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But I can’t negotiate from the bottom, and maybe if I get some leverage, I can use it to pull Carey up with me. I don’t know what to say, other than “Yes. You can trust me.”
“Good.”
He disconnects the call and I weave a little on my feet as my own words to Carey come echoing back to me: A lot of people are making a shit-ton of money from the Tripps, but this situation isn’t the best thing for any of us.
It’s still not clear whether it’s the best thing for her, except now, staying with the Tripps is very clearly the best thing for me.
When Joe ushers us out of the hotel later that morning, we’re shocked to see that the bus has been rewrapped overnight. In addition to the Tripps’ ginormous faces and book cover stretched along the sides, it now includes promo for the new show, too. Nothing like a forty-five-foot visual reminder that you’re trapped inside a giant PR machine that surges full steam ahead, whether you’re ready for it or not.
It also says a lot about the Tripps that a guy who regularly deals with entitled, difficult people for a living doesn’t seem to be weathering this tour well. In the days since meeting the Tripps, Joe looks like he’s aged five years. His swoopy hair has deflated; his eyes are dim and glazed over with a constant air of panic. Even his muscles seem sad.
With a clipboard in one hand and a bottle of Kaopectate in the other, he says, “I wanted to go over the schedule for the next couple of days.” Joe checks his watch with a frown. He frowns a lot lately. “We’re stopping in Sacramento to sign stock at four different stores. We’ll have to be pretty quick at each stop because we need to make it to Medford tonight. The event tomorrow is in Portland, at Powell’s. It’s a ticketed event and we’ve sold out both the signing and the Q-and-A … which is good.” He wipes his forehead. “But both today at the stores and tomorrow at the event there will be a lot of eyes, so …” He lets the sentence hang to see if anyone will complete it for him. When there are no takers, he adds, “Let’s try to put on a good show.”
I startle when Melly leans in, whispering, “Tomorrow we can get ready together.” She smiles, and in the stark daylight, I see how much she’s aged from the past several months; tiny lines fan from the corners of her eyes, and her mouth has taken on a mild tilt. Instead of softening her appearance overall the way time generously managed for my mother and grandmother, it makes Melly seem slightly unhinged. “We’ll get someone to come to my suite and get blowouts before the signing. That way you can relax.”
Relax. Did everyone get that? Melly gives my hand a little squeeze as if to emphasize that this is about me, not her. The me who has never had a blowout before in her life and who never gets downtime to relax.
We both know she’s pointing out how good she is to me. It’s her way of keeping me close, but also clearly keeping me away from James.
The elephant in the room doesn’t care that we’re back in the tight quarters of the bus: the short drive to Sacramento is as awkward as you might expect after having sex with one person and being found naked in bed by another. James clearly wants to talk and is quietly waiting for his chance. Melly is watching him watch me, but also watching to see what I’ll do if he dares to try. Rusty is in the back avoiding his own elephant, and once we’re on the road, Joe locks himself in the bathroom, wanting to avoid us all.
The sprawling landscape of the East Bay is a blur on the other side of the windows while I stare down at my small leather notebook. Work is usually my escape, and any one of a number of upcoming projects could easily occupy my time, but the weight of James’s and Melly’s attention is like a physical presence in the air, pressing down. It makes me anxious, and my fingers soon become stiff and uncooperative.
When my pencil falls to the floor, both Melly and James practically nosedive to the carpet to retrieve it. Melly is closer and reaches it first, setting it on the table with a victorious little smirk.
“Thanks, guys.” I give them each a You’ve just gone overboard look. I’m sure I’ve never seen Melly rush to pick up anything in her life—even if she’s the one who dropped it.
“So, James.” Melly settles back in her seat. “You’ve been with us for how long now?”
