playing on the stage. It should have filled me with pride. Instead I was wrapped up in my usual antsy energy. I wouldn't allow myself to feel happy with anything until the show went on without a hitch. Only then I could allow myself some joy.
In a great stretch of arms over her head, Lola pushed through the curtains and into the main bus aisle. I peered at her as she approached; she hadn't seen me yet.
Everything has to go perfectly. And if it does, she'll get everything she could ever want.
And I'll start to lose her even quicker.
She saw me, looking up like I was a ghost. Rubbing the corner of my nose, I turned away. It was a mistake to let Lola into the band. No, I admonished myself. She's perfect for the band.
The mistake was letting her close to me.
Lola's success would send her away from me like dandelion puffs on the wind. Unless I can get to her first. If I could curl my palm around her, then I'd catch her before she floated right into the arms of someone else.
Remembering her flash of distress when I'd cornered her yesterday sent rickets down my body. I'd been so close to kissing her. I'd only resisted when I'd heard her argument. She was worried about the band?
No, she's worried about herself.
I wished for a way to make her see that taking this risk, diving into the deep pit of desire and decadence with me, was worth it.
There might not be a way. The seat beneath me suffered my clawed fingers. I'll find one.
“Alright,” our driver shouted, “I'm pulling into the parking lot behind the Fillmore. Security should keep people out of the area, but it's pretty open, so just be aware.”
Being mobbed didn't scare me. Twisting, I found Lola watching me. In a ripple of black hair, she stared out the window again. I don't want the fans or media to scare her. The rational part of me knew she needed to see it, to handle it on her own. Welcome to being a rock star, I thought cynically.
Colt and Porter joined us as the bus parked. It was early enough that I didn't expect many people to be crowding the venue. Eagerly I climbed from the bus, inhaling the fresh air.
There were cars and tour buses all around; other bands and crew for the show tonight. Small carts owned by the Fillmore were parked in the lot, the scent of coffee and grease hitting me hard. Before I could follow after Porter and Colt to get something to eat, Brenda appeared to block us. “Hey! You're awake, good. I need to go over everything for tonight.”
“After.” Brushing by her, I stalked towards a muffin that had my name on it. “I need some breakfast.” Her hand grabbed my shoulder. For a second, I thought about shoving her aside. Instead, my feet paused on the cement. One eye looked her way. “Can I eat and talk? I'm pretty talented.”
Brenda jammed a paper bag in my face. “I took the liberty of grabbing you guys some donuts. Now, will you come with me?”
The rest of my band—including Lola—crowded in, eager for the food. Colt snuffled and snorted, pretending to be an animal. “Tell me what you want from me," he said. "I'm all ears. And mouth. Fuck, just give me a donut, please.”
Squeezing the bridge of my nose did little for my growing migraine. “Okay, okay. Lead on, Brenda.”
She took us through a backdoor of the Fillmore. Traversing a tight hallway, she guided us into an area plastered with 'staff only' signs. There were people running all over, some with clipboards, others with headsets that they spoke into softly.
The show wasn't until five, but everyone was getting prepared.
Once we were in a quieter room Brenda put the bag on a table. Porter and Colt ripped it open immediately. “Have a seat, guys," she said. "I've got details to give out and I need you all to listen.”
Reaching for a fat, glossy Boston cream, I settled into a swivel chair and kicked up my feet. The baked good was fucking delicious, sweet filling coating my tongue. I had it half finished before Lola picked up a simple glazed one for herself.
We ate while Brenda covered the table in paperwork, finger jabbing as she spoke. “I've put you all up in the Ramada tonight. Here are your keycards, room info, the whole lot.” Passing out the hard chunks of plastic,