July 2001
West Leg of the Tour
The rest of the summer passed in a blur; it didn’t feel as though we had twenty-four hours in a day at all. Between early-morning workouts before the buses set off for the next spot, a cat-nap on a bunk before the night’s performance, and exhausted showers before crashing and doing it all over again on five hours of sleep, the days and nights lost their defined edges.
At least we got into a groove with our performances, gaining a better sense of banter with the audience between songs and hyping them up for more energy. Actually, the shows were the easiest and best part about being on the road. We devoured the crowd’s cheers, but after reaching number 1, getting to and from the shows was the worst. Security now followed us everywhere, and overzealous fans tried their best to jump lines or break through cordons. Merry had had a close call with a male fan who had gotten too close after slipping through two bodyguards. And now Peter could forward us only the good fan mail. The rest he left in the care of Big Disc.
We finished our long road trip the same week that classes at Pomona began. The university opened its residence halls, and students, including Alex, started their migratory trek back. He left our tour group early to move, and he left me a voice mail giving me his hall information and the phone number to his dorm room. Physically, Alex and I hadn’t gone any further than what happened in Cincinnati, and I was too exhausted to give it any more thought.
After our penultimate show opening for Illuminated Eyes, Yumi spent most of her time subdued on the bus, upset about the excessive signs that called her Tasty. Merry had chosen to ride with the main band, and the three of us sat in the diner section of the bus with Veronica, our sound tech, who was eating a pint of Ben and Jerry’s with a spork.
Rose clapped her hands in irritation. “You know what, screw this!” she snapped. “Yumi, I’m tired of you moping around.”
Yumi glanced up with a sharp look.
“Yes, it sucks that they’ve made you into the geisha of the group. But look at all of us! We’re all sexualized in some stupid way.” Rose pointed at me. “The vixen.” At herself. “The naïve virgin.” At the front of the bus, ostensibly where Merry would be. “And, you know what they did to Merry. We’re more than that, and we all know you are more than that. But do you see me sulking? Do you see Cassidy wandering around going poor me, poor me?”
I spoke up—the first time in a long while that I addressed Rose. “That’s not fair. It’s different.”
“How’s it different? We’re all characters, aren’t we? So hers is Asian.” She swiveled to Yumi. “You are Asian, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Veronica hastily stuffed the spork into her ice cream and left the section, presumably to avoid the awkwardness. I watched her go, wishing I could do the same, but I didn’t want to leave Yumi alone with Rose. I explained, “It’s different because being a vixen is like a desirable thing. But they’re treating Yumi like she’s some sort of ornament.”
“It’s racist,” Yumi stated simply, eyebrows furrowed.
“Welcome to the world,” Rose told her, getting up to grab a Diet Coke from the mini fridge. She popped the top and licked the foam off her hand.
“Do you always have to do that? It’s so gross,” Yumi snapped.
“Do what?”
“Slurp soda off your hand like a dog. Can’t you open your soda cans like a person?”
Rose took a giant sip and ignored that. “Listen, we’re all being objectified. Yours is a little shittier than most. But if you let it bother you, you’re not going to get any enjoyment out of life. Look at Merry. They’re out there talking about her nipples and she lets it roll off her back. Just . . . lean into it!” She snapped the fingers of her free hand. “I bet if we changed your outlook, you’d love the nickname in like two months.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” Yumi huffed, arms folded defiantly.
Rose winked and took another sip of soda. “You’ll see. I just need to talk to Peter.”
I wondered what she had planned as the bus stopped in Las Vegas and we moved toward the exit. As soon as the doors opened, Merry jumped up the steps, back from her visitation on the other bus. “Say cheese!” She snapped a photo with a familiar-looking small camera.
“Where’d you get that?” I asked.
“Alex let me borrow it.” Merry smiled winningly at me. “I hope you don’t mind. He asked me to take a bunch of photos so he didn’t miss anything.”
“Ah, young love,” Gus said.
“Gus?” Rose drained the last of her soda and handed our driver the can. He accepted it with his gnarled fingers, not with disgust like I’d expected, but with a polite smile. “Do you see a lot of young love on these sorts of trips?”
“I’ve been hauling tours for years,” our driver said. “I’ve seen everything.”
“Hear that, Merry?” Rose raised one eyebrow high. “He’s seen everything.”
Merry and Rose descended the bus steps, playfully shoving at each other. This arena was fenced off, so I could hear the fans screaming from beyond the chain-link, but they weren’t pressing up against the bus, which was a welcome change. Rose made a head start for the stadium door without waiting for the rest of us, enjoying her freedom. Yumi and I exited the bus, stretching our legs. The drummer from Illuminated Eyes, standing by himself a few yards away, gave us a deliberate nod. “Gotta go,” Merry said and joined him. They walked toward the arena together.
All that Yumi could utter was a flat hmm.
After Merry had failed to turn up in our Chicago hotel room, and then in three cities after that, I deduced where she was going. And while Yumi didn’t have much to say about it, the tabloids had paragraphs to share. Inches of column space. Grainy photographs in color. Grant, Illuminated Eyes’ drummer, was married, and he and Merry had been caught on film sharing a lighter and cozying up next to each other in the space between two tour buses.
The news broke as we were coasting back into Los Angeles, and Ian got a heads-up from Peter about the sticky situation: Grant’s wife was the famous actress Marisa Marcheesa. If no one knew who Merry “Cherry” Gloss was before, they certainly knew now. An accidental nip slip was nothing compared to cavorting with a married musician.
“Did you even ask him if he was married?” Rose asked, annoyed.
Merry tossed her golden curls back. “Of course I knew; I’m not an idiot. But he isn’t happy, and there are no children involved. So why should I give a shit about how badly his marriage is going? It takes two to tango and he was more than willing.”
“You can’t say that sort of thing in public, you understand?” Rose hissed. Merry shrugged.
Peter’s voice was thoughtful on speakerphone as the bus cruised over the Los Angeles county line. “Normally I would welcome a little controversy, since any press is good press and this is doing great for your name recognition. But Marisa’s roots in L.A. are deep. She’s third-generation Hollywood royalty, an Oscar-nominated actress who can make life sticky for us. It’s already cost you one brand deal, but,” he hastened to add, “there was a surge of interest and you’re now the faces of Kit shoes, so I can’t tell you off too much.”
AS SOON AS Justine put out as many of Merry’s fires that she could, we were up at six again, filming short commercials and being prepped to photograph for ads—sandwich companies, shoe advertisements, Cherry Cola, cinnamon gum.
For Cherry Cola, Merry was given the opening line of the commercial and Yumi was given the final. Merry rolled her eyes but had accepted that her breasts were always going to be a topic of conversation and left to get fitted in a pair of white shorts speckled with tiny cherries.
Yumi, however, blanched at the direction to “sip from the can through the straw, turn to the camera, and say ‘Yummy’ seductively. End with a wink.” I felt so bad for Yumi, who didn’t deserve this treatment at all.
Yumi turned to our manager. “Peter, can I talk to you for a second?”
Peter, already bored with the shoot, didn’t even glance up from his PalmPilot. “What’s up, Yumi?”
“I don’t want to do this.”
Peter smiled indulgently as he turned his attention toward her. “Look. I know it’s a little embarrassing, but if Merry can do her part, you can too.”
“This is humiliating!” Yumi looked as though she would cry.
Rose interjected, “You’re turning their stupid nickname for you into gold.”
“Instead of people forgetting about it, this will just make them remember it even more!”
Rose pointed a finger at the bustling set: the operators testing lights, assistants scurrying with coffee, the director chatting with cameramen. “One, everyone is waiting on us to go out and deliver this commercial. Two, we’re getting paid buckets of money to say this. Three, being remembered isn’t a bad thing.”
Peter added, “Rose was smart enough to get this campaign on my radar, and it’s going to be huge. It’ll make the Gloss name recognition skyrocket! It’ll be good for your pocketbook, in the end.” He shooed Yumi away. “Several hours of work for an easy contract! Go!”
Yumi stomped back to the set and bore through the commercial shoot like a professional, but she refused to sit next to Rose on the ride home and sulked in our shared bedroom. I popped open a tab of complimentary Diet Cherry Cola, but before I could take a sip, Rose stole it from my hand for a taste. “Blegh,” she said, her breath tinged with cherry scent. It smelled like cough syrup. She offered the can back to me, but I tipped the remains down the sink. Rose said airily, “Believe me, she’ll thank me one day.”
In addition to pallets of soda, gifted stacks of shoeboxes and cases of cherry-red lipstick were strewn about our shared apartment. I arranged my portion to be sent to Houston, but there were still three other girls’ deliveries to maneuver around. We pushed pathways between boxes and the living room was generally clear, but quickly the rest of the place looked like a hoarder’s lair.
“Damn it!” Rose shouted from her room, and through the wall we could hear cardboard tumbling. She emerged in our bedroom doorway, glaring at Yumi and me as we packed toiletries for the trip to New York and the impending Music Video Awards. “We need to move out of here, I swear. I just knocked over like fifty shoeboxes! We. Don’t. Have. Storage!”
Yumi still refused to talk to Rose, so I picked up the conversation. “Where would you move?”
“Somewhere in the Hills or something. We are making fat checks now. Why’re we still living like we’re poor?”
“It’s not like we haven’t been spending some of the money,” I said. “Didn’t you just buy a BMW?”
“I’m just saying,” Rose went on, “that when we get back from this trip I’m going house-hunting. Where is Merry, anyway? We leave early tomorrow morning.”
“Over at Grant’s. But she’s already packed and brought her stuff with her. She’ll meet us at the airport.”
“Grant lives over in Malibu, doesn’t he?” Rose mused aloud. “I’ll have to ask him about real estate when I get a chance. It’s ridiculous that Marisa let him keep his own place. No wonder he’s fooling around while she’s filming in Europe.”
The doorbell rang. Rose immediately had her guard up. “Are you expecting anyone?”
Yumi and I both shook our heads.
Rose rustled out of the room and to the front door. She greeted the guest perfunctorily in a low voice, then shouted over her shoulder, “Sassy! It’s Alex.”
Alex stood in the living room, smiling, holding a pizza box with both hands. He’d never seen where we’d lived before and a shot of self-consciousness struck me unexpectedly. He picked his way to the kitchen and set the pizza down as Rose disappeared again. “Alex! What’re you doing here?”
“If Mohammed can’t come to the mountain . . .”
I realized with a pang that I hadn’t kept up with my supposed boyfriend for the past few weeks we’d been home. “God, Alex, I’m so sorry I haven’t called. It’s been chaos!” I gestured to the clutter. “All of this happened in the last week.”
He peeled the top of the box away, revealing a large combo pizza with extra olives, my old favorite. Meaty steam and the smell of sausage permeated the air, and I felt almost stuffy with the heavy scent of grease and cheese.
“The first few weeks of classes have been busy too,” he said, coming toward me for a kiss. “I finally have a minute to get away from my roommate, who, by the way, is an actual fan—”
“That’s so sweet of you, Alex,” I said, then swallowed. I hadn’t been in such close proximity to pizza in what felt like years. I was both hungry and repulsed. It reminded me of our high school cafeteria, its scent of bleach and fried oil; of old friendly hangouts with Joanna and Edie, half a lifetime ago. I felt a pull to take a bite, feel the hot cheese burn the roof of my mouth. Then I thought of the consequences, the uncomfortable bloated feeling I’d have in my stomach later, the pounds I’d worked so hard to lose. Every bite counted.
“The others are welcome to share,” he said, taking a seat and pulling out a slice.
Rose, who was apparently within hearing distance, called, “I don’t need any new cellulite, thanks!”
“How did you know where we lived?” I asked, busying myself by getting him a plate.
Knowing that it would be an even bigger deal if I didn’t eat, I found a sliver thinner than most and dabbed it with a paper towel to soak up the grease, taking a bite when the cheese took on a matte appearance. After months of sauceless chicken and lightly dressed salads, the pungent flavor of olives and spiced sausage was a revelation. I chewed slowly to make the most of it.
“I asked Ian where to find you. He’s a pretty great guy, but a bit lax with your security.”
“I think he knows you’re not a stalker,” I said wryly, picking at an olive.
Alex’s smile disappeared and he put down his slice. “Listen,” he said, his words coming out slowly, “I’m sorry I can’t go with you to New York for this thing.”
“Oh! It’s okay . . . I didn’t expect . . .” I hadn’t put Alex down as my date, or even let anyone know that he might be coming along. The hired stylist who whipped up outfits tailored to each of our individual personalities didn’t have a special outfit waiting for him. Meanwhile, I was just excited about mine because it had a corset and reminded me of Drew Barrymore’s Cinderella gown in Ever After. Guilt suddenly washed over me for not even considering Alex.
“I know it’s been hard keeping in touch since I moved into the dorm,” he continued. “I told Ian about it first, and he suggested that I come over and tell you in person, in case you got upset. I’d love to go to this awards show with you, but my classes are just starting to get serious and I don’t think I should miss a few days so early in the semester.”
“It’s fine.”
“Ian did say that they’ve got hired bodyguards for y’all, so I’m not really worried. But I wanted to be there as support.”
“Oh, but that’s—”
“Just know I’m cheering you from the West Coast.” He grinned at me, all canine teeth and bright eyes. “I’ll watch you! I guess the broadcast will be tape-delayed, so I won’t know anything until three hours later.”
“I’ll call you right after, no matter what,” I promised.
He seemed brightened by this idea. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Oh!” I suddenly remembered. “Merry has your camera. She’s not here, but I can go find it.”
“No, don’t worry about it. Take it with you to New York. I want to see all the glitz and glam.”
I slowly finished my slice and shook my head when he offered me another. “You’re getting a little thin, Cass,” he said, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. “You sure you’re eating enough?”
“I’d just eaten before you came over,” I murmured. “Thanks for bringing the pizza over, though, I hadn’t had any in a while.” When he left, taking the box with him, he kissed me with warm, garlic-scented breath. I wondered why I hadn’t considered taking Alex as my date to the show. Was I selfish? Or was I just not that interested in him? The pizza sat heavily in my stomach.