Page 5 of Bend
Mars said nothing during all of this, just kept spearing his pancakes, taking them on a slow trip toward his mouth, which I was trying not to pay too much attention to. But in combination with the thick stubble layered over his jaw, it was like bait on a line. I loved a little scruff.
Les’s gaze flitted between me and Mars, and with a sly smile he said, “Mars, why don’t you help Eli out today? We’ve got the schedule down, and there’s not really anything for you to do until we get closer to sound check. That way, maybe Eli can get everything he needs today.”
Ha, didn’t I wish, and I also wished I could’ve snapped a photo of Mars’s face, the pure disgruntlement that spread, presumably at the idea of being at my beck and call for half the day. His brows pinched together in a frown so fierce, I thought it might dent the wall behind me.
“I’m a tour manager, not a cameraman,” he grumbled.
“You’re a jack-of-all-trades,” Evan said mildly when Les nudged him with a grin. I didn’t care that they were fucking with him; I’d be glad to have the extra help even if the guy planned on scowling all day. He could do that just fine from behind a camera. I didn’t really need precision and artistic vision on B roll, just an extra body to make my life easier.
Mars pressed his lips together, surveyed Evan and Les for a moment, then swung another look over in my direction, staring hard.
“You keep staring at me with that amount of force behind it and maybe I’ll turn into a diamond.” I lifted a brow.
“I don’t have a million years to wait for that to happen, but fine. I’ll help you out.” He turned his attention back to the pancakes.
“Great. Meet you in front of the train in a half hour.” I gave him my most winning smile to add a little seasoning to the rest of his breakfast, and caught the wink Les flashed me as I turned to go.
Once the train had pulled into the station and I’d unloaded my gear, I showed Mars how to operate the camera, choosing a more manageable Canon along with a stabilizer since I wasn’t sure how steady his hands were.
“You don’t even have to worry too much about camera shake with this,” I said, demonstrating how the stabilizer worked before I cut a glance aside at him. “So no one will know you’re shivering with joy at being in my presence.”
He licked his lips and gave me a deadpan expression. “Any shivering will be on account of the vibrating butt plug I popped in earlier to remind myself life has its pleasures even when the company sucks.”
I blinked. Then I blinked again and looked to either side of me. Mars’s lips split in a wide, almost jovial grin I’d never seen before. There was satisfaction in it, too, and in his voice as he said, “You keep dishing it out, Slick, you’d better be ready to take it.”
“Oh, I can take it,” I assured him shamelessly. “Now that I’ve gotten the lay of the land.”
I might’ve been wrong about that.
5
Mars
An hour later we’d gotten some good footage of the little town, eaten a second breakfast in a quaint diner so Eli could talk to some of the locals—most of whom were older and had no idea who Porter & Graves or any of the other bands traveling with us were, but seemed over the damn moon to ramble on about the history of the town, throwing in a fair share of gossip that made me smile for how it reminded me of where I’d grown up. Some things were universal, I guess.
Eli caught my eye as he stood just off camera, listening to an older fella named Buck talk about returning from World War II. Buck had gotten sidetracked as a woman walked down the sidewalk and was going on about the shortness of skirts. Eli’s lips pressed together in an effort to hide his smile, but it made me smile, too.
“Anyhow,” the guy said, “that’s about the size of it. Skirts are too short and the kids definitely ain’t alright, but we go on.” He paused, eyeing Eli. “What’d you say this was for again, some documentary about gravediggers?”
Eli chuckled lightly. “No. It’s about a band. They’re traveling by train, touring the lower U.S. and playing some shows.” Buck’s thick brows furrowed like he didn’t understand, so Eli kept going. “And we’re filming it.”
“What kinda music do they play? Some of that new age synthesizer pop metal shit? A name like Gravediggers, that’s my guess.”
I almost choked on my spit, but Eli held it together. “Porter & Graves. That’s a combination of the two band members’ last names. They play kind of a modern twist on folk. Like indie folk with a little bit of bluegrass influence.”
“Hippie shit.” Buck scowled. I kept the camera trained on him, not sure whether Eli wanted to capture this or not, so I figured I’d better err on the cautious side.
“Mmm.” Eli dug his phone from his pocket. “Not quite.” He flicked over his screen until Evan and Les’s “Blue” poured through the speakers, their intricately woven harmonies filling the air, the seductive bassline going straight to my feet, urging me to tap along.
Eli turned the screen toward the old man, who listened in stern silence for a good forty-five seconds before saying, “They’re playing here tonight? In town?”
“Yep. Out at the train station.”
“Shit, I’d probably be the oldest person there, wouldn’t I? I like this, though. Not as good as Willie Nelson or Frank Sinatra, but it’s all right.”
Now assuming Eli wouldn’t be using this particular footage, I hit the button on the camera and dug my wallet out of my back pocket, then pulled one of my business cards free and extended it to the fella. “If you want to come tonight, take that up to the ticket booth window and tell them to page me. I’ll get you in.”
The guy eyed the card, then me, squinting. “What time?”