Stay Until We Break (9 page)

I follow Cole back to the gear alcove. When he turns around and sees me there, I say, “Okay, fine. I started it. That kissing thing back there? Totally me.”

He cracks a smile and I decide that I should maybe try that whole kissing thing again, just to, you know, underscore my point. I take a step to him and put my arms around his neck, feel his arms wrap around my waist, and decide, okay.
Kiss him, Sunny. Just do it. Do it while your blood alcohol content is still high enough. Kiss him.

So I do—or try to—but he pulls back and untangles my arms from around his neck. Then he takes both my hands in his and gives me a funny look.

“I think we need to have a little chat,” he says, squeezing my hand.

My heart fills with dread. Here’s where he tells me he’s really not interested in me like that, you know, and how we need to just stay friends and not do this because it’s too complicated.

“Look, I’m really sorry,” I start. “You don’t have to say it. I get it.”

“Get what?”

Cole stands right in front of me now, his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. I’m not sure if I wish I were more sober or more drunk by this point. Then he puts his arms around me, and in one very unexpected move he lifts me up onto the speaker cabinet. He leans down, trails his lips along my ear again, and I immediately start to breathe heavy, my head all foggy now with how close we are.

“I just think we need some ground rules here, before we drive each other and everyone else insane on this trip,” he whispers, trailing his finger down my arm. I lean my head against his shoulder, and before I realize what I’m even doing, my hands are in his hair and I’m running my nose along his neck, inhaling him.

“I hate rules,” I whisper into his ear. I kiss him right behind it and feel him shudder. “I’m more of an anarchist.”

“Fuck, Sunny,” he says, gripping me. “You’re making this so hard.”

“Come on, let’s talk in the van,” I say.

“No,” he says. “No, we are not going out to the van.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he says. “If we go out to the van I won’t be able to keep my hands off you. Especially not in this dress.”

“But I
want
your hands on me,” I say. “Come on, you know that.”

“Look, if you want this, you have to find a way to let me know when you’re not wasted, okay? So I can be sure.”

“I’m not wasted,” I insist. “I’m just a little buzzed.”

“Yeah? Can you drive?”

I can’t even look him in the eye as I decide whether to lie or not.

“Just because I’m wasted doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

“Those are my terms,” he says.

“Since when does a hookup come with terms? Isn’t that why they’re called hookups and not relationships?”

He takes a deep breath and looks away, down the hallway. His jaw flexes as he clenches his teeth and steps back.

“I know how that sounded, but that’s not what I mean,” I say. “You don’t understand . . .”

“Oh, I do understand,” he says. “Trust me. Better than you probably realize.”

“But . . .”

Emmylou passes by and pauses to give us a sidelong glance. She must see something in Cole’s look because she walks toward us.

“I’m heading up front to catch Crown’s set,” Cole says when she gets near. “They sound great tonight.”

“Yeah, they sound like they’re touring, all right. Totally solid.”

“Cool.” He nods and leaves without saying anything more.

Emmylou raises her eyebrows and I shrink inside. I know she wants the whole story, but I can’t. I’m in no shape to tell it.

“What was that all about?” she asks. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“Is he?”

“Yeah, it was nothing,” I say and force myself to smile. “Let’s get another pitcher while they’re still pouring.”

***

Emmy and I drink all the rest of the night, because we’re out on the road and I guess this is what bands do on the road when the pitchers are free. By now Joey is pretty tanked, too, and so are all of Crown the Robin. After the club closes and the gear is all loaded into the vans, Emmy, Joey, and I sit in the back of Steady Beth waiting for Travis and Cole to get paid so we can go crash at Thrash Lane’s apartment. By this point I really am shitcanned. Truly. Falling down on the job. Too drunk to even notice, let alone care. Emmy’s lying across the backseat, her head in my lap and her feet in Joey’s.

“What’s his problem?” I mutter. “What is his Goddamn problem. What is his problem.”

“Who, Joey?” Emmy says. “Now you’ve got a beef with the beefcake?”

“No,” I answer. “The Puritan. That guy who stands on your left every night on stage?”

“Oh, you two,” Emmy says. She tries to shake her finger at me but it’s all wide swiping and she hits me in the nose. “You need to just fuck already. Get it over with before you kill each other.”

“Ah, always the romantic, Emmy,” Joey says.

“I’m so serious,” she drawls in a drunken slur. “I don’t know why you didn’t pull the trigger last night, girl.”

“I tried!” I say. “But now he says I have to be sober if I want to hook up with him, and being sober on the road is for pussies.”

“Hey, pussies are tough,” she says. “You should’ve seen the thrashing mine took last night.”

“Nope,” I say. “No thank you.”

“And now I’m thinking of tough, leathery twats like overcooked steak at Denny’s,” Joey says. “I think you just turned me gay for real, Emmy.”

“So? You were at least halfway there already,” she says. “Whether it’s Cole or Henry Rollins who seals the deal, that’s the only question now.”

“I don’t think we’re likely to meet Henry Rollins on this tour, and it’s already well established that Cole is into Trap, not me.”

“Really?” I say. “Wait, really? Cole is actually into Travis? You mean sexually?”

“I think I just got turned on,” Emmylou says. “Is that wrong?”

“Not if they’ll let us watch,” I say.

“Travis won’t,” she says. “But Cole? With enough whiskey, definitely. That boy is like a walking porno. He’ll fuck anything and/or anyone.”

“Well, now I’m just offended,” I say.

“Sunny, you’re not just anyone,” Joey says. “Not to Cole.”

“Not to any of us. You’re one of us now.” Emmy’s eyes close as her mouth stretches in a wide, silly smile. She reaches up and puts her arms around my neck and pulls me down until I’m stooped over so far our noses are touching. “You belong to us,” she says and gives me a wicked grin.

“Yeah, well McCormack needs to lighten up,” I say. “We’re not going to be young forever. Now’s our time to be irresponsible assholes.”

“Oh, Cole’s never been young, Sunny,” Emmy says with a yawn. “That guy was middle-aged by high school. I don’t even think he knows how to be young.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I say, “Hooking up with different girls every weekend and playing in a band seems like a good start if you ask me.”

“That’s just young on the outside,” she says. Emmy looks at me, I’d say thoughtfully but she’s too drunk to be thinking much. “He’s had a rough life.”

“Emmylou, shut it,” Joey says. “If he wants her to know that shit he’ll tell her himself. And I’m sure he doesn’t.”

“Hey, she’s one of us now,” Emmy says as her head falls back into my lap. “Of course he wants her to know, he just doesn’t know how to tell her. I mean, how do you work that into everyday conversation?”

“Wants me to know what?”

Right at that moment there’s a huge “WHIZZ! BANG!” from outside the car and we all shriek. Then there’s another. And another.

“Holy shit, what is this? Gunfire? In downtown Lexington?” I scream, covering my ears with my hands. “Oh my God, is the club being robbed? Are we being shot at?”

“No, no,” Joey says, sticking his head out the side door. “Those assholes are attacking us with Roman candles!”

“Who’s attacking?” I ask.

“Crown!” Joey says, pulling the door shut again just as a bottle rocket goes whizzing by.

“Are they aware this vehicle has a gas tank?” I ask. “Or are they trying to actually kill us?”

“Emmylou, start the van!” I hear Travis yelling from outside, but Emmy’s so drunk, she just rolls right onto floor as she tries to get up.

“Where the fuck are the spare keys?” she mumbles into the carpet. “Where’s my bag? Where’s my face?”

The doors swing open and Travis and Cole leap into their seats and slam the doors shut again.

“Holy shit, these guys are more insane than usual,” Travis says.

“I told ya—bona fide road sickness,” Cole says. “You could see it in their eyes when they showed up today.”

Travis cranks “T.N.T.” by AC/DC on the stereo and puts the van in reverse, but just before he hits the gas, there’s a loud clomping sound on the roof and a “whoop whoop whoop!” sound like a strangled, drunk bird just landed on us.

“What the hell was that?” I yell.

“We’re under attack!” Joey yells. “I told you we should have stopped at that roadside fireworks stand, Trap!”

“Don’t worry,” Cole says. “Joey, get me a can of Jolt out of the cooler, will ya?”

Joey pulls the cooler out and takes the can and shakes it as hard as he can. He hands it to Cole, who climbs halfway out the front passenger-side window, rips the top open, and then sprays it at whatever—whoever—is on the roof of Steady Beth. Anton and Elliot run up alongside of us, pelting the side of the van with pretzels, Anton aiming handfuls right at Cole’s head.

“You sick bastard!” Miles laughs madly from on top of the van. “I’ll see you in hell!”

“Shit, that’s going to rip the paint right off her!” Travis says as Jolt comes running down the sides of the van.

“Got a better idea?” Cole shoots back.

“Yeah, try this.” Trap reaches into his pocket and hands Cole what looks like a two tiny blue bombs. “After Elliot almost killed you, I figured we were entitled to a little reparation.”

“Smoke bomb!” Joey yells. “This is so epic!”

“Who’s got a lighter?” Travis asks.

“I do,” Cole says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls it out, lights one, and throws it onto the sidewalk right at Anton’s feet. Then he lights the other and lobs it on top of the roof. Blue smoke comes billowing off the sidewalk, down from the top of the van, into the windows, and we all gag and cough.

“Shit!” Travis says, trying to wave the smoke back out of the windows. He steps on the gas and we lurch forward and hear a loud “Yeehaw, bitches!” as I imagine Miles riding us like we’re an enormous skateboard. How he’s still up there on the roof, as drunk as he is, is beyond me. Travis steps on the brakes again and Miles hollers like a banshee before he jumps down onto the sidewalk, coughing his face off. Trap puts the van in reverse, and then peels out as Cole climbs back into his seat. We take off down the street, leaving a trail of blue smoke and Crown the Robin in our wake.

Sonia

Leaving the Wrocklage, we think we have the perfect getaway. We laugh and pat ourselves on the back for leaving Crown the Robin in the dust. That is, until we get out to the edge of town and realize we don’t know where we’re going.

“Sunny,” Travis says, pulling Steady Beth over to the side of the road. “Give Cole the address to Thrash Lane’s place so he can find it on the map. We’ll meet up with everyone there.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling really dumb. “Was I supposed to get that?”

“Well, traditionally speaking, the tour manager arranges things like where we all sleep for the night,” Travis says.

“We’ll figure it out,” Cole says. “Maybe we can find a pay phone and call them.”

“Do you have their number?” I ask, feeling really, really, really dumb now.

“No, I don’t have their number,” Travis says. “You didn’t get it from Mark?”

“I’m drunk, okay?” I say. “I’ve been drunk all night. Do you know how hard it is to manage a tour in this condition?”

“Well, maybe they’re listed,” Cole says. “Hand me your backpack, Sunny.”

I reach beneath the bench seat and dig into my backpack for my copy of
Book Your Own Fucking Life
, the indie tour manager’s bible. Everything from small clubs to small bands to basements are listed in it, so there’s a chance Thrash Lane might be in there. I hand the magazine to Cole and he shines his penlight on it, but no dice.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter. “I’m sorry, guys. Please don’t fire me.”

“Fire you?” Emmy says. “Ha. You think you could actually escape this cult if you tried?”

“The fact that she’s more worried about being fired than she is about escape means the brainwashing is nearly complete,” Travis says. “Nice work, team.”

Cole swings around from the front seat and gives me a wink as he hands back the magazine. “Might as well face it, Sunshine,” he says. “You’ve been kidnapped.”

This is exactly why these people are
my
people.

Travis drives us back to the Wrocklage, hoping they’re all still at the club. But as we pull up, the place is dark and nobody is around.

“Now what are we going to do?” I ask.

“Motel 6, baby,” Emmy says. “We’ll have to swing a room tonight.”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” Cole says. “I saw the billboard for one back off the interstate.”

“I’m so happy at the prospect of sleeping in an actual bed I might cry,” Joey says.

“And another shower,” Emmy says. “Oh, Travis, we can do it in the shower tonight!”

“Jesus Christ, no, not again,” Joey says. “We’d better get two rooms.”

“No way,” I say. “We’re not Aerosmith, you guys. We can’t afford that.”

“She’s right,” Travis says. “We need to save what we can for recording this fall. We’ll get one room and split it.”

“One room will only have two beds,” Joey says. “So . . . fuck, with the unholy coupling that’s going on around here, I guess I’m getting the floor again?”

“I’ll take the floor tonight,” Travis says. “Emmy and Sonia can share a bed, and you can Cole can take the other.”

“No way,” Cole says. “Last time I had to share a bed with Joey he drooled all over me. It was like sharing a bed with Marmaduke. I’ll take the floor, you and Joey take one bed, and Sunny and Emmy can take the other.”

“Marmaduke?” Joey says. “Did you just fucking call me Marmaduke?”

We all burst out laughing. Poor Joey.

Travis and Cole find the Motel 6 off the interstate, just south of Lexington. We pull up and it looks like every other Motel 6 you’ve ever seen off an interstate. Two floors with who knows how many prostitutes, truckers, and drug dealers having at it behind blue doors that line those outside walkways. That’s my assumption, anyway. An episode of
COPS
. Travis parks the van off to the side of the lobby, and there’s a short debate about who’s going to go in and talk to the front desk manager.

“What’s the big deal?” I ask.

“These places don’t love bands,” Cole says. “Plus, they’ll charge us extra if they see there are five of us. Or make us book two rooms.”

“Cole, you’re our best hope, since Joey is still tanked,” Travis says, I imagine because Cole doesn’t have that shaggy blond indie rocker look that Travis has going on. The way he’s dressed tonight, in his gray Dickies and a plain old pocket T-shirt, he could be coming off the late shift at the garage. “Take Sonia in with you and try to get us a room in the back.”

“Me?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah,” Travis says. “The manager will think Cole’s booking a room so you two can have wild animal sex. It’ll be perfect.”

“Oh my God,” I say, turning bright pink.

Cole whips his head around and looks at me and gives me a wink. “How wasted are you?”

“Depends on what you consider wasted,” I say. “And what you consider
how
.”

“Great,” he says, shaking his head. But since Emmy isn’t in any better shape and still smells like the PBR she dumped in her lap earlier tonight, she’s an even worse choice.

“Look,” Cole says. “Can you just stand up straight and not say anything?”

“I guess?” I say. “I mean, how hard can that be?”

We climb out of the van and I steady myself against the side of it, still more drunk than I thought. Cole pulls a wad of bills from the cashbox and puts them into his wallet. He turns to me and inspects then straightens my dress, pulls my cardigan out of the backseat, and drapes it around my shoulders. Then he fixes my hair so it’s out of my eyes as I giggle like a dope.

“What’s so funny?”

“I get the feeling you used to play with dolls,” I say.

“I have a younger sister, remember?” he says. “And a secret love of Barbies, if you must know, but if you tell anyone I swear I’ll deny it.”

I open my mouth but he raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. “Aaah, just smile,” he says. “Smile and try to look like you’re about to have the best hotel sex of your life.”

“What?” I say, and burst out laughing. “Wait, wait, wait a minute. Am I?”

He grins and takes me by the hand. “Just follow my lead and try not to talk or look drunk.”

I nod in agreement, pursing my lips as I will my mouth shut in spite of a million things I want to say. We walk to the front lobby, and I can’t help feeling giddy about this. So giddy I start humming behind him and he pauses before opening the door and turns to give me an admonishing look.

“What?”

“No humming,” he says. “No talking, no singing, and definitely no drunk humming.”

I sigh, exasperated. “I’ll be fine, come on now.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but in we go.

The Motel 6 lobby is as utilitarian a spot as you might expect from a sixty-dollar-a-night hotel. Its mass-market decor of beige-and-blue wallpaper and bronze-tinted sconces on the walls shines under bright overhead lights. It feels harsh in here for three forty-five in the morning and I squint, trying to focus. There’s nobody at the counter, or in the lobby, except for us.

“Wait, where are the hookers?” I ask. “The drug dealers? What kind of a cheap motel is this? I feel kind of let down . . .”

“Sunny,” Cole says. “Please just don’t talk, okay?”

“But . . .”

“Sonia,” he says, and makes a zipping motion across his mouth with his hand.

Cole rings the bell on the counter and then leans all casually against it. About five more minutes go by before a middle-aged guy with graying brown hair, dressed in a not-quite-navy-blue polyester suit (it sort of matches the lobby, now that I notice it), comes grumpily to the counter.

“Good evening,” Cole says with a smile. “My wife and I are coming through town on our way to Nashville and we need a room for the night.”

The man looks right at Cole’s left hand and skeptically back up to his face. “Your wife, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” he answers.

The man looks up from the counter, across the room over to where I am. I smile and give a small wave.

“Identification, please,” he says in a monotone Midwestern drawl.

Cole pulls his license and a credit card from his wallet. “I’ll be paying in cash,” he says. “And if possible, can we get a room in the back, where it’s a little quieter?” Cole lowers his voice and gives the man a little smirk. “We’re still in that honeymoon state of mind and I’d hate to disturb your other guests.”

The man rolls his eyes before looking over at me again. I just smile awkwardly and let my blushing be all the confirmation the guy needs.

“Is she eighteen, Romeo?” he asks Cole, a slightly accusing tone to his voice.

“Am I eighteen?” I answer, totally indignant. Cole makes a desperate sort of face at me, willing me to shut up. “First of all, I’m right here and you can ask me yourself. And second, I’m a married woman, so of course I’m eighteen! I’m more than . . .”

“Actually she’s twenty-one, thanks for asking,” Cole says quickly, cutting me off. “Do you want to see her ID, too?”

“I’ll go get it from the car,” I say, getting to my feet and trying not to sway or stagger.

“I can get that for you, sweetheart,” Cole says, a warning edge to his voice.

“For the love of halibut, don’t worry about it,” the guy says. He takes out a bunch of paperwork and starts filling it out. “I’m not sure what I have available in the back, though.”

“Well, can you check?” Cole says as he signs us in. I have to see him write
Cole and Sonia McCormack
on the registry, so I walk over to where he is at the counter, sensing how he tenses as I approach.
Mr. & Mrs. Cole McCormack,
it says.

Cole wraps his arm around me to keep me standing up straight. I try to act how I guess a recently married couple would. I put my arm around his waist, rest my head against his shoulder. Cole clears his throat as I put my hand right on his ass and give it a nice, firm grab. He turns to give me a stern look and I blink innocently at him. He narrows his eyes in warning. “Now behave yourself, kitten, or I’ll put you over my knee the minute we get in the room. And no yodeling this time—we’re in a motel.”

My mouth drops open and I can’t help it, I start to giggle uncontrollably. I cover my mouth with both hands to shut myself up.

The manager rolls his eyes and says, “Look, I’ve got one double open back in the corner here. But it’s a nonsmoking room, got it? No smoking. If I smell smoke in there, your credit card is getting charged.”

“But, wait, I’m not clear on something,” I say. “Can we smoke?”

The front desk manager is not amused. He ignores me. Cole grimaces.

“We’re not smokers,” he assures the guy. “No problem.”

“Yeah, right,” the manager says, then hands Cole a set of keys and points to a diagram of the Motel 6. “You’ll be in 236 A, bottom floor. In the back, just like you asked.”

***

We manage to get everyone and all the guitars into the room without anyone seeming to notice there are five of us in this fake marriage, not just me and Cole. The minute we get inside, Emmylou drops her bag on the floor, does a nosedive onto one of the beds, and sprawls across it. The room is a lot smaller than we expected, with two full-sized beds, not even queens, and not enough room between them for one of us to sleep on the floor there. The only spot of floor space, after we stand the guitars on end next to the bathroom, is right in the front of the beds next to the TV. Joey spreads out his sleeping bag there and grabs a pillow off one of the beds.

“Marmaduke takes the rug, motherfuckers,” he says, stripping down to his underwear, which are a pair of red boxers with yellow happy faces on them, and I bust out laughing again. He flings his clothes onto the chair in the corner.

I try not to stare but I can’t help it. Beneath that goofy, sweet exterior, Joey has a body that’s worthy of a
Playgirl
spread. The boy is sculpted everywhere—his arms, his legs, his back, and his chest. His six-pack could be played like a washboard and would probably sound like girls’ panties disintegrating. As I’m sitting there staring at him, Travis pulls his shirt over his head and stuffs it into his backpack. Now
his
naked back is to me, all taut and sleek, and I feel like poking Emmylou awake so that I’m not staring at the love of her life without her consent. Travis is normal-man sized, not a he-man like Joey, but still, he’s defined and, from what I can tell, flawless from head to that part of the waistband of his jeans where his back disappears into the rise of what I’m guessing is a pretty sweet ass. Cole clears his throat behind me and I turn to look in his direction, and I have the distinct feeling I’m blushing.

“What?” I ask, sort of defensively. “I was just . . .”

“Nice view, right?”

“Yes?”

“Oh yeah, Cole?” Joey says, making the world’s dopiest body-builder pose. “You like that?”

“Yeah, maybe I
should
share a bed with you tonight,” Cole says. “You can be the big spoon.”

Joey gets into his sleeping bag, but then sits up and points his finger at us in an accusing sort of way.

“Look, you guys,” he says. “Serious new ground rule—nobody does any fucking in here, even if you think I’m asleep, because that’s just going to be weird. Do it in the bathroom if you horndogs can’t keep it in your pants. And, Trap, stuff a washcloth in Emmy’s mouth or something this time. Be a prince.”

Travis looks down at Emmylou, all sprawled out, facedown, eyes closed, mouth wide open. A tiny little snore comes out of her.

“You’re safe, Joey. I don’t think shower sex is happening tonight,” Travis says. “Not with Emmy, anyway.”

“Well, don’t look at me,” Cole says, dropping on the other bed. “Wait, were you looking at me?”

“You do look damn sexy in those Dickies, Cole,” Travis says. “I meant to tell you earlier.” He lobs a pillow at Cole’s head before picking his backpack off the floor and rifling through it for a clean T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

“Thanks,” Cole says. “They make my butt look good, I think.”

“Yeah, like a welder,” Travis says. “Or, I guess like a welder. The only welder’s ass I think I’ve ever noticed is Jennifer Beals’s in
Flashdance
.”

“Hell yeah, that calamari scene,” Joey says. “Who knew eating fish could be so hot?”