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All around us, the crew bustles in and out of trailers, and bands yell greetings to each other. I love playing festivals because it reminds me of a block party, especially during thesummer. There’s something wonderfully communal about being less than five minutes away from a bunch of your friends.
Ivan, the bassist from a ska band I like, waves to me, and I wave back. I run into the bus and dig through the refrigerator until I find a container of iced coffee; then, I plop two handfuls of ice into two glasses and pour some coffee into each one. I pour some of Lyndsey’s weird vegan creamer into one.
I balance the two cups carefully as I make my way off the bus before handing one to Lyndsey, who looks up and grins.
“What is this, room service?”
“Nah. I was grabbing myself a coffee, and I thought you’d like some, unless …” I trail off.
Lyndsey grabs her cup and takes a sip before nodding and grinning, “This is perfect. You read my mind.” She flashes me a generous smile and gestures to the empty chair beside her. I take a seat.
“Did you just wake up?” she asks.
“Yeah, like ten minutes ago. What about you? You’ve got a whole little outdoor office here,” I say.
“I got tired of working on the bus. Plus, it’s a nice day out.” Her phone buzzes, and she types something quickly before putting it down.
“That was Apollo. He’ll be here in ten.”
“It’s nice that he could spend an extra night with Char,” I say.
Lyndsey nods. “Again, I have no idea how people who are, like, married go on tour. It has to put a strain on the relationship, y’know?”
“Yeah, but doesn’t everything?” I ask, not meaning to sound philosophical. Lyndsey stops mid-sip and smirks at me.
Chapter 7
Lyndsey
Nashville, TN
Sometimes the sound booth feels like a crow’s nest on a pirate ship.
I watch The Imposters set from above, perched next to a grisly old dude named Mark wearing the world’s biggest pair of headphones. A cameraman swivels the cyclops-eye of a camera around and zooms in on Priya’s velvet Gogo boots.
The performance in Nashville tonight is being live-streamed on the HRC’s website, as well as a couple of music websites. Priya’s amped it up to eleven now that she knows she’s being filmed. I can only hope to be that limber when I’m in my fifties.
As the last song ends, she slides into the splits, and the crowd goes wild. Vince jumps up and throws his guitar forward as hehits the final note. A cameraman zooms in on his hands, working the fretboard. If they only knew what those hands could do.
Ugh. Jesus! I need to stop sounding like such a fucking fan girl!
Sure, Vince has given me earth-shattering orgasms every night for the past three nights, but I’m not swooning over him or anything just because he’s a musician. Although, I’m sure he would make a significantly less hot accountant.
When the band exits the stage, I climb down the sound booth and make the long trek back to the side stage. I start to jog, and I swear Vince’s face lights up when he sees me.
“Great set,” I say. I mentally catalog all the ways I could touch Vince without seeming weird: a side hug, a handshake, a high-five. Instead, we both stand frozen in our respective spots as Priya shrugs off her turquoise silk blazer.
“I know it was great, which is why I propose tonight we hit the town!”
“You want to go out after this? You just played a two-hour set in ninety-degree heat, and you want to go out?”
“Yes! It’ll be fun! We don’t leave until one tomorrow, right?”
I did give everyone extra time to relax tomorrow morning because I knew this would be a big show. I nod, and Priya rubs her hands together like she’s scheming.
“What do you say?” she asks.
“You mean, like, go down to Broadway?” Henry asks.
