“You’re just going to go to sleep?” Anne asked, zipping up my case and lugging it off the bed.
“Yeah. I’ll take a shower and then crash. Thanks for helping me pack,” I said. “You better get going. The guys will be taking to the stage soon. And you know what traffic is like in New York.”
She dropped a kiss on top of my head. Then went crazy with both hands, messing up my hair like we were all of fourteen again or something.
“God, grow up, would you?” I groused, pushing my long locks back off my face.
“’Night.” She grinned. Marriage to Mal had apparently given her the childhood she’d missed out on the first time around, what with our parents’ selfishness. It was nice, if occasionally somewhat annoying. I really needed to remember to give her a wedgie in retribution, next time I saw her.
“’Night.”
She walked out with a final wave.
I sat perfectly still, waiting for the click of the outer door closing. Then, just to be certain, I waited another ten minutes. And … yes. Operation Make a Run for It was a go.
I slipped on my black flats and stuffed my blond hair up under a plain black baseball cap, raising the handle on my case. Done. My one-way ticket home had been booked earlier, during a particularly long stint in the john. It seemed the only place some concerned soul wouldn’t interrupt me every two minutes: Was I hungry? Nope. What about a drink? Nuh. How about a rehashing of the god-awful events of the night before, followed by a good long cry on concerned soul’s shoulder, with excessive hugging thrown in? No way. But thanks for asking.
I loved the girls. Honest to god I did. But right then I needed space from everyone.
I peeked my head out. Nada. Not a sign of security in sight. To be expected, given I’d promised to stay in my room and you could only access the floor with the special key. Down I went in the shiny elevator. Across the bright, busy ground floor I all but ran, towing my case behind me. My plane left in a little over two hours. Even with the hellish New York traffic, it should be plenty of time to reach the airport and get through security.
Outside, the night air was warm, alive with light and color. New York really was the city that never slept.
“Can I help you, miss?” a nice doorman asked me, holding out a gloved hand for my case.
“Yes, thank you. I’d like a cab to JFK, please.”
“Of course, miss.” He held up a hand, summoning a taxi like magic.
In no time at all my case was in the trunk and I was safely buckled in the back. That was when things went kind of wrong.
The car door opened and a large, smelly male slid in beside me. It’s a reality of these types of men, not often discussed. In the same way that cowboys stink of horse and cow crap, after a concert, rock stars reek of sweat—and lots of it. Kind of bursts the bubble somewhat, doesn’t it? But the stink alone narrowed down the cab-stealing stranger’s identity.
“Hey, Liz.”
“Vaughan?”
“How’s it going?”
I blinked. And then I blinked again, because he was still there, messing with my escape plan, damn it. “What are you doing here?”
Without so much as an as-you-please, he directed the cab driver to the stadium where Stage Dive was playing. The hundred-dollar bill he passed along with the instructions meant he got the driver’s attention. Not little old me.
“Any particular reason you’re hijacking my cab?” I asked.
“It was going to be Conn, but then, you haven’t really met him. We figured it’d freak you out less if it was me.”
“Right … right.” I nodded. “Doesn’t really answer the question.”
“Well, all of the other guys are busy playing, so it had to be one of us.” He slicked back his sweat-dampened hair with a hand and flashed me a smile. “Need you to see something.”
“What?”
“You’ll see.” He chuckled.
I chuckled along with him. “Wow. Yeah. I’m really going to miss you after I kill you and throw your body off the Brooklyn Bridge.”
“C’mon, don’t be like that. You don’t like what you see, I’ll make sure you still get to the airport with plenty of time to make your flight.”
“How do you know about that?” I leaned an elbow on the window ledge, trying to keep my cool. Not really succeeding. Outside the city lights sped by.
“Same way I was waiting for you to make your escape,” he said. “Sam.”
“Ah.” Trust the superspy security guy to be a step ahead of me. Jerk.
“Anyway, they figured I’d have a better chance at sweet talking you into coming along.”
“Did they now?” I showed him my teeth. It could have been misconstrued as a smile, but as previously noted, Vaughan was no dummy.
“Liz, please. If I didn’t think it’d be worth your while, no fucking chance I’d have let them talk me into this. I got no desire to have you hate me.”
I sighed determinedly. “Look,” I said, putting on my best laying-down-the-law voice, “all I want right now is to get all of this behind me as fast as I possibly can. I’m sick of being here. I’m sick of the band, and rock ’n’ roll, and most of all I’m sick of smiling through it all. I do think you’re sweet, and kudos to you for trying whatever you’re trying. But I am officially over it. I am so past over it.”
“Huh,” he said, sitting back in his seat and smiling out the window at the Manhattan lights. “I guess I’m the opposite, aren’t I? It’s all over for you and you can’t wait to get away. It’s all over for me too, and I just keep trying to squeeze out another few seconds from my fifteen minutes of fame. Your strategy does sound better. Figures, what with your psychiatry degree and all.”
“Psychology,” I corrected absently. I’d forgotten I wasn’t the only one who was dealing with a breakup of sorts. “I heard you guys were finishing, but it’s hardly all over for you, is it? I’ve seen you up onstage. You’ve got it going on just fine.”
Vaughan smiled sadly. “You’ve never really seen the rock ’n’ roll life, have you?” he asked. “You just got vaulted into the penthouse without getting a taste of the industry. For every Stage Dive there’s a hundred Down Fourths. A thousand. We had one or two hits. We backed up a major band. If we’d held on to that and managed to score a major label contract, who knows? Maybe it all would have happened. Rock superstars, platinum albums, and the cover of Rolling Stone. But we couldn’t keep it together. Too many egos and pissy little arguments, to the point we’re barely fucking talking to each other. Luke’s off to bigger and better things, sure. But for the rest of us it’s back to square one. At the end of the day, the last ten years don’t mean shit. I’m tired, Liz. Tired of sleeping in shitty hotels and always traveling and playing shows, trying to make enough to pay for just a little more studio time. I want to go home and see my family, wake up and actually know what town I’m in. I want to see if there’s a better way to do this that doesn’t cost me my sanity and fuck with my liver every night of the week.”