It's amazing what a night of heavy tequila drinking can do for you. I hardly remembered any of the male bonding that occured.
What I did remember was how focused I was on getting Lauren back. I needed my personal paparazzi. I wanted to get to know her. Really know her. Not just sexually (even though I did want to get to know her sexually), but also mentally.
AJ and I had both backed off of Rhoda. She had been like our two week obsession. So much had happened in such a short time.
That didn't stop her from flirting with the both of us. It's just that our immunity was stronger. At least mine was. J still sometimes started to drool uncontrollably .
It was that ass. And that rack.
I had contacted the paper Lauren worked for. They wouldn't tell me much, but I managed to send a dozen roses. I hoped they got to her before they died. It would be just my luck that she'd receive dead flowers from me.
The bus had arrived in New Hampshire hours ago, but I hadn't managed to get out of bed. I didn't want to be a big ass baby, but my chest hurt. I didn't remember running into anything in the last, oh, three or four days. It just felt like tight bands squeezing uncomfortably.
"Hey Nizzle, what's up?" J asked. He pushed back my curtain.
"You okay?"
I rolled over. "I'm fine," I said. "Just tired."
J grunted. "Well, Bri wanted me to tell you we've got some good catering today. Something about fried chicken and corn. You would think we were back in Indiana with all the corn on the table."
I didn't answer; J left. I rubbed at my chest and exhaled.
Truthfully, I was a little scared.
An hour later, I finally made my way off the bus. I almost didn't see Bri; I jumped. He was just standing there.
"Dude! What are you doing?"
"Look at the raccoon."
I looked where he was pointing There was a raccoon, but he wasn't alive. He was totally roadkill. I had seen a million of the things as we traveled across the country, but this one was really close.
"That's really gross," I said.
"Yeah-huh," Bri said.
We both shoved our hands in our pockets and stared. Flies were starting to swarm from all directions. There was a big pile of guts.
"You don't think our bus ran over it do you?" I asked. I had a soft spot for animals. And girls.
"Naw. He's been there awhile."
I nodded. After a couple more minutes the raccoon thing got boring. "I'm gonna go eat," I said.
Bri looked like he was going to tell me how disgusting it was that I was still hungry, but he turned at the same time I did.
"I could use some more corn," he admitted.
The smell of fried chicken made my stomach growl. I hadn't eaten well the last day or so. I piled up my plate and sat down next to J. He was licking his fingers and practically gnawing at the bone. I took a big bite. My favorite part was the crunchy skin. I could almost do without the meat and just eat fried chicken skin all day long.
"Hey after the show I need to find a Walmart or a Target or something," AJ announced. Howie looked up. Why?
"I need socks. And underwear."
"Why don't you have Rhoda go buy some of those things?"
"I don't want her buying my underwear!" J complained.
"I'd rather touch your clean underwear than your dirty underwear," I added. I got a glare. I stuffed more chicken skin in my mouth.
"Did I hear my name?"
D, J, and I looked up. Rhoda had on a little sundress. She pressed her palms against her hips and rocked back and forth. My immunity was down; I watched her hips like a pendulum.
"I--er---I---uh---" J blabbered.
"He needs underwear!" I blurted. "And socks!"
Rhoda flashed J a big smile. "Why didn't you say so? I am wardrobe after all. I'll take Dee with me on a run. What size?"
I couldn't help it. I seriously couldn't help it.
"Extra small," I said with a smirk.
I got a chicken bone flung at my head.
After Howie got over the whole don't-throw-dead-animal-bones-at-your-band-mate thing, and Rhoda was put through extensive knowledge of my need for not extra small underwear, we were informed that the soundcheck fans were being allowed into the venue.
Justin was back on his feet after the sick days he took in Indiana, and he was busily moving the fans into the first few rows of seats and prepping his camera as we lazily made our way onto the stage. Howie, Brian and I did anyway. Nick was taking an awful long time. I kept glancing over my shoulder and waiting for him to bound out but there was nothing doing. "Where the hell is he?" Howie hissed.
I shrugged. Why did Howie always think I knew where Nick was? I mean, sure there was that one time I locked him in the closet on the bus so I could get a couple extra minutes with Rhoda in wardrobe without him interrupting - but that was only one time, and it wasn't recent.
Recently, I had a new object of obsession in the style department.
Justin crawled up onto the stage. "They're getting kinda restless," he muttered, "Where's Nick?" Like Howie, Justin looked at me.
"Don't look at me," I said defensively.
"You sure he's not in a cupboard or a footlocker or something?" Howie asked.
I forgot about the footlocker.
"I didn't lock him in anything," I said. "Last I knew we were gettin' yelled at for throwing chicken wing bones at each other."
"I'll go find him," Brian offered, and he disappeared off to the buses to find Nick.
Howie and Justin started talking, so I roamed toward the edge of the stage to entertain the girls, who were clustered in the first couple rows of seats, eyes filled with looks of admiration and excitement, practically drooling. "Hey sexy ladies," I called as I lowered myself onto the edge of the stage.
Brian returned before I'd had much time with the girls, Nick in tow. Nick's hair was a mess and he was still in sweats and a coffee-stained t-shirt. He mumbled as he lowered himself onto the stool. The fans went nuts, despite his gross appearance, and I was forgotten promptly. I made my way to my own stool and adjusted the microphone's height.
Soundcheck went pretty smooth. The only thing really worth mentioning was Nick's disturbing amount of details about the roadkill raccoon, which he shared with the sickened crowd of girls quite proudly. He was acting kind of weird, though, the entire time. Not to a point that any fan would've noticed, but just enough that I most certainly did.
Once we got the meet and greet portion over with, we headed out back to the buses once again.
The venue was set up kinda crazy. You could tell it was the kind of place that not-so-famous people played because they had minimum security. Consequently, about forty of our hired guys were required to keep things in check. Only a small barred gate kept the girls from squeezing in to see us, so the buses had been parked in a large semi-circle out back of the venue and we'd been requested to stay within that area. So of course the first thing Brian did was break that law. The rest of the afternoon was punctuated by screaming fans as Brian peek-a-booed with them around the edge of the bus and went over to sign the occasional autograph.
Nick was laying on a picnic table that had been dragged out back for us. I don't think he realized anyone was watching him because he was massaging his chest and had his eyes closed, a pained expression on his face. Not good.
"Nizzle," I said, approaching the table. He sat up like a bat out of hell and swiveled to look at me, eyes slightly wild. "What's goin' on?" I asked.
"Nothin'," he answered.
"Is your chest bugging you?"
Nick stared at me, his eyes serious. "No," he lied.
I sighed and sat down on the table next to him. "I was reading that paper the other day..." I said. "The one Lauren works for."
He carefully stayed focused on his hands, refusing to look at me, picking at his fingertips. "She's on the Coldplay tour. They're just about to start the European leg of their tour. She's overseas."
Nick sighed heavily. "I'm being stupid, I know."
"Not stupid, just... horny," I said with a laugh.
Nick shook his head, "It's not really like that, Jizzle," he answered, melancholy despite the silly nickname he'd used. He was still studying his fingertips. "I know I'm real immature sometimes and shit and I don't always have the best brains or whatever, and I've been kinda a manwhore in the past and stuff but..." he paused. "I dunno, nevermind."
"It's different, huh?"
Nick nodded silently.
I watched as across the parking lot, Dee was directing some guys that were scraping the dead raccoon up off the pavement, her clipboard nested in the gentle curve of her arm. She had her hair down and was wearing ugly bermuda-style shorts with a tour shirt tied just under her breasts, revealing her abs. It was like a billion degrees out and a thin layer of sweat covered her flat stomach and calves.
She turned, saw me staring, waved slightly, then disappeared onto the stylist's tour bus.
"I know what you're feelin'," I said quietly.
Nick looked up and saw the stylist bus door close. “You can have her,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“Rho,” he answered, “She’s yours. I – I don’t really want her anymore.”
It was my turn to look at my hands and study them. I hesitated. “Did you know Dee’s real name is Rochelle?” I asked suddenly.
Nick looked surprised, “Say what?”
“Rochelle,” I said, “Deanna is apparently her middle name.”
Nick’s eyebrows knit together. “Seriously?” he asked, surprise creeping into his voice, “That’s really weird. Where’d you hear that?”
“Rhoda told me,” I answered.
“Did you ask Howie about it? Howie would know her name.”
“I don’t dare to ask Howie anything about women right now,” I answered.
Nick laughed, “Me either.” Then a grin spread across his face. “C’mon… I know how we can find out.”
“Find out?” I asked. Nick’s grin was devilish. I had a feeling we were gonna end up in deep shit for whatever it was he had planned. “Why does it matter?” I asked.
“Oh trust me,” Nick said solemnly, “I above all people right now know why it matters to know the girl’s real name. C’mon.” He waved for me to follow him and made off across the pavilion we’d been sanctioned.
I hesitated. I just knew we were about to catch it good from Howie as a result of whatever the hell Carter had planned… but he was right, I did need to know Dee’s real name. The things we do for love… I thought, and bolted across the lot after Nick.
