Page 33 of Pistol Whipped

Occasionally, by accident, I make eye contact with Dutch, who smiles in return. More than once, he’s beckoned me to join him on the couch, but each time, I hesitate. I want to make up, to get close to him again, to tell him my secrets, though it’s the ugly reality of those secrets that holds me back each time.

Mostly, I watch the windows and the country sailing past us on the other side. We pass small towns and cornfields, lakes and exposed rock faces where the highway has been cut right into the Canadian Shield. Eventually, the view transforms again, and all you can see for miles is the great expanse of the Atlantic, dotted by the occasional fishing boat or lighthouse.

“We’re here,” Cohen says to no one in particular.

Cambria. I’ve only been here once before during the Skids Tour after our second album. The coastal town is steeped in musical traditions of its own, and one day, I’d love to experience them. Not this time, because, like on the Skids Tour, we’re here for one night and one night only, so all we’ll be seeing is the venue.

At least it’s a nice one. More than nice actually, it’s really fucking cool. The Quay, it’s called, probably because of its shore-side location. Or because it’s a former fishing warehouse. The inside has been hollowed out so there’s an open floor plan in front of the stage, perfect for dancing or a mosh pit. Upstairs, a balcony runs around the building and is reserved for VIPs. It’s the only part of the club that has any seating. From the outside, you’d never be able to tell any of that, though.

Red-painted shiplap covers the exterior, and the name McKye & Sons 1923 is still painted on one side. It fits right in with the other buildings that line the harbour. All of them are shiplapped as well, though painted other colours, some blue, some white, even some in a pale yellow.

The only clue it is anything else is our tour bus parked out front and the six-foot tall posters with our logo pasted on either side of the door. That and the small trio of beauty gurus waiting for us. Derek and Dexter are chatting away to one another when we get off the bus, but Tina makes a beeline right for me.

“You’re mine, girly-pop,” she says as she hooks her arm through mine. Her toolbox from a few days ago has been replaced by a whole fucking suitcase.

I eye the thing with suspicion. “What the hell could you possibly have in there?”

“Supplies, babe. Since Lou actually gave me enough notice this time, you’re getting the full Tina treatment today, not that half-ass effort you got from me last time.”

“Hey! I thought I looked great?” I question, unsure if I should be offended or not.

“You did,” she confirms, “But this time, I’m going to turn you into a goddess. A punk-rock goddess.”

The Quay actually has a proper backstage space with enough green rooms for each of us. Tina guides me inside, and from there, I relinquish total control. She primps and prods. She even dyes my hair. Not the temporary stuff this time, either. The magical woman gives me my first proper haircut in years. One look in the mirror as she finishes off the last run-through with the straightening iron, and I can officially confirm she was right. I look incredible. Better than I’ve ever looked in my life. My pale skin has come to life, and my eyes shine with the kind of hope I haven’t had in a long time.

The real secret to beauty, to keeping your youth, to bright eyes and warm smiles? It’s money. I know, because the difference between the Rain who left Flynn’s and the girl looking back at me is night and day. My hair doesn’t just lie limply over my shoulders, because it’s Tina’s job to make it look beautiful, and holy hell has she succeeded. My eyes no longer have the big purple bags under them that come from pulling double shifts at the bar, because on the tour bus, the guys let me sleep as long as I want. And because of the luxury brand concealer Tina’s applied to my under-eyes.

I can admit, though, that money is a double-edged sword. The first time we got any, it gave me, gave all of us the freedom and the undeniable rush of power that eventually burned us out.

Why wouldn’t you chase the high when nothing could hurt you? Why would you ever stop the party when you’re the one being celebrated? The answer? You don’t. The universe, on the other hand, she’s a fickle old bitch, and when you fall, you fall hard. Ask me how I know.

Just like our show in Steelsville, the guys look incredible when I meet them on stage for a very brief sound check. We run through the set list and various lighting cues with the in-house technicians and confirm that we’re happy with the sound setup. None of us really speak, or even look at each other, and I’m about ready to retreat back to my dressing room when one of the security guards approaches the stage.

“Umm, Ms. Gamble?”

For the big scary bouncer, the man’s voice is surprisingly gentle.

“There is a man outside causing a bit of a scene.”

Behind me, the rustling of equipment has stopped, so I know the guys are listening. Nosy fuckers.

“He’s claiming to be your boyfriend?”

No fucking way. Seriously, there is no fucking way.

“Boyfriend?!” Dutch bellows, his deep voice echoing through the empty club. I don’t say anything beyond cursing under my breath and asking the bouncer to show me. The guys don’t follow, though as I walk away; traces of their conversation reach me.

“Boyfriend?” Dutch again.

“Who the hell?” Cohen.

“Did you know she had—” Cohen again, though which of the Kelly brothers he’s asking, I have no idea.

Turns out all it took to get them talking was news that maybe I hadn’t been a goddamn nun in the ten years since they’d last seen me. Not that they’d asked about my sex life. Not that I’d have told them if they did. It was none of their business.

The front doors of The Quay are big grey fire doors with aggressive floor and ceiling bolt locks and one small circular window in each face. The bouncer gestures to the glass and, doing my very best to keep out of sight, I take a peek.

With under an hour until doors open, there’s a huge lineup of people waiting to get into the venue and right at the very front, thumping his chest and getting in another bouncer’s face, is Trey.