For the Record

by Charlotte Huang

  I helped Mandy pack up once the lobby emptied out. “What are you doing here?” Rob asked when he came to check on Mandy.

  “She’s been great for business. Maybe the guys will come out here sometime,” Mandy said.

  “Nope. That would be disastrous,” Rob explained.

  I turned to Mandy. “Will you come get food with me?”

  “There’s pizza in catering,” Rob said.

  “Would’ve been more of a newsflash if you’d said, ‘There’s no pizza in catering.’ ” Mandy shot Rob a disgusted look and we left.

  We walked to Music Row because we wanted to see a famous Nashville spot. It was loud, raucous, and very touristy—perfect for us. Getting something to eat turned out to be a challenge; every restaurant was packed. We wandered up and down the few blocks, taking in the lights and music blasting from clubs and bars and reading all of the store signs. Boot shops may have actually outnumbered music venues.

  The Shelby Street Bridge, lit up with spotlights, twinkled off the river below. A handful of people were out enjoying the walk. I filled Mandy in on Beckett and the girl.

  “You had to know there was someone in one of these cities,” she said. “How could there not be?”

  She was right, of course. I hadn’t considered that she might just be a one-stop girlfriend, like Malcolm always seemed to have. Thinking Beckett was a dog actually cheered me up.

  We stood at the apex of the bridge, overlooking downtown and the stadium where the Tennessee Titans played. I took a picture for my father. It was dark, with only pinpricks of light, so he’d have to use his imagination.

  Back at the Ryman, fans still lined the parking lot. Mandy accompanied me while I signed more things. The girls from the hair salon were waiting. “Is Beckett coming out?” one of them asked.

  I shook my head. “Something came up. I’m sure he’d love to be here, though.” They looked crestfallen and kind of irritated, almost like Beckett stood them up for a date. I sympathized. Mandy and I stayed out until Rob told us that the last runner was leaving.

  At the hotel we took obscenely long showers, then watched a sappy romantic comedy. Lying clean in a real bed and not having to set the alarm felt so heavenly.

  A day off with Mandy couldn’t have come at a better time. I could be myself and not have to watch what was coming out of my mouth all day. We managed to avoid everyone from the Melbourne camp and had the best time, letting loose and gossiping about the band and crew.

  When we reported to the bus, I was surprised to find Beckett’s girlfriend sitting in the front lounge in her pj’s, nestled next to him. She jumped up as soon as we got on. “Hi! I’m Lauren. I didn’t get a chance to meet you after the show last night, but you were amazing.”

  I had trouble finding words. Apparently she was already known to Dave and welcome on the bus. “Thanks. This is Mandy. She does merch.”

  Dave maneuvered out of the lot.

  Malcolm came out of the sleeping compartment. “Hey, girl,” he said to Lauren. “Nice to have a sister alongside.”

  “I’m Japanese.” She laughed but bumped fists with him regardless.

  “You think these fools can tell the difference?” He grabbed a bag of chips and sat down, shoveling handfuls into his mouth. Mandy cleared her throat. “So, Lauren. Where are you from?”

  “Charlotte,” Lauren replied with a friendly smile. Her teeth were perfectly white and even.

  “Oh, next stop. Does that mean you’re only with us for the night?” Mandy asked.

  Lauren glanced shyly at Beckett. “No, I think I’ll hang out for a couple more cities.” Beckett grabbed her hand and played with it, lacing his fingers through hers.

  I stood up. “They’re watching a movie in back,” Malcolm said through a mouthful of chips. Like there were so many activities available on the bus.

  Mandy continued to interrogate Lauren. “Now, how did you two meet?”

  “Cool.” I pushed the door button and escaped just in time to miss the adorable story of how Beckett and Lauren met and fell in love. At least now I knew why Beckett wasn’t included in Malcolm’s pool.

  I spent about twenty minutes trying to sit through the horror movie du jour, but I wasn’t fooling anyone. “We should probably switch up the genres once in a while,” Winston said. This met with apathetic grunts. I smiled at him anyway; it was nice of him to try.

  “It’s either this or porn,” Kam said.

  Winston slapped him on the back of the head. “Man, no one wants to watch porn with you.” He looked apologetic. “Sometimes we watch Food Network.”

  I had no one to blame for my suddenly foul mood, so I did the mature thing and climbed up to my bunk to stew for the rest of the night.

  13

  I’d gotten used to having the front lounge to myself in the mornings, but when the doors slid open, there sat Lauren, sipping my ginger tea. I knew it was mine, because the box sat on the counter. I really needed to start writing my name on my food.

  “Morning! Sorry, is this yours?” She looked all beautiful even with her hair up in a knot and not a lick of makeup on. She didn’t even have dried-out bus face like I got every night. There were so many reasons not to love Lauren.

  “Help yourself,” I said.

  “Did you sleep okay?” she asked.

  “Like a rock. You?” This was a total lie. I’d heard her and Beckett whispering and laughing, and God knows what else, all night long. It had been unbearable.

  Lauren nodded. “Great. Didn’t even hear Jared snoring.”

  I’d wondered who the snorer was. “How do you know it’s him?”

  “Last tour. He was the first one asleep one night and then no one else could fall asleep. They made him buy Breathe Right strips after that.”

  “Guess that didn’t work.”

  “Nope.” Lauren giggled. I turned away, rummaging through the cabinets but not really looking for anything. “Hey, Beckett said we had to buy this for you.” She jumped off the couch and reached into a lower cabinet. When she backed up, she was holding an economy-sized variety pack of instant oatmeal. It even had my name written on it.

  “That’s so sweet.” I was surprised Beckett had given me a single thought during his romantic reunion with Lauren.

  Pem came out, dressed and surprisingly alert. “Can I have some oatmeal?”

  I slid the box to him. He microwaved a chicken breast, made a packet of plain oatmeal, and combined them. I gagged as he sat across from me.

  “We need to talk.” He took a bite of his revolting breakfast.

  “Can it wait until you’re done? I don’t think I can sit here while you eat that. Sorry if it’s some ethnic meal that I’m too unworldly to know about.”

  Pem looked at his bowl and shrugged. “Just protein with carbs. Not that different from rice or pasta with chicken.”

  “I’m going to have to disagree. And who eats chicken for breakfast?” I asked.

  Lauren laughed. “Boys are disgusting.”

  “Whatever.” Pem swiveled around to face Lauren. “Your friends coming down tonight?”

  “Definitely! Should I tell anyone in particular that you’re asking?” Lauren had a sly, amused look on her face. Everything she said sounded flirty.

  “Nope. Not like that. What have you been up to?” Pem asked.

  “You know: school, graduating. I got a job waiting tables until school starts.”

  “Where did you decide on?”

  Lauren suddenly got very interested in her tea mug. “Yale.”

  Pem grinned. “Congratulations! To be closer to Beckett?” He didn’t seem to care that he was making her blush like mad.

  “I’m going to get an amazing education. Isn’t that reason enough?” Lauren jutted her chin out.

  “No argument here.” Pem shrugged. Apparently he wasn’t too impressed, but I was.

  He finished eating, then brought his dishes to the sink. Actually, for a boy, he wasn’t that disgusting. He sat down again, looking at me expec
tantly, like he wanted me to start the conversation.

  I took a deep breath. “So. How do you think tour’s going?” The only thought going through my head was Please don’t fire me, please don’t fire me. Despite having a mostly great show at the Ryman (ill-advised stage dive aside), I wasn’t fooling myself into thinking this was going to be a congratulatory talk.

  He looked at the table, batting my empty oatmeal packet between his hands. “Fine. Really well. I mean, you’re still getting your sea legs, but it’s coming along.” Sometimes when talking to Pem, I felt like I was talking to a random crotchety old man. “I’m more talking about after the shows. We noticed that you like going out and meeting the fans.” I nodded, uncertain if I should be preparing an excuse. “That’s cool, but we need to be careful not to create an imbalance.”

  “I figured since I’m new, I should get out there more.”

  “Sure. But it creates an expectation for the rest of the band to be out there too.” He looked at me to see if I was getting it.

  “Beckett doesn’t seem to mind,” I said.

  “He’s just being supportive,” Pem said.

  I couldn’t figure out why that was a bad thing, but I didn’t say anything. Lauren, who’d been pretending to play on her phone, glanced over and shifted in her seat. The fact that she could overhear every word was humiliating. “I didn’t realize,” I said. “I thought it was part of what we do.”

  “And it is. Sometimes,” Pem said. “Also, the reality show is coming up too often in comments online. You need to dial that down.”

  “How?”

  He sighed. “Be evasive, act like you don’t want to discuss it.”

  “I don’t sit around talking—”

  “Then it should be no problem.”

  “But I’m giving honest answers to questions.” We stared at each other but both knew that I’d be the first to back down. “You think they’ll just forget?”

  “No. But it’ll be less of an issue if you don’t keep elaborating.”

  “So basically the rules for talking to fans are the same as the rules for talking to journalists.”

  “Pretty much.” He watched me for a reaction. I deliberately didn’t give one even though I thought he was being paranoid. “Cool?”

  I gave a tight nod.

  “How’s your music education going?” Pem asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know Beckett gave you some stuff to listen to.”

  “It wasn’t for that.” At least, I didn’t think it was. It irked me to think that maybe Beckett’s gesture wasn’t totally altruistic.

  “Even if it wasn’t, I hope it’s sinking in. I have some other listening assignments. Give me your iPod.”

  “It’s in my bunk, but you can grab it.”

  Pem stood up and left the lounge.

  After a few uncomfortable minutes, Lauren slid into Pem’s empty seat. She took my hand. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s always seriously cranky.”

  I stared at her hand, wrapped around mine. An assertion of friendship that had neither been earned nor invited. I extracted my hand as unbitchily as possible. “I’ve picked up on that.”

  “When Hollis quit the band, it rocked his world.” Lauren looked into my eyes. I saw her warmth and sincerity. She was going to make it impossible for me to hate her.

  “I don’t know much about it.” I was fed the same line as everyone else—that Hollis was burned out and wanted to go to college and have a normal life. It sounded reasonable and no one was saying anything different, so I never asked questions.

  Lauren gave me a conspiratorial look. “I’ve only overheard things in passing, but I know it was ugly.” I was bugged that she knew more about the band than I did.

  “How long have you been going out with Beckett?” I asked.

  She sat back and looked down at her lap, plucking at the hem of her T-shirt. “We aren’t really going out. Whenever I hear he’s in this neck of the woods, I text him and we make a plan to meet up.”

  I tried to ignore the inappropriate feelings of relief flooding my body. “That sounds…”

  “Incredibly noncommittal. I know. I’ve been fine with that for the past couple of years, but it feels like we’re at a make-or-break point. I love seeing him. FaceTime and texting just aren’t doing it anymore. I mean, that dies off after we haven’t seen each other for a few months anyway.”

  I tried to remember a time when Beckett seemed in a hurry to make a call or overly absorbed in his phone. I couldn’t think of one. “Maybe he feels the same way.”

  Lauren’s hopeful look made me sad. “Do you have a boyfriend?” she asked.

  This question again. “No,” I said.

  She bit her lip but then broke into a bright smile. “I bet you’re meeting tons of people. There’s bound to be someone cool soon.”

  “Or not. Either way, I’m good,” I said.

  Lauren obviously wanted to get something off her chest, so I stared out the window while she thought about it. “I hate to ask,” she finally said, “and I know it’s only been a couple of days, but have you seen or heard of anyone else? With Beckett, I mean?”

  “Uh, no. But my relationship with all the guys is still mostly professional. I’ve been kind of busy trying to learn everything.”

  Lauren clapped a hand to her forehead. “Of course! You must think I’m so self-absorbed. I should have realized you had your own stuff going on. I’m so sorry.”

  She looked so chagrined that I tried to soften my statement. “No worries. I just haven’t been the most observant lately.”

  “Well, from what I saw you’re going to own this band soon. People won’t even remember Melbourne with Hollis.” She smiled, but her eyes were glistening.

  “Try not to stress about Beckett. You’re here for the next few days, right?” I asked. She nodded. “Then just try to enjoy it.”

  She came around the table and hugged me. After a brief pause, I hugged her back. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ve been so anxious about coming on tour and dealing with this. You and Mandy are so easy to talk to.”

  I smiled. “Anytime.”

  —

  We played the Fillmore that night, a cool club that had been redesigned to look industrial. During the show you’d never have guessed that anything had been bothering Lauren. She was the carefree girlfriend of a rock star, queen bee reigning over the five girlfriends she’d gotten into the show. Beckett seemed almost as into Lauren as she was into him. They were constantly touching and laughing, but at times it felt to me like he was holding something back. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

  14

  Fortunately (or not, depending on how you looked at it) Sam came to check on us in Atlanta. Pem seemed especially relieved to see him. Sam was the voice of reason, and even though the tour wasn’t even a week old, some things needed course-correcting. He planned to stay on the bus through Miami then fly ahead of us to LA, where we’d shoot our next video.

  Before we sound-checked at the Tabernacle, we sat down with Sam in the production office.

  “I’ve been hearing really positive things about the shows. Promoters are happy, you’re selling a crap ton of merch, and venues that weren’t sold out before continue to show strong ticket sales as the show date approaches. That’s all word of mouth. That’s not something a marketing plan can do for you. So congrats!” Sam looked at each of us as he spoke. The boys remained poker-faced, but I offered a smile. That did seem like pretty exciting news. “Anyone else want to say anything?”

  “That’s all good, but it’s not the same buzz builder as a sold-out tour,” Pem said, reprising his role as Mr. Positivity.

  “It’s the same money, though,” Malcolm said.

  “You’re both right,” Sam said. “But the best thing we can do is to keep putting on kick-ass shows.” He looked around. “Cool. I wanted to meet before sound check to remind you that it’s not just sound check for you guys. People who work the building need to make sure
their stuff is right too.” We all nodded, but Malcolm’s mouth tensed, anticipating what was coming. “And sometimes promoters bring their coworkers down to show them what they bought. If you guys are being sloppy, that gets around. So we need to tighten that up.”

  Malcolm heaved a theatrical sigh. Someone had tattled. But he didn’t try to justify his actions, and Sam didn’t ask for any verbal commitment that we’d follow his directions.

  “How are the meet and greets going?” Sam asked. “Fans seem happy?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been liking how casual they are,” Beckett said.

  “I don’t know why we can’t do it the old way. It was more efficient,” Pem said.

  I had no idea what the old way looked like, so I had no comment. Malcolm was still mad about being called out, so he didn’t add anything either.

  “We’re doing it this way for now because it’s like acknowledging that the band is in a slight reorg phase. We want fans to know we’re not trying to slip one by them with Chelsea. They need reassurance that you guys are the same, but you’re not pretending you’re the exact same band.”

  “We’re already playing smaller venues so the shows can be more intimate. Doesn’t that count?” Pem asked.

  Sam put on what I thought of as his exaggeratedly patient voice. “You’re asking fans to almost start over with you. The singer is the thing, you know? They love you guys, of course. You’re the engine that makes the whole thing go. You write the songs and you play the hell out of them. But it’s the singer that most people identify first when they hear a song.”

  I swallowed, trying to get the sudden dry, cottony feeling out of my mouth. When Sam described my job that way, I felt a lot of pressure. I had new appreciation for the chance my bandmates had taken on me.

  “So we have to be willing to start over with them too,” Beckett said.

  “Exactly,” Sam said. “That fan relationship is key. It cannot be messed with.”

  “Does that mean we have to go out and sign every night like Chelsea does?” Pem asked.

  “I don’t do it every night” was my big contribution to the discussion. “You guys take it for granted that you even have fans. I can’t do that.”