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“Well, I guess I better keep moving.” He started forward and I howled. He stopped again and asked, “What?”
“The bus.” The words were barely audible.
“What’d you say?”
“The bus! The bus! Okay, let’s go back to the bus!”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“No.”
“What are you going to do to me?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
Two could play this game. “I’m going to tie you up.”
He snorted. “Good luck.”
“And then I’m going to unzip your jeans.”
“I’m liking it.”
“And take out your cock.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And run my tongue allll around the head.”
“Mm. Getting hard to walk here.”
“Good.”
“It’s not good if I fall and take you with me.” He laughed.
“That just means I get your cock in my mouth sooner.”
He groaned. “I should have gone the short way.”
He was at a light jog now.
“It makes me wet just thinking about your cock in my mouth.”
And that’s why I was giving Dale a blowjob when Chelsea was telling the crowd she had the night off. If she’d been there, I don’t think what happened would have happened at all. But I was oblivious, and Dale, who made sure, unbeknownst to me, that Chelsea knew everything—everything—about us she needed to in order to keep us, and especially me, safe, was reaching climax just around the time the meeting broke up.
So neither of us knew Chelsea had the night off, which under normal circumstances wouldn’t have been a big deal. But we were in New York, near home, near family and friends, people who knew us, some who loved us—and some who hated us. I think we both thought we were safe. We had layers and layers of safety nets in place. Chelsea was just one of them—but she was the most important, I think. When she was gone, it created a huge hole.
But we didn’t know.
We spent the day like any other day on tour. Tomorrow we would go back to New Jersey and visit. I’d talked to John and Aimee the day before to make plans. I was excited for the New York show—“home town” shows were always the best. And I would be there, front and center. Until then we waited. Our morning sexcapade started at the front of the bus, christening the dining table and our sitting area before ending up in the bathroom. But even that only shaved an hour off our waiting time. We took a nap. We listened to music. We watched Bear and Pixie play a mean game of chess. And we waited.
We went on like it was any other day because we thought we were safe. We’d built walls around us, a fortress. We were untouchable. Like the illusion of the busses making the square, we were in a place we could gather and let our guard down.
We let our guard down, trusting the circle to hold, and we didn’t know it until it was too late. Someone had been waiting for us to come home.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was two hours before the first New York show when Greg Richer called to tell us the news .We were backstage, waiting, as usual. I was sitting on one of the sofas reading a well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice I found on a shelf marked “Free Library.” It was a meager collection, ten or twelve classics, a few self-help books and two copies of Moonwalk, Michael Jackson’s autobiography, which had received a lot of press the year before. Now they were apparently giving away copies.
Dale had his head in my lap and he was playing Tetris on his new Gameboy. All the band members got one as soon as they came out, a nice perk, a gift from one of the venues. I think it was in Georgia—or maybe Virginia. The boys loved them and played them constantly. I tried a few times but they made my eyes feel buggy and gave me a headache.
