Gabe let out a laugh. "I just picked up that stupid nickname yesterday, and already everyone's using it. Please call me Gabe."
"Okay, Gabe." I paused before asking, but I couldn't resist, so I let it out. "Do you often choose partners for the other band members?" Like-I hoped-River? I still held on to some erotic fantasies, but they were fading fast.
Gabe gave me a mildly self-deprecating smile. "Not too often, and only for Chuck." He shrugged. "A happy lead singer makes a happy band."
"That's disgusting." The time for discretion and politeness was gone. "I definitely liked you boys better before I stepped onto that bus." Someone needed to hear this, and although Gabe might not remember anything I said, I still had to say it before his deadened nervous system stopped comprehending language completely.
Once again, he surprised me. "You've got it wrong, Annalisa. I'm not trying to convince you to go with Chuck. In fact, I was impressed with how you kept your distance from him just now. I only want to apologize. And try to explain. Come on, let's talk."
I stood with my mouth wide open, unsure I'd heard him right. I mean, that was an awful lot of words, and nice ones, too. I didn't think he could do that. A sensitive Fiery Boy-he had my complete attention.
"Okay, sure."
"Let's go backstage." He pointed to the massive arena, sitting innocently like a citadel that had admitted the Trojan horse and had no idea what would happen when the sun went down. Backstage with Gabe sounded like fun. It had all the promise of rock and roll with the added attraction of a Fiery Boy who was willing to pay attention to me. Chuck needed to take lessons from this man.
I followed him, unable to resist further inquiry into the way I'd been treated. "Do you guys hate me or something? Am I ruining your all-guy bus experience? Because I can get a motel, you know-Jason said so. Just say the word and I'll go." At this point, I wouldn't mind.
Gabe held up a hand to stop me. "No, don't go. Not the best way to meet the band, though." He led me to a side door, and a guard let us in. "Come on."
I followed him to the stage, which was getting piled high with speakers and other band equipment. Gabe was about to head backstage when he muttered, "Oh, no," and ran up to a roadie. "I told you not to change the battery in my pedals." He knelt down with a groan and started to play with some equipment. After a few seconds, he looked up and explained it to me. "My programming got lost. I have to reload it-hang on." He worked for a minute to restore order, using two phones and assorted hardware that magically appeared from his pockets. Then he got up, and we started to walk away. "Okay, sorry about that."