Just a Girl (16 page)

Our first show was Chicago, thankfully only a short drive from home. With all the equipment, it would take three cars to get there, which meant Paul and I could ride separately.

We met at Rob’s house to make sure all the gear was accounted for. Checking and rechecking everybody’s shit. This was no time to look like a bunch of amateurs.

When there was nothing left but the actual getting-in-the-car part, Paul tapped me on the shoulder.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

Fear clenched in my stomach, but I nodded. “Sure.”

He led me out of the garage and around the side where we’d have some privacy.

“We can’t go on like this,” he said.

I nodded.

He sighed. “Look, you know I am already feeling not-awesome about the show tonight. I really, seriously can’t do this if it’s going to be weird between us. It’s too much.”

I winced. I’d sort of hoped he’d be further past this by now. I didn’t want it to affect his performance. That was part of the reason I’d called it off before I joined the band. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

Eyes fixed on a point past my shoulder, he said, “I don’t know.”

“I can’t be with you just to be your anti-stage-fright drug of choice.”

“I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“Jesus, Presley, I don’t know.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “I never fucking know. Don’t you think I’d do it if I knew what it was I’m supposed to do? I didn’t know before you and I sure as shit don’t know now. I don’t—”

I couldn’t help it—I stepped into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. It was the first time I’d touched him in weeks, and he clutched me tight to him. Tears burned my eyes and I buried my face in his shoulder. He grew heavy as he bent a little to hide his face against my neck, taking fistfuls of my shirt and holding me so close it was hard to breathe.

It felt so good to hold him again I could have sobbed. Or kicked myself for being so weak. I shouldn’t want this. The entire point of breaking up had been to cut out the emotional crap. Not give the other guys in the band any ammunition against me if things went sour. This wasn’t okay.

I rubbed Paul’s back a second more, then eased away from him. He didn’t want to let go, and when I saw his red eyes and felt the wetness on my neck, I understood why. My heart ached for him.

Conscious of the dangerous edge I was skating, I put my hands on his face, wiping a loose tear with my thumb. “You can do this, Paul. I know you can.”

He fixed his eyes in the middle distance, not really looking at me, but he was able to get a breath and nod a little.

“Do you have your meds?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything else you need?”

He took me by the wrists, drawing my hands together in front of his mouth. There was the barest pressure of his lips against my fingers, and then he released me. “I’m pretty sure what I need—‘want’ is no longer available.” His eyes found mine at last, and I resisted the impulse to shiver. I knew exactly what he meant.

Instead I forced a small smile. “Hey, you never know what kind of groupies will be around.”

Now the eyes went cold. “Right. Okay. I guess we should get going.”

From the
Chicago MetroScene
review of the Tricky Dix show in Chicago:

“Tricky Dix packed the house, and so many fans showed up early, opening acts Radio Riot and Jukebox Bleu played to a near-capacity crowd. Riot front man Liam Hoyt’s bold vocals recall the early days of grunge, and the crowd responded with enthusiasm. Reactions were slightly more subdued when the relative unknowns Jukebox Bleu started off the night. Jukebox brings an authentic talent to the crowded folk-rock scene with a stageful of musicians who know their craft and deliver it like seasoned vets. But their newcomer status showed with an aloofness that kept the crowd from engaging. Only lead singer Presley Mason’s arena-sized vocals kept this opening act from complete forgetability for the fans who came to see Tricky Dix.”

From the
MadCityScene
review of the Tricky Dix show in Madison, Wisconsin:

“Two opening acts for the show proved a good choice for this leg of the Tricky Dix tour. Chicago-based Radio Riot seemed to have a few regional followers of their own in the crowd, with plenty of enthusiasm for the alt-rock group, led by Liam Hoyt. The audience was on their feet and singing along to Riot’s originals “Mirror” and “Wildflower Girl.” Reception was dialed down a bit for newcomers to the Tricky Dix tour, Jukebox Bleu, who played their second show tonight. Although Jukebox has made a local name for themselves in the southeast Wisconsin area, the addition of new lead singer Presley Mason (formerly of L.A.-based The Luminous 6) has brought a wider spotlight to the group. Maybe it’s Mason’s recent addition to the group that explains the feeling of isolation on stage, but Jukebox Bleu, while musically as solid as any chart-topper, didn’t have what it took to get the crowd behind them.”

From the
CitiesMix
review of the Tricky Dix show in Minneapolis:

“Tricky Dix welcomed a new featured opener for this stop on the tour. New Zealand’s Muscova made their U.S. debut in Minneapolis with a thirty-minute set. The Twin Cities audience welcomed them with open arms, proving that the group has what it takes to keep climbing the charts in the States. Their catchy originals were just as likely to get everyone singing along and dancing as their crowd-pleasing finale, a cover of Taylor Swift’s “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.” Prior to Muscova’s fan-pleasing warm-up, Tricky Dix invited Midwest-based Jukebox Bleu to kick the night off. Jukebox, an eight-piece folk-rock ensemble, has gone through a personnel shift recently as they said goodbye to their former front man and replaced him with Presley Mason, a singer previously known for her powerhouse vocals in the L.A. metal scene. While their music is solidly performed, the group just couldn’t seem to gel with Mason onstage. Their best work of the night was on a jazz reimagining of a Drake chart-topper.”

By the time we got to Indianapolis, it was clear that things were not working. The reviews had all been lukewarm at best. I could have screamed every time they mentioned only my name in the reviews. There were seven other people in the band. Seven. Why is it always me? And even though Paul and I had managed to come to an unspoken detente, things onstage still felt awkward and weird. All the emotion and joy that I’d felt during the Summerfest show was gone. This felt more like work than even the worst Luminous 6 show had.

From the outside, things seemed fine. We hung out backstage during the Tricky Dix show, and drank with the crew. The guys in Tricky Dix were very welcoming, and always invited us to hang out with them and the featured acts after the show, part of me wondering if they were just happy to have fresh blood. Touring could really get to be a drag when it went on for too long. You get desperate to see anyone but the same old people.

That night, we got to the crappy motel near the theater later than usual.

“Bad news,” Spence said when he came back from the front desk. He had just two small envelopes in his hand instead of the usual three. “Only two rooms.”

“What?”

“How did that happen?”

“Goddamn it.”

The others might have been frustrated, but I was downright freaked. The previous nights, I’d gotten away with staying in a room by myself. Well, me and all the equipment that we didn’t want to leave in the rental van we’d gotten for the longer leg of the tour. All of our hotels had been in shady areas, and the guys were glad to give up the third room to me and a pile of sound equipment and instruments.

“Do they at least have any rollaway beds?” Karl asked.

“Nope.” Spence enunciated the p with distaste.

“Fuckin’ A.”

It was the usual shady neighborhood, and the parking area was a long distance from our rooms, so hauling the equipment was a bigger pain in the ass even than usual. And once we were inside, there was barely enough space for us to move. You could stand in the bathroom, or stand on a bed. That was about it.

It was nearly two in the morning and we were all exhausted. I’d been counting on a few hours alone. To catch my breath. To figure out how to fix this. Fix us. To let out the tears that I’d been holding in for most of the last week. I might have been the one to call things off with Paul, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t hurting.

We stood on the balcony outside the rooms—they were at least on the same floor, though four rooms lay between them—weary from the long night and hauling all the equipment up the open stairs at the end of the concrete walkway.

“I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed,” Rob announced. He held out a fist cupped in his opposite hand. The others copied the gesture, while I looked around in confusion.

“Oh motherfucker, what about Presley?” Spence said when he saw my expression.

The others groaned, and I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. What had I done wrong? I didn’t even know what they were doing.

“It’s got to be Paul,” Aric said.

“What? Guys…” Paul said, already going pale.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“We’re gonna draw for beds,” James explained. “But someone’s got to sleep with you.”

“Motherfucker” was right. I screwed up my face, but then I lifted my cupped fist into view. “It’s fine. I’ll take whatever.”

“Naw, man, my girlfriend will kill me if she finds out,” Karl said.

“Yeah, your girlfriend—try my wife,” Rob retorted.

“Fine.” I let my hand drop. “I’ll just sleep in the bathtub or something. I’m not here to cause problems.”

Someone snorted, but I wasn’t quick enough to determine who.

“She’ll stay with me,” Paul said firmly.

I looked at him, trying to give him a silent signal that he didn’t have to do this.

“Whatever. I could give a fuck at this point,” Rob said. “I want to go to bed.”

They did their drawing thing, which seemed to involve showing a certain number of fingers, though I didn’t understand since it all moved so quickly. Paul didn’t participate, instead waiting with his back to the balcony railing until Spence handed out the keys.

“All right. See you assholes in the morning,” Rob said, snatching a key and going to a room a few doors down.

James, Nick, Paul, and I were left with the other room. It was particularly crammed with shit and we had to take turns climbing onto the first bed from the tiny space near the door. One by one we went to the bathroom. I decided to wait and go last.

I didn’t have much of a choice, since I’d brought only a small pair of knit shorts with rainbow skulls on them and a white tank top to sleep in. It was, unfortunately, a thin top, which would give everyone a clear view of my nipples.
Great thinking, Presley.

I came out of the bathroom with my arms pressed over my chest.

“Can you get the light?” I asked James. He obliged, killing the crappy push-button lamp on the third attempt. Only now I couldn’t see anything.

“Fuck. I don’t know where to put my feet.”

As if on cue, two cell phone screens came on, one on each bed. I used them to pick my way across the foot of the bed closer to me, then step across to the one where Paul lay in the dark. As soon as I was safely on the bed he clicked his screen off, and turned his face away from me.

Carefully, I eased my way under the blankets. The wall-unit air conditioner blasted the bed, making me shiver, and I burrowed down until my nose was under the blankets.

Mistake.

Immediately the familiar warm scent of Paul overwhelmed me. I uncovered my face quickly, but now that I’d caught it, I realized he was too close to avoid it. He’d taken a quick shower before getting in bed, and the sharp, herbal smell of his soap was intense. I squirmed a bit, accidentally brushing my knee against his thigh. He startled, pulling his leg away.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“S’okay.”

From the other bed, I heard the first light snore telling us at least one person was asleep. That was fast.

I lay still, wide awake, even though for the last hour I’d been dreaming of crawling into a deep sleep. The others’ breathing become slow and even, disrupted only by the occasional faint snort or rustle of the sheets.

Paul sighed heavily and rolled onto his side, catching my hair under his shoulder. I winced and tried to pull it free, but couldn’t.

“Paul,” I said, voice barely above an exhalation. “My hair.”

“Hmm?” He turned to his back, trapping my hair even further and preventing me from getting out of the way. We collided, his upper arm landing neatly between my breasts and his hand trapped between his hip and my crotch.

“My hair,” I squeaked, now in actual pain.

“Sorry!” He sat up, and I gathered my hair, twisting it into a coil at the base of my neck. “You okay?” He leaned back on one elbow, looking down at me curiously. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I could see concern on his face.

“Fine.”

He reached out as if to touch my face, but pulled back at the last second. “Small bed.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Not yet.”

He settled back onto the one thin pillow that made up his share of the bed. “Me either.”

“We used to sleep so well together,” I wanted to say, but that would have just been stupid. So I said nothing, and we lay in the dark, quiet, but not asleep. The double bed was entirely too narrow for two people who were afraid of even the most accidental contact. My butt was right at the edge of the mattress. I could have turned my back to him, but in my preferred, curled-up sleeping position, I’d probably have ended up pressing my ass into him. It seemed safer this way.

The only thing to do was lie still and wait for sleep to come. I thought that maybe if I just didn’t move, I had a chance of tricking myself into dozing off. Even if I didn’t convince myself, I must have convinced Paul, because after a while he whispered, barely audibly, “I miss you, Presley.”

I forced myself not to move, but nothing could stop the tears from trickling down my face. With agonizing slowness, I tried to take a silent breath that wouldn’t betray my crying, or even that I was awake, but his words were a physical pain in my chest and I couldn’t stop myself from shaking. When I exhaled, I couldn’t hide the sound. It was a breathy sob. From that point on, it was a lost cause. My shoulders shook and I buried my face in my hands, ashamed of the wet, noisy sounds.

Paul slid closer and put his arms around me. “Shhh…” he soothed. “It’s all right.”

I clutched at him, startled to find that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. And oh God, the warmth of his body, the smell of his skin was so good. I shook in his arms, no longer trying to hide from him, but still determined not to wake the others.

Paul knew what I needed, and simply held me while I let the sadness take me. He didn’t say much beyond the occasional gentle hush of reassurance. Just once I felt his lips against my forehead, and fresh tears sprang to my eyes.

How could he be doing this? Why would he want to?

I don’t know how long I cried, but when I was finally done, I was spent. I didn’t have the energy to move. It turned out Paul had fallen asleep at some point, arms still wrapped around me. I could have moved, I supposed. Maybe I should have. But I just let myself fall asleep in his arms instead.

In the morning, the sound of someone in the bathroom woke me. I’d shifted to my back during the night, but Paul was still close, one hand splayed high on my chest and his forehead tilted down onto my shoulder. My fingers were curled around his hand on my chest, as though I were afraid of losing him.

Moments later I drifted back to sleep.

Sometime later, I was ripped into consciousness by people walking across the end of the bed. I gasped, yanking my knees up to my chest, just in time to see the motel room door close behind two figures, taking with it the patch of sunlight it had spilled into the room. The gloomy bit of light glowing around the blackout curtains told me that it was, in fact, daylight.

Paul stirred beside me, nestling even closer for a moment until he remembered where he was and went still. Suddenly his hand was gone from my chest, and then the comfortable heat of him disappeared from the length of me. It was like he’d teleported just a few inches away without even trying.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, turning his face away from me.

I didn’t respond. I was the one who should have been embarrassed. I was the one who’d broken down and sobbed on him like a baby.

He startled me by flicking back the blankets and sitting up in one fluid motion. In the next instant he scooped his shirt off the floor and was on his feet. Except he seemed to have forgotten the floor was basically impassable. With a frustrated sound, he stepped onto the bed and rushed across to the other one and down to the small spot in front of the bathroom. After he’d disappeared through the door, I sat up, keeping the blankets clutched to my chest, and took stock.

The other bed was empty, as I’d expected. Which was good on the one hand, because I wouldn’t have to show off my tits to James and Nick. But on the other hand, it meant there was no way they hadn’t noticed Paul and I snuggled together on the bed like contented puppies.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I was supposed to make a graceful exit from a relationship with Paul so we could act like professionals in a band together. I was supposed to help these guys take their big chance by storm. In short, I was supposed to do my damn job. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

Well, fine. The least I could do at this point was get dressed and take leave of the room before Paul came out of the bathroom. He didn’t need to deal with the awkward aftermath of last night. I could spare him that.

I hopped across to the other bed, then stood on an amp at the foot of it to grab my backpack from the chipped Formica dresser. Back on the bed, I dug out my jeans and switched my shorts for them as quickly as I could. I’d gotten my nothing-to-the-imagination tank top off and was fastening my bra when Paul came out of the bathroom. We both froze, a pair of deer in headlights.

Paul cleared his throat and deliberately moved his eyes to the far wall.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” he said.

“Thanks.” I kept calm as I yanked a shirt out of my backpack and put it on.

The gap from the end of the bed to the bathroom was a bit of a stretch for my shorter legs, and I nearly stumbled back. Paul caught my hand and pulled me upright, but immediately dropped it.

“ ’Scuse me,” he said, scooting around without touching me.

When I came out of the bathroom he was already gone.