Boring Girls(100)

Toad was squat and chubby, with a belly so formidable that it always peeped out from beneath whatever black band shirt he wore. His hair was long and his face was bloated, with a crooked nose that had clearly been broken for him a few times. His face was actually froggy — to the point that when he said that he’d earned the nickname Toad for his prowess at Super Mario Kart, I’d actually opened my mouth to tell him what I considered to be the more likely truth. Luckily, I guess, I’d immediately received warning looks from all three of my wonderful bandmates.

It had become sort of a morning routine, this peeking out of my bunk to see who was up and who was still asleep. This was only the beginning of the second week of tour, but a few times the first week it had only been me and Timmy awake for a while in the front lounge. Roger, our grey-haired and grandfatherly bus driver, was pretty decent at making conversation while he drove, but I didn’t really like being around Timmy. He was a quiet guy and just way too into gear and instruments. He and Edgar could talk for hours, but it was awkward with just the two of us.

I lay lazily in my bunk, staring into that corridor, listening to the engine, somewhat lulled by the motion. The first few nights on the bus had been horrible. I’d alternated between lying awake, paralyzed with fear that we were either currently or about to be driving directly off a cliff, and being woken up every few minutes by the rocking and lurching and noise. I was becoming accustomed to it, but that was probably just out of desperation.

After the re-release of the album on Recordead Records, we’d done a few more shows around the area, a lot of promotion and interviews, and after a few weeks, the label wanted us to go out and promote the album. We were on tour with Gurgol — which was insane — and the headliner, Ripsawdomy. We were the third band on the bill, but it was an incredible tour to be on. We’d gotten the bus — paid for by good ol’ Tom — and, with our laminates coolly worn on our hips, we tried to look like we knew what we were doing. We had toured before, of course, in the U.K., but the first morning of this tour, when I’d looked out the window into the parking lot of the venue at all the rough-looking, long-haired dudes milling around smoking, I had felt like the most incredible novice.

Ripsawdomy was not a band I was very familiar with. I’d heard of them, but I’d never gotten into them. They were four immense guys — one of them had to be almost seven feet tall — all with long hair and very dour expressions. They mainly stayed on their bus, from what I could tell, which was fine by me. The singer looked old and grizzled, and the younger guys didn’t appear to have any interest in us at all.

But being with Gurgol — now that was f*cking exciting. We hadn’t really talked to them, but because we were coming offstage when they were going on, we’d had a few small interactions. It was amazing to be on tour with Marie-Lise and see her every day. I’d watch her in the mornings, when the three tour buses were all parked at the venue. She came off her tour bus with a little white dog and she’d walk it around the parking lot, sometimes drinking coffee from a travel mug. Once or twice I’d seen their singer, Josh, take the dog out in the mornings, or one of the other guys. I would watch from the front lounge windows, grateful that they were tinted so no one would know what a creepy f*cker I was being.

At the side of stage in between sets, I’d passed Marie-Lise a few times and she always smiled politely, clearly distracted, but looking so damn gorgeous and put together. When Fern and I had met her at that café she’d looked so cute and casual in her jeans, but to see her before a show, in her stage clothes, was just awesome. I’d seen her so many times in videos and photographs, but it was nothing compared to the real thing, and close up. Her hair was still white, without a trace of the yellowy orange that so often haunts people who bleach their hair — Fern included. Her makeup was perfect, her skin powdered as pale as her hair, her false eyelashes with little gems on them, her perfect red lips, and her amazing outfits. She was alternating between three dresses on this tour — three identical dresses in different colours, and black stockings. It was all I could do not to stare at her every time I saw her, to just walk past all casual.

Fern had curled her hair and put bright red streaks into it. I was sure it was so that she would not look so obviously like she was trying to copy Marie-Lise. I liked the look. It was as if she’d grabbed clumps of her hair with bloody hands and just wrenched her fingers through the strands.

I don’t know if I’d expected Marie-Lise to recognize us from that day in the café, but it didn’t seem like she did. On the first day of tour, she and the other guys from Gurgol had said hello to us briefly, which was clearly their attempt to be nice and friendly. On tour people tend to only care about their own band. Well, I guess that’s true in life, as well. At least they’d made the gesture. Here we were at the beginning of the second week and no one from Ripsawdomy had said anything to us yet. But, I mean, it wasn’t like we were going out of our way either.