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A tall order. At least for the rest of Black Diamond, which consisted of Rick Baker, a grumpy, bitter lead guitarist with an bowl haircut who like to wear parachute pants, Terry Miller, whose spiky, white-blonde Billy Idol hair was his best and worst feature, and Eddie “Bear” Allen, a two-hundred-and-fifty pound drummer who insisted on wearing sweatbands on his head and wrists while he played and I was pretty sure he hadn’t shaved since 1984.
Of course, when it came to Dale, I didn’t have to do anything. He had his own sense of style, always had. That was part of what drew girls to him. Not the clothes, but that he knew who he was. He had a kind of lazy confidence, a self-assurance. He was comfortable in his own skin. That came across in everything about him, from his smirk of a smile to the dancing light in his eyes. He could have worn anything—or nothing—and the girls would have gone crazy.
When we touched down in Orlando, I finally let go of Dale’s hand—it was red and swollen from my squeezing it—more than ready to get off the plane. It was only the second time I’d been on one and I was still a nervous flyer. The band had complained, but I was glad we’d be on the ground in a bus for the rest of the tour.
“Look at that.” Dale showed me his hand again as we walked down the stairway and onto the tarmac. “I think you left a thumbprint.”
“I’m sorry,” I apologized again. I was so grateful to be on solid ground again I could have kissed it. “I didn’t mean to.”
There was a line of cars parked, waiting for us. Chelsea had taken care of everything. As much as I disliked Greg Richer, I adored Chelsea Caldwell. Chelsea was Dark Wing’s tour manager, and she handled everything. Not only did she juggle transportation for Dark Wing, she juggled the opening act—Black Diamond—plus the entire crew. Dark Wing had taken their own plane, so Black Diamond and the crew traveled together.
Chelsea was constantly in motion, always on the phone—she had one strapped to her belt, a giant, clunky thing with a big antennae—and the only time she wasn’t talking on it was when we were actually in the air. She practically ran down the stairs as soon as the plane was on the ground, barking orders left and right, her frizzy red hair managing to escape its moorings to blow around her freckled cheeks as she directed the crew as they came off the plane,
“That’s yours,” Chelsea put a hand on Dale’s shoulder, pointing to the car in back. It was different from the other ones. It looked like a regular taxi, only white instead of yellow. “Have a great time, you two!”
Then she was off again. I glanced up at Dale, curious.
“It’s a surprise.” He grinned, slipping an arm around my waist and leading me toward the taxi.
The show wasn’t until tomorrow and we’d taken an early morning flight out. Dale hated mornings and had grumbled sleepily until we were on the plane. Black Diamond got to sit up front in what was effectively first class while the crew rode coach. As soon as Dale was buckled in, he leaned back and fell asleep. He could sleep anywhere. In the meantime, I had closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder and pretended to sleep, but he had the marks on his hand to prove I was awake for most of the flight.
“You know where we’re going?” Dale asked the driver as we got in the back.
“Yes, sir.” The driver was a scruffy old guy with white hair and a southern accent. It was weird to hear him calling Dale sir.
“He gets to know where we’re going and I don’t?” I pouted.
“Sur-priiiiise,” he whispered, wrapping his arm around me, pulling my head to his chest. “Be a good girl and close your eyes—don’t peek or I’ll have to get the blindfold.”
“The blindfold!” I gasped, starting to raise my head
“I said, don’t peek!” Dale put his hand over my eyes. “Bad girl.”
I stuck my tongue out at him but I don’t know if he saw me. The cabbie had the air conditioner on—it was August in Florida at nine a.m. and already ninety degrees. I think I started sweating the minute I stepped off the plane.
“Can I at least guess?” I asked. I was trying to think of what it might be but was drawing a blank.
“Shh.” Dale kissed the top of my head. “Take a nap. You were strung so tight on the plane I thought you were going to snap in two.”
“How do you know? You were sleeping!”
“I just know.” He peeked under his hand and I blinked up at him. “Close those pretty eyes and go to sleep.”
I was tired—he was right, I’d been so tense on the plane I practically jumped out of my seat every time we hit a little bump. I knew, statistically, I had been safer in the plane than I was now in the taxi, but for some reason my body didn’t like that logic. I relaxed against Dale, leaving my eyes closed, and did just what he told me.
I drifted off.
“Sara?”
Dale’s voice woke me. He sat up fully, taking me with him as I opened my eyes, stretching and yawning before I remembered.
“Where are we?”
“I wanted you to see.” He pointed out the cabbie’s front window and I blinked, clearing my still-fuzzy vision.
I looked up at the sign spanning the freeway just as we passed underneath it.
“Walt Disney World?” I blinked at him, a half-smile already on my lips. “You’re kidding me? Walt Disney World?”
