On the road again, a couple weeks later, life became its usual blur of thrilling excitement in the arenas, and hours of asphalt and Americana scenery, as viewed from the bus.
Gia’s drum playing had never been more precise. Onstage, she focused on keeping the rhythm, her kit arranged around her like a fortress, as her sticks flew, driving the beat of the songs.
Keys finger’s danced on the keyboards, while Heat’s fingers made magic on the electric bass. Sometimes he played acoustic, as well. Even though they were idiots offstage, onstage they were musical geniuses.
And Dante...My God, he sings like he’s channeling some deity, Gia thought, as she stood in some city for the same kind of applause they got in the last city. Wet panties for all, she said, eying the screaming women.
Marco had been right—all the usual temptations were there in spades, before, after, and even during each gig. She managed to avoid them, though. She even enjoyed herself now and then, cracking smiles and joking around with the crew and band. It kind of seemed easier to take—the applause, the hungry adoration—without the drink. Sort of...at least I have nowhere to run, hide, and drown...except the bus and maybe a bathtub.
Her trusty camera traveled everywhere on the road with her, and she used it before and after the concerts to keep busy. And, there was this roadie, Brant. Although he was shorter than she usually liked, he was a lot of fun and cute in a Cocker Spaniel sort of way. He liked to flirt with her. He’d gone through sobriety, too.
Maybe he and I can...She shook her head. He doesn’t hold a candle to Marco. Good God, I miss that man.
After she’d written her letter to him, her feelings for him had only grown. She felt plugged into the socket of Marco like they shared the same electrical current. Her thoughts at night centered around him. When she woke each morning, a new thought, centered around him, sprang to mind immediately. He even seemed to be with her onstage when she played, right next to her, or buried deep inside.
“Gia,” someone called.
“Huh?” She shook her head to clear it, becoming aware of the stage lights, her drums, and the screaming fans.
“Exit stage left,” Dante said, snapping his fingers at her. “This is the part where we head backstage.” He crooked his elbow for her to take, his other hand clutching his favorite guitar, a stunning Gibson Les Paul he named Cara, after his grandmother.
An idea sprang to mind, and Gia ignored Dante, staring at the roaring spectators. The crew hadn’t turned on the house lights yet, so she figured she had a few seconds left. “Wait,” she said, as Dante reached for her hand.
Her heart hammering, she strode to the front of the stage, stepping gingerly over the colorful array of panties littering the area where Dante had stood minutes ago. She picked up the microphone, gripping it tightly. She turned to look over her shoulder at Dante.
He stood next to Keys and Heat. They all looked at her with questioning eyes and furrowed brows.
Dante lifted his palm and gestured for her to continue whatever craziness she was up to.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Can I have your attention?”
The crowd continued to scream and cheer.
“Come on. You know I don’t do encores.” She put one hand on her hip, remembering Marco’s superhero stance.
A few people in the front quieted. The rest continued their enthusiastic tirade.
“Hey,” she yelled. “Shut the fuck up before I lose my nerve.”
The crowd stilled.
Keys guffawed.
“Way to go, girl,” Dante said, adding a chuckle.
Facing the audience, her heart now clawing its way up her throat, she said, “I’m sure you’ve read the gossip rags about my alcoholism.” She scanned the faces, hoping they had a few ounces of compassion. “I’m in recovery now, and it’s…”
“It sucks,” a guy called from the front of the audience. “Want to fuck me so we can take our minds off the need to drink?”
A ripple of laughter spread through the onlookers. Then, they resumed listening.
Gia smiled. “Thanks but no thanks. I think what sucks harder is the damage you can do when you’re blitzed.”
“Tell it, sister,” a woman called.
Encouraged, Gia said, “I hurt two of the most important people in the world. One of them’s dead now.”
“Whoa,” a man said.
“One of them…” She dragged her hand through her hair. “He probably wishes I was dead. I’d give anything for a do-over, but, hey—life doesn’t work that way sometimes.” She shrugged.
The audience seemed captivated.
“So…” She scanned her mind for the next sentence, rubbing her neck. “I grew up thinking I was worthless. And, my actions only reinforced my beliefs. I did things that caused harm.” She forced air between her cheeks and blew it out. “I guess what I want to say is…I’m in the process called making amends. That’s a fancy term for facing your shit which is a lot harder than it sounds.” She glanced back at Dante.
He seemed riveted.
“As I take responsibility, I’ve learned that I might matter. I might be worth something.” She pictured Marco’s eyes as he told her she was loveable. “Wait…I do matter. I am worth something.” Her voice took on an intensity that surprised her as she scanned the faces looking up at her. “You are too. You matter, each and every one of you.”
A woman in the front dabbed at her eyes, her cheeks glistening.
Gia’s eyes moistened with tears. She squeezed her eyelids shut for a minute before continuing. “I want to say to the guy whose heart I crushed…I’m sorry. With all my heart, I’m sorry. I hope you find someone real and honest and worth all the love you have to give.”
The entire stadium grew so quiet; all you could hear was breathing.
Someone sniffed.
Another blew her nose.
“I, uh…I don’t want to keep you all, so…” She eyed the faces she could see, noting their enthralled expressions. “I’ll leave you with this--love the one you’re with, be good to yourself most of all and have a great night.” She lifted her hand in farewell.
An even greater silence engulfed the room.
Gia wondered what she should do next. She tucked the microphone into the stand, her movements stiff and awkward.
Then, one person clapped, and another, and another until everybody applauded, cheered and yelled.
“We love you, Ms. Styx,” a woman called.
“My offer still stands,” the guy who wanted to fuck her yelled.
“I want to be like you,” another woman screamed.
Gia stood, stunned, taking in the love, letting her encore count for something big—letting go of an enormous burden.
She turned to see Dante, his fingers between his teeth, whistling long and loud.
Keys and Heat clapped like maniacs.
Facing the audience, she said, “Thank you. Thank you all.” Then, she lifted her arm in one last wave and sauntered offstage with her best buddy.
“Wow, G. I’m so proud of you,” Dante said. He threw his arm around her and hugged her to his side. Leaning over, he kissed her temple. “Really impressed with you, G. You even brought tears to my eyes.”
“Yeah. You stunned me and Keys, here,” Heat said.
Gia grinned.
“Great playing, by the way.”
“Thank you. We’re all pretty dialed in. You, me, Keys, and Heat...” She swept her hand through the air and made a ka-boom noise. “We’re killing it.”
“We are. Want to go grab a bite with us? Kennedy found an after-hours cafe that serves primo Tex-Mex.” He handed his beloved guitar to a roadie.
“Nah, I don’t think so,” she said, eying Brant.
Brant busied himself with his roadie duties but kept glancing in her direction.
“Think I’ll keep that guy company before I take my camera for a whirl,” Gia said, indicating Brant.
“Are you sure? We’d love to share a meal with you,” Dante said. “This place has quite a reputation.”
“Get me a couple tacos, extra hot sauce,” she said. “The hotter, the better. I’ll eat it later.”
“You got it,” he said, leaning to kiss her cheek.
Gia sauntered toward Brant, smiling. “Hey,” she said.
“Oh, hey,” he said like he’d only just noticed her.
Like you haven’t been checking me out ever since I walked backstage. “Want to hang out when you’re done?”
His eyes shifted side to side. “Uh...I’ve, uh...”
“Out with it. What’s got you all tongue-tied?” Gia said. She propped her hands on her hips.
“That was a great set,” he said. “Man, your drum solo...wow, Gia. And that speech. That took some balls, er…some courage.”
“Thanks. What are you avoiding telling me?” she said.
“I have, a date tonight,” he blurted, opening the lid to one of the storage containers for electrical equipment. He dropped a bunch of neatly coiled cords inside, staring at them like he’d never seen a cord before.
“Oh,” she said. “Well...have a good time.”
“It’s just that,” he continued, turning to face her. “You haven’t expressed any...and I’m...”
“Horny? Got it. Go have fun,” she said, not really caring one way or the other. She pivoted and took her leave.
“Wait! I still like you. I’ll cancel the date if you want to...” he called.
“Fuck? No thanks,” she called over her shoulder, lifting her hand in the air while her nether-region screamed in protest. She hadn’t had sex beyond the battery operated toy kind since Marco. “Forget it.”
As she headed for the exit, she strode through the back hallways of the auditorium, nodding, greeting crew, ignoring groupies and other assorted backstage fodder, and accepting compliments.
Damn it, I’m lonely. Gia looked forward to Seattle where they’d be meeting up with Zander’s crew. Zander had a rock climbing competition they were attending, and it seemed like the perfect time for a backstage get-together. I’ll get to hang with Mia. Maybe I’ll do a fashion shoot of her and Kennedy. She scoffed.
“Hey, boss,” she said to the huge man guarding the exit.
“Ms. Styx,” he said, giving her a formal nod. “Great set tonight, from what I could hear.”
“Thank you. We’re all in sync. I love it when that happens.” Gia paused. “You ever want to hear it from the audience point of view, let me know. You can take the night off. I’ll hook you up, no problem. “
The guard brightened. “Would you? That would be great.”
“Sure thing,” Gia said. “I’ll put you on the guest list next time, cool?”
“Awesome!” he said.
She held out a fist for a knuckle bump, sealing the deal. “Have a good night, okay?”
“You, too,” he said, opening the door and holding it wide for her.
Outside, a small group of fans huddled together, trying to stay warm in the cool night air. When they saw her, they expressed a mixture of delight, as well as disappointment that she wasn’t Dante. Some of them thrust objects in her direction for her to autograph, thanking her for her vulnerability and words. She scribbled her name here and there, joked, and laughed, all on auto-pilot.
“Hey. Gia. Over here,” a male voice called.
Her head lifted to see the spiked-hair guy, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Her eyes narrowed. “Hey. What are you doing in the states?”
“We followed you here. We’re super fans. My girl’s in the loo. She couldn’t hold it. I told her to pee behind a car, but she’s too modest. Not like me.” He grinned like he’d confessed to some amazing stunt.
“Good for her,” Gia said, ready to make her way to the tour bus. “Modesty’s a virtue, or haven’t you heard?”
He laughed, snagging the cigarette before it dropped from his lips. “You’re a riot, you know that? Funny as hell.”
“That’s me. A laugh a minute. I’ve got to get somewhere. Can you move out of my way?” Her lips pressed together in annoyance.
“What? No,” he blurted. “We want to...you know. We’ve got some prime blow, some killer weed, and a whole lot of booze back at the hotel. We thought of everything. We want to play again.”
“Well, here’s the thing, sport. The one thing you didn’t consider is that I might not want to play. Did the thought ever cross your mind?” Gia looked at him like he was a Neanderthal who stumbled into this century.
“Hell, no. You told us to look you up again. That you thought we were the best,” Spiked-Hair said, practically pouting.
Gia let out a sharp laugh. “Look, I don’t remember much of our night together, but I can tell you, I’d never have said that. I told you. I don’t do encores. I doubt you were that good, to begin with. Didn’t I give you kissing lessons or something?”
“You really don’t remember?” Jaw dropped open, he looked shocked.
“I really don’t. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she brushed past him.
He seized her arm. “Wait, bitch.”
Her hand flew to his crotch, bearing down.
The guy doubled over, yelping in pain.
“You keep your fucking hands to yourself, capice? You ever touch me like that again or even come near me, I’ll have you thrown in jail.” Gia released her hold on his junk, wiping her palm on her pants.
“Everything okay, Miss Swain?” a guard said, pushing through the crowd to get to her.
“Fine,” she said, still glaring at spiked-hair.
“I...You fucking bitch!” he whimpered. “I’m not a fan anymore. We’re never going to see you again.”
He fished his ticket stubs from his pocket and ripped them in two like a toddler might do.
“Promise?” she said. She brushed her hands together and strode past him, her latest shit-kickers striking the asphalt parking lot with a satisfying thwack.
Behind her, she heard the protests of spiked-hair as the guard hauled him away.
Ahead, the super-sized home on wheels of Marked Love sat, lit by the overhead lights. Inside, the lights were, out save one they kept on so it wasn’t pitch dark when the first person stumbled inside. She, Keys, and Heat had discovered many a banged up shin the morning after, from literally falling into the bus in a drunken haze.
“Now I walk with awareness,” she quipped. Only when she rounded the corner, she was completely taken by surprise. There, chatting with the driver, stood the man of her dreams and her heartache—Marco Monroe.