The flight was as comfortable as it could be for a trip so long in duration. Nearly every need and whim were accommodated for, and then some.
At least the time was going backwards the further west we went, so I would technically be arriving almost the same day I’d left. The last big shift would be coming between New York and Seattle.
When the plane set down, I was about ready to collapse. That was odd, considering I’d been sitting down for the last eight hours or so, most of which I’d spent either sleeping or going over the set list I’d planned for the event, agonizing over whether it would be appropriate.
There was as little trouble at American customs as there had been on the Dutch side. It basically consisted of being waved through by the security officers after they’d taken the most cursory look at my ticket and passport. Things might have been different had I already claimed my luggage, but as it was, I only had one, ordinary carry-on.
Since I’d been expecting to get a taxi, it was something of a surprise to step out of the airport and find a driver holding a sign with my name on it. It wasn’t a limousine, but I also hadn’t been thinking I’d get to travel in anything nearly so fancy.
“I’m Holly, Holly Jones,” the driver said, her eyes shielded by Alexander McQueen sunglasses.
The way she said it reminded me of something, but I couldn’t quite remember what.
Folded into the back of the economy car— my height being one of the reasons I preferred to bike— I was taken directly to the hotel. Raindrops were beginning to spot the windshield as we pulled up to where I’d be staying.
I’d heard legends about Seattle weather but had never really believed them to be true. Now I was proven wrong already.
Once I was secure in the air-conditioned confines of my suite, I took my first shower in over twenty-four hours, and set myself to the task of unpacking before the jetlag really started to hit.
I was supposed to be meeting Varg and the gang the next day and wanted to be well rested. Still, my drive to organize wouldn’t let me sleep until everything was just so.
I’d seen doctors, just to make sure I didn’t have OCD. Every one of them had said I didn’t. Being tidy and organized was just how my mind worked.
It seemed that almost as soon as I’d hit the bed like a tripped sumo wrestler, I heard a near instant ding on the computer. I realized that it was already morning and that that was my alarm— it was set to sound like a dinner bell, so there was no way I could ignore it.
Sure enough, I was hungry, and found myself accidentally rolling out of bed in my attempt to get up and go find something to eat.
The floor came up to meet me with a soft thud, wakefulness blasting through me as the adrenaline hit. There was a hard pounding at the door of my hotel room, and, after gathering myself from the rug, I went to see what all the fuss was about.
“There he is,” Varg grinned, as soon as I’d opened it.
“What’s left of me.”
“Good flight?” Ragner asked.
“In most ways. The wine was good, and they showed four movies. Pretty good ones. They must save the crappy ones for coach. I’ll have to make sure to thank Seth for the flight class upgrade. It saved me a lot of headaches along the way. Did you know that the Atlantic Ocean is really rather big?’
“So go the rumors.”
“I forgot— you’ve crossed it too.”
“A few times,” Ragner said, still in good humor.
He had a phone in his hands.
“Ever coming back?”
“Next tour maybe. My wife and kid are here. You know how it is.”
“I can’t imagine. Being away from them, I mean.”
“Me neither.”
“Thanks, babe, love you too.”
Stephanie appeared on the screen, giving Varg a lovely little kiss on the cheek. I’d only met her a few times in the role of tour manager for his band, though I’d never seen their little one, who was bouncing in her arms as she planted the smooch.
He looked different out of his stage-clothes, wearing a polo shirt buttoned to the top, and with his long hair tied into a neat ponytail. I couldn’t help but wonder if domestic bliss might have defanged him a bit.
Not that that would be a bad thing. He always seemed to have an edge. Even more than that that could be found in most Heavy Metal band front men.
I wasn’t a Metalhead myself, but knew a lot of them, and tended to be misunderstood in similar terms by people who were as equally ignorant as the ‘Metal is Satanic’ gang of morons.
Something had always struck me a bit odd about Ragner. He had an authentic, dark intensity possessed by few, and survived by even less. It was good to see him doing better.