the ones I already know. If you have to bring somebody on who for some reason cannot be off by bus call, run it by Rob first.” We nodded in unison.
“You okay?” Beckett carried his toothbrush, his iPad, and a bottle of water as he passed by me. I tried not to get too close.
“Yeah. I just didn’t expect the driver to be such a hard-ass.”
“Dave? Total softie. He’s been our driver forever. He just likes to run things tight.” Evidently.
I dialed my parents before remembering it was after two in the morning. I still hadn’t completely come down from the show, and they’d said to call anytime. While it rang, I noticed Malcolm studying me.
“I got the pool for this tour,” Malcolm said.
Winston chuckled. “Already?”
Malcolm continued. “Who do we think will get laid first: Pem or Chelsea?” I pushed the hang-up button in a hurry and Pem threw something at Malcolm while everyone else cracked up. “Should we do twenty or fifty? Fuck it. Fifty. We’re all men. And women. Get your bets in to Rob. He’ll manage the pot.”
“I’m honored, but why?” Really I was more curious about why Pem, because it seemed like he knew his way around the ladies.
“ ’Cause. I’d bet the farm right now that you’re calling the parents. Only a complete naive would call home after their first show. That’s not punk rock.”
My phone buzzed with a text from my mom. Everything okay?
I turned the phone facedown in my lap and covered it with my hand. Malcolm smirked, snapped a picture of me with his phone, and then started tapping. “Make sure you caption that ‘The Naive,’ ” Beckett said. Malcolm laughed.
“Don’t post that! I’m disgusting,” I exclaimed.
“You said it, not me,” Malcolm said.
“Let me guess. You’re also the social media guy.”
“It’s called being multitalented.” Malcolm and Beckett high-fived.
I ignored them and texted my parents back: Forgot how late it was. Call u tomorrow.
Mandy nudged me. “Come on, let’s see where we’re sleeping.”
The sleeping compartment had twelve bunks—two sets of three on each side of the aisle. Almost all of them were taken, since we had a total of eleven people and everyone but Mandy and me seemed to have claimed one. The first two top bunks were open, so we picked those.
“Are we supposed to levitate?” I asked. There was no ladder or step stool. I put my foot on the rail of the middle bunk and hoisted myself up.
The narrow twin bed was already made. I plugged my phone charger into the wall outlet and drew the curtain closed. There wasn’t enough room to sit upright, so I probably sounded like I was wrestling an alligator as I struggled into my pj’s. Once I was in my lounge shorts and T-shirt, I climbed back down with my toothbrush.
I turned toward the front lounge to get a bottle of water and smacked into Rob. “You can use the back lounge to change. Just lock the door,” he said. The back lounge was basically the same as the front lounge minus the kitchen area. Some of the guys were already watching a Japanese horror movie.
The engine whirred to life and I swayed with the turns of the bus as Dave backed out of the lot. I’d barely seen Pittsburgh and couldn’t believe our time there had gone so quickly. Obviously the shows were my priority, but who knew when I’d come back?
Holding the bunk rails for support, I headed to the front, where I managed to brush my teeth and wash my face without making a huge mess. Then I settled into my bunk and tried to sleep. The bus rumbled at full speed, so I assumed we were on a highway. I tried to let the engine lull me to sleep, but it was too foreign to be relaxing.
My curtain slid open, a surprisingly noisy maneuver. I stuck my head over the side. “What?”
“You’re sleeping already?” Mandy asked.
“I’m not going to be very agreeable if I don’t get eight hours.”
“Are you comfy?”
“It’s kind of like camping in a box. And I’m sticky. It’s pleasant.”
She snapped my curtain shut again. Someone shushed us from a bunk.
—
I thrashed myself awake having a nightmare, almost fell out of my bunk, then sat up and smashed my head on the ceiling. I let out a squeal. Holding my head, I reached for my phone and groaned. Four a.m. I’d been asleep less than two hours.
I pulled my curtain open and climbed down. I tiptoed up the aisle but not carefully enough because I tripped over something and banged my head on the door. Tears stung my eyes. The cabin was completely dark, so I couldn’t see what it was, but I made it to the lounge without maiming myself again and before anyone woke up and busted me.
As the door whooshed open, Beckett leaned out from the jump seat—the one next to the driver’s. “Hey. Can’t sleep?” I was glad it was him. I took the seat behind the wall that shielded Dave from band shenanigans. “Dave’s telling me about the country tour he just did. Lots of whiskey.” Dave nodded. “Have you officially met Chelsea yet?” Beckett asked.
I stood up. “I’d shake your hand, but I don’t want to distract you.”
But he turned in his seat—took his eyes off the road and everything—and clasped my hand in both of his. “Welcome to life on the road.”
My eyes shot to the highway in front of us and I yanked my hand back. I looked at Beckett to see if he had any reaction to our driver not actually driving. He yawned.
Dave laughed. “I’m playing with you. These things are so heavy they just roll straight unless I turn. Relax. You’ve entrusted me with your life and I take that very seriously.”
I gave him a dubious look and sat back down.
Beckett and I spent the next two hours listening to Dave’s funny stories about past tours. His regular speaking voice was deep and soothing, fitting for his size.
The sky was still black, so we could see only as far as the headlights allowed. Few cars passed us, and businesses on the roadside were closed. I felt like we were sneaking through the night.
Beckett turned to me during one of Dave’s lengthier pauses. “You should sleep. It’s all about pacing yourself.”
“You don’t seem to be following your own advice,” I said.
Dave chuckled.
“I never sleep much. Besides, I had to catch up with Dave.”
“I’m okay. I’m having fun.”
Dave looked at Beckett. “Uh-oh.”
I stood up so I could see both of them. “What? What do you mean, uh-oh?”
“He means if you’re having fun now, you’re going to love it by the end.”
Dave smiled at me. “And then good luck gettin’ rid of you.”
8
I could hardly keep my eyes open as I stood in the production office of the 9:30 Club and made three packets of instant oatmeal. I’d picked up a variety pack along with some flip-flops for the shower on my grocery store run. The runner even took us past the White House so I could check that off my bucket list.
All the oatmeal tasted the same: mushy. At least now I had food for the bus. I told Rob where to find me, took the longest shower in human history, and then crashed. The club had bunk beds for bands, which was lucky for me. Clearly I’d never appreciated stationary beds enough before.
—
There was a sharp knock followed by the door swinging open and crashing into the wall. I sat up, dazed. “Time for sound check?”
Beckett chuckled. “No. Still have a couple hours. We’re going to some record shops. Want to come?”
And that’s how I found myself walking with Beckett down 18th Street. We’d left Malcolm, Pem, and Aaron sifting through punk records down the block.
Becket held the door for me at a small storefront on the ground floor of a brick building. The clerk did a double take and looked around the store like he wished someone else was there to verify what he was seeing, but it was empty.
I went to the bins and started idly flipping through records. Becket had made a beeline for the folk section, where he picked up each record and scrutinized it. Before long, he had a nice little stack to add to the bags he’d already filled at the other stores.
“What are you looking for?” Beckett’s voice at my ear made me jump and whirl around. “Sorry.”
“Just browsing.” The edge of the bin pressed into my back as I tried to maximize space between me and Beckett in the tight aisle.
“You haven’t bought anything.” He noted my empty hands.
“I don’t have a record player.”
“What?” Beckett studied me with a half smile like I might be kidding. I shook my head. “You call yourself a musician? You need to get one as soon as you get home, like stat. Before you hug your dog or eat your grandma’s home cooking or whatever. In fact, order one now and have it waiting for you.” He dropped a hand onto my shoulder and forced me to look him in the eye. I knew that when I nodded, I was making what he considered the most sacred of promises.
He reached over to the row next to me, pulled out a record, and held it up. “You need this.” It was an Elvis Costello album called This Year’s Model. I’d obviously heard his songs, but he wasn’t one of my go-tos. “And this. And this.”
For the Record Page 5