Boring Girls(103)

I whirled away, pretending I hadn’t seen him. I wished I hadn’t — I was now hyper conscious of every step I took, every gesture, every shriek. I felt clownish and juvenile with the blood on my face.

He remained there for the entire set, and when I left the stage there he stood, talking with some of the guys from Gurgol. I glanced at him, and he was looking at me with the same grouchy expression. I hurried past into the dressing room, my clothes soaked, out of breath.

I buried my face in a towel, appreciating having our small dressing room to myself for a few moments while the others and Timmy got the gear offstage. I turned to the mirror, examining my flushed face and sweaty, scraggly hair, and then I saw him appear in the doorway behind me.

“Is that real blood on your socks?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, looking at myself again, very conscious of my shiny red Rudolph nose and smeared makeup. I looked truly horrible and was a bit irritated that he would just follow me here immediately after our performance without giving me five minutes to chill out and comb my damn hair or whatever.

Edgar appeared in the doorway beside him. “Oh, hey man!”

“Great show, dude,” Chris said to him, and they did one of those stupid finger-snapping handshakes that a lot of guys just seem to instinctively know how to do.

“Oh, cool, thanks for watching,” Edgar said, clearly elated that Chris had watched the set. “It’s a great crowd, they’re really excited for you guys.”

While they chatted I took the opportunity to put some powder on my face and fix up my hair a little bit, and then Socks and Fern came in. Toad followed them, and one of the other guys from Ripsawdomy walked past and must’ve seen Chris so he stopped in, and they all started talking loudly and drinking beer. We heard Gurgol go onstage, and I stood next to Fern and smiled and talked, and all the while I just felt Chris’s eyes on me. Even though I didn’t look at him once, I couldn’t stop smiling this stupid little smile. I’m pretty sure I was batting my eyelashes.

xXx

So things continued like that for a few days, which on a tour feels like an eternity. Chris stood by the side of the stage and watched our set every night, and sometimes guys from his band or Gurgol would watch too. And I’d watch Gurgol and sometimes I’d watch Ripsawdomy, but I refused to stand at the side of the stage like that. I didn’t want him to see me there, so I’d stand just out of his line of vision, aligned with an amp or something, so I could just stare at him as he played. The band was pretty good. Their singer, Chick, had a pretty unfriendly air about him, and he didn’t really bother with us or with anyone else, but it seemed like for the most part the bands were starting to warm up to each other. At first, things on the tour were all about being efficient and everyone stayed out of each other’s way, but gradually we were all making friends.

The nights had a chill, but none of us were complaining. We were slowly making our way south, and soon enough the air would be heavy and humid and we’d be sweating, and we’d give anything for a chilly night in the parking lot after the venue had closed, snug in a hoody, smoking in the dark. It was one such night when I was outside, around the side of our bus. I could hear a group of tech guys and band guys smoking and laughing across the lot, but I felt awkward joining them, so I just sat in my spot and listened to the crickets in the long grass that lined the parking lot behind me. The others in my band were on the bus watching a movie.

As I sat smoking, I heard the telltale gravel crunch that someone was approaching. I already knew who it would be, and when Chris appeared, I smiled at him.

“I was hoping I’d find you out here,” he said. “Thought I’d take a walk over and see. Is there room on that curb?”

“Sure,” I said, sliding over. He lowered himself down beside me, sighing, and lit up his own cigarette.

“Getting warmer,” he commented.

“It is.”

“Soon, it’ll be too hot to breathe. Man, I love the heat.” He stretched his arms over his head, yawning. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“It was a great crowd tonight,” I remarked.

“Fucking rad.” He nodded. “You guys were killer.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re a great f*cking singer. Really take charge of the crowd.”

“Thanks.”

“I really like watching you.” He swayed sideways, playfully bumping my shoulder with his.

I fumbled for words. “Well, uh — I’m glad that you do.”