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The bassist was looking at Tristan. “Of course he left, man. It’s not natural. It’s
against what the Bible says. No one wants a fucking fag on their team.” He laughed.
“Looking over your shoulder all the time. If I thought somebody on my team was a gay
boy, I’d carry a weapon. Man’s got to defend himself.”

Tristan looked stunned, then furious. “The Bible? Really? That’s your reason?” He
put his fork down, very carefully. “So you think you don’t know any gay people?”

“If I do, they know better than to get to know me. Otherwise maybe I’d have to persuade
them they need to stop their sick behavior.” He took a swig of beer. “My friends and
I used to be very persuasive back in high school. No limp wrists in our town.”

I looked at my half-finished dinner. A skin was forming on the cooling sauce. It all
suddenly looked glazed, the wrong colors, the meat like a bloody wound. I look a sip
of water and prayed not to be sick. I glanced at AC. He was sitting there, gripping
his wine glass.

Tristan looked at his hands. “So you like beating up gay men. Or maybe just anyone
who’s not like you.” He lifted his head up, and his eyes were black. “Why don’t you
start with me then?”

There was nothing I could do but watch what was about to go down. Annie, next to me,
whispered in my ear, “What? What’s going to happen?” I waved at her to be silent.
She carried on. “He can’t do this. Not here. I don’t know who’s out there. I’m going
to run damage control. Text me what’s happening. I’m getting the car. I’ll tell you
when it’s safe to leave.” And she jumped up from the table. Tristan and the bassist
were still staring each other down.

“Look man, I don’t want to fight you. I don’t like being around gays. That’s all.”

“Say it again,” Tristan said slowly.

The bassist shrugged. “Tristan, dude, I didn’t mean anything by it. Gay people do
what they want. Just not around me. If I don’t want Adam Lambert sleeping in the bunk
next to mine, it’s my business.”

Tristan laughed. I knew that laugh. I winced.

“Except this is my tour. So everything is my business.”

“It’s wrong, man, that’s it. Anyone will say the same thing.”

Tristan relaxed his posture slightly. Jack thought that meant he was off the hook.
I knew it meant he’d made his mind up. He crossed his arms. “So that’s what made you
say if someone gay was on your team you’d carry a weapon?”

I couldn’t even look at AC.

My phone buzzed and Tristan called over to James at the same time. “James—take care
of the bill, please?” He stood up, and shook out his arms, and put on his leather
jacket. It looked like he was suiting up for battle.

Tristan walked over to the bassist, and stood in front of him. It forced Jack to tilt
his head right up to see him. Then he said, “This is the way it is.” The bassist raised
his arm and started to get up, but Tristan stopped him with a look. “I suggest you
think of your future. I’m happy to say you left for a better offer. Provided you play
the next four nights and keep your fucking stupid ass mouth shut. Or not. Leave now.
Right now. Say what you like. Publicity won’t worry me.”

I looked down at my phone. The text from Annie said she had a car waiting outside
the kitchen. Tristan looked over at me, and I mouthed “kitchen” at him. He waited
for me to get up, nodding to the drummer, who was still sitting there, slightly open-mouthed.
He started to head towards the back of the restaurant, clearly thinking that we were
following. But AC was frozen in his seat. I came up behind him, and rested my hand
on his shoulder, bending down to whisper in his ear. “Come on my friend, I’ve got
a bottle of Barolo that needs an opinion.”

And as he stood slowly, I put my arm around him, and we walked tentatively towards
Tristan, whose tall frame was nearly to the doors. Then Tristan turned around, checking
we were behind him, and caught sight of me, supporting AC, who was clearly upset,
though doing his best to hide it. Those eyes took in the whole picture, my arm around
him, his arm slung over my shoulder, his pale face. His eyes grew dark, and his hands
balled up into fists.

AC noticed as well and roused himself from where he had been leaning on my shoulder.
“Dude. Tristan. Forget it. He’s an asshole. I just…” He squeezed my hand, and went
over to where Tristan was holding open the door to the kitchen, his shoulders set
against an invisible army. “Leave it mate. He’s just ignorant. And Tristan—you know
this isn’t just about me.” Tristan stood there, rigid, as the clatter of pots and
pans and tickets being called out went on behind us. AC went up to him and forced
him to look him in the eyes. “Tristan. You’ve got my back. I know that. I wouldn’t
be here except for that. But I’ve got yours as well. So forget it.” He repeated it
more forcefully. “Forget it. Let’s get the fuck out of here. We’ve got a tour to finish
and we’re bigger than this.”

Tristan nodded silently, and turned to walk through the kitchen. We followed him,
a small line snaking over the big red floor tiles, skirting the line chefs who were
getting meals out while glancing around at us, clearly wondering what the hell we
were doing back there, so close to boiling pots and flaming pans. It smelled good,
but I had no appetite. I was drained by the whole thing, the fight and the tour, and
I just wanted to get the hell out of there. We finally reached the doors to the outside,
and walked past the dumpster. Annie was there waiting. She looked grim, and it was
strange to see one of the support team at the wheel of a car, instead of the usual
drivers. She must have jumped in her rental car and come right over. The engine was
idling, and the bitter smell of car exhaust made me feel sick again for a moment.
She gave a brief wave when she saw us. The locks popped up on the door a moment later,
and AC got in, followed by me, then Tristan, who slammed the door with a fury.

“Is everything ok, Annie? Any press downwind?”

She shook her head. “No, checked it out, made it look like we had an announcement.
Told them you’d be available tonight after the DJ set, answer a few questions. Threw
the dog a bone. Don’t think our boy will go to the press. Nothing happened, right?”

Tristan was silent. AC had his eyes closed.

Annie asked again, but this time her voice had gone up an octave. “Nothing happened,
right?

Tristan’s voice was his usual lazy drawl when he was holding back some huge emotion.
“Depends what you mean by nothing, Annie.”

We were waiting at a light, the steady click of the indicator expanding the silence.
The light changed, and we turned across the traffic. I wished we could just drive
away and disappear. Annie finally spoke. “Tristan. Throw me a bone. Not that kind.
If I’ve got to get on the phone to the label, calm them down, just tell me what you
did. I can’t do damage control if I get the story last.”

Tristan laughed. “You mean, did I come out? Or did I punch someone? Was there blood?
No, no, and not yet in no particular order to all of the above, Annie.” He ran his
hand through his hair, and flicked an invisible speck off his red jeans. “All publicity
is good. You, of all people, should know that.”

Now it was her turn to be silent.

We got out of the car in front of the hotel. Annie handed the keys to the valet and
said she’d be back in an hour, and we headed inside. AC and Tristan walked through
the lobby, looking neither to the left or right, while Annie glanced around, glaring
at anyone who looked like they were heading in our direction. We made it to the bank
of elevators, and she jabbed at the button. “Listen, Tristan. Be careful out there.
There are people following your every move.” AC looked pale.

He came and stood very close to her. “Two answers to that. That’s nothing new. And
I’m not changing my life.”

Annie turned to me. “Please make him understand. And be visible. Talk about the female
fans. Romance. Music. Keep posting, but try to have a delay of a day or two from where
you are.”

I looked at her. “I usually do anyway. Do you really think there is something to worry
about? And what?”

Annie shrugged. “Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. The usual. But he just had a public
fight about gay rights. We don’t know how many people have something on their cell
phone, but we’ve got to figure at least one does. And you’re about to head through
the Midwest, down into the South. Most of what people do still has a statute on the
books somewhere against it. You’ve read the stories. Tour buses being boarded. Hell,
even Willie Nelson gets it, and you guys don’t have anywhere near as much country
cred. Just keep it clean.”

I really did roll my eyes then, and grabbed Tristan’s hand. “No sodomy, no drugs.
Got it.”

Tristan squeezed my hand. “Annie, thanks. Let me know if you hear anything, and send
me the interview questions for the Kansas City radio station. Thanks again, see you
later. Text me if I’m not where I should be for the press.”

Tristan, AC, and I got in the elevator, and as the door shut, AC started talking nervously.
“Tris, look. This is nice, the being on tour thing. I love playing with you, you know
that.” The elevator stopped at the gym level, and two women in bathrobes started to
get on.

I held up my hand. “Sorry, we’ve got a sick guest here. Please take the next one.”
And I pressed the close door button as they stood there, open-mouthed.

Tristan was leaning against the back wall of the elevator. “Nicely done, Lily. Think
I’ll hire you as the tour manager. Couldn’t be any worse.” He looked stricken. “That’s
not what I meant. You know. No. Fuck this. AC. You’re not leaving the tour. You won’t
break my stride, career, or whatever else you’re thinking. Do what you need to. I’m
there. But leaving isn’t an option.” He had a funny look on his face. “Didn’t you
just tell me that this wasn’t just about you?”

AC glanced at me. “Did I?” He gave a weak smile. “Fine, I’ll stay. But I hope you’re
still saying that when you can only play state fairs and two-bit casinos.”

“Shut up. We’ll all go live in Berlin. I’ll sing cabaret. You can dance. Lily will
tell fortunes, there will be absinthe and opium and the nights will be long and sweet.”
He laughed as the door opened. “In fact, let’s fuck up the whole thing. That sounds
fairly tempting.”

AC did smile then, and he turned to go down the hall to his room. Tristan pulled at
him. “No. Don’t trust you. You stay with us. Quick clean up, then we can face the
music. Literally.”

We got ourselves ready, and headed back out. I was a little nervous about the whole
thing, but was trying to put on a brave face for Tristan’s sake. AC just looked numb.
I didn’t hold out much hope for tonight. It was supposed to be a fun idea, Tristan
playing some of his favorite music. Now everyone was too distracted, too tired. But
he was used to this, putting it all to one side to be in the spotlight. Me, not so
much.

The doorman got us a cab, and the driver took us to the side entrance for the venue
without a word, thankfully. Not a fan. Just a normal person. Tristan tried the door
and found it locked. He banged on the door in annoyance, and when no one came after
a minute, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and pressed the speed dial.
“And where is James in all this mess? Seriously, I’ve got to sort this shit out,”
he said, more to himself than to me.

Another minute passed, and the door was opened by a chastened looking venue employee.
James was a foot behind, pretending he was annoyed. Tristan gave him a look. “Where
the fuck is the VIP room here? Can we go there? Now? Thank you very much.” James looked
like thunder, but Tristan ignored him.

AC slipped behind me. “You’ve got to love him when he’s like this.” He pulled me back
slightly so we were a few steps behind. “In this game, Lily, someone’s got to play
the diva. Better that it’s him than anyone else.”

The VIP room had the catering, the red velvet sofas, the local rich kids. But the
music sounded tinny, and the paper tablecloths were already ripped and soggy from
melting ice. People were drinking, talking in their groups. They’d all looked up when
Tristan came in, but they were playing it cool. I had already spotted the two women
who would definitely be coming over at some point, trying to get Tristan talking.
Tristan gave a quick look around, then whispered in my ear that he was going to check
out where he’d be doing the music, and left. On the other side of the room the drummer
was sitting by himself, a bottle of beer and a shot in front of him. The bass player
was there too, but sitting with James, who I imagined was trying to get him to stay.
I looked away, and went and asked for a decent cold beer. Clutching it, I sat down
on one of the sofas, under the ducts for the ventilation system. It hit up against
what looked like a drain pipe and there was a patch of grime where the two connected.
But it was dark, no one cared. I didn’t even notice I was holding the bottle of beer
against my head, until I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was AC.

“Hey,” I said, and we clinked bottles. “Are you ok?” I gave him a little one-armed
hug, which he didn’t return.

He shook his head. “Yeah, I’m all right. I’m…it was just a shock, that’s all. I don’t
ever feel…I should be used to it. We don’t really have to talk about it, yeah? But
I’m fine. What about you? Are you ok?”

He was giving off a weird vibe. I didn’t like it. But there wasn’t a lot I could do.
“I’m ok. Felt a bit sick before.” I took a couple of deep breaths. “We’re out of here
tomorrow, thank fuck.”

AC lent over. “Sick? Why?” His face was very tense.

“What he said. It’s disgusting. I mean. That there are people who are so ignorant.
Cruel. Prejudiced. Still. And that he could be so fucking clueless about Tristan.”
Shit. I looked at my beer, then back up at AC.

AC raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, not realizing how Tristan would feel on that issue. When
he’s so…”

I looked at him. “Open.” I tried again. “Well. On stage.” I drank more beer. “Performing.”