at Lola's bag. “Could you carry up her luggage?” Amy's eyes followed my finger, excitement deflating. “She's tired from practicing all night on the bus. We've got a big show tonight, so I'd like to have her as rested as possible.”
Her uncertainty melded into disbelief, then it became recognition. In an act of blunt unprofessionalism, Amy whipped her phone out took a photo of Lola. “Oh my gosh! She's the new guitarist, isn't she?” Amy stared from Lola, to me, then back again. “You're Lola Cooper, the one replacing Johnny Muse! I'm so sorry—I should have noticed!”
Now Lola squirmed, shuffling her feet at the attention. “Oh, uh, it's fine. Don't worry about—”
“I saw all the photos last night,” Amy rambled, the flash on her phone blinding us a second time. “Everyone was talking about it, it was all over twitter and everything! I can't believe I'm meeting you before you play for the first time!” Her eyes bugged from her skull. “Can I get your autograph?”
It was hard not to laugh. Lola was gawking at me, mentally begging me for help. If you lose it here, you'll faint tonight, I thought in amusement. If I don't step in, she'll have a heart attack. But before I could explain that Lola couldn't sign anything without permission from our manager, the guitarist blurted out, “Sure, what would you like me to sign?”
“Here,” Amy gushed, handing over a pamphlet about the Fillmore. “Just sign this, it's that or an information packet for this hotel.”
My scheme to save Lola from embarrassment at the hands of a hotel receptionist crumbled under their mutual giggles. With a messy, unpracticed hand, Lola signed the paper. Amy held it high triumphantly. “This is so great!” Grinning at me, she offered it my way along with the pen. “Um, could you sign it too?”
Bending over the pamphlet, I studied Lola's name. It looked like swirling flowers on a breeze. Is this her first signature ever? It was certainly the first as a member of my band. Amy had a piece of gold here—I was about to make it even shinier.
Taking the pen, I signed my name with my usual sharp angles. The letters twisted near each other, not quite touching. It was fitting, when I thought about it.
Kissing the back of the paper, Amy did a full body shiver. “Oh my gosh. Thank you! Okay, let me get that bag up to your room.”
Reaching down, I pulled Lola's luggage from her unprepared fingers. “Actually, on second thought, I've got it. Thanks, though.”
“Oh.” Blinking, Amy tugged anxiously at the hem of her blouse. “Okay. Alright. Um, call down if you need anything. Anything at all, okay?”
My nod was faint. Hoisting everything with a soft grunt, I hurried towards the elevator. Lola said something softly to Amy, her sneakers clomping as she caught up to me. Ducking through, she set her guitar case on the floor while the doors closed behind us.
In the tiny box, mirrors flashing our images all around, she spoke over the repetitive elevator music. “Are you alright? You hurried out of there really quick.”
With my hands tied up in the bags, I could only shrug. “It's nothing, just thought you might want to get to your room and chill out before tonight.”
Messing with her hair, Lola squinted up at me. “It feels like something else is going on. What's wrong, Drez?”
Everything is wrong. I can't decide what I want from you, from this, and it's giving me a fucking ulcer. Normally I wanted to gaze on her sweet face and intoxicating eyes. Now, I regretted that no matter where I turned, her reflection waited for me in the elevator.
I asked, "What if something is wrong? In fact, I think you know what's on my mind.”
Her sigh cut into my ears. “Drezden, look. All of that stuff with us yesterday...”
Stuff. She calls it stuff, like it's so meaningless.
“...And the stuff from the night before that...”
My fingers choked the handles of the bags.
“It can't happen, we can't happen. I was serious when I said I won't risk this chance. I want to make a name for myself, being in this band is a once in a lifetime thing for me.” I saw her look at her feet in the mirrors. “Seeing that stage today, I just—I knew I had to stay firm, to focus. I'm sorry.”
Having her apologize to me was worse than being stabbed. My insides balled up, knotting until they overwhelmed my mind. She's right. Hooking up