A girl comes up behind him and loops her arms around his neck. She says something in his ear that I can’t hear over the music and he turns and smiles at her. “So, help yourself to whatever,” he says before turning and following her toward the back of the lounge. They disappear through the door that looks like it leads to the sleeping bunks, but beyond the bunks I see there’s another lounge and I catch just a glimpse of Max before the door closes.
I weave my way through the sweaty bodies toward the door and follow Chipper through. There are couples in various stages of undress going at it in a few of the bunks, and I see Chipper is already one of them. I move straight through and push out the door in the back. When I emerge into the rear lounge, I notice two things. First, there are five girls, two of whom are topless. Second, there are only two guys: Max and my rhythm guitar guy, Aram.
They’re sitting in the middle of a horseshoe shaped couch that lines the back and side walls of the bus with a girl wedged between them and one more on either side. The topless ones dance with each other near the sound system.
I take a drink, trying to come off like this is no big deal. I’m not a moron. I get this is what happens on tour, so I shouldn’t be surprised. But I am. I don’t even know Max. But for some stupid reason I guess I thought, since he invited me, he’d be waiting for me like a monk in the corner somewhere.
Max looks up and sees me and I expect some sort of guilty reaction, but I get nothing but a welcoming smile. He says something to the girl next to him, then rakes the hair off his face and stands and comes over to me.
“I see you got a beer.”
I hold it up. “Chipper set me up.”
“Good man,” he says. “Glad you decided to stop by.”
“I can only stay for a minute,” I say, realizing I should have just gone back to the hotel.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe next to me.
“Billie’s sick, so I think we’ll just hang out in the room.”
He nods slowly. “The Muse, right?”
I think about lying and saying no, but I nod instead.
He glances around the room, then takes my elbow and leads me back past the bunks to the press of bodies up front. “Sorry, Aram went a little crazy with the invites. It’s not usually like this.”
“Usually? How many times have you done this?”
His expression turns sheepish. “Okay, you got me. This is my first tour. But last night it wasn’t like this.”
I turn for the front of the bus and Max follows. “Well, have fun,” I say with a flick of my wrist at the crowd.
He glances that way then back at me and raises his eyebrows. “I’d have more fun if you’d stay.”
“Sorry, I promised Billie and I’m already late.”
He nods slowly. “My loss.”
“Looks like you won’t have any trouble filling the void,” I say with dubious glance back at the sea of girls.
He shakes his head. “They’re not you. No comparison.”
I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to that, so I drain my beer and set the empty on the counter, then turn and start down the steps. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Count on it,” he says.
The driver drops me at the garage entrance to the hotel and I keep my head down as I make my way up the elevator. I’m not really in the mood to deal with fans right now. My mind is still on everything that happened with Tro. He seemed almost like a real person for a few minutes just before he went onstage and made a total ass of himself.
“How’d it go?” Billie asks when I push through the door into our room. She steps through the bathroom door, all bundled into plaid flannel PJs and a bathrobe.
“It was good. Got a standing O for ‘More Than Nothing.’ How are you feeling?”
“Not sure I can eat yet.” She moves slowly to the kitchenette and takes a cup from the microwave, dropping a teabag into it. “But I’m keeping fluids down.”
“That’s good.” I go to my bag and pull out one of my baggy T-shirts.
“So, tell me more,” she says, bobbing her teabag in the hot water.
I think about everything Tro said before he went onstage. “Do you think I should find a different label for my next CD?”
Her eyes flash to mine and her eyebrows shoot up. “Why?”
“Because I don’t feel like Universal’s really getting me. I have a whole crapload of songs I really want to do for my next album, but I’m pretty sure they’re not going to let me do any of them.”
She goes to the desk chair and lowers herself into it. “I’m not sure that’s the best move right now, Shiloh. You don’t want to get the reputation for being difficult this early in your career. Phillip is negotiating in good faith and I think Universal understands that your next contract is going to require they give you a little more creative say.”
“Why?” I say, frustration flaring in my chest. “They didn’t give me any this time.”
She swirls her tea and pulls the bag out, tossing it in the trash can under the desk. “You’ve more than exceeded their expectations. They’re going to want to keep you in-house, and to do that, they know they’re going to have to keep you happy.”