“Yeah, sure,” Toad agreed, giving me a dirty look. “Sure we can.”
“Are you in the mood for some news?” Socks said.
“What is it?” I steeled myself, shutting off the part of my brain that kept whispering to me that I should go to my bunk, hide there, never come out.
“I got a call just now from Tom Manic,” Socks said. “We have an offer to play at the Donner Blitzkrieg Festival.”
“Where’s that?” I asked.
“It’s in England. Big, big festival. Big metal crowd,” replied Toad.
“Donner Blitzkrieg?” I said. “That’s a stupid name for a festival. Sounds like a Christmas thing. Santa’s reindeer?”
Toad stared at me. “Right, Rachel. Or it could be referencing the Donner Party. You know, the pioneer cannibals?”
Socks went on to outline the pay and the travel accommodations. “The thing is, we’d be leaving the day this tour finishes. Straight from JFK. The festival is two days after the last day of this tour.”
Edgar was concerned about that, but Socks assured him that after the festival gig, we’d be going right home.
“What other bands are playing?” I asked.
“A bunch of U.K. bands, a few Euro bands. A few from here,” Socks said. “The headliner is DED.”
xXx
Fern seemed thrilled by the news. Everyone in the band was stoked. I tried my best to be enthusiastic as well, but I needed to talk to her. We didn’t have a chance to be alone until after the show that night, when I essentially dragged her off the bus to have a cigarette with me.
“I can’t do it,” I whispered. “I don’t think I can be around them. I’ll be sick.”
She puffed on her cigarette, her eyes wide and white. “You can do it. We’ll be close to them. We can get them, Rachel. Don’t you see, it’s what we’ve been waiting for!”
I kept shaking my head, feeling myself trembling, my stomach in a vice of knots that hadn’t dissipated since I had heard that fucking song before dinner. “How? We can’t get them, Fern. How are we going to get them? There’ll be so many people around.”
Fern didn’t reply. She stared at me, studying my face. “I don’t care about jail,” she finally said. “I don’t care about prison. I don’t give a shit.” She blew smoke out of her mouth. “It’s worth it to me. And after everything we’ve already done — we’ve already done it, Rachel. We can’t go back. There’s only one place this is going to go.”
She was right. But this was different than a dopehead in an alley. I couldn’t imagine how we would do it. Fern seemed determined — even excited. I figured she’d find a way. She had twice before. I would leave it to her to figure it out.
xXx
Finally, the tour ended. All three bands had that weird, mostly bullshit camaraderie with one another on the last day that always exists when you’re saying goodbye to a bunch of people you could’ve been close with, could’ve made friends with, but didn’t. Marie-Lise had the same put-on, polite smile she’d had when we said hello as we said goodbye. Everyone was nice on that last night and had a drink together out by the buses, talking about the tour and the shows as merrily as if we had all hung out the whole time and shared something really special. Shit, maybe some of them had. I guess I had, in some ways. I glanced at Chris, who was glancing at me. Everyone congratulated us on getting onto the Donner Blitzkrieg Festival bill. They were all heading home — Ripsawdomy was going back into the studio before a European tour, and Gurgol was just going home to relax for the next few months.
Then the bus drivers arrived, and it was time for everyone to say goodbye. Chris and I hugged, and that annoying lump in my throat came back and he stared at me, frowning, perplexed, in the parking lot, and I could tell he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. So we just left it at goodbye. I watched the Ripsawdomy bus pull out of the lot and drive away, as Gurgol and my band said their goodbyes. I watched it drive into the darkness. I could have cried.
FIFTY-TWO