Chapter 3
The front of a dusty antique store seems like a strange place for a band tour to begin, but that’s exactly where Jill and I find ourselves standing the next day. Apparently, Luminescent Juliet practices in the space above the shop. Since it’s where they keep all their gear and instruments, it’s where the huge, intimidating black-and-gray tour bus is picking us up. According to Romeo, producers usually fly in bands when they join a tour, but because the most recent stop was Chicago—the tour has been going for five weeks already and the last three shows didn’t have an opening act—the manager decided to have the bus pick us up and drive us to Denver.
We try to stay out of the way as the chaotic scene unfolds. Packed duffels, boxes of food, instruments, and people fill the sidewalk between the store and the bus. I already put my suitcase near the baggage slots below the bus, and added my backpack and food box to the pile by the front door. The only thing I’m holding on to is my camera bag, since I have no desire to see it get manhandled.
As we watch things slowly get loaded, Jill makes a commentary out the side of her mouth like a sportscaster—Score! Two suitcases are now on the bus! I bite my lip so I don’t burst out laughing.
Once everything is loaded onto the bus, I sense the reluctance hanging in the afternoon summer air. It’s clear that some of the good-byes taking place aren’t easy. Romeo bends his dark head and talks softly to a pretty, petite college girl with a two-toned—blonde and brown—ponytail. A small boy hangs on to Justin’s tattooed arm while his other arm wraps around a stunning auburn-haired young woman with a sleeve tattoo. A blonde chick dressed in a tight tank top and Daisy Dukes presses against Gabe, the one band member I’ve never met, wrapping her fingers in his shoulder-length hair while her lips form a pout. Sam stands a little ways off, on his own, smoking a cigarette and staring at the ground. Strange, I don’t recall him being a smoker.
As I continue watching the scene, I start unzipping my camera bag. I’m not an amazing photographer or anything. I’ve taken a few classes, and I’m aware of the whole angle and light thing. I’m just not a wizard with the whole angle and light thing. My talent is recognizing the right time to catch emotion. And I’m glimpsing a perfect time.
After pulling my camera out and then pushing the bag at Jill, I start moving around and snapping pictures. Romeo and the petite girl gazing at each other, forehead to forehead, with the bus looming in the background. Justin holding the tattooed girl in a tight one-armed hug while the boy clings to his other arm. Gabe being pulled into an aggressive kiss by the scantily clad blonde. And lastly, Sam staring at the ground as cigarette smoke floats in a hazy swirl around him. His brows are low. His lips flat.
When I come near him, he looks up and scowls at me, jerking the black-and-orange striped beanie down over his curls to his eyebrows. “Keep that shit away from me,” he snarls.
I lower the camera and try to push down my irritation. “Onstage? Can I photograph you onstage at least?” My tone is curt. Guess my irritation won out.
“Yeah, whatever.” He drops his cigarette in a can by the door and stalks past me.
I put the cap on the camera lens and smooth the anger from my expression. I will not let Sam get to me.
When I sidle back over to the bus, Romeo introduces me to his girlfriend, Riley. I shake hands with Justin’s girlfriend, Allie, the woman with the tattoo sleeve. I shake hands with Gabe too, since we’re meeting officially for the first time, and I can’t help but notice that nobody introduces his girlfriend. When the last farewells recommence, Jill gives me two hugs. One from her and one from Bryce—he’s at practice. Then, finally, the band and I climb onto the bus.
The bus is rocker-style and awesome. It’s split up so there’s one big room in the front, with a compact kitchen and two leather sofas, and a small room in the back with a wraparound sofa. In between the two rooms are closets, two sets of bunks, and a tiny bathroom. There are flat-screen TVs in the front and back, plus each bunk has its own tiny TV. Since there are only four bunks, I offer to sleep on the couch in the back when we’re on the road. All four band members—surprisingly, even Sam—offer me their bunks. But I insist. Really, it’s more private in the back anyway, even if each bunk has a curtain.
Gary is our bus driver, a short older guy with gray hair and thick glasses. Thus far he’s been quiet and accommodating. Romeo took charge after we got on board and made sure we all stored our things neatly. Now, as the bus is rolling down the highway, all five of us are gathered in the front room. I’m next to Gabe on one of the leather couches while Romeo and Justin sit together on the couch facing us. Sam is by himself at the small kitchen booth. Romeo is reciting his list of rules aloud, reading from a notebook in his hands. Justin looks annoyed. Gabe is motionless and quiet. Sam leans his head back against the booth, covers his forehead with his beanie, and looks visibly annoyed too.
The rules are never ending. Be respectful to Gary. No groupies on bus. (Yes!) If people are sleeping, keep it down. Clean up messes. (I’m alarmed that these two are needed.) Since the water supply is limited, shower on the bus only if necessary. Anyone can eat what’s in the fridge and cupboards, because it’s paid for with band funds. All other food is on your own. Make sure the AC is off before using the microwave or a breaker will blow. Open flame on the stovetop is not allowed while on the road.
On and on he goes. I zone in and out, trying not to notice that Sam has started to sarcastically orchestrate Romeo’s never-ending monologue, moving two fingers in the air like a conductor. Being in the same space as Sam is making me nervous, which makes me pissed off at myself. So I breathe deeply and make myself listen to Romeo drone on about laundry. According to him, we’ll each take a turn, every week if possible. I suppose between the bus travel and hotel stays, laundry might become an issue. However, none of these four men are washing my underwear.
Um, just no and never.
I raise my hand as if I’m in high school. Romeo’s expression is odd, but he nods.
“You guys are going to be far busier than me, and, well, this is your tour, so I can do the laundry.”
Justin grins. “Sounds good. How nice of you.”
Romeo glares at him through the dark hair falling over his forehead. “Thanks, Peyton.” He gives both Sam and Gabe a stern look. “But I’d like everyone to be aware that Peyton has a job to do, and it has nothing to do with laundry. She’s here to promote us, not take care of us.” He lowers the notebook he is holding. “Tomorrow night is our first show. First thing in the morning, we’ll go over the set.”
Apparently, that means this meeting is adjourned, because within seconds everyone is out of their seats. Justin and Gabe immediately head to the flat-screen TV at the front and start hooking up a gaming system. Sam goes to the fridge and pulls out three beers.
Romeo glances at me and gestures to the back room. “You ready for interviews?”
“Sure,” I say, standing up. I’d sort of forgotten until now that Romeo and I had talked about me interviewing each band member to get material for the first blog posts of the tour.
Romeo nods in Sam’s direction. “He’s up first,” he says.
I feel my stomach drop.
Sam looks up at us with a sour expression. “Why me?”
“Because I need to go over some things on the phone with the concert manager,” Romeo says, looking darkly at Sam.
Without saying anything, Sam puts the beers in the fridge and marches to the back room.
We sit on opposite sides of the low square coffee table. I’m glad to have a piece of furniture in between us. Pretending nonchalance, I get out my voice recorder, a pen, and a notebook while he stares out the tiny window above my head. Invisible tension crackles in the air. We’re both as stone-faced as a couple of rockers hiding behind sunglasses on the red carpet.
Ugh. Do I really want to do this?
When Romeo had initially called me, he’d explained why he wanted me to cover the tour. He’d thought a blog with professional pictures and creative posts at least every other day would keep his current fans entertained and attract new ones. Always the skeptical journalist, I’d asked why the guys in the band couldn’t handle a blog on their own. Well, for starters, he’d said sardonically, they couldn’t take their own pictures, especially onstage, and besides, they’re not professional writers. He wanted things creative but polished.
I’d liked his answer.
Once we’d hammered out everything—my minuscule pay, his expectations, my expectations—I told him I wanted to interview everyone before the tour began. I wanted to hear the story of how Luminescent Juliet landed on this national tour from the different perspectives of each of the band members. But instead of giving me access, Romeo had insisted on putting off the interviews until the tour kicked off. Beforehand, everyone was too busy getting ready and practicing, but once we were on the bus, there would be lots of time. Instead of doing the interviews then, I’d created the blog so eventually all I had to do was plug in my first post. And I’d generated lists of questions. Needless to say, my questions for Sam were the least thought out.
Since I don’t want to start with anything personal, I ask, “How is it that Luminescent Juliet ended up on the Summer Tour of Rock?” I hit record on my machine and wait.
He shoots a skeptical look, first at me, then at the tiny recording machine. He says in a flat tone, “There are basically two reasons. One, our album made it into the top one hundred on a couple of different indie charts last month, and two, the opening band pulled out of the tour. I’m not sure if we were the only band they considered as a replacement, but when they called, it took us about two seconds to say yes.”
“Why such a quick yes?”
“This tour is major,” he says, sitting up from his slouch. “We’d been considering putting together a small tour by ourselves. It would have involved a couple of vans and us doing all the legwork. We wouldn’t have played any big arenas or made any money, so the main point would have been to build a bigger fan base On this tour, we’ll actually make some money and have the opportunity to build a bigger fan base. It was like getting a huge present dropped in our laps.”
“Though you’re all in college, would you say that Luminescent Juliet is your first priority?”
“We’re—wait.” He raises his eyebrows. “You’re running all the blog posts by Romeo before you put them up, right?”
Guessing he’s not sure how honest to be, I nod reassuringly. “Absolutely. Having Romeo approve all the posts was part of our agreement.”
“We’re playing it by ear,” says Sam, looking slightly reassured. “Band and school are both priorities right now.”
I tap my pencil on my notebook, searching my list for a neutral question. “So what is your college major?”
“English,” he says, an evasive tone returning to his voice. He slouches back into the couch.
I stop myself from curling my upper lip. I’d thought for a second that he was warming up, but now it’s obvious that I was just hoping. Boy, this is going fan-super-fucking-tastic. I look down at my notebook again. Since I don’t have any more specific questions for Sam, I glance at the list I made for Gabe.
“How long have you been playing the drums—I mean bass?”
His gaze meets mine. “Only three years.”
Clearing my throat, I glance down at the notebook page. “Any experience with music before that?”
“I played the guitar in another band. A garage band. Or since we lived in the middle of butt-fucking farmland, maybe you could call it a barn band.” He gives me a piercing look, his eyes narrowed. “What was the name of that band, Peyton?” he asks in a low tone.
The pen tightens in my grip as he waits for me to answer. “Bottle Rockets,” I say in a tone as low as his.
His gaze bores into mine. “Why are you asking me these stupid questions?”
Though I don’t want to, I flinch. “I want a bit of background on each of the members.”
He yanks that damn beanie down over his eyebrows, sits back, and crosses his arms. “You know my background.”
No. Not really. I knew him for about six months, and most of that time I was infatuated with his brother, Seth.
“Shit, Peyton, we slept together.”
Jerked out of my thoughts, my eyes flash fire at him. “Do. Not. Ever. Bring that up again,” I force out through clenched teeth. Talking about the past with Jill was hard enough. Talking about it with Sam will never happen.
Something blazes in his gaze but disappears too quickly for me to read it. “I think we’re done here,” I say coldly. “I’ll assume that all you want your background information to say is that you played guitar in garage band with your brother, who was the singer, before you joined Luminescent Juliet.”
“Don’t include the part about my brother,” he says so icily that my own former cold tone seems warm and fuzzy.
I want to know why he’s refusing to let me mention his brother, but I’m aware that he’s going to get super pissed if I ask. I’m also aware there’s no way he’s going to explain anything.
I stand up and put my hands on my hips, then glare down my nose at him. “Great start,” I say sarcastically. “Why don’t you send someone else in?”
His expression is level while I smile pleasantly at the asshat.
There’s no way I’m going to let him see how much he gets to me.