So things continued like that for a few days, which on a tour feels like an eternity. Chris stood by the side of the stage and watched our set every night, and sometimes guys from his band or Gurgol would watch too. And I’d watch Gurgol and sometimes I’d watch Ripsawdomy, but I refused to stand at the side of the stage like that. I didn’t want him to see me there, so I’d stand just out of his line of vision, aligned with an amp or something, so I could just stare at him as he played. The band was pretty good. Their singer, Chick, had a pretty unfriendly air about him, and he didn’t really bother with us or with anyone else, but it seemed like for the most part the bands were starting to warm up to each other. At first, things on the tour were all about being efficient and everyone stayed out of each other’s way, but gradually we were all making friends.
The nights had a chill, but none of us were complaining. We were slowly making our way south, and soon enough the air would be heavy and humid and we’d be sweating, and we’d give anything for a chilly night in the parking lot after the venue had closed, snug in a hoody, smoking in the dark. It was one such night when I was outside, around the side of our bus. I could hear a group of tech guys and band guys smoking and laughing across the lot, but I felt awkward joining them, so I just sat in my spot and listened to the crickets in the long grass that lined the parking lot behind me. The others in my band were on the bus watching a movie.
As I sat smoking, I heard the telltale gravel crunch that someone was approaching. I already knew who it would be, and when Chris appeared, I smiled at him.
“I was hoping I’d find you out here,” he said. “Thought I’d take a walk over and see. Is there room on that curb?”
“Sure,” I said, sliding over. He lowered himself down beside me, sighing, and lit up his own cigarette.
“Getting warmer,” he commented.
“It is.”
“Soon, it’ll be too hot to breathe. Man, I love the heat.” He stretched his arms over his head, yawning. “Fuck, I’m tired.”
“It was a great crowd tonight,” I remarked.
“Fucking rad.” He nodded. “You guys were killer.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re a great fucking singer. Really take charge of the crowd.”
“Thanks.”
“I really like watching you.” He swayed sideways, playfully bumping my shoulder with his.
I fumbled for words. “Well, uh — I’m glad that you do.”
I looked sideways at him, and he was looking at me, and when our eyes met, he smiled, and I realized that I hadn’t seen him smile before. He’d always just been wearing that grouchy, scrutinizing scowl. His teeth were straight and the smile lifted his face, almost illuminated it. I smiled back.
“Look, Rachel, I was just wondering, I mean, maybe one of these nights, after the show —”
He was cut off by the sudden appearance of Fern and Toad coming around the side of the bus. Toad took one look at us and then fixed me with a leering smirk. “Oh, are we interrupting anything?”
Chris got up and the two of them did another one of those handshake things, and for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to look at Fern as she lit her cigarette.
“Nah, man, it’s all good,” Chris said. “Just smokin’ with Rachel here.” He took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt into the darkness. “Well, have a good night, guys,” he said, and left.
“What was that all about?” Toad asked, lighting his own smoke.
“Nothing. He likes the band,” I said, aware that I was trying to pacify Fern as well. I had this impression that she would feel betrayed by me hanging out with Chris, though when I did finally look at her, she didn’t look perturbed. She just stood, placidly smoking and listening to our conversation while covering a yawn.
“That guy’s one lucky dude — he gets so many chicks,” Toad grinned. “You know who his ex is, right? That model, the fetish chick, Sophie Cleaver.”
Images flashed in my mind of a black-haired, corseted, ’40s-styled girl with pin curls in a bathtub wearing stockings and stilettos. I’d seen pictures of Sophie Cleaver. I swallowed hard, and Toad laughed, obviously noticing my discomfort. “She’s hot,” he pointed out needlessly.
“Why’d they break up?” I said.
“Ah, who knows? Maybe because he was getting so much action on the road,” he chuckled. Fern shot him a withering look, which I doubled. Toad had this way of talking like he was always surrounded by a group of really douchey guys.
“You barely even know him. That shit’s a rumour. He seems like a nice guy,” Fern said defensively, and I raised my chin.