Spending more time in the lounges hasn’t been all that bad, because surprisingly, Ivy seems to be doing the same. She wasn’t kidding about wanting to be friends. At some times it’s exhilarating and at others it’s exasperating, but at least we’re spending time together . . . We talk about nothing that matters, we eat together, we play video games, and even watch TV, but now we never do any of these things alone. Garrett is always with us, and the minute he leaves so does she—my guess is the friends thing is just as hard for her as for me, because while most of the hostility between us seems to have eased, the tension hasn’t.
Unfortunately something else has changed as well—Ivy can no longer go out without being recognized. The first few weeks with her trademark locks cut shorter, plus having been out of the limelight for almost a year, we were able to move around each city easily. But after the Detroit show, her performance was so dynamic that it went viral. Ivy has gotten in the habit of singing a cover at each performance, and that night’s cover was “I Knew You Were Trouble.” Her rave-y, edgy performance unhinged the audience and they went crazy. The way she sang that particular song made it come alive. She turned it into her own and I fucking loved it. It was catchy in her key and she gave it a rhythm and flow that rocked the audience. It exploded all over the Internet, and overnight the Wilde Ones became Ivy’s band and Ivy was being sought out. The next three stops after that we all stayed on the bus, and tonight is no different.
I’d fallen asleep early with my headphones on, and another fucking dream woke me up. My dreams come more and more frequently lately. For some reason my dad is weighing heavy on my mind during this tour. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that he wanted this life and I wonder why he did when he had a family or if it’s because I’ve started to think about what kind of life I could have while doing this. Getting out of bed, I throw a shirt on and head to the front lounge to grab a bottle of water, and as I do, I hear voices and laughter from the back lounge. Heading that way, I take a whiff of the air and the smell of cigar smoke has me more than curious as to what’s going on.
Pausing in the doorway of the back lounge, I take in the scene. Everyone is sitting together and playing cards. Garrett is leaning back in a metal folding chair holding a drink in his hand with a cigar resting over the edge of a bowl. Nix is reclining comfortably in one of the club chairs tapping one hand on the table while holding his cards in the other. Ivy, sitting in the other club chair, is wearing black sleep pants with some print all over them and a white tank top. Again she’s wearing no makeup and has her hair pulled back—she looks so much like she did when she was eighteen. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Even when she throws her cards on the table with a disgusted look on her face she’s still sexy as fuck. Leif glances around the circle with a huge-ass grin on his face and fans his cards out almost methodically before laying them down. “Full house, aces high,” he says and pulls the pile of guitar picks his way.
Garrett slams his drink down. “I’m out fifty bucks, thanks to your sorry ass. I think you’re cheating.”
Leif just laughs at him and continues to rake in the pot. Phoebe throws her cards in and gets up from her chair to sit on Nix’s lap. She’s an attractive girl—average height, maybe a little shorter than Ivy, with chin-length dark hair. Her skin tone is very close to Nix’s. I’d guess that she’s either Italian or Hispanic.
I stand silent in the doorway, continuing to watch them, but mostly watching Ivy. She pulls her legs up in the chair and wraps her arms around her knees. When I cover my mouth to stifle a yawn, she glances my way. A small smile forms on her lips, and her eyes sweep over me before they lock on mine. I grin at her and button up my shirt before joining the group. She drops her eyes and stretches her legs out over the empty chair next to her. I wonder what she’s thinking when she looks at me like that and why when I catch her doing it she always looks away.
Garrett looks up. “Hey, man, glad you decided to wake up. Welcome to the party.”
He looks like such a clown gripping that cigar between his teeth and talking around it. He motions to the chair Ivy has her legs on. “Perfect timing. We need another. Phoebe quit playing and I’m about to unless my luck turns.” He takes a puff on his cigar and coughs a little. I bite back the laughter. Phoebe’s not happy as the cigar smoke wafts her way. She waves it out of her face and makes an exaggerated choking noise before resting her head against Nix’s shoulder.
“John’s going to beat your ass for smoking in here,” I scold him, more mocking than serious, although John just might do that.
He sets his cigar back down in the bowl. “Then I’ll have to explain to him that a fine cigar is just like a woman. If you don’t light it up at the right time and suck on it with a certain ferverence, it’ll go out on you.” He waves his arms to the right, where the window blinds are pulled up. “And besides, I opened all the windows.”
Everyone laughs, even Ivy. I look around at the glasses on the table and I know they’ve all been hitting the wine pretty hard. Glancing sideways, I notice there are at least four empty bottles in the sink of the bar area and another open one on the small counter.