I'd almost forgotten about those little quirks that made living on a bus the memorable experience that it was. The gentle rocking, the constant noise of the engine, the way everything that isn't nailed down manages to get shifted, banged up or lost at some point on another. How I couldn't get from one end to the other without banging a hip or an elbow or my head on something or someone.
It was a pleasant surprise, though, to realize, or remember maybe, that the bus was a lot less nausea-inducing when I was sober.
It was weird being on the road again. It hadn't been that long, really, but it all felt new again and instead of feeling like every move I made was something I'd done a hundred times before, it was like I didn't know what was going to come next. An exciting feeling, sure, but also a really fucking scary one. When everything was rote, I didn't have to think about it, didn't think about how people were looking at me, I just did it.
Though I suppose the argument could be made that I didn't just do everything rote, and if I had maybe I wouldn't have quite so much to atone for now.
Banishing that thought for the moment, I got myself something to drink from the kitchenette -- nothing stocked that I wanted; I was going to have to do something about that. Or get Lance to do something about that because I didn't really want to look demanding. Or better yet, get Gary to do something about it, since he had the authority to get anything for me he thought I needed.
Gary was on the bus, too, of course. Sitting at the back and watching a DVD. Which meant Chris wasn't in the back where he normally would have been, he was sitting at the little table and toying restlessly with his cell phone.
"Hey," I said, and slipped in across from him. Still a little tighter fit than I was used to, but whatever. "What's up?"
"I'm bored," he said, and rolled his eyes. Unsurprisingly. A Chris cooped up on a bus -- even at the best of times -- was a bored Chris. And this was not the best of times. "I thought you were sleeping."
"I was," I said, and yawned widely at the thought. "You know how easy I drop off on these things."
"Like a baby," said Chris, and without looking up he let go of the cell phone with one hand and reached across the table to take one of mine. "I was just gonna call Justin, he was just about bursting to talk about last night when we left earlier."
Justin and Britney had slipped away from our going away party early. I hoped they didn't think that no one had noticed, because if so they were in for a nasty shock. No one who mattered noticed, though, or rather, no one who didn't matter noticed, because those that mattered didn't care.
"He's not going to cry, is he?" I said, popping open the can of Sprite. "Does he still do that?"
"Of course he still does that," said Chris, finally looking up. "He's Justin. He hates missing people, it puts him in a funk. I'm just glad I'm not sharing a bus with him this time."
"Really?" I said, giving him a little kick under the table, a little love tap.
He sighed and took his hand back to punch at random numbers on the phone. It wasn't on. "No, not really," he said. "Only in the way that I'm glad to be sharing with you, and not having a dozen other people to trip over. Could stand to have three, though."
I smiled, even though he wasn't looking at me anymore. I could stand to have us all together, too, most of the time. Then some of the time I was glad to have the space to be inside my own head for a while, without the rest of them trying to reconnect with me.
That seemed a little bit awful, when I thought about it, not to want to spend the time getting close to them again. And I did want to spend the time, just not all my time. And that was a really hard thing to explain to anyone except Karen. And Gary. Or I assumed Gary, if I talked to him about that kind of thing much.
"You say that now," I teased him after a long pause. "But two days into the tour, the fifth time you tripped over Lance's laptop cord and walked in on JC jerking off and had to deal with Justin whining about something you'd be begging for a bus of your own."
"Don't know what you've got till it's gone," said Chris. It could have been more cliché -- he could have sung it -- but it was also at least a little bit true. "You think it's ever gonna be like that again?"
"I'm the wrong guy to ask," I admitted. "I dunno. Maybe. Except Justin isn't sixteen anymore and JC has Tate -- which, okay, is probably not going to make him cut down on his jerking off -- and Lance is... and I don't know Lance anymore."
"I hope it isn't," said Chris. "I hope it's all new."
And as soon as he said it, I realized that right now I really hoped that too.
The bus pulled into the stadium lot, but the doors didn't open. And not because there were screaming girls blocking it -- there were screaming girls, but they were behind a fence and venue security was watching over them since there wasn't an indoor lot safe for us to use. Chris and I already had our things ready, the things we wanted inside with us that weren't already there, but Gary held my arm for a moment.
"You remember what we talked about?" he said, as though I'd forget. It grated a little, that everyone seemed to think that the moment I got half a chance I'd do something to alienate the fanbase again, but I kept telling myself that there was no way they could know I wouldn't. There was no way I could know I wouldn't, except for sheer gut willpower.
"Yeah," I said, and resisted the urge to add another, impatient 'yeah' on the end of that. "I know. I'm just gonna stick by Chris's side and let the big guys carry us on through to the inside."
He wasn't frowning, exactly, but he wasn't smiling either. I didn't know what the expression meant, but he didn't say anything, just nodded a little at my extremely liberal paraphrase of our conversation and let go of my arm.
"Okay," said one of the members of our security team from the front of the bus. "We've got the all clear, let's go."
I straightened Chris's collar -- which he promptly made crooked again with a scowl that was really a grin -- and pulled on my cuffs and then we were heading out into the open, into the noise, and the whole touring experience was really real again.
"No autographs," said Chris in my ear, as though I was planning to stop. Well, maybe I was planning to stop, but only because I'd always stopped whenever I could and there was some deep instinct in me that didn't like that I wasn't even considering it. "Not this time."
Maybe at the next venue. Maybe when everyone on our management team was more sure of how I was going to react. Maybe when I was more sure of how I was going to react. I remembered those few girls, outside Karen's office, and this was a hundred times that. A thousand times that.
My stomach clenched hard and I grabbed Chris's sleeve and then security moved in tight around us, escorting us all the way though and into the building. I didn't even look anyone in the eye, and I felt terrible about it.
"Aw, shit," I murmured as bodies moved away from me again, as I let got of the long-sleeved T-shirt that I'd been busy stretching out of shape. "Sorry."
"For what?" said Chris. I looked up and he was shrugging. The kind of shrug, though, that people made when they were trying to pretend everything was okay. I'd been seeing a lot of those lately, enough to recognize one when I saw it.
"I probably looked like an ass," I said, running a hand through my hair. It felt sticky, over-made-up.
"You looked like we always do," Chris assured me. "Friendly but in a hurry. I saw you smile, there. It was fine."
I didn't remember smiling; it was probably reflex. I did think smile, though, because of all those girls -- mostly girls -- still screaming for us, and of everything I'd worried about, that was one of the things I'd worried about most. Not ruining my own life, but ruining everyone else's.
"Yeah, it was fine," I agreed finally. Maybe I didn't entirely agree, but I wanted to believe he was right. And it was easier to let it go, especially right now when we had bigger things to worry about. Like a little concert to put on, in front of a sold-out crowd. I know I smiled this time. "It's good to be back."
As if they were waiting for us to finish our little moment, as soon as I said that we were hustled further inside, along a concrete corridor until we were well within the boundaries of backstage and deemed to be safe. As far as I was concerned, as long as I knew where our dressing rooms were, that was all I needed at the moment. A place of distractions so I wouldn't think too hard about the pressures that were all around me, as much as ever.
Chris pressed his hand against my back, in a way that wouldn't look like anything to the people around us but felt like everything to me. Something steady, something warm. He steered us into the quiet room, and pushed me down onto a well-worn, soft leather couch. I half expected him to say "stay", and wag a finger at me, but he just sat down next to me and stretched his legs out next to mine.
"I have no idea how you tall fuckers stand it on the bus," he said, stretching his arms out over his head and almost knocking over a lamp.
"A few inches doesn't make much of a difference," I told him. Not anymore, anyway, not since were weren't all packed in shoulder-to-shoulder on one bus, us and our people and anyone else who was invited aboard. Chris stared at me and slowly raised his eyebrows, and I realized what I'd said. "Shut up," I said, and give him a grin that felt -- and so, must have looked -- so much more relaxed than anything else had in hours.
"Well, as long as we have this free time before soundcheck I'm--"
"--not that much free time--"
"--going to--"
"--sit here and fool around with me?"
I chuckled and shook my head, not that I didn't give the idea some thought. "Make a couple calls." Chris rolled his eyes, but he could wait and he knew it. "Be here when I get back?"
"Don't be long," said Chris, and I didn't plan to be.
There was no alcohol in our backstage rooms at all, which wasn't a surprise, of course, but then it was in a way, too. Because everything else about the tour seemed exactly the same as when I'd left it a few months ago. Except me. Except us.
An arm reached past me and picked up a can of Coke out of the cooler and dangled it over my shoulder until I took it. Not Chris's arm.
"I know it's not iced tea," said Gary, "but the stuff in the cans is rank anyway. How are you doing?"
I cracked open the can before answering. "Good, good, you know, hanging in there. Waiting for Justin to finish fucking with his hair." I took a long sip before holding the can out and staring at it for a moment. "You know, I really shouldn't be drinking soda before a soundcheck. Just my luck, I'll let out a ripper in front of the mic and it'll be the belch that ate the world."
Gary just chuckled, though it was at least half true. Well, partly. Only not so much with the eating of the world and more with the mockery by friends and crew.
"I had a really great time at your party last night," he said finally, when I half-turned to look at him. "My daughter loved it."
"Your daughter was an absolute doll," I assured him. The party had been pretty low-key for a kick-off-the-tour party -- the dryness of it, which I hadn't insisted on but of course others had, had kept away the hardcore partygoers and it was mostly people we wanted to see. Which meant it was reasonably kid-friendly, and so I got to spend time with Gary's girl.
She was a doll, except for the part where she smushed cheese into the carpet, but even then. Even then it was a little bit heartbreaking and wonderful to spend some time with her. Gary was an awfully good dad, it seemed like. Probably why he was so good at keeping me in line.
Though it was Chris, and not me, who was more likely to be the cheese smusher.
"My daughter," said Gary, "pestered you for hours. But on the way home she couldn't stop talking about you guys. You made her whole year, I think."
"Nah," I said, dismissing that notion though smiling at it anyway, because making some kid happy was always a pretty good feeling. And even more when it was someone you were going to be seeing again, probably. After the tour. "She was sweet, don't worry. And little kids have short memories."
"Yeah," scoffed Gary. "Next time I talk to her and she reminds me again about the time I accidentally ran over her bike two years ago? I'm reminding you you said that."
"You ran over her bike?"
"It could happen to anyone," said Gary, reaching past me to grab his own drink from the ample supply. "Those little pink bikes are so... little. And hard to see in the rearview mirror. But we weren't talking about me."
I grinned at him. "We are now," I said, raising my can of Coke at him, cheers-like. "There's not much to say about me right now anyway. Just wait and see, wait and see, waiting for all this stuff to happen."
"Well, I'll be right here if you need anything."
"I know," I told him. "You always are."
Someone cleared their throat nearby, and I didn't have to look to know it was Chris. Who'd probably been hiding behind a clothing rack or something, watching me and Gary talk.
"No, no," he said when we both looked at him. "No need to stop gossiping on my account. Just pretend I'm not even here."
It was an impossible thing to pretend Chris wasn't there, even when he wasn't worming his way between us, then reaching into the cooler for his own drink. If I hadn't seem him get one not five minutes before we started talking, I might've even believed that he needed one.
"Joey says you're not supposed to drink soda before soundcheck," said Gary, and even if I knew he was joking I wasn't sure that Chris did. But Chris just snorted and grabbed himself a Coke.
"Joey says a lot of things," he said, worming his way back through. "I only pay attention to the important ones. Now carry on talking about me, I'll be out of earshot again in a few seconds.
"We weren't--" I started to tell him, then thought better of it. Chris would probably be happier if he thought we were talking about him, anyway. As opposed to talking about anything else.
JC had his arm wrapped around my shoulders, head almost against mine, all but singing in my ear as we warmed up, verified all the equipment and settings. Two minutes ago he'd been trying to ride around on Justin's back, and five minutes before that he'd been bouncing around the perimeter of the stage.
It was a sure sign we were back all right.
The crew was still putting the finishing touches on the stage, fixing some lights, making sure a couple of props were in working order, and every so often they would stop to listen to us. You'd think they hadn't heard the entire show countless times before, all of them except the local crew, and none of them usually fans in the first place.
There was something about the five of us together again, though, I could feel it now in a different way than I could in rehearsals. It was coming together, it had to, it would tonight when they crowds were in and the lights were on and the sound was blasting and the game was on.
"All right," someone called up to us. "We're good, you boys can go get ready." I pulled the in-ear out and handed the microphone off and Chris was tossing me a bottle of water. No, not Chris, Justin was tossing it, but then he was turning away to get his own equipment taken care of and Chris was the one walking towards me.
"You wanna go somewhere private?" he asked when he was close enough to almost whisper. I took a big slug of the water and nodded my head, and let him lead the way off stage. I had an idea what Chris had in mind for some private time, and even though I would've been just as happy to find a quiet place to just sit, I didn't think I'd mind.
"Heading off with Chris for a bit," I told Gary as we passed him, and he got it, his eyes even twinkling a bit as he nodded his acknowledgement. Acknowledgement or permission, I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to know.
"Watch out for cameras," was all he said, but we all knew enough to know that. We'd all known it for years, even if I'd forgotten for a long time to care what people were watching and thinking.
"Where to?" I asked Chris. "Quiet room?"
He shook his head. "Lance is already in there," he said, "and I don't want an audience, especially not one that's going to feel the need to comment." I opened my mouth to protest, but Chris pressed his finger to it. "And you know they all would, you know it."
It wouldn't necessarily be bad commenting, but I had to admit he was right about that. They'd all have something to say. Or in the case of JC, have some advice, if he wasn't locked in the bathroom having phone sex with his boyfriend.
"Where then?" I asked him. "I don't know this place."
"We've been here before," he said, making his way confidently through the backstage area. "You just don't remember. Over here, there's this little cubby..."
And so there was, a nook in the wall bigger than a cubby really, big enough to hold something like a vending machine or two, except that it was empty. "They never developed this area," he said as he tugged me gently inside. "It's unused." A cobweb in one corner and the scuff marks our sneakers left in the dust on the floor backed up the statement. But it was definitely private.
"You doing good?" he asked me seriously as he leaned up against the wall and I leaned up against him, face to face. I didn't think he'd led me all the way out here -- unfollowed, as far as I could tell -- to ask me that.
"As much as I can," I told him. "Meet and greet in half an hour, though."
"I know," he said, and reached up and touched the center of my chest for a moment. It was a strange gesture, but an intimate one all the same. "You'll do good. And we'll all be there to, you know."
"Take the focus off?"
"Something like that," said Chris, then broke into a smile. "You know, they might actually still be interested in the rest of us, too?"
"You think?" I said, trying to act lighter than I felt. And then didn't have to act so much anymore when Chris fisted my T-shirt and pulled me closer and kissed me. We hadn't done this so much yet that I was jaded about the feel of him pressed against me, the feel of his lips that was both softer and harder than I'd imagined it would be, in the time when I was still imagining it.
"It's possible," he said, what felt like ten minutes later when we finally paused. "That Timberlake kid, at least, could give you a run for your money. They seem to like him, God knows why."
"Kid's ugly as sin," I joked, and thought of how Justin, in the time I'd been gone, seemed to have crossed the threshold from boy into man. Even if he still had a kid's sensibility, about some things. "Who'd ever want to look at him?"
"Beats me," joked Chris, and kissed me again before I started in on Lance, who was also on the cusp of outgrowing adolescent awkwardness. Well past it, in ways that were beneath how he looked on the outside.
We only had a few minutes before we had to go get ready to meet the fans, get dressed and made up and put into the mindset of knowing that these people who showed up to meet us were the most important people we'd ever meet. You had to "know" that, or the fans would eat you alive.
And so for those few minutes, I let Chris help me forget what was yet to come before the day was over.
"Omigod, omigod!"
If I'd had a daughter, she probably would have grown up to be this girl, bright eyes and chubby cheeks and dark hair that fell to her shoulders in waves that would never quite be curls. She was me at thirteen years old, only definitely not a boy, as the bra strap deliberately showing under her off-the-shoulder shirt would attest to.
My daughter would definitely not have been allowed to dress like that. A thirteen-year-old trying to look sexy was just... wrong.
"Hi," I said, and gave her the biggest smile I could. Because when I was thirteen, I was always trying to be noticed, too. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Tara," she said breathlessly. "Only... only... "
"Yeah?" I said, looking up again before writing out the autograph. The smiling again. "Breathe, honey," I encouraged her.
She was obviously trying. "Tara," she said again, "only with an h. At the end. T-A-R-A-H."
"Tarah," I repeated, solemnly but still smiling. "Got it. How are you doing today, Tarah?"
"Omigod," she said again, and the friend next to her clutching her hand let out a squeak. Then she cleared he throat, like she was remembering how grown up she was trying to be, and said, "I'm doing great. How are you?"
"It's a great day to be back on tour," I told her, handing her the autograph with a wink. And then hoped the wink didn't look anything but friendly because, no. "And it's great to see all of you again."
"Do you remember, last year, when we were at your second show?" her friend cut in, ready to take her turn in the spotlight. "Do you remember how you guys did that big thing at the end and it was so cool?"
"Sure do," I told her, and tried to remember what the heck she was talking about. The encore, maybe? We did the same one in every city, but... "I'm glad you guys liked it, we worked real hard on making it special."
"I'm Tanya," she said, thrusting her own picture at me like she was afraid she'd lose her nerve. "T-A-N-I-A." What was with parents giving their kids names with weird spellings, anyway? There were still going to be three Jennifers in every class, whether they were spelled with one "n" or two. Or not Jennifer anymore, I supposed. What was the overkill name now? Brittany, maybe? Or, well, bad example.
"That's a great shirt, Tania," I told her, while Tarah gave her friend -- and possibly me, too -- a dirty look. "Is that new?"
"Omigod!" she said again as I handed the picture back. "It'stoallynewIgotitforthisshow!"
"That's great," I said again, and looked over her head and tried to see how many people more there were to go. So many people, for what was billed as an exclusive gathering. People filling the whole room and spilling out again, and I couldn't tell who I'd talked to already and who I hadn't in the sea of glitter and skin.
So many people, expecting so much, and I didn't know how much I had in me to give, how I could live up to that massive expectation. But then Chris was on my right and JC was on my left and they weren't going to let me stumble this time. And we would get through this one and the next and the next until they felt natural and easy again.
I gave the two girls another smile, an automatic smile, as they were pushed along and the next girl was pushed up in front of me.
"Hi," I said to her. "What's your name?"
Part of me wanted to pretend that Justin wasn't looking so sad, standing leaning against the wall and looking at the cell phone in his hand, the one that he'd just finished a call on. But another part of me immediately started yelling that was selfish, and I couldn't spend the rest of my life wrapped up in my own problems, no matter how much everyone else wanted to talk about that and only that.
"Hey," I said, leaning up against the wall next to him.
"Hey," he replied. For a moment I didn't think he was going to say anything else to me, until he turned his head. "What's up?"
"With me?" I said. "I just..." I gestured at the phone with a wave of my hand. "How are you doing?"
"You came over because you saw me on the phone?" he clarified, like he couldn't quite understand what I was saying.
"No," I said, and huffed out a little sigh of frustration. This wasn't supposed to be complicated. "You just looked... not excited to be here right now. You okay?"
He still looked a little confused, but he was nodding his head slowly, then shaking it, all the while looking me in the eye. "It's nothing," he said, and stuffed the cell phone out of sight again. "Just talking to my girl. She's back on the road, too."
"Yeah," I said, a little unsettled by the way he was looking at me like I was from Mars or something. "You don't have to talk about it or anything. You just looked like you wanted to."
"You don't need to be worrying about it," he said quickly. "You know how it is, leaving someone behind."
I kind of didn't, since Daisy didn't have anything better to do than follow me around the country, and now Chris... well, Chris was always going to be here. But I didn't have to have felt it acutely to know that Justin was. And I wanted to be worrying about it.
"Chris said you guys were gonna talk," I said finally. "If you don't want to talk to me, he's always good."
"Nah," said Justin, finally looking away and down at his new shoes, shaking his head. "What with him and Dani splitting up, seems kinda wrong to be moping about my girl to him, you know?"
I hadn't actually thought about that. Maybe because me and Chris were meandChris, and because he just didn't talk about her with me much now, not since they'd broken up, and he and I had started what we had. I knew he thought about her, though, and this morning I'd overheard him talking to his mom about it. Dani'd been pretty conspicuously absent from the party; it was impossible for anyone who loved him to ignore.
I'd come over here to cheer Justin up, though, not to bring us both down. "Since when have you ever worried about tact?" I said, giving him a crooked smile and a nudge with my shoulder. "Won't be long before we're done this tour. It'll just fly by."
"You think?" he said.
I didn't, but saying that, right now, was more important than telling him how I really felt about it. Because that was my baggage, and right now we were dealing with someone else's.
"Yeah," I said. "We're setting out feeling like we're starting out a whole tour, and it's just make-up dates. Right when we're usually heading for the laggy middle, it'll be over."
"Yeah," he said slowly, brightening up a little. "Yeah, that's true. I just, you know, love her. It's hard to be away."
"That's what that's for," I said, pointing at the phone in his pocket. "You've got a good one, Justin. You guys can handle the time apart."
"Yeah," he said again. "Yeah, we'll be good. Thanks, Joe."
I actually felt like I'd helped someone else out, and not just been present, and it was a pretty heady feeling. I gave Justin another little nudge and we stood there in silence, but for once we didn't really need to say anything else.
The costume was actually just a little bit big on me, which was, in a way, nice to realize. Not so loose it would have been noticeable to anyone else, but I remembered what it had felt like when I'd been refitted for the make-up tour a week or so ago, and it wasn't quite this.
"Hey," said Lance, fussing with his costume as he made his way over to me. "Hey, Joey. How's it feel?"
"About the same as it feels like for you," I said, tugging on the clothing to make sure the fit wasn't just a figment of my imagination. "I would think. Mostly. More or less."
"Probably," he said, and looked as relaxed as I'd seen him in ages. And Lance, before a show, was not really the type to be relaxed. More the type to be running through the steps in his head over and over and over. Maybe he'd just gotten a little less obvious about it. "I printed off some of the pictures from last night. From the party?"
Lance -- maybe just to have something in his hands that wasn't a drink -- had spent most of last night's party wielding a camera and taking the pictures that, well. That my family would usually have been the ones taking. Except when Chris had taken off with the camera and taken a bunch of shots of... I had no idea what, actually. Possibly the furniture, or me.
"They turn out good?" I asked him. Sure it wasn't a real exciting party, but then that hadn't seemed to matter much.
"About what you'd expect," he said with a slight shrug. "Nice to see everyone so..." He waved his hand vaguely, unable to come of with the word. And I couldn't help him. "You want copies?"
"Of course," I said. Thousands of pictures of us, thousands of videos, and sometimes it was just never enough. As any kids I might have, someday, would one day find out.
"Good, okay," he said, and it seemed like that was all he had to say, but the conversation had felt like more. Felt like, "Hey, I'm doing good, you're doing good, this is good." Which was maybe what we needed to say to each other most.
"Chris, God, grow up." Justin shrieked, and the two of them went flying by in a blur, right out of the room and up the hallway.
"Isn't it nice how something things never change?" said JC from behind me. It was a relief, when I turned around, to see he was at least no longer jumping up and down in place. His level of energy was just unnatural.
"Some things, yeah," I had to admit, as another girly Justin shriek echoed back to us. "You ready?"
"You know I am," he said, radiating the kind of joy he always did right before he got to go on stage. I couldn't imagine there was ever a time in his life he didn't know he wanted this. "Hey, I didn't get a chance to tell you last night, what with, you know--"
"The party?"
"Right," he said. "Me and Tate took my parents to dinner. Before."
"You and Tate?" I confirmed. "Really?"
His grin was so broad his eyes squished up. "Yeah. It wasn't like they were really surprised or anything. But yeah. I figure the really, really, really nice dinner probably helped ease the news."
"They liked him, huh?" I said, like it wasn't obvious from his expression.
"Yeah, they liked him. He liked them. It was all good," he said, nodding a little kid's exaggerated nod. "Say, they, uh, they told me, they might've mentioned that, uh, your parents have been writing to you?"
Of all the things I could've imagined he'd say... "They... yeah," I said, trying not to seem as flustered by the question as I felt. "A couple times. I didn't realize they'd told anyone."
"Well, you know how your parents still talk to my parents..." said JC, the grin gone from his face. "Maybe I shouldn't have brought this up before the show..."
"No, no, it's fine," I said quickly. "I just didn't know that anyone knew. It's not like it's not a good thing or something. I just..."
"Chris doesn't know," said JC, obviously drawing that conclusion from my hesitance.
"I haven't told anyone," I said, stressing the anyone. Not Gary, not Karen, not Chris, not anyone else either. "I've been kinda sitting on them. Haven't decided what to do yet."
"You haven't written back?"
"Started to," I said. The half-page of letter was in the back pouch of one of my suitcases, waiting for me to go back to it when I felt ready. "Not sure what to say yet or how to say it."
"I know I don't know what went on between you guys--"
"No one does except me and them, really."
"--but I can't imagine they wouldn't want to hear from you. No matter how bad it was."
"No, I know," I said. It was true, I never had to doubt that my parents loved me, and would love me no matter what. But that didn't mean we could suddenly forget everything that had happened. It was going to take a long time.
"Well," he said finally when I didn't go on. "At least things are happening. In the right direction. I think."
"They are," I told him. The letter wasn't going to get written any quicker, knowing that, but it helped. It helped that they'd written, that I'd gotten a signal that they were ready to hear what I had to say. "And you know. It's just something we've got to deal with. But hey, really, it's great about your parents and Tate. Are you guys going to spend time with them after the tour?"
"Oh, probably, knowing them," said JC, following smoothly along with the change of subject. "Tate's already making noises about me not being around as much now and my parents... well, they'll never pass up a chance to spend time together."
"Nice," I said, and smiled at him and meant it.
"Five minutes," someone called, could've been any one of a dozen people, and that was our cue that this was it, preparations were over and the show was on.
The glow coming off me wasn't just sweat -- though I had to admit that was at least part of it. No, the glow was from standing on a stage and listening to thousands of people cheering for us at the end of the show, seeing signs popping up all over the audience. From knowing that they were all still out there, that I hadn't ruined anything.
I glowed and glowed until the lights went down and we were off the stage and the panic started to set in. Because sure I'd gotten through this one, but there were more after this, more things I would have to handle, and instinct could only do so much. I had to remember how to cope.
"You were amazing," Chris said in my ear, as though he could read my thoughts. But then, I was probably broadcasting with body language all over the backstage area. Or maybe he'd just guessed, how it would be for me after. "You also smell. Let's go shower."
I sniffed the air but there were so many smells backstage I couldn't tell the difference. But then, Chris's face was practically in my armpit as he pressed his forehead against my shoulder, and I couldn't imagine that was a real fun place to be right about now.
"I need some air," I told him, but there was nowhere to go to get some air until the area had cleared out, not really. Maybe against some wall beside a dumpster somewhere out back, but even then I would bet that there were people staking it out. People everywhere, and I couldn't let go of the smile.
"There's air in the shower," he said, tugging me along, not leaving my side. "Then we'll get away from here, we'll find someplace to be."
The other guys were ahead of us, already stripping off pieces of clothing and toweling off as much as they could before we even got back to the dressing rooms again. It was nothing to walk through here with just your boxer-briefs left clinging to your body.
I didn't take anything off until we were in the dressing room, until I had to get it off to get into the shower, since wardrobe would have my ass if I stepped into the shower fully clothed. Actually, they could have my ass, fine with me, but they'd be after my head, too, and that I didn't care to lose.
Chris was still right behind me, even here, and I undressed slowly even though he'd seen everything before, up close and personal.
"Joey, you're shaking," he said, laying his hands on both my forearms, stopping me from removing anything else. I hadn't noticed until he touched me like that, until I could see his hands bouncing a little as he held me.
"Oh," I said stupidly as I watched. "I... I don't know why I'm shaking."
"Stress," he said succinctly after a moment. It seemed like a logical conclusion. It seemed like the only one either of us wanted to come up with. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I said, and watched my arms shake some more. "Shit. I don't know. Maybe I'm still just all hyped up from the show."
"You didn't used to do this," he said.
"I didn't used to come off stage sober."
His lips tightened and he looked almost angry for a moment, then shook his head. "You weren't like this before that, either," he insisted. "You look terrified."
"Aw, come on, Chris," I said, pulling my arms away and letting them fall at my sides. "The more you look at me like that the worse it gets. It's just... it's probably exhaustion. I'm not back in shape yet, not quite."
He looked away but he didn't shake his head this time. I was making sense, I know I was. "Chris," I said, and reached out for him this time, and even shook him a little to get his attention. "Chris, come on, I'm doing good, I swear. I've almost got this thing licked, I'm just, you know, tying up some loose ends here."
Neither of us missed that my hand shook as I held him, but neither of us mentioned it either.
"Let me just shower," I went on, "and then I really, really need some air."
"You need some air because you're so, you know, exhausted?" he said dryly, his eyes dropping again. But he reached for my belt to help me get the rest of the costume off, and he didn't say any more about it.
"You don't have to do this, Joey," Justin said, but he was wrong. I did have to do this, and unlike our little adventure to the club before the tour started, it was the right decision to make. Chris at my side, as always, and Gary at my back, and I was expected to show up at the afterparty, at least for a while. It would be a total cop-out if I didn't.
"I'll be fine," I told him, and smiled, and flashes were going off around us, all sides except at the front, where someone was reaching for the VIP door to let us all in. "I got all you with me."
"You had all us with you last time," said Justin. "Didn't make a difference then."
I stopped dead and turned to stare at him. "Last time I was fine, too," I reminded him. "It wasn't real smart of me to go, but I was fine. It was other people who had a problem with it. And that's not gonna happen here."
He shrank back a little from the force of my voice, but not a lot. "Okay," he said, nodding slightly. "If you're sure of that then it's all good."
"You can just go and have a good time, Justin," I tried to convince him. "You don't need to be worrying about me all night."
He probably would anyway, because that was what Justin did now, and I wouldn't be surprised if he hovered nearby the whole time I was there. But I'd done what I could, and anything more, any more pushing, would've been going to far with someone like Justin. Someone who wanted to -- maybe needed to -- believe he was in control.
Lance had a drink in his hand -- I was sure; I couldn't prove it -- almost as soon as we got inside, and I was glad for it in a way. That as much as I loved people being there for me, it was nice to have people just treat me as normal as they could. Chris didn't look happy about it, but then Chris didn't have to be. That was between Chris and Lance and I wouldn't let them make it about me, if I could at all help it.
"So this is what you guys do every night, huh?" said Gary, sounding a little bit concerned and a little bit awed. Couldn't have expected more of an honest reaction than that. And Gary was nothing if not honest with me.
"After a show, yeah," Chris answered him, bypassing me entirely. "Not that we have to." And that particular look was definitely meant for me, even though it wasn't -- quite -- in my direction.
"But you should," said Gary, reading between the lines.
"Probably, yeah," Chris conceded. "Especially on the first date of the tour. Especially when you haven't been making a lot of public appearances lately. Or... any, pretty much."
"I think my face's been in public more than enough lately," I argued, at least partly to get my own voice in there, remind them that I had a say in things. Even if I could be overruled.
"Yeah, but not looking so fine," said Chris, patting my face, making it look like a swat and feel like a caress. "We don't have to stay long."
"Maybe I want to stay."
"Maybe you shouldn't."
"Maybe," interrupted Gary smoothly, "we should find someplace to sit down."
I didn't remember the venue as well as I might have, but I remembered this place. I'd probably been here more often, and longer. And I bet we wouldn't have come within a mile of it for the afterparty if anyone had known that. I hoped no one was going to dig up any long-forgotten photographs and make some suggestions to the press that I was back in my old haunts again.
"Over there," I said finally, the opposite side of the VIP bar, around the corner, where it was hard to be seen and therefore -- at this kind of event, and at this time of night -- less popular. I hadn't spent a whole lot of time in there, before. Not with Daisy latched to my arm and looking for some action.
For the first time all day, felt like, I was in the lead and someone was following me. Even if it was just across the bar to an empty table by the wall that nobody wanted because the light above had lost its shade and was glaring blinding down, reflecting off the lacquered surface of the table.
"This'll do," said Chris, sliding past me -- rubbing up against my back -- to claim a seat. It was loud, music and voices and footsteps and clinking glasses everywhere. It wasn't the loud that was putting my nerves on edge, though, as much as the smells -- stale smoke and spilled beer and heat.
No one said anything for a few moments after we sat down, until Chris pressed his hand down overtop of mine, flat on the table.
"You're shaking again," he said, just loud enough to heard. I nodded and after a couple more breaths he took his hand away again. I could feel the trembling, but it wasn't visible.
Gary cleared his throat. "I'm getting a coffee," he said, pushing his chair back and looking at Chris for a moment. If Gary wasn't going to be right there to watch over me here, I supposed someone had to take over. "Want anything?"
"They serve coffee in these places?" I said, giving him a shaky smile. He smiled back, but it looked as forced as mine felt. This wasn't going to be fun for anyone. "Nah," I added after a moment. "I don't want a glass in front of me."
It may not have been fun, but at least it became more comfortable as the time crept past. I had to look cheerful, but at least no one seemed to be expecting me to mingle beyond my little corner of the world, where people kept coming to greet me. I was fine, just fine, kept telling everyone I was fine, until my past decided to catch up with me.
"Joe," said Gary, raising his coffee cup at something behind me, "you've got another fan." I already recognized the voice behind me, though. Part of me had known something like this was coming from the moment we'd stepped inside this club.
"Joooeeeey!" he crowed, pulling up a chair and clapping me on the back. "I knew you'd be back, man! Long time no see!" He drained his drink and put his cup down on the edge of the table. It promptly slipped off and onto the floor but he didn't seem to notice.
"I've been away for a while," I said, and squeezed Chris's leg hard when it sounded like he was going to say something. This was mine to handle. And if I got in over my head, well, Gary was right there, silent for now but clearly just waiting for the right moment.
"Yeah, yeah, I heard you got locked up for a while," he said, making a face. What he maybe thought looked sympathetic. "Tough luck, man. Nice to see you on the outside again."
"Nice to be here," I said warily. Another time and place I maybe would've gotten into it with him, said something about where I'd been and what I'd been doing, but not here and not now. "Good to see you again, Cal."
"Hey, where's that skinny chick you was always with?" he went on, peering at the table as though he could've somehow missed her. Though knowing him -- not really knowing him, but knowing me when I was him -- it was possible.
"We're not together anymore," I said, and squeezed Chris's leg again.
"Damn," he said. If his glass hadn't already been on the floor, he would've knocked it off with that sweep of his arm. "She was hot. Hey, you don't have a drink. You want me to get you a drink? I can get you a drink." He was halfway swiveled around to gesture for someone when Gary stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.
I didn't want Gary to stop him. I didn't want anyone to stop him.
"I need to get out of here," I said, pushing away from my table abruptly enough to almost knock my chair over. "We have an early start tomorrow."
"Are you for real?" said Cal, shaking his head. "What's up with that?"
I didn't even meet his eyes, just stepped away from the chair, eyes trained at the door, and both Chris and Gary were at my sides. No one else seemed to be looking, but I couldn't tell if they hadn't noticed, or they were just deliberately not-looking to save themselves from actually having to say anything about it. Either way, worked for me.
"Back to the hotel?" said Chris, but he already knew the answer to that. Everyone did.
"Joey, just sit down!" said Chris, for what was, I think, the third time. "Your pacing is driving me nuts." And someone else's pacing driving Chris nuts was something special.
"I overreacted," I said, though, with a heavy sigh. Also for probably the third time. Or the tenth. "I should've been able to handle that."
"First day of the tour, and you think you should've been able to handle that?" he repeated back at me, like the idea was inconceivable. "Joey, come on. I know you wanted to go, but..."
"Had to go," I corrected him. It was only optional in the strictly technical sense, no matter how many people suggested it might be better to stay behind. "And left when I had to."
As I sat down on the edge of the bed, Chris was the one who started pacing back and forth across the suite, gesturing at some invisible companion as he played out a conversation in his head. "Okay," he said finally. "Okay, well, it's done, and you did good. You did great today."
Great only compared on what was expected of me, though, I think. Which was an entirely different thing than actually doing a great job. "I'll get my shit together," I promised him, and hid a trembling hand behind my back. "I just need to get a few more things worked out, need to sort my stuff out with Daisy."
"Shit, Joey," he blurted out. "I really wish you'd stop saying that."
"Why? Don't you want things to be good with us? You and me, I mean. Especially now that we're...?"
"Things are good," he said, whirling around to face me, and walking the few paces back over to the bed so he was just a couple inches from being pressed up against my knees. "And there's nobody here saying they aren't. I know everyone's got an opinion on what's going on and I know maybe sometimes I haven't always said or done the right thing here, but I think you're doing amazing. Don't push so hard you forget how far you've already come."
It wasn't so much that I was atop some kind of pinnacle of achievement, I'd just sunk so low it was a long climb back up just to average again.
Sometimes it really didn't pay to see the big picture, or imagine it, anyway. I knew where I was yesterday and I knew where I was at today, more or less, and I was still sober and working and I had some pretty amazing friends. And maybe that was good.
"Sorry," I mumbled, running a hand over my face as the exhaustion really started to hit. "I'm overtired. I think I just need some sleep. I'm really glad... I know it probably looks funny and might make people talk, but I'm glad we're sharing a room after all."
"Joey, believe me," said Chris, shaking his head. I think it was amusement, but he was looking down and I couldn't say for sure. "There are about twenty reasons on the list of 'things Chris would be doing sharing a room with Joey' before people would even start to get to what we really might be doing. Or would be doing if you weren't about ready to collapse, and me on top of you."
That, at least, was probably entirely true. "I don't even have the energy to get back up and brush my teeth. I'm going to have skank breath in the morning."
"Don't care," said Chris, finally flopping onto the bed next to me. "You're just way emotional right now, Joey. It's messing with you. We'll both be happier after some sleep."
I wasn't sure I was at all thrilled about being called 'way emotional', but I couldn't say it was entirely untrue either so I didn't argue. I knew what I needed to do anyway, and there was no way I was doing it until morning, or afternoon, or two days from now, or whenever I managed to find some time.
"You gonna write about this in your journal thing?" Chris said, grunting a little as he sprawled. "Talk about it with someone?"
"Prob'ly," I mumbled. "T'morrow."
I rolled onto my side and gave Chris a quick kiss, and tried to come up with some way of getting into bed that didn't really involve moving. And everything else could sort itself out later.