Page 12 of Goode to Be Bad
“I’m done with that phase of my life,” he said, smiling at me. “Got other plans for after shows than random groupies with backstage passes whose names I’ll never know.”
I didn’t touch that inference. “What do you think the guys will think?”
He mused. “Hmmm. I suppose I should probably let them know what’s going on, huh?”
“I mean, you guys are a band, so I think it would be a good idea to fill them in. I’ll bet money they won’t complain.”
He shrugged. Yanked out his phone. Brought up a FaceTime group call with the other members of his band—Jupiter, the drummer; Brand, the bassist, and Zan, the other lead guitarist.
They all picked up, and Myles kept the phone tilted down and close so all they could see was him. “What’s up, guys?”
“Calling to cancel the tour?” Jupiter said, a note of laughter in his voice.
Myles snorted. “Fuck no. We have twenty-two shows lined up, each one sold out, several of those back-to-back shows in the same city. We’ve got three dates sold out in London, two in Dublin, two in Paris. And Mick is saying he’s getting requests from venues in Rio, Johannesburg, and Sydney to see if we can add dates because they’re getting so many calls asking about more tickets.”
“So what’s up?” Jupiter pressed. “You never call all of us at once like this, not on breaks, unless it’s big news.”
“It is big news.” He grinned. “I leased the bus out.”
They didn’t pick up on the inference right away. There was a long beat of stunned silence.
“You…leased the bus?” Zan said, sounding stoned out of his mind. “So we’re sharing the bus with another band?”
Myles laughed. “Lay off the pot for ten seconds, bud. No, we’re not sharing.”
Jupiter caught on, partway. “You got a new bus?”
“Nope.”
Brand went in for the win. “No fucking way, dude. No way.” He laughed. “You did fuckingnot.”
“Did what?” Zan asked. “Man, why’d you have to call right after I took a massive toke? I’m not following.”
“A jet?” Jupiter offered. “You bought a jet?”
Myles stood up and touched the button to rotate the screen. “Get your first look at our new ride, gentlemen.” He panned around to take in the exit, showed them the stairs, the bar, then around to the couch; he paused on me. “No, she doesn’t come with the bus, so don’t get any ideas.”
There was a chorus of voices: “Hey, Lex.”
“Hi, guys.” I smirked. “I don’t come with the bus, but I do come with Myles.”
“We know,” Jupiter drawled, his voice droll. “We’ve heard.Multipletimes.”
I gave a cutesy little shrug. “Oops.”
Myles winked at me, and kept moving down the length of the jet with the phone, highlighting the individual charging stations complete with ports for wired internet access, the changeable LED lighting running around the ceiling and floor of the entire cabin, how the seats folded into beds, the bathroom at the back complete with a rainfall showerhead and nozzles in the wall, heated towel rack, a separate smaller room with a closable door for the toilet and its own sink and mirror. He knocked on the cockpit door, peeked his head in, and introduced the pilots—all I heard was a faint buzz of voices, one male, one female, and the tinny sound of the guys saying hello; then he was outside and down the steps, panning the camera to take in the exterior, walking around the nose—he had to shout to be heard, since the jet engines were idling, and even then they were loud.
Back inside, he settled onto the couch beside me, slung an arm over my shoulder. “So. Thoughts?”
“You know, I’m stoned out of my gourd, so I may not make sense. But. Um. We sleep on the bus? I know the chairs fold out, but I don’t know if I could sleep on that, like, for the night.”
Myles just laughed. “No, you won’t have to. When we finish a show, we’ll stay the night at a hotel. Big suites for everyone, my dudes. Then, whenever we feel like rolling our fat asses out of bed, we take a car to the airport, fly to the next city, check into a hotel. Do it all over again.”
“So, no more bus, at all?” Zan was still puzzled. “Only hotels?”
“Tony and Mick are putting together our hotel itinerary for the overseas tour. The bus was paid for, including the conversions and upgrades I did, so the lease makes us money. When we’re not touring, I plan on using the jet as a private charter so I’ll make back money there. The expense of the hotel rooms and the cars to and from will come out of our take-home pay. Tony says we’re spending a bit more this way, but with the way the tours are selling out, it’s gonna be fine, and a lot easier on us travel-wise. Tony’s been after us to fly for a while.”
Brand—short reddish-blond hair and a thick beard, tattoos all over his hands and forearms and biceps in patchwork which didn’t quite yet make a sleeve—tapped his chin, the sparrow on the back of his left hand fluttering as he dragged his fingers through his beard. “Question—this isyourjet, or is this the band’s jet?”