Almost Paradise (Sinners on Tour 6.7)

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Rebekah glanced out the window at Eric, who had apparently found a fan to talk to. She didn’t know if the Slayer-T-shirt-bedecked man knew he was chatting with the drummer of Sinners or if they’d bonded because Eric’s tattoos and rock star hair were apparent even in his Clyde outfit, but the pair were talking quite animatedly and laughing together. When the kindred spirits started playing air drums with each other, she figured the other guy must know exactly who Eric was.

“His past,” she said to the clerk. And she wasn’t sure if she should be bringing that past back into Eric’s life or not. He was happy with his present; did he really need the family he’d expected to be out of his life for good? Would they want to forge a relationship with him now that he was an adult? The meeting would probably be awkward, but her family meant the world to her. She couldn’t imagine how anyone wouldn’t want to claim Eric as their blood. He was amazing and funny and sweet and talented and…

The clerk cleared his throat, drawing her out of her haze of appreciation. Her cheeks went hot, and she scooped her sack of purchases into her arms.

“Thanks for your business,” the clerk said.

She nodded and pushed the door open with her back. Eric wrapped an arm around her as soon as she came within reach.

“This is my wife, Reb,” Eric introduced her to Slayer fan.

“Mrs. Eric mother-fucking Sticks!” the guy shouted. “Congrats on marrying the craziest mother-fucking drummer on the mother-fucking planet.”

“Nice to mother-fucking meet you,” Rebekah said.

“Ha!” the guy said.

He slapped her on the arm. She was glad he’d swung at her right one and not the sore left one.

“I like her.”

“She’s all right, I guess,” Eric said and shrugged.

Rebekah poked him in the ribs.

“Well we have to hit the road,” Eric said. “Need to get to the hotel so we can have lots of sex.”

“Oh ho!” Slayer fan said. “Mother-fucking get some, Sticks. Honk! Honk!” He made a motion with one arm as if he were pulling a string overhead.

“He might get lucky tonight,” Rebekah said. “I’m not too pleased with him at the moment. Did you see what he spray-painted on the back of my new minibus?”

“You knew what you were getting when you married me,” Eric said, his hand squeezing her waist.

“Graffiti and licorice-flavored scrambled eggs?”

He shrugged, completely unapologetic for his crimes. “Among other things.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to make it up to me.” She kissed his cheek before squirming out of his arms and circling the van to the passenger side.

“I’m sure you’ll mother-fucking get some tonight,” Slayer fan said. “It’s your mother-fucking honeymoon!”

The pair of new buddies exchanged arm slaps and several mother-fucking words of parting before Eric climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

“Why do the weird ones always flock to me?” Eric asked as he waved at the guy still watching them.

“You’re their king,” Rebekah said with a laugh.

“Guess that makes you their queen.”

“And proud of it.”

He turned onto the highway heading east once again before reaching over to take her hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Are you really mad at what I painted on the van?”

“I’m not happy about it,” she said with a scowl. “You could have hung a sign or something instead of using spray paint.”

“I just figured if this thing makes it all the way to Bangor, we’ll have it repainted anyway. The flowers are a little… uh…”

“Hippie?”

“I was going to say fucking lame, but yeah, okay, we’ll go with hippie.”

“That’s half of her charm,” Rebekah said. The minibus backfired, as if agreeing.

“I was thinking she’d look good in black cherry with white racing stripes.” Eric pointed at the nonexistent hood.

The engine sputtered, and the vehicle started to slow. “Why are you slowing down?” Rebekah asked.

“I’m not. I think something’s wrong with the engine, and shit, there’s no good place to pull over.”

Something wrong? Already? They weren’t even out of California yet. “I think you offended her by threatening to paint her to look like a race car,” Rebekah said.

“Fine, then,” Eric said. “We’ll keep the flowers.”

The engine backfired again, and then they began to pick up speed. Eric scowled at the dashboard gauges. “She seems fine now.”

“If you lose power again, pull over and I’ll take a look.”

But the van did fine the rest of the way to Vegas. Rebekah and Eric ate junk food and sang all the songs on the Bee Gees eight-track tape they’d found in the glove compartment, and they honked back at everyone who responded to the message on the back of their minibus.

“Where are we staying?” Eric asked when they turned onto the Vegas Strip.

“Guess.”

He scratched his jaw. “Twenty questions.”

“Twenty? I think you can guess in five.”

“Did Sed and Jessica have a sex tape recorded of them there?”

She laughed. “Nope.” But she did want to visit the replica Eiffel Tower at the Paris.

“Did Brian and Myrna spend their wedding night there?” Eric asked.

“I don’t know. Where did they stay?”

“The Venetian.”

“Nope.”

“Did you pack my pharaoh costume or my pirate one?”

“Both.”

“Excalibur!”

“Wait, how did you guess?”

“No, I meant there’s Excalibur,” he said as they approached the castle-shaped casino.

“So you should probably turn now.”

“We’re really staying at the Excalibur?”

“You don’t want to stay here?”

“It’s kind of juvenile for a honeymoon destination, don’t you think?”

She pressed her lips together and twisted them to one side.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he said, getting into the turn lane for valet parking. “It’s perfect for us.”

“I wanted to have fun. I’m not here for luxury.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “That luxury stuff is highly overrated.”

“I know, right? But this place is a castle. I’ve always wanted to be a princess in a castle.”

“When we tour in Europe next summer, we’ll visit a real castle,” he said.