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I stopped rearranging the bottles and shrugged. “Simple. I fell at his feet.”

“As we do.” And he was out the door, dragging our suitcases behind him.

chapter nineteen

Dallas to Austin

Once in the car, a couple of mini bottles from the minibar better than we’d been before,
talking didn’t seem like a good idea. Tristan wrapped his arms around both of us,
and we both moved closer to him. It felt like he was keeping us warm, but I had the
feeling it was a little bit the other way around. He needed us to hold him together,
so he wouldn’t spin out of orbit and lose his center. The edge had felt very close
back there. And talking seemed a waste of time. Why question what was obviously working?
What really needed to be explained, after all? Particularly at the moment. No one
asks why animals stand together for warmth, or why people reach out for someone’s
hand when it’s dark. It could be as simple as that, our pile of bodies in the back
of a limousine providing more comfort than we could on our own. I kicked off my boots
and put my feet up on the seat. I looked out into the night. If it was slightly more
complicated than that, asking a lot of stupid questions wouldn’t help.

I woke up a couple of hours later. I thought I’d heard something. The driver’s voice
was coming through the intercom, very quietly.

“Is anyone awake?”

I pressed the button to connect. “Hi, yeah, keep it down. What’s up?”

“We’ll be there in about half an hour. It’s still early.” I looked at my watch. Ten
past five. Yes it was. “Do you want to go right to the hotel, or get some breakfast
first? There’s a decent 24 hour diner folks like, I can take you there if you want.”

My stomach grumbled at the mention of diner food. What had I eaten for dinner? Bourbon,
champagne, and whiskey. Yeah. Maybe eating first wasn’t a bad idea. It was very early.
“Hang on a sec,” I said to the driver, and took my hand off the intercom. My neck
was stiff. I’d moved along the seat to get to the controls, and now I turned around
to look at Tristan and AC. Asleep still, though Tristan appeared to be moving slightly.
They looked angelic, AC with his curls, and Tristan stretched out, his legs looking
even longer in the confined space, the circles under his eyes and pale skin making
him look like a lost child. I didn’t want to wake them up. They needed to shut down,
forget about everything. But food wouldn’t hurt. If Tristan didn’t want to deal with
the public, we could always get takeout.

I pressed the button again. “Sure, why not? They may decide not to, but let’s head
there. Thanks.” I shut off the intercom in the middle of the driver’s “thanks.” I
didn’t want to bother the two of them any more than I already had. I crawled back
to Tristan’s side. He sleepily pulled me to him.

His voice sounded dry. I wondered if he was getting sick. “Is everything ok?”

“Yes, no worries. Diner food soon.”

He leaned his head on mine. “Good, think I’m hungry. Bit more sleep first though.”

I closed my eyes, and leaned against him, feeling his weight on mine. Another half
an hour in our cocoon.

* * *

We managed to get a parking space in the lot for the nearby shops, although it was
a little tricky to maneuver the limo around. But I supposed the driver was used to
that. I hoped so. Tristan offered to bring him some breakfast, and then changed his
mind.

“Come in with us, man,” he said. “You’ve got to be hungry, driving overnight. And
you’ve still got to go back, right?”

The driver shook his head. “No, I’m due to stay here with you, until after the concert.
Then back.”

Tristan looked surprised for a minute, then nodded. “Shit, I’m losing it. That’s right.
Even more reason to come have breakfast. Otherwise, I’m going to get offended and
think you dragged us to some tourist place with awful food.”

The driver looked a little embarrassed. “It is a tourist place. But the food’s good.
All right, I’ll come. Very generous of you, sir.”

Tristan tapped him on the back. “Don’t start saying that around me. The press’ll pick
it up.”

AC let out a howl of laughter. The driver just looked confused. It took me a second
to figure out what Tristan meant. Then I glanced over at AC. He just winked and shook
his head.

Tristan smiled. “Don’t worry about it. And ignore him. He’s always like that. At least
I can see trouble coming. Come on, let’s go before anybody turns up.”

We went in. It wasn’t exactly what you thought of when you imagined a diner, even
with the counter and big clock. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe it was the strange
stainless steel bell-shaped lights and the green walls. The circular banquette seats
around a table made it feel more like a dream from a TV show in the 70s than a modern
restaurant. I couldn’t decide if it was the lack of sleep, or food, or just everything,
but it all seemed like a set, just a little surreal.

The food was decent. AC was thrilled they had a vegetarian breakfast with homemade
sausages. The driver had chicken and waffles. I had a hash brown sort of thing with
real sausages. Tristan ate half of mine, and the frittata he ordered. After a long
night of stress, it felt good to be somewhere else, eating some decent food. There
was always that odd feeling from being in a new place, on the road, of not really
existing. We could all just get back in the car, and take off for somewhere else.
In less than 24 hours, we’d be able to do it. One more show.

Finally, we staggered out into the milky sunshine. Rush hour was beginning, like it
did everywhere. I wished we could have a few hours of 5 a.m. lack of pressure. But
the day was here, and so were we, and it was time to get back into the world. The
driver held open the door for us, waving Tristan away. “Ok boss. Hotel next. Unless
there’s somewhere else we need to go first?” Tristan had grudgingly tolerated being
called “boss” instead of sir. “Hotel St. Cecelia, that’s right, isn’t it?”

AC whistled, and looked at me. “Ask Tristan. His idea,” I said. He’d actually called
them directly, himself, after he’d gotten out of the shower in the last hotel. That
we’d left. Or never really got to. Last night. This morning. Everything was really
starting to blur.

Tristan bowed his head in acknowledgement. AC looked pleased. “Nice. Haven’t been
there in years. Good choice, Tris. Don’t tell me—surprise me. Bungalow or piano suite?”

Tristan grinned. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

AC reached across me and tapped him on the arm. “Wait. Did we get thrown out of there?”

Tristan frowned. “Was it that place? Fuck pool sides are all the same.” He ran his
hand through his hair. “You know, I honestly don’t remember. I don’t think so. They
seemed happy enough to take the reservation. I was lucky to get it—they’d had some
last minute cancellation thing. Unless it’s just a plan to get us to pay for…what
was it?”

AC smirked. “I think it was a chair we threw in. And the woman behind the bar.”

Tristan looked at us, wide-eyed. “Oh shit. Maybe it was there. Never mind. We’re older
and wiser now. It was an ugly chair, anyway.”

AC looked out the window. “Older, for certain. I’m tired.”

We pulled into the hotel a few minutes later. The entrance looked like a private home,
except for the strange shield-shaped neon sign. We pulled in, and there was someone
at the door almost instantly. Nothing like a limo for attracting attention. The car
stopped and the door swung open. The man welcoming us looked a bit like he’d been
lost in the sun for a little too long at some point, but he was perfectly friendly.

“Checking in, Mr…?”

Tristan smiled, and ran his hand through his hair again. “Mustang. Reservation for
one of the bungalows in the name of Mustang.”

The guy did a stellar job of hiding the smirk just enough. “Mustang. Yes, I believe
we have that ready for you now. Let me get your bags.”

Tristan nodded. “Cheers mate.” Then he gestured to me, a bit panicked. He came over.
“Lily? Do you have any cash? I wasn’t prepared for all this. Forgot about the liquid
asset part.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” I fished around in my bag, but AC was already there, slipping
the man some money. He waved at us. Tristan looked instantly relieved.

AC came up to him. “Living in the bubble too long, man.”

Tristan laughed. “Yeah, yeah, tell me all your problems by the pool.”

We all went inside and stood around awkwardly while Tristan signed for things, keeping
an eye out for curious guests, then Tristan went out to arrange the pickup with the
driver for tonight. Finally, the same man came to lead us to the bungalow. Tristan
was about to wave him away, but AC grabbed his arm. “Don’t let them know you remember
this place. They might remember you,” he whispered dramatically.

Tristan rolled his eyes. “Fine.” So we followed the man to the windowed building,
and let him describe the amenities, the bar, the outside seating, which towels to
use for the pool, and how to call for the concierge at any time, day or night. When
he got to showing us the DVD player, AC exclaimed, “Perfect. We have some DVDs…” Tristan
glared at him. “Of the tour. The tour. To watch.” I was trying not to laugh, but at
the same time it was the only way to deal with the weirdness we’d had to put up with
over the past 24 hours. Giggling, I pulled AC to come show me the view of the pool,
and we watched Tristan thank the guy and shut the door behind him.

“How much of a tip did you give him? For fuck’s sake. The DVD. Fuck.” And he started
laughing. “How the hell did we get to this point? Do you remember how it happened?”

AC sat down on the sofa. The view out the floor to ceiling windows was of the pool,
a collection of unfamiliar trees, the other shaded bungalows. He had a thoughtful
expression on his face, even if the fatigue made him look more dissolute than usual.
He shook his head, and pushed back an escaping curl. “We’re incredible?” He breathed
in. “Honestly Tris, I try not to think about it too much. That way lies madness. After
Devised split…” He trailed off. “I’m just happy to be here. Life doesn’t like it when
you ask why. Full of reasons why not.” He stood up. “I have a fast metabolism. And
the wet bar is calling my name. Anyone else for a bottle of wine and a drunken float
in the pool? Come on, we made it this far.”

“Living the dream.” Tristan’s voice was teasing but he looked sad, like he’d just
been reminded of all things he wanted to forget.

“Damn straight. And you better lock up those DVDs before anyone gets curious. Promotion,
my second skill. No, third. Now what goes well with vegetarian breakfast, at,” he
looked at his watch, “9 a.m? I think there’s an amusing little white in here calling
my name. Lily?”

I jumped up to help him. I didn’t want to think about what had been left unsaid either.

* * *

So here we were. The last show of this leg. I’d made it, through secrets and Tristan’s
unpredictable behavior. I’d had Trevor encouraging me to take a break, and head back
to NYC, and AC asking me to stay. And I’d stuck it out. And I’d had that one moment
in the limo, with the toast to the line from the Devised song, “to everything, and
all the rest.” Devastatingly simple words, which in that moment transformed a lyric
into an indelible bond between the three of us. A long, long road. 3500 miles of it.
And I felt like I’d worked every mile. But now, watching them at the end of the encore,
bowing and waving to the crowd, it really did seem as easy as they made it look. One
of the roadies ran out on stage with two bottles of champagne, and gave one to Tristan
and the other to AC. They popped the corks to general cheering, then like a couple
of leather-clad race car drivers, shook the bottles hard and starting spraying the
audience and each other. The people in the front must have taken a direct hit. Everyone
was shrieking. And the two of them stood there, brandishing the bottles, side by side,
simply watching the crowd. Tristan coaxed another few cheers out of them, then went
up to the mike. “Thank you Austin! You’ve been beautiful. We will see you next time.”

Dripping champagne, they both waved to the crowd and started walking off. AC stopped,
drank from the bottle to more applause, and threw an arm up in the air behind him
in a final wave as he walked off stage, the last person to disappear into the wings.
I stood there watching as the die-hard fans kept cheering until the house lights came
up. It broke the spell, having to squint into the light, the black floor sticky with
beer and discarded cups. The ones that always left a little bit before the end never
saw this. They would already be in the parking lot, away from the crush. The audience
filed out, shuffling along, revealing more of the floor, except for a guy and a girl
standing off to the side, still gazing at the stage. They were holding hands. For
a minute, I thought it was Melanie. I blinked to clear my vision, but when I looked
again, one of the staff had asked them to move on, and I couldn’t see her face. I
hoped it was her. Whoever it was, they had found someone they could share their passion
with. I turned away from the brightly lit theatre. I knew that wasn’t an easy thing
to find.

The after-party seemed to be starting already, the backstage of the venue filled with
people drinking and laughing. This wasn’t even the official one. Tristan had promised
to attend everything, after a short conversation with Annie on the phone a few hours
before the show, while we were relaxing in the room. Apparently their biggest worry
was that the star would self-destruct one way or another, or worse, not do any promotion.
So Tristan had sworn to sign everything that was put in front of him, and shake everyone’s
hands. Kiss all the women. Whatever they wanted. I could tell he was tired, and sarcastic
and slightly bitter about the whole thing. But Annie obviously didn’t do sarcasm,
and whatever he had said, she’d taken at face value. Besides, he’d meant it. Most
of it, anyway. AC had dragged him out to the pool after the phone call, Tristan’s
posture a little more tense than it had been before. But now they were doing the rounds,
fixed smiles on both their faces.