For the Record

by Charlotte Huang

  Beckett looked at me with raised eyebrows and I gave a quick nod, so they left. I stood up and clasped my hands in front of me. “I didn’t hook up with Nina. I don’t even like her,” Lucas said.

  “Okay,” I said. Even if I’d had a gut feeling, I probably would have ignored it. Since when had my gut ever been right?

  “Okay you believe me, or okay get the fuck out?” Lucas asked.

  I laughed despite myself. “A little of both, I guess.”

  Then he came and stood close to me, rubbing my arm and peering into my eyes. “I’m sorry that’s out there, but it’s not what they’re saying it is. If I wanted to get together with Nina, I would have done it a year ago when we were on set every day.” That was supposed to make me feel better. “I want to come back on tour.”

  “For how long?” Maybe focusing on facts would help me manage this confusing situation.

  He stepped in to hug me. “As long as you’ll let me.”

  —

  After the show, which he watched dutifully from side stage, Lucas went straight to the bus. He assumed correctly that no one was thrilled to see him back and stayed out of the way.

  Beckett caught me on my way out of the shower. “Everything okay?”

  “I’m sure it will be,” I said. It meant so much to me that he cared enough to ask.

  “Okay.” He searched my face for more. “Hometown show tomorrow.”

  I groaned. “I just want to get it over with. How do you play in front of people who have known you your whole life?”

  Beckett laughed. “We’ll do you proud. I promise.”

  When I got on the bus, Ray was passed out in the lounge, and Lucas was beside him, reading smoothed-out pieces of notebook paper. My lyrics. I went over and grabbed them out of his hand.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “My really bad attempts at writing a song.” I smiled so he’d think I was just embarrassed.

  “Is any of that stuff real?” he asked.

  “Of course not.”

  29

  It was lunchtime when I ventured out to the front of the bus. Ray was playing video games and Lisette was working on her computer.

  “Is he awake?” Lisette asked. I shook my head. “We traveled for twelve hours to get to Cincinnati yesterday. We should have hired a private jet. That was so not worth it.” She gave me a cool stare. I guess it was kind of my fault that she was back living on a bus instead of a cushy room at Chateau Marmont.

  I texted Mandy to see what she was doing. She replied with: Home to do laundry and eat. B back soon.

  I had no desire to go home. Being in Detroit was hard enough. I didn’t want to do anything to break the rhythm of being on tour. Hanging out in familiar surroundings would make gearing back up too difficult. I got dressed, then went to the other bus. “Anyone want a no-holds-barred tour of Detroit?” I asked as I walked up the steps.

  “No,” Pem said.

  “Pass,” Malcolm said. “We’ve been here like five times.”

  “Fine, your loss,” I said. “What are you doing?”

  “I have a call with Sam in ten minutes,” Pem said. He gave me a wary look so I knew they’d be discussing my stuff. “Have you listened to Horses ten times yet?”

  “Yup. Ten times straight through, no interruptions.”

  “And?”

  “Patti Smith still has not grown on me.”

  Pem groaned.

  “Sorry. I think it’s overwrought and contrived,” I said.

  “Everyone from Courtney Love to Bono has cited that record as a major influence.” Pem looked at Beckett like there was something Beckett should be doing to change my mind.

  “Just because it’s weird doesn’t mean it’s good,” I said.

  Pem stared at me, but Beckett shrugged. Apparently my music taste was beyond fixing.

  “I’ll take a tour,” Beckett said.

  “That’s okay. I wasn’t serious.” I smiled at him.

  “Oh, if Malcolm doesn’t want to go, there’s no tour?” Beckett elbowed me.

  “Fuck it, I’ll go.” Malcolm stood up. “Just let me change.”

  “I was totally kidding,” I called. “There is no tour.”

  “Come on,” Beckett said. “We’ve never seen Lydon.”

  “Consider that a win,” I said.

  —

  Even so, an hour later I found myself telling the runner to slow down as he passed my house.

  “Nice,” Beckett said.

  “Cute,” Malcolm said.

  We drove by my high school.

  “This tour’s fucking boring,” Malcolm said. He balled up a sweatshirt and used it as a pillow. Within minutes, he was asleep.

  “I told you,” I said to Beckett.

  “Maybe you can introduce him to some of your friends.”

  I guess I’d never explicitly said that Mandy was my only friend. It seemed a little late in the game to be correcting his assumption that I had others. “I don’t know anyone who’s his type,” I said.

  “Malcolm has a type?”

  I laughed. I decided to bring them by Ford’s Fast Five. Beckett shook Malcolm. “We’re visiting Brian and Linda.”

  “Oh God.” Nonetheless, Malcolm sat up and blinked himself awake.

  When we walked in, my mother was helping Mrs. Carlson, my precalc teacher, pick out swim goggles. “Honey!” she said when she saw me. She turned to Mrs. Carlson. “These guys are in the band Melbourne. Have you ever heard of them?”

  Mrs. Carlson nodded. “I hear you on the radio all the time. And I’m so happy to see something good finally happening to you, Chelsea.”

  “Uh, thanks, Mrs. Carlson.” I ignored Beckett’s and Malcolm’s questioning looks and steered them to the counter, where my father rang up another customer. “What a surprise!” he said.

  “Just giving a quick tour of Lydon,” I said.

  “What do you think?” my father asked.

  “Very quaint. Big on charm,” Malcolm said.

  My father grinned. He loves a bullshitter.

  I was about to show them around and wow them with my vast knowledge of sporting goods when my mother waved us over. The two people she was talking to turned. Mike Malloy and Caryn Sullivan. Why did Lydon have to be so damn small? My breathing went shallow.

  “Chelsea, come here,” my mother called.

  I trudged over with Malcolm and Beckett trailing behind. I wanted to make a run for it. At least Mike and Caryn would be too starstruck to be nasty. “Mike. Caryn. Meet Beckett and Malcolm,” I said. My mother looked ecstatic that I was the conduit for this epic meeting between famous and popular, but she slinked away just like a mom of a cool girl would.

  “I’m such a huge fan,” Mike said. “I’m the reason Chelsea even knows about your band.”

  Beckett gave Mike a look that was hard to read. “Wow. Thanks.”

  “We’re coming to the show tonight!” Caryn was all excited, even though I could guarantee that she didn’t own a single Melbourne album. “Is Lucas Rivers here, or is that just a rumor?”

  I was grateful that Beckett and Malcolm remained expressionless. “He’s here.”

  “So that Nina Maras thing was made up?” Caryn squealed. “I also read that you’re coming out with a solo album.”

  “What? No, that’s not true.” I shook my head at Beckett and Malcolm. The confusion of talking to Mike and Caryn more than I had in the past two years combined was short-circuiting my brain.

  “Are you going to play ‘Parietals’? Chelsea can sing the hell out of that song,” Mike said.

  Now Beckett was giving me a look. “It’s part of the encore,” I snapped.

  “Cool.” Mike smiled, deliberately clueless as always. “You moved to the DTE Pavilion, right? That’s a big deal.” We’d been scheduled to play the Fillmore, but Mark had managed to move us to the larger DTE.

  “Why don’t you give them passes?” my mother called from the register.

  “Because you’re bringing ev
eryone you’ve ever met,” I called back.

  Mike shrugged. “If you can scrounge any up, hit me on my cell. You still have my number, right?”

  I didn’t bother hiding my cringe as he and Caryn left the store. Malcolm took one look at me and said, “I’m just going to put this out there: You have the worst taste in boys.”

  “I never dated Mike,” I hissed in a furious whisper.

  “Why don’t you have anyone on your list?” Beckett asked when we got in the car. “Even Malcolm does.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Rochelle and Caitlin from Grosse Pointe,” Malcolm said.

  “My parents are taking all my passes, plus yours and Pem’s. It’s easier than fighting with them,” I said.

  Beckett studied me but let the subject drop.

  When we got back to the venue, he and Malcolm went to their bus and I went to mine. I missed hanging out with them and didn’t want our afternoon to end.

  Lucas was waiting for me and wasn’t happy when I told him I’d shown Beckett and Malcolm around my hometown. “I would have gone,” he said.

  “Lisette said to let you sleep. It was boring anyway.” I held out my hand to him. “Want to come to sound check?”

  “No thanks.” He ignored my hand. “Seen one, seen ’em all.”

  —

  For the meet and greet, we sat at a long table and the fans passed, single-file, said hi, and snapped a picture. It was like they were on a conveyer belt. This was the first time I’d heard Rob give his spiel at the beginning. They were in the hall, but I could hear him clearly. “Everyone will have the opportunity to take one group shot. I know you all have a favorite band member, but to be efficient we’re only allowing pictures of everyone together.”

  I turned to Malcolm. “Why is that a rule?” I’d just assumed everyone wanted a picture with the whole band.

  “So all the pseudo fans don’t hold everyone up waiting to get a picture with Lucas Rivers’s girlfriend.”

  Midway through the meet and greet assembly line, my parents got tired of waiting. They didn’t just jump in front of the line themselves; they brought an entourage of about twelve people with them. The next person in line was about to blow up, so I touched her arm. “Sorry. My parents. I’ll get rid of them.” I stood up and matched my mother’s maniacal grin. “What. Is this?”

  “Honey, everyone wants to see you!”

  I nodded at my parents’ friends, most of whom I knew (though I did notice a couple with a little boy whom I’d never laid eyes on before). “Okay, but you can’t just cut.”

  My mother didn’t even notice everyone glaring at her. “We want a picture!” Their posse gathered around the table shepherded by my incredibly intrusive parents, and Rob snapped a picture. My mom put her arms around the shoulders of the people I didn’t know. “We met these nice folks at breakfast. Their son, Noah, is a real Beckett fan, right, Noah?” My mother staged the next photo so that Noah, who looked to be about ten, stood in front of Beckett and started shooing the rest of us out of the way.

  “It’s one picture with all of us. That’s it.” I turned to Noah’s parents, who probably had no idea what was going on. “Sorry, we have all these people to meet and we need to do it quickly.” I gestured down the length of the line shifting with restless fans. Rob finally took control of the situation. “Okay, we need to keep going.”

  When the meet and greet was over, Rob shook his head. “Your parents are a piece of work.” That was putting it mildly.

  —

  Miraculously, our show was going smoothly. I’d decided to pretend we were in another city. But then my eyes landed on Mike Malloy. He and his crew had floor tickets and were disturbingly close to the stage. Once I knew he was there, I couldn’t take my eyes away from him. He sang every word with me just like he had back then. My heart started to palpitate.

  A few people in that area held signs. Fans occasionally made them to proclaim undying love for one of the guys, but it was by no means a regular occurrence. I squinted to see what they said.

  One read:

  lucas: dump chelsea! date me!

  Another read:

  entrapment is for losers.

  Shit. I was totally rattled and felt like I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs to sing. I spotted Lucas at the side of the stage. Before Beckett could start the next song, I said, “Hey, everyone, say hi to Lucas!” and pointed to him. He took a bewildered step forward, looked at me, then straightened up and strode out onto the stage.

  The crowd went nuts, although there were some boos.

  He took my mike and opened his mouth like he was going to sing. “I’m totally messing with you. I can’t sing at all. Hello, Detroit!”

  More ecstatic cheering.

  “I’ve always wanted to do that. You’re beautiful! Thanks for saying hi!” Lucas gave me my mike back along with a peck on the cheek.

  My eyes went round with disbelief. I hadn’t expected Lucas to make that big a spectacle of himself. I thought he’d just wave and duck back into hiding. Pem and Beckett both looked like they wanted to flay me alive.

  I hadn’t planned to do it; I needed to get the focus off me and there was no way to do that when you were onstage. We continued our set, but from then on many people, including the girls from my high school, kept their eyes on the spot where Lucas had been hiding. Their distraction freed me up again.

  We started the second song in our encore, which was supposed to be “Parietals,” but Beckett launched right into the guitar line for our last song. Pem looked at him with an angry, questioning expression. Malcolm fell into line with a shrug.

  “Thanks for the shout-out, babe.” Lucas was fully visible now, and some girls in the front were having a group meltdown. He blew them a kiss, then pulled me to him, dipped me low, and gave me a long, energetic kiss. The girls screamed. I was speechless when we stood back up. He grinned. “Now everyone can forget about that stupid rumor.” Yeah, maybe not everyone.

  30

  “They’re in the production office,” Winston said when I asked him about my parents after the show. “Yo, you better stay out of Pem’s and Beckett’s way tonight.”

  Duly noted.

  My parents had Lucas cornered. My mother gazed at him with an adoring fangirl expression. “So, young man, what are your intentions with our daughter?” my father asked with a serious expression.

  I couldn’t see Lucas’s face, but he stammered an incoherent reply before my father burst out laughing. Rob was pretending to work, but he couldn’t contain his laughter. Anything that had the potential to make Lucas miserable had the band and crew’s full support.

  A nice girlfriend would have intervened, but I was maxed out from my parents’ earlier antics and the show itself. Lucas could take this one for the team. I fled to the bus.

  Mandy latched onto my arm. “Holy crap, we survived.”

  “We’re not out of the woods yet,” I muttered. “Bus call’s not until two. Did you talk to anyone?”

  “I took my brother out for ice cream and got swarmed by everyone wanting hookups. Even Dane. He was willing to pay and everything.”

  I wrinkled my nose at the thought of my old boss coming to the show. “Did your parents come?”

  “No. Too afraid. But how amazing is it to come back and be all ‘In your face!’? That has got to be the most delicious feeling. It was for me, and I’m not even in the band. I’m only cool because I get to hang out with you. Talk about a turn of events!”

  “Uh, that’s not exactly how it went.” I glanced out the window and saw Lucas leading my parents toward the bus. “Hey!” I flashed Lucas what I hoped was an irresistible grin when they got on the bus.

  Lucas’s smile was more of the nervous and baffled variety. Mandy, sensing trouble, slipped off the bus but not before getting mauled by my parents.

  After they finished grilling Lucas about “showbiz” (which I gathered they’d been doing for almost an hour now), my parents looked around. My dad marveled
over the hydraulic doors and the wonders of bus plumbing while my mom deemed everything in the kitchenette “adorable.” When we got to the back bedroom, she asked, “Who sleeps in here?”

  Lucas looked at me. “Lucas does,” I said.

  My mother raised her eyebrows. “And where do you sleep?”

  “In one of the bunks.” I turned to Lucas. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Is there a party? Can we come?” my father asked.

  I shook my head. “We have a tour meeting. You know, tour business.”

  My mom got teary-eyed and I almost felt bad until she turned to Lucas and said, “I am so happy Chelsea finally has a boyfriend. After the number Mike did on her, I wasn’t sure she’d ever get her confidence back. As a mother, you always hope your child will meet that special someone.”

  Now Lucas looked even more scared than before. “Mom.” I dragged Lucas off the bus.

  “Should I even ask?” Lucas stared at me.

  “Probably not,” I said.

  Ray and Lisette stood outside, smoking. “Can you get a runner?” I asked. “We’re going to get food. Wait a sec. I’m going to get Mandy.”

  On my way to the other bus, I spotted all my bandmates and some of the crew guys piling into cars. “Where are you all going?” I asked.

  “Royal Oak. Our friend’s DJ’ing,” Malcolm said.

  “You’re going all the way down there?” The Royal Oak Music Theatre was at least half an hour away.

  “His show is unbelievable. You should come.”

  I thought about what Winston had said. “You sure? Don’t Beckett and Pem have a contract out on me?”

  “Yeah. But that’s not gonna change if you stay behind. Might as well take your medicine like a big girl.”

  So I rounded up Lucas, Lisette, Ray, and Mandy and followed the other cars to the Royal Oak.

  Once we arrived, someone came out to escort us to a roped-off VIP section in the front of the floor. The set was already in full swing, and behind us the audience jumped and flailed in unison.

  Atom, the DJ, hovered high above the stage in his booth—a long white counter that blended into the backdrop so that he was the center of one enormous video screen. Colors and shapes flashed and swirled, at times moving so fast it felt like we were speeding through a tunnel of light, at others erupting like a psychedelic volcano. White strobe lights and lasers shot all over the inside of the venue. The bass thumped so hard my heart felt like it was beating in time to the music, making it impossible not to dance.