Cardinal (19 page)

“Great. I’ll let him know and be back in a
few.”

He closes the door, and I lift one of my
suitcases on to the bed to unzip it. As soon as I open my bag I see the shirt
Latson added to my things. Smiling, I unfold the
I licked it so it’s mine
tee. I start to laugh when I see a few changes. Latson used a black Sharpie and
crossed out the words “I” and “mine”, so the shirt now says
Latson licked it
so it’s his.
Of course it smells like him, and I hold it to my nose and breathe
deep. I needed this. Between the flight, meeting Roxanne, her stupid comment,
and the long drive, it calms me. I know what I’ll be sleeping in tonight.

Just as I start to unpack, my phone rings.

“Excellent timing,” I say. “I just found your stowaway
t-shirt.”

Latson laughs. “What do you think?  I thought
maybe I could make a bunch and sell them.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“So, how are things going?”

“Good, I guess.” I sigh and plop down on the
bed. “Roxanne’s different. How was Medieval Times?”

We get lost in conversation and I sit there, sorting
through clothes, before the adjoining door between my room and the next opens. Apparently,
my side wasn’t locked. Dean sticks his head around the corner. “Cool. Our rooms
are connected.”

“Is that Dean?” Latson asks.

“Yep. Do you want to talk to him?”

“No. I’ll catch up with him later.”

Dean continues to stand there and I feel
awkward. “Hey,” I say. “You can’t just come in here whenever you want. What if
I was changing?”

He looks surprised. “It didn’t even cross my
mind. Sorry.”

“What’s your ass sorry for now?” Drew appears
behind him. “Are we ready to go or what?”

“Who is that?” Latson asks.

“Drew,” I say. “We’re supposed to go downstairs
for a drink. I was just –”

“Jennnnnn!”

This must be Paul. He strides around both Dean
and Drew and over to me. “Would you hurry it up?  I’m fucking thirsty.”

He jumps on to the bed with both feet and hops
up and down, throwing me off balance. “Stop!” I laugh.

“Are they all in in your room?” Latson sounds
annoyed on the other end of the line.

“Yes, and they’re uninvited.” I move the phone
away from my mouth. “Go. I’ll catch up.” I wave them away.

“Okay, okay,” they mumble and walk back into
Dean’s room. “We’ll save you a seat.”

Once they leave I lock the adjoining door. It’s
like living with my brothers again. “They’re gone,” I say. “Where were we?”

“I think you were going out.”

Latson sounds disappointed and my stomach sinks.
“I’m not going out. I’m going to eat. There’s a difference.”

“I know.” Silent seconds pass before his tone
changes. “Don’t let me keep you. Go. Meet the band. I have to get Oliver to bed
anyway.”

He’s not fooling me. I know the guys bug him,
but there’s nothing I can do. “Tell O I said goodnight.” I reach for my
carry-on bag and find his drawing. I need a place for it. “I’ll call you after
rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” Latson says.

When we hang up, I prop Oliver’s drawing on the
bedside table, so I can see it all the time. I take a picture of it, then send
it to Latson. Maybe it will make him feel better.

So you can tuck me in too
,
I type.

I wish
,
he sends back.

“Stop!  Stop!  Stop!”

Dean waves his arms like he’s directing air
traffic. My hands still and my guitar goes silent.

“Jen!  Move!”

I look up just in time to see a huge inflatable
heart falling toward my head. Paul’s big hand wraps around the top of my arm
and yanks me out of the way.

“Sorry!”  I hear someone from backstage shout. “The
rigging on that one is a bitch!”

I watch as the heart hits the ground and
bounces back up. I was almost attacked by one of Ariel’s stage props. I look
above me again to see a sea of hanging hearts in various sizes, colored red, pink,
and purple. She’s certainly going all lovey-dovey for one of her numbers.

“We should move,” Paul says. “It’s not like we
don’t know our fucking places. We’re not jumping around like fucking River
Dance.”

Ah, Paul. If I’ve learned anything about him in
the last ten days, it’s that he doesn’t hold back.

“Sure,” Drew huffs from behind us. “Move
farther away and leave me lost in the goddamn glitter.” He brushes his head and
sparkles go flying. “Tell me why we’re here again?”

“We’re here,” Dean’s voice echoes through the
speakers, “because we need to be. They said we could rehearse, so we’re
rehearsing.”

I take a step away from Paul and stare out into
the empty abyss of the Staples Center. The tour begins tomorrow night, and
Roxanne secured us some stage time while the crew runs through Ariel’s set
changes. What sounded like a great idea at first has turned into a comedy of
errors. In addition to the falling heart, we’ve been blinded by stage lighting
and bombed with glittery chunks of confetti. The pyrotechnics that exploded a
half hour ago almost made us piss our pants. As I look around, I start to
wonder if we should cut our losses and call it quits.

“Now what?”

Drew’s groaning question makes me turn around. The
hearts above us start to ascend and large tie-dyed panels are wheeled into
place around the stage. They surround Drew, and he tosses his drumsticks over
his shoulder, defeated and annoyed.

“I feel like I’ve stepped into some trippy
dream,” I say to Paul. “Hearts and tie dye. Is Ariel sixteen or twenty-five?” I’ve
yet to meet her or any of her people, but I am familiar with her music. To me,
she seems like a mix of Britney Spears and Katy Perry. Sexy and sweet with a
little raunchy thrown in.

Just then, the lights go out and black lights
illuminate the stage. Everything glows, including us.

“Your dream just got a fuck-ton trippier,” Paul
jokes and starts to pluck a familiar bass line. It’s “Purple Haze” by Jimi
Hendrix. I laugh and try to join in, but I’m terrible.

“Guys. Let’s focus,” Dean says. “Let’s take it
from the top of “Out of the Blu.”

“I need out of the black,” Drew says. “I can’t
find my sticks.”

Dean lets out a frustrated sigh. “Take five.”

I walk back to my side of the stage to wait out
the latest special effect. Standing in place I rock back on my heels, thinking
about the last week and a half. It’s been a blur and my fingers are blistered,
but I wouldn’t trade this crazy experience for anything. I never thought I’d be
standing on stage in an arena that can hold 18,000 people, yet here I am. Playing
tomorrow both excites and terrifies me. It’s a heady feeling. I’m still
nervous, but not as much as I was when I left Chicago.

When the lights come back on, movement off
stage catches my attention. Roxanne is headed our way with her arms full of
paper.

“How’s your rehearsal?  I hope you’re putting
in quality time.”

I want to tell her if she’s worried she should
stay, but I don’t. Even after a week and a half I still can’t read her very
well. Is she our friend?  Our boss?  I’m still not clear on whether she works
for the record label or Dean.

Roxanne shifts what looks like posters in her
arms. “I brought the final product of your last photo shoot.” She stops walking
and stands near the front of the stage. “I think you’ll be pleased.”

We all walk toward her, and she hands us each a
copy. The glossy posters are longer than they are wide with a sepia-toned
background. Each of us is pictured in black and white, and we’re standing side
by side but looking off in different directions. We never posed this way, so I
know the photographer took our individual shots and Photoshopped us. Dean is
first in line and he stands casually. He’s holding the neck of his guitar with
one hand and looking down at the ground with a smile. Drew is next, and he wears
a more serious expression. He has his arms crossed and most of his back to the
camera, so you can see his drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket. Paul
wears his usual cocky smirk as he holds his bass over one shoulder, and then
there’s me.

I’m last in line, but I wear the biggest grin. My
eyes are closed as I hold my acoustic in front of me like I’m playing. My hair
whips around my face, but it doesn’t obscure it. I think I remember this shot. At
one point during the session, the photographer’s assistant turned on a big fan
and it felt like I was stuck in a hurricane. I started laughing because I
thought it was silly; a stylist spent an hour meticulously curling my hair only
to have it ruined in an instant. Plus, I’m not a model. The fan reminded me of
a fashion shoot.

Paul reads aloud from the top of the poster and
embellishes the band name just a little. “Dean McCarthy and the motherfuckin’ Union.”

A small smile plays over Dean’s lips as he
looks over the design. “Joining Ariel Allyn on the Renegade Tour,” he adds.

“Here.” Roxanne starts to hand out equal stacks
of posters. “Every one of you needs to sign all of these.”

“Why?” I ask as I receive mine.

“We’ll be shipping them to radio stations and
doing online giveaways through Dean’s website. People who purchase a VIP ticket
to the show will also get one.”

I look over the picture again. Cool. I get to
autograph something.

When Roxanne’s hands are empty she reaches into
the over-sized canvas tote she always carries and pulls out two packages of
Sharpies. She hands them to Dean. “I’m giving the swag to you now because I
have a dinner meeting with Ariel’s manager. We need the posters signed by
tomorrow and there’s five hundred here.”

“Okay.” Dean juggles the items in his hands. “I
say we set this stuff down and –”

“PA-SSSSSSHHH!”

A pop followed by loud hissing noise makes us
all jump and duck. I turn around and see plumes of white smoke being shot into
the air at the back of the stage. There must be twenty air-pressured jets shooting
the mist sky high. It’s so loud we can’t do anything but stare until the test
is over. When the jets stop, a damp fog drifts over us.

“All these effects can’t be safe for the
dancers,” I think out loud. “Someone is going to fall and kill themselves.”

“That’s why they make more money than you,”
Roxanne says matter-of-factly. “They’re trained for this.”

I meet her eyes and frown. The woman doesn’t
have a filter.

“Let me explain why.” She holds both hands in
front of her, palms up, and shifts them like a scale. “Headliner, opening act. Established
musician, former guitarist starting over. Practices that have taken place since
the tour was established, one week of rehearsals. Do you see a theme here?”

Way to make me feel small, Rox.
“Thanks
for clearing that up,” I say sarcastically.

She doesn’t react to my tone. “Well,” she claps
her hands together, “I’m off. I need to meet Mason and discuss uploading your
merchandise to the tour store. I also want to add a link on Ariel’s webpage. I
swear, you’d think these things would be easy, but ...” She drifts off. “Anyway,
I’ll see you all bright and early. Remember you have a radio interview at ten. I
need you alert and happy, so turn in early, okay?  This could be the last
decent night of sleep you get for a while. Call me if you need me.”

She walks away and our collective group of eyes
follows her. Once she’s out of sight, tense voices can be heard from the
opposite direction. Our attention shifts to the left, and we see some arguing
crew. Drew clears his throat.

“I say we ditch this joint. Let’s find some
drinks, sign this shit, and celebrate. The tour starts in twenty-four hours.” He
looks around the group. “Who’s with me?”

Paul’s hand shoots up first and mine follows. Dean
gives us an exasperated look. “Guys. I think we should run through the set at
least one more time.”

I walk over and nudge his arm with my elbow. “We
got this.” I sound more confident than I am, but I think a break is in order.  I
can tell we’re starting to stress, Dean more so than the rest of us. We’ve been
going non-stop since we flew into L.A. “Let’s relax,” I say. “All of these stage
surprises have us on edge.”

Dean remains silent.

“C’mon.” I give him an exaggerated pouty face
before Drew and Paul do the same.

“Fine,” Dean concedes. “I could use some
Jager.”

“Hell yeah!” Drew throws his fist in the air. “I
dub this the first official party of the Renegade tour. Let’s go.”

It doesn’t take us long to leave our
instruments and find the exit. As we step out into the summer night Drew says, “There’s
a restaurant Mona told me about near L.A. Live. The Yard House. She said they
have good food and it’s in walking distance.”

Paul looks doubtful. “You want to go somewhere
our stylist recommended?”

“Would you rather pay for beer or cab fare?”

“Beer,” Paul says.

“That’s what I thought.”

Drew and Paul lead the way as we walk up some
stairs and round the side of the Staples Center. Across the street is the Nokia
Plaza. It’s lit up like Times Square by a huge LED screen and multiple smaller
screens attached to six tall pillars. Latin music spills into the air from the
open doors of a bar named The Conga Room and, after we walk across the space,
we pass a Starbucks. My stomach growls for a Frappuccino, but I keep moving. Soon,
I spot awnings printed with the Yard House name.

Glancing at Dean, I ask, “Is it weird we’re carrying
our own promo material through downtown L.A.?”

He laughs. “If we were smart we’d start handing
it out.” He looks at the people milling around. “Roxanne might kill us if we
returned less than five hundred posters, though.”

“She’s …” My voice fades. “Are all managers
like her?”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You mean direct and to
the point?”

“I would have said crass and bossy, but yeah.”

He smiles. “I wouldn’t know. My only other
manager was Audrey, and she was family.”

We arrive at the restaurant doors where the
logo boasts “Great Food, Classic Rock, and the World’s Largest Selection of
Draft Beer.” We follow Paul and Drew inside. After Paul flirts with the
hostess, we end up seated at two small tables side by side. Dean and I are at
one, and Drew and Paul are at the other. A waiter arrives to take our drink
order, and I opt for a Gin and Ginger. Drew high-fives me over the back of my
chair. “First official party.” He winks.

“Is this you guys?” The waiter eyes our
posters.

“Yep,” Dean says. “You coming to Ariel’s show?”

“As a matter of fact I am. I got my girlfriend
tickets for her birthday.”

“Great. What are your names?  I’ll give you a
shout out tomorrow night.”

“You will?” The waiter looks surprised. “That
would be awesome. I’m Chris and my girlfriend’s name is Whitney.”

Dean smiles. “I’m Dean. Nice to meet you.” He
shakes Chris’ hand, then looks back at the menu. “I’ll take a Surly Furious,
please.”

“Got it,” Chris says as my eyes dart to an ad on
the table for the hoppy beer.

“What?  No Jager?” I tease, remembering the liqueur
Dean said he needed.

“Not when there’s decent ale around.”

The waiter leaves to get Paul and Drew’s order,
and Dean reaches for a package of markers and rips it open. “Better get
started,” he says and flips me a pen. We spread out the posters and start
signing them. I follow Dean’s lead and scrawl my name above my head. After signing
a few, I find my cell and take a picture. I caption it #signingswag and send it
to Latson. Then I post it to Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, and Twitter. I have
to remember to do all four, since Snapchat and Twitter are new to me. Roxanne
made me get the apps, so I was available to potential fans.

When Chris brings our drinks, he tells us they’re
on the house. I surprised the drinks are free and accept mine with a grateful “thanks.”
Dean thanks him as well before answering his vibrating phone. “Hey.” He takes a
drink of his beer. “Yeah. Where are you?” He waits for their answer. “The
Marriott by L.A. Live?  We’re across the street, at the Yard House.” He sets
his glass down and picks up a pen. “Sure. We just got here.” He signs his name.
“Okay. See you in a few.” He hangs up.

“Expecting someone?” I take a sip of my drink.