Boring Girls(80)

But at the time, it just seemed like details. We’d work it all out later. The important thing was getting to St. Charles and trying to meet DED.

I sat in the window seat with Fern beside me. “Fern, have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“Yeah. Last year. That guy Steve, remember?”

“Oh, right.” I remembered Fern talking to me on the phone about him. At the time I had been disinterested in the whole thing and had barely paid attention when she’d talked about him. “That was for a few months, right?”

“Yeah, like three months.” She rolled her eyes. “He was a jerk.”

“Right.” I’d never met the guy, but I recalled something about him dumping her for some other girl. “He was a jerk.”

“Guys are a waste of time,” she said firmly, settling back in her seat. “I don’t want to think about that stuff.”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” I said.

“You’re just saving yourself a lot of grief.” She smiled. “What about that Jamie guy, from Torn Bowel? He liked you, didn’t he?”

I was surprised. I guess I hadn’t imagined that. “Not really. I think he did for a few minutes for, like, one day. But then after that first show, I think it went away.”

“Maybe he was grossed out after you puked.”

“I don’t even care. I don’t want a boyfriend,” I said, lifting my chin. “I have other things to think about.”

“I feel the same way. But you know what, after you meet Balthazar Seizure, and he falls madly in love with you . . . you might change your mind.” She reached over and dug her finger into my ribs, grinning.

“Oh, right!”

xXx

Fern and I got off at the station in St. Charles. The DED show was at a place called Terminal 66. As we had last time, we got into a taxi and had the driver take us there. It was across town from the bus station, and traffic in the city was annoying, so the cab ended up costing us more than we’d planned. But finally we pulled up in front of the big building — much bigger than Gurgol’s gig — and climbed out of the cab.

“Oh, no,” Fern said. We were beside the driveway that would lead us to the back parking lot, but it was closed up with a big chain-link fence, and the gate was padlocked. Part of me was relieved. If we had been able to get back to the buses, what would we have done? Knocked on the door?

“Do you think they’re in there?” I asked.

“I’m sure they are,” she said. “But we aren’t getting in.”

“What do you think the chances are that they’ll be hanging out in some coffee shop nearby?”

“We can go look.”

Fern and I walked around the area. We had time to kill. Any patio we saw had no one resembling anyone in a band sitting on it. It seemed like we were out of luck. I was sort of feeling like a stalker anyway.

We chose one of the coffee shops and ordered ourselves some drinks and sandwiches. It would be too bad if we didn’t get to meet DED today, but at the same time, I mean, how many people get to meet bands anyway? We were lucky that we’d managed to run into Marie-Lise.

Fern and I spent the afternoon walking around. We went to a department store where we tried on some expensive makeup samples, a bookstore where we spent a few hours browsing and reading, and finally a small restaurant where we had dinner and got changed into our outfits for the show. Fern and I had always managed to have fun even back home walking around the downtown for hours, so wasting a full afternoon together in St. Charles was no problem.

It was early evening when we wandered back to Terminal 66, and there was a giant lineup out front. The sun was going down and it was getting chilly. I was glad I’d brought my sweater, pulling it on as we joined the end of the line.

When the line finally started moving and we got up to the doors, the security guy hollered at us, “No backpacks inside. You have to check them,” grabbing our tickets and ushering us inside. The lobby of the place was packed with people, some filing into the main room and some crowding around the coat-check area. Fern and I took our purses out of our bags and eventually managed to get up to the counter, where we had to pay five bucks each to check our backpacks.

“The CDs are in there,” Fern lamented.

“Yeah, so are our clothes.” But we had no choice, so we checked them, and then entered the main room.

The place was packed. Fern and I tried to find a place along the side of the room where we would be able to see the stage without getting pushed around. We finally found a decent spot, and as I surveyed the crowd, I thought I saw a few of the Torn Bowel guys on the floor. Before I could point them out to Fern, they were swallowed up into the mass of people. At least people-watching, and trying to see if I could find them again, was a way to pass the time before the show began.