He went on and on, and we started loading our gear in. I was thankful for the dark, cold, smelly interior of the club. It was nice to have the chilling, crawling feeling of being watched dissipate. Piss soaked as it was, this place was our refuge.
Torn Bowel arrived a little while after we did, and it was a pretty pleasant reunion. They’d just come back from a tour, and they’d been on the road for a few months. All of them sported tour moustaches and had the same look in their eyes, the look a band starts to get when they’ve been away from home for too long. They laugh really hard at jokes that no one else can understand, and there is both panic and exhaustion. The panic feeling seems to hit when you know you’re getting close to going home.
Jamie extended his arms to me and we embraced. I caught the stink of his black T-shirt, stiff with dried sweat, and felt the rank greasiness of unwashed blond hair against my cheek. I didn’t really understand the ferocity of his happiness to see me, but on both sides of me the others were all hugging, so I went with it. Besides, after four months on tour, it was understandable that he would be a little overwrought. I’d felt those twinges myself, even after our short tours. Jamie’s eyes were wide, his smile desperate, his breath heavy with night after night of alcohol and who-knew-what-else as, for some unknown reason, he leaned in to kiss me.
“Whoa, there,” I said, turning my face so his lips landed clumsily on my cheek.
“Sorry, Rachel. You just look great,” he said, smiling at me.
“You look good too. How was tour?”
“It was fucking great,” he said. “But I have to say, I’m glad to be almost done. Tonight is going to be amazing. The best. It’s so good to see you again.”
Things were bustling around us, gear being moved and set up, but Jamie stayed with me. I could feel Fern’s eyes on me from across the room, could almost feel her disapproval physically, burning into my face. I stood stiffly as Jamie ran one hand up my arm to my shoulder, tried to keep from jerking back as he put his fingers in my hair. I didn’t understand where this was coming from — the last I had seen of Jamie, we had parted as polite acquaintances. I hadn’t really cared then, and I certainly didn’t care now.
“You guys are doing really well,” Jamie said. “You went to England, I hear. I saw a few magazines with you guys while we were on the road.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat as he casually ran both hands down my arms, past my wrists, and twined our fingers together, as though we were a comfy, intimately involved couple. I fought the urge to push him away and shriek until my eyes poured blood.
“The last time we saw each other, on that little tour, you know, I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye the way I wanted to,” he said. “I’m glad we get to see each other again today. So I can make that up to you.”
“You didn’t say goodbye to me because you thought it was gross that I puked,” I reminded him.
“That’s not true. It was so cool. I didn’t think it was gross at all.”
“Yes, you did,” I said. “Remember the first day? We were pretty much flirting with each other.”
He laughed and seemed to blush. “You’re pretty blunt!”
I ignored him. “We were talking, all that. I sort of liked you, I mean, as much as you can like a person that you’ve only known for half a day, or whatever. You were asking me about where I grew up, all that stuff. But then I puked on that guy, and you didn’t really seem interested after that.”
“No, I — I thought it was . . . pretty cool that you did that.”
I began slowly untangling my fingers from his. “I know you did, totally. But you have to admit, it wasn’t very . . . hot.”