Horse
Iopened my eyes to the ceiling of yet another hotel room. We’d been traveling for about two weeks. So far, we’d hit Cleveland, Chicago, Minneapolis, Des Moines, St. Louis, and Kansas City. Two days ago, we pulled into Nashville for two nights’ worth of shows. It was a real break because Kat and Sarah were playing at a smaller venue and there was almost no load in. Also, anytime we had two nights, Kat had the tour pay for hotel rooms for the crew. Whenever possible, Kat liked to gift us a good night’s sleep.
Anyway, the first night was behind us and the show was fantastic. I was certain tonight would go off without a hitch, but I was still anxious. I just wasn’t looking forward to boarding the bus and heading out on Sunday. Normally, I liked the haul of touring. It gave me purpose. I had a job. I was good at it. I planned, prepped, and executed and everything went smoothly. My team trusted me, and while I kept them at a distance, I counted on them.
But so far, this tour was a brute. First of all, I was fucking tired. I’m a tall motherfucker and bus bunks aren’t made for long legs. I didn’t blame Sarah, but it had been years since I’d squished into one of those little bunks. It sucked. Secondly, Sarah hated me, which was fine. Sure, it made me want to fucking scream and throw a prissy teenage temper tantrum, but it was better that she avoided me and didn’t talk to me so I could keep my dick in line. Either way, I was watching her. I was always watching her, and it would have been straight-up creepy except for the fact that Kat literally pulled me aside and asked me to keep an eye on her. So, I was keeping my eyes on her—all of her.
Sarah was a conundrum. My initial take on her was a complete misjudgment. She was gorgeous but totally unassuming. She seemed completely unaware of my interest in her. She was funny and bold, but also endlessly gracious. She didn’t get raucous or go out on wild nights, which was to my benefit because it made looking after her so easy. But also, I got the notion in my head that she didn’t party because she took her music seriously. She smiled often and made friends easily.
Everyone on the damn bus loved her. She was running around making breakfast and asking questions I would have never thought to ask the people I’d known for years. Three days ago, I heard her talking to Gwen, my guitar tech, who has been on my team for five years. Apparently, Gwen’s middle name is Stephanie, which was straight-up hilarious, likeno doubt. Sarah and Gwen laughed about it for a good five minutes, and I was sure if I had been the one to unearth that tidbit, somehow, I would have mistakenly said something that insulted Gwen. I spent most of the afternoon mashed in my tiny bunk, wondering how I missed that prize on Gwen’s job application.
Yesterday, I watched Sarah dragging in Leon’s duffel. Leon looked like a goddamn pro-wrestler. The guy was all muscle. His job was carrying shit. He was road crew; he lugged around stage parts for a living, and there was Sarah hauling his duffel into a hotel.
“What are you doing?” I grumbled, pointing to the green Army bag marked ‘LEON’ with permanent marker.
“Helping Leon,” she smarted at me.
“I think Leon can carry his own freaking bag. I trust him to carry the damn truss.”
She shook her head at me and then sarcastically said, “Yeah, but he hates elevators. So, I’m dropping his bag at his door so he doesn’t have to carry it up eight flights. That okay with you, boss?”
I’d known Leon longer than Gwen, and I had no idea he was afraid of elevators.
Fucking Sarah. If someone was looking under the weather, she brought them a glass of OJ and aspirin. If someone looked hungry, she made them a grilled cheese sandwich. If someone looked down and she was there, she have them a shoulder to lean on. I felt like if I needed a glass of milk and a bedtime story, she would have figured out how to make that shit happen. Well, not for me, but for anyone else on my crew.
It was fine. I was fine. The only thing I needed was to not wake up thinking about Sarah. Goddammit. I threw my legs over the edge of the bed. Since we had almost no load in Nashville, the stage was already set. So I had most of the day to myself. I decided to go to Sun Diner alone. I was going to order chicken and waffles, a side of scrambled eggs, a big-ass cup of coffee, and read the paper front to back.
I showered and got dressed, making sure to grab a hoodie which would help me sneak through the lobby without getting accosted by my crew. Just because I was a man of little words, it didn’t mean that they weren’t always looking for ways to get me talking. I zipped through the lobby and out the door. It took me about twenty minutes to go from the hotel to Sun Diner. Once there, I settled into my seat at the countertop, and minutes later, I had my coffee in hand and was cracking the local newspaper. I scanned the front page and my eyes landed on a teaser for a review of last night’s show.
I flipped straight to the article. Much to my chagrin, I knew the critic and he had a history of panning new artists. His review of Kat was good overall. He said that her new album ‘burned with refreshed energy,’ and that her performance was vibrant. He was not so kind when it came to Sarah. Citing her ties to Kat, he outwardly questioned whether she was ready to open for such an established star. He called her ‘awkward and unfeminine, like a gangly fawn.’ It was fucking ridiculous. I was there. I saw her. There was nothing even vaguely gangly or unfeminine about Sarah. And her music was undeniable. She deserved stadiums full of people appreciating her talent.
I pictured her sitting in her hotel room reading this idiot’s bullshit, and then before I even got my food, I slapped a twenty on the counter and headed straight back to the hotel. I knew what room she was in. I told myself I knew that information because it was part of my job. Moving through the lobby, I noticed crew members holding the paper but I didn’t break stride. Sarah was on the tenth floor. When I stepped out of the elevator, I questioned what I was doing there. I mean, why would she need me? She hated me. But ultimately, I had to know she was okay, so I barreled to her door and knocked hard with the side of my fist.
Sean answered.
“Boss?” He used the word as an inquisition and the look on his face was a cross between confusion and a deep utter knowingness that made me both irritated and uncomfortable.
“I…” I wasn’t sure what to say.
Sean finished my sentence, “You saw the review.”
I nodded.
“Yeah, she did too.”
“Is she here?” I had to see her. He wasn’t going to stop me.
He didn’t try. He opened the door wider, stepped back, and gestured for me to come on in.
Sarah was on the bed wearing the white robe the hotel provided. There was a full room service spread all around her—eggs, all kinds of croissants, muffins, pancakes, a real smorgasbord. She looked up at me and I could tell she’d been crying. Her hair was still stiff with the hairspray from last night's show and there was residual mascara under her eyes. Seeing me did not make her feel better.
“Oh, God,” she said, “What now? Did I poop in your oatmeal or something? Because I can’t think of any reason you’d come here except to make me feel worse.”
Behind me, Sean gasped because she was being mean. Her words were like a slap, but I took the hit, let her lash out at the target she could see.
After pulling a centering breath or two through my nose, I commanded her attention. “You are not a gangly fawn. You are not even a sweet little cuddly fawn. You are a fucking star. You own that stage and there is not a man or woman in the house who doesn’t want you or want to be you.” Sarah’s eyes got wide as saucers. I continued. “And your music is inspired. The key change in ‘Sparks on Fire’ is completely unpredictable and absolutely genius. I’ve been in this business for a long time, and your lyrics are some of the best I’ve heard.” Sarah’s lower lip trembled. I hated that she was upset, that some douche canoe said stupid, untrue things about her. I hated him and I let my anger show in my words. “Fuck him. Fuck that idiot, Sarah. You are a star; no one can pull you down, dammit.”
Behind me, Sean said, “See, I told you.” He brushed past me and sat next to her on the bed. “Even this ogre can see you’re so talented.”
I rolled my eyes at him, but Sean kept talking. Sarah's eyes never left my face. She heard me. I could see she heard the truth in my words, but she was also still unhinged, thrown for a loop. This would affect her later today. Critics always got to talent.
“Don’t worry if you fuck up tonight,” I said gruffly.
Sean turned back to me with shock on his face, and Sarah seemed to crumple.
I tried to clarify. “Bad reviews can have a way of coming true.”
“Arghh!” Sarah jumped up out of the bed and headed for the bathroom, hollering as she went, “And I was just thinking you might be human.” The bathroom door slammed.
“Dude!” Sean laughed. “WTF?”