Jamie laughed. “Fuck, okay fine. You’re right. I didn’t think it was hot.”
I felt a lot better now that we were no longer holding hands, so I grinned at him. “Right. So I just don’t get it. Why are you holding my hand and touching me right now? Tell me it’s because you’re tired and crazy from tour. Otherwise I might think it’s because you saw a picture of me in a magazine so now you think it would be cool to be with me. Because really, dude, why else would you be trying to hit on me today?”
Jamie studied my face. I could tell he was put off by my forthrightness. I could almost hear his mind racing to figure out what the answer should be. I stared back at him, still grinning, and shortly he grinned back, his face relaxing, and he nervously tucked a strand of greasy hair behind his ear. “I’m just tired. And you know, it is good to see you. I’m stoked about this show.”
I still don’t know what his real reason was, but with that out of the way we were free to be just friends, and this time when we hugged it was nice, friendly, harmless. As we embraced, I saw Fern, sitting on the stage, half tuning her guitar, half staring at us, her expression frozen.
xXx
The last time we’d played here with that shitty Heathenistic Bile, we’d used the girls’ public washroom to get changed. This time, Robbie had the owner unlock a small shower-room backstage that we could use. The small, tiled room was filthy and stank like burnt hair and old beer, but it was nice to know we’d moved up in the world.
“I wonder what happened to Heathenistic Bile,” I mused to Fern as we got dressed. I was wearing my white bloody socks and sneakers, and she wore black fishnet tights with black boots, but the matching plaid dresses and blouses looked great. Fern was looking in her compact mirror, applying dark lipstick.
“Who knows,” she muttered. “Remember how that guy kept going on about how they had all this label interest or whatever? Maybe they’re rich and famous by now.”
“Oh, I bet.” Muffled through the club walls, we heard a tremendous cheer as Torn Bowel evidently took the stage. I sighed as they launched into their first song. “How cool is it to be back here at this club? Robbie was saying it sold out. Remember there were twenty people here last year?”
Fern nodded. “I know. And it’s weird having Torn Bowel open for us.” We were quiet for a while, and then she asked carefully, “So what’s going on with you and Jamie?”
I scoffed. “Nothing. I think he’s just a little confused.”
“I saw him touching you,” she said, her growl betraying her disgust. “What was up with that?”
“Nothing.”
“He just got off tour,” she said. “Probably used to girls doing whatever he wants.”
I considered this. “When we toured with them, they didn’t really hang out with girls after the shows. They always just played video games. I don’t think they’re that type of band.”
After a few moments, Fern swallowed hard and seemed to calm. “I guess you’re right. I just didn’t like seeing him touching you like that, is all. It just seemed like he was really forward, really arrogant about it.”
“I think Jamie’s a nice guy.” I stood beside Fern and leaned my head on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. If Jamie had tried anything, I would have smashed his face in. Seriously.”
“I would’ve been two steps ahead of you,” Fern said.
FORTY-ONE
Fern and I joined Socks and Edgar in the main dressing room at the Toe. The same destroyed, filthy couches were there, but we’d chosen to put our bags on them. Socks was drumming on one arm of the couch with his drumsticks, and Fern crouched on the floor to tune her guitar. Edgar squinted, leaning towards my legs.
“What the fuck is that on your socks?” he asked. “Is that blood?”