The car door opened, and Reagan stumbled in wearing a bathrobe, a pair of combat boots, and a sleepy expression. “This shit is for the birds,” she declared before sitting next to Max and glowering at Butch, who tossed her overnight bag into the car and climbed inside, slamming the door behind him.
“We’re going to be late,” Butch said as the limo took off.
“Six a.m. is never late,” Steve said, “unless you haven’t made it to bed yet. Which I haven’t.” His fingertips disappeared under his sunglasses to rub at both eyes.
“How am I supposed to get dressed in the car?” Reagan said, tilting her head at Butch and giving him a glare that would freeze molten lava.
“Figure it out,” he barked.
“I’ll help you,” Toni said. She scooted out from beneath Dare’s head to stumble to the other side of the moving limo.
Toni held Reagan’s robe like a makeshift curtain while Reagan tossed on clothes in the corner behind it. Once dressed, their sassy guitarist fixed an icy stare on Butch as she flopped into the seat, shoved her feet back into her boots, and jerked the laces tight.
None of this was Butch’s fault. He didn’t arrange their schedule. He was just in charge of making sure they stuck to it. Poor bastard.
At the TV station, they climbed out one at a time. Logan lingered so he could be with Toni for as long as possible. The limo was taking her to the arena so she could start her day and then would return to pick up the band after their television appearance.
He kissed her, his heart panging unpleasantly, as if he were saying goodbye to her forever instead of for a few hours. He much too attached to her, he decided. Much, much, much too attached.
“You be careful around all that heavy equipment,” he said, kissing her again.
“I will. Don’t worry about me.”
How could he not worry about her? She collected more bruises by walking across an empty room than he did wiping out on his dirt bike.
“Don’t be too charming on television,” she said. “I don’t want the whole world to covet what’s mine.”
He stumbled out of the car, her words tumbling around in his head like socks in a dryer. To covet what was hers? Did she really think he was hers? He’d have to set her straight when he had time. Still, even if she was mistaken, he wasn’t sure why her show of possessiveness made him happy. Such things weren’t supposed to make him happy. They were supposed to scare him away.
The limo drove off and he made sure it made it safely into the flow of traffic before jogging to catch up with the guys.
“I hope Kirk runs you all through the ringer after this,” Butch grumbled. “Fucking whiny little bitches.”
Ugh, they had to go to the gym today? After a trip to the store, Logan had hoped he could climb into his bunk and sleep until noon. Well, if he couldn’t find time to go to the store himself, he knew someone who could.
“Hey, Butch?” Logan touched Butch’s arm as he caught up with him.
“What?” he snapped.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Am I allowed to say no?”
It seemed his bandmates weren’t the only ones being fucking whiny little bitches this morning. “Toni keeps a diary and she needs a new one,” Logan said. “Do you think you could send someone out to buy her one?”
“It’s for Toni?”
Logan nodded.
Butch sighed and lifted his pen to write a note on his clipboard. “What kind?”
May 10
Dear New Journal,
Welcome to my world. You were a gift from Logan, so even though I’d decided I wasn’t going to bother keeping a diary anymore, I pretty much have to fill your pages, don’t I? He says the reason I lost my previous journal was because it wasn’t blue to match his eyes. So because you’re blue and will always remind me of him, he insists I’ll never lose you. The ego on that guy!
But he always makes me laugh. And I do love him. More than he’ll ever know. But maybe I shouldn’t write that here. He might read it.
I watched the stage being set up today, and everyone in the crew volunteered to wear Logan’s head camera to capture a first-person view of their job, so we sent some poor lackey out to buy five more. I haven’t had a chance to review that footage yet—I hope it turned out. I also set up my big video camera to record the stage being set up from the center of the arena. It’s really cool when watched on fast forward. It should definitely make it into the book.
I promised myself I wouldn’t write anything scandalous in this diary, in case I misplaced it, but holy hairy balls, Batman, this morning on the way to their television interview, the band was talking about going indie. While Max seemed completely against it, the rest of them didn’t think it was a bad idea. This kind of decision would change everything for them. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea, but I have faith that whatever they decide, they’ll be successful.
And Steve’s words got me wondering about my personal definition of success. The more I think about it, the more I keep changing my mind. So maybe success is an ever-moving target. Does that make sense? Once you’ve found success, then what? You find new success, right? A different kind of success or a higher level of success. I don’t know. I haven’t found success yet. I’ll let you know when I do.
Logan is making come-to-bed noises, so I have to go now. I hope my ramblings don’t bore you to tears.
Toni
May 11
Dear Journal,
It’s really late. Logan somehow talked me into going to the after-party with him tonight. I had more fun than I thought I would, mostly because Reagan wouldn’t let me sit down. And after she’d poured a few drinks down my throat, she got me dancing and I couldn’t stop. I’m sure I looked like an awkward fool, but it was fun. Until I got sick.
She held my hair while I threw up in the bathroom—what a great friend—and now my head hurts so bad I can’t sleep.
Would I do it again?
Sure!
The band had a mall appearance today. It was in a novelty shop, so they spent most of their time signing T-shirts. Apparently signing T-shirts is an art. Or a science. I’m not sure which. You’d think it would be easier to sign a shirt when it’s stretched out on a hard surface, but nope, it’s easier to sign them when they’re wadded up in a soft ball. Who knew?
The things I learn on this job.
Ugh, I swear this bus is riding on a roller coaster track tonight.
We’re on our way to New Orleans now, and we’ll be staying there on our day off. Reagan wants to go clothes shopping. I’d rather eat beignets and listen to jazz. Logan says he’ll bring me back during Mardi Gras. With tits like mine, I’ll be buried in beads.
And while that’s what he said, I bet he’d freak out if I actually flashed them. He has a fascination with my boobs. I’m not sure it’s healthy.
Tomorrow we’re going to work on the exclusive song for the book. Or at least they’re going to try to come up with something. Sam said it isn’t a contract breach, so yay! I’m really excited about it.
Ugh, being excited makes my stomach queasy.
Why is the floor spinning?
I’m never drinking again.
T
Twenty-Eight
Logan took a seat beside Steve’s bare feet on the sectional and waited for Toni to finish hooking up every piece of equipment she’d brought with her and even a few she’d borrowed. He knew she was tremendously excited to capture the band creating a song, but he knew from past experience that these things never, ever went well. He was positive she was going to end up disappointed. The only good thing about that was that she’d probably need him to console her. But he’d rather this session go well because he knew it meant a lot to her. He was determined to be on his best behavior.