Page 9 of Bend
“I feel like Buddha.” Evan patted his stomach, and Les leaned to rub it with a grin, murmuring, “For good fortune.”
Evan laughed and shoved him away.
“So let’s talk about the Phoenix show.”
“God, that was a good one.” Les’s gaze went distant and starry with the recall as he spoke. For the portion of the show that I’d spent down in the orchestra pit with Tony and Derrick, the energy was palpable, and when all four bands had taken the stage near the end to debut a song they’d all collaborated on, an electric frisson moved through the crowd and had made them go silent for the three seconds that elapsed between Janie’s opening violin solo and Evan’s low baritone. Sam and Les had jumped in, and then it was like the entire venue broke open in a frenzy of bouncing bodies and cheers as the song unwound in a topsy-turvy mashup of each band’s sound: folk, rock, and atmospheric electronica doing a crazy dance together that somehow made sense. It’d easily been one of the best moments we’d captured on the tour so far.
* * *
“Satisfied?” Mars’s voice came over my shoulder as I packed up. Les and Evan had disappeared to the dining car a few minutes earlier, but Mars lingered. Still leaning against the entryway behind me where he’d been for the whole interview, I assumed. I hitched the camera bag onto my shoulder and turned around to face him. “Not yet. But I think I will be before it’s all said and done.”
“I meant the interview.” He grunted and shifted to make room for me to pass as I approached, but I didn’t immediately. I stopped in front of him and gazed up at him with a playful smile on my lips that he stared at for a long second before meeting my eyes again. He was good at dispassionate. I suppose, like me, he had to be.
“I didn’t.” I winked. “The interview was great. And you? You’ll crack.”
Mars snorted. “I don’t crack.”
“Poor word choice.” I thumped his solid chest before he could sway away. “Bet you’re good at bending, though.”
“You’d like that, huh?”
“I don’t even think that’s a question.”
7
Eli
In Tulsa, I sat at the hotel bar drinking a mai tai and trying to pretend I was on a Hawaiian island, rather than in the chilly central U.S. as I idly scrolled through Grindr to see if something caught my eye. I had no intention of actually following through, and every bare chest pic I scrolled through only reminded me of how interested I was in Mars. The past couple of days had been insanely busy for everyone. Two back-to-back shows in cities that were only a few hours’ train ride apart, lots of promo and events; there’d been little downtime and it seemed like everyone was coming and going. Mars had been hardly more than a big blur of band tees and jeans in passing.
Now we had a one-night reprieve post-show in an actual hotel while the train got serviced overnight. Most of the bands and crew had gone out to explore the city, but I was tapped out, and had spent way too long enjoying the first endlessly hot shower I’d had in a week. It’d made me drowsy and relaxed enough that I didn’t really mind keeping to myself at the bar. Usually I’d hit a point during filming where I’d be reminded of how isolating my career could feel, and I’d reached it. I spent my days documenting other peoples’ lives and achievements, and while it was absolutely my calling, there were a lot of lonely moments. Relationships hadn’t gone well for me. I traveled too much, got too sucked into my subjects, and over the last year I’d given up and just used Grindr for a quick hookup here and there.
I was aimlessly watching some talking heads on TV and considering ordering another round of appetizers when movement from the corner of my eye snagged my attention, and I looked over to find Mars settling in at the far end of the bar. He looked freshly showered, too, comb marks in the golden-brown hair he’d styled back off his forehead, wearing a long-sleeved Tom Petty tee that he’d pushed the sleeves up to his elbows on. He was walking forearm porn, that was for sure, and I dragged my eyes away from the twitch of muscle as he reached for the bar menu and glanced over at me seeming, for a second, like he’d just ignore me before he inclined his chin in an upnod and then focused on his menu. Maybe he just wanted to enjoy a drink in peace. I’d gathered this tour had him running all over the place, but I couldn’t help signaling the bartender as he returned to my side of the bar and pointing to one of the specials on the menu.
I watched with a private smile as the bartender concocted the festive Valentine-themed drink. Valentine’s Day was still a week away, and for us, it would culminate with a big show in New Orleans, but with the boxes of conversation hearts all over the train, I’d been unable to resist leaving a few on Mars’s pillow. Thus far, he’d seemed set on ignoring them.
The bartender poured the frothing pink liquid in a martini glass, threw a couple of cherries in the bottom, and carried it down to Mars with a little dish of conversation hearts, setting it in front of him with a light flourish.
I really should stop messing with him, but the look he turned in my direction and the way he blanched as he sniffed at, then took a sip of his drink was too amusing. He prodded the candy hearts in his dish, selected one, and handed it to the bartender as he spoke. The bartender brought it to me with a look that was both befuddled and amused.
I laughed as I read the heart he’d selected, because it was perfect: “Too Sweet.” Then I picked up my drink and headed down to his end of the bar.
“Smooth one, aren’t ya?” he said as I slid onto a stool.
“Just having some fun.” I popped a couple of the hearts in my mouth, then poked through the rest. “If I was smooth, I’d do something like this.” I nudged the heart in front of him on the bar top and he started chuckling at the text, which read “Hot Stuff.”
In turn, he picked through the hearts, plucking up one between his big fingers and setting it down in front of me.
I laughed, glimpsing the “I’m Sure.” “Somehow I’m reading that in a Valley girl accent again.”
He finger gunned me. “So youaregood at reading between the lines.”
“Mm-hmm. Told you. Am I interrupting anything? Will it kick off the apocalypse if you have a drink with the sworn enemy?”
He eyed me for a moment, then gave a slight shake of his head, chuckling into another sip of what looked like whiskey. “Nah, you’re all right.”
“Wonder if there’s a heart in there that says that. ‘You’re all right.’ There should be.” I grinned as he set down his glass.
“Only reason I didn’t sit down next to you in the first place was I figured you might be like me, just wanting to have a drink in the peace and quiet.”