Foolish Games (3 page)

“What? I didn’t notice, I was trying to type this review.”

“Oh, right, note to self,” I said sarcastically. “Next time we’re about to die I’ll just yell, hey guys, hear that noise? That’s the brakes screeching and thinking about giving up!”

“Sorry, Joie, I’m just freaking out because I can’t remember that much of the show. Do either of you remember anything past the first three songs?” He glanced back and forth between us.

“Sure can’t.” Lizzie smirked.

Turning to look at him, I asked, “What do you need?”

“Oh, just a review of the show,” he replied brightly. “All I can remember is the lighting.”

“What were you smoking?” Lizzie snickered.

“Nothing,” he emphasized. “It’s only because Rob Harlow is a master at what he does on the lighting crew.”

“Rob who?” Lizzie asked.

“Harlow…
hello
?” Riley fixed her with a look. “Anyways, I’ve already been told once to keep my lighting reviews to a minimum.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m thoroughly embarrassed to admit that the music felt like a blur in comparison.”

“Ah, someone’s got a little crush,” Lizzie taunted.

“Shut it,” Riley responded, but blushed.

“Okay, here it goes,” I announced. “Hawkins strutted across the stage.”

“He doesn’t strut,” Riley interrupted me.

“Oh, yeah he does.” Lizzie spoke up. “He just oozes arrogance.”

“Do you want a review or not?” I asked.

“Okay, okay.” He caved.

“Where was I?” I thought out loud, knowing that none of it was going to be useable, but definitely therapeutic for me. “Hawkins strutted across the stage,” I continued. “He devoured the cheers of the crowd like a drug as he slung his black Gibson over his shoulder. He cocked his head back once more at the audience and the rest of the band took their places. The tension was building in the crowd; it had started at his arrival on the stage and grew with their anticipation for the show to start. Hawkins nodded to, umm, what’s the drummer’s name again?” I turned to Riley.

“Blakely!” they both shouted while seemingly captivated with my version of the night.

“Right, Hawkins nodded to Blakely, but all that could be heard was the thunderous screams of the crowd. It was only when Hawkins attacked that first chord, with a strike so loud and hard, that the lights came up. I felt a jolt in my bones as the music erupted around us.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Riley interrupted. “Jolt in my bones?!” He snickered. “You seriously want me to write that?”

“Yeah, why? You know like jumping into cool, crisp water on a hot, steamy day.”

“All righty then.” He was snickering as he typed. “I felt a jolt in my bones.”

I continued, “The music was flawless, every note was hit with exact precision. It was the work of a well-oiled machine; one could hardly believe that they were just men. And neither can
they
,” I added dryly.

“Ha! You’re just sore because he dissed you.” Lizzie laughed.

“
Anyway
, as the night continued, Hawkins was like the captain of a ship that was rocking back and forth on a stormy sea. The crowd was like a wave of swaying bodies and faces. He taunted the raging sea with a jump in the air, guitar flailing over his head, before landing in a crouched position.”

And at the mention of this Riley busted out laughing.

“What now?” I asked accusingly.

“Girl, what were
you
smoking?”

“Do you want a review or not?”

“No, no, no…I want a review.” He smiled happily.

“Anyway, Hawkins strutted across the stage,” I repeated.

“Oh, not this again!” Riley laughed.

“It’s what I remembered most,” I said in my defense. “You wanted
my
review, remember?”

“Hawkins strutted across,” Riley quoted as he typed, “the stage.”

“With guitar in hand,” I added. “Behind him, Blakely was pounding his drumsticks left and right. He was playing the drums like a prodigy, but reminding every boy in the crowd that this was a man’s job. It was coming to a close as Hawkins took one last hit of his drug of choice as his eyes swept across the crowd one last time. Then with the stroke of his hand on that last chord, the last slamming pain that Hawkins inflicted on his guitar, it was all over. The cry of the saxophone could still be heard echoing off the walls of the arena as the lights went down. I was thrown back into silent murmurs of the crowd around me. Blinking in my dazed state as the house lights went up, I thought
this
is the music that inspires people.”

I looked out over the horizon though my real thoughts were back in the elevator last night. I shook my head and began again. “But when I found myself in the same elevator as Hawkins later that night, I realized he was nothing like the man he was on stage. On stage he was charismatic, but in person he was arrogant and smug. Without an audience watching him, he was reserved and seemingly bitter with his lot in life. A shadow of the person he was on stage. Still, and I say this as objectively as I can with a scorned pride…”

“Don’t you mean bruised ego?” Lizzie interjected.

“Oh, great, now even Lizzie’s a critic.” Shaking my head in disbelief, I continued, “
Anyway
—I thought about the beautiful music that still echoed in my ears and I was left feeling only one thing—sad.”

Cars continued to pass us, but I barely registered them as I thought about Hawkins in the elevator with his dark, tousled hair.

“I guess what they say is true,” I exhaled, “blondes
must
have more fun.”

“Oh.” Lizzie whimpered like a puppy dog. “Wait a minute, when did you start to care about Hawkins?”

“I was just improvising, Lizzie,” I said dismissively. “Riley’s not going to keep that part of the story.”

I looked over at Riley who continued to type beside me. “You’re going to delete those last couple of sentences, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked up. “I just got carried away.”

He glanced up at the overhead highway sign, that we quickly passed, and asked, “Wasn’t that our exit?”

“Oh, crap!” I looked in the rearview mirror as we pulled away from the back of the large, green exit sign. “Check the directions.”

Riley tossed his laptop to the ground so he could focus on the directions. “No, we’re good, but it’s coming up. At least I think it is, 300, no?” He turned the paper to the side so he could examine it more closely. “290?”

“Give it to me.” I grabbed the paper out of his hands and looked down at the directions. I noticed that J.T. Hawkins’ signature was clear across the page. The dark scribbling had made it virtually impossible to see the exit number. We had been driving for five hours now. My stomach was growling since my “lunch” only consisted of a few peanut butter crackers, a couple of Twizzlers, and a swig of Mountain Dew. All I wanted to know was the exit number, but no, J.T. Hawkins
chose
Riley. I slapped the papers across Riley’s chest since they were useless to me now.

“I’ll look it up on the computer,” Riley said, but I stopped him.

“It’s too late now,” I mumbled.

I picked the exit based on the tried and true method of elimination:
Eeny Meeny Miny Moe
. I veered off the highway at exit 300, while I ignored the huge sign that read “Wrong Exit, Joie!” But I was too tired to notice until I discovered that we had merged onto I-66, another main highway headed straight for Washington, D.C., not Charlottesville, Virginia.

“Oh, shit,” Riley murmured.

I was filled with a few choice words for Hawkins, but I bit my tongue knowing that no one wanted to hear it. Through my rearview mirror I realized that Lizzie was lying down again. She was already listening to the music on her iPod; once again unaware of anyone else’s stress but her own. Riley, my copilot, on the other hand looked frantically over the maps from Triple A. Glancing up to read the signs intermittently, he instructed, “Okay, you want to merge to the right and then take the next exit. It should loop around so that we can go the other way.”

“You’re a saint,” I said with relief as we smiled at each other for a quick second. I hit my right turn signal, veered off to the side, and swung around again. We were back on I-81 in no time. After an hour, we reached I-65 heading toward Charlottesville, Virginia, where our next concert awaited us. We pulled off the exit and drove in the direction of the nearest Walmart parking lot.

“Home sweet home,” I sang while cutting off the engine in front of the expansive store. Riley and I high fived each for having made it out of a tight fix together. Lizzie pulled out her white earphones and groaned from the back, “Where are we?”

“BFE, sweetheart,” I said under my breath, “BFE.”

We relished the feeling of being somewhere planned for a moment until I said, “Okay, first I have to do money detail.” It was comforting to know that I was the one responsible for the money. As much as I hated to be in charge of the others, I hated to rely on someone else even more. Reaching under my seat, I grabbed the stack of money that my father had left behind for me in his will. I got out my calculator and stuck a pen in the back of my pony tail. Trying not to think about my dad, I counted out the money for this part of the trip.

I worked out the necessities and murmured, “Gas, food, place to sleep.”

Glancing around at the parking lot, I said, “Check.”

Although I knew that I had just enough money to cover the span of forty-four tour dates, I still wanted to cut corners whenever we could, like sleeping in the van, just in case something went terribly wrong and we needed a backup plan. I noticed as I counted out the money that it only took a few seconds for the hot, humid summer air that surrounded the van to seep inside.

“God, we’re going to roast in here,” Riley said as he peeled his shirt off and dabbed his face. He looked like a beast with his well-defined, tanned pecks and tight abdomen. His eyebrows furrowed together over his light brown eyes when he asked, “Joie, are you staring at me
once
again?”

“Whatever, it plays tricks on my mind, okay? Mr. Abercrombie model,” I muttered as I looked away. “Why don’t you try keeping your shirt on like everyone else.”

He softly chuckled as he pulled his infamous white V-neck shirt back over his head. He ran both his hands through his hair to slick it back off his face before biting his short nails out of habit. He arched an eyebrow in my direction, but didn’t look over at me. “Kind of freaking me out, Joie.”

“Right.” I turned my head away again.

“Perfectly good waste of a shower.” Lizzie tossed the sheet off herself with exasperation and huffed, “I should have gotten a ride with Ryan in his tour bus.”

“But you hooked up with Warren last night,” Riley reminded her.

“So?”

“
So
,” he said. “I thought you were moving up to the
big
leagues.”

“Baby steps,” she sighed. “Baby steps.”

My face scrunched up in confusion as I grabbed what cash we needed and put the rest of it back in the manila envelope under my seat. “Okay, sightseers,” I said, checking the dashboard clock. “Since we have well over six hours until the concert starts.”

I pulled out a pamphlet from the glove compartment and read, “We are in the fine city of Charlottesville, Virginia. Best known for being the home of three U.S. presidents: Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, and James Monroe.”

“Oh, god, no.” Lizzie pulled the sheet back over her head.

“It’s too freaking hot for that,” Riley agreed.

“What? I need to do something on this trip besides ‘stalk’ a band,” I stressed. “Something I can explain to other
normal
people when I tell them about my adventure across the states.”

“You mean your
mother
.” Lizzie rolled her eyes.

“Pretty much,” I said, taking another quick glimpse down at the pamphlet. “Do any of you have a better idea?”

“Yeah, we walk into that air conditioned Walmart over there,” Riley pointed across the parking lot at the store, “and we find a place to get a cold drink and sit down for a while.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lizzie agreed.

Before I could even close the pamphlet, they were out of the van and slamming the doors shut. I looked over a few key sightseeing places on the front of the pamphlet. I stored the information away in my mind for when my mother drilled me with questions about my college credit “sightseeing” tour of the country. Taking one last glance, I threw the pamphlet over my shoulder and exited out of the sauna-like van.

The instant we crossed through the doors we were met with an inviting cool gust of air. “Ah, I already feel better,” Riley sighed as we made a beeline for the indoor McDonald’s. I got a super-sized vanilla shake and a burger which I inhaled in minutes.

After lunch, Lizzie was biting at the bit to do some girl shopping. We left Riley at the table; he was still too exhausted from the heat to want to do anything but sit.

“Save me!” I pleaded with him as Lizzie dragged me away by the arm. I gave up on the fight and sipped on what was left of my shake as we headed over to the ladies’ clothing section.

Lizzie suddenly turned to me and said, “We really need to work on your look.”

“What?” I was dumbfounded.

“This,” she said, waving in a circle down the length of me, “isn’t working.”

So
this
was why she wanted me to shop with her. I rolled my eyes while looking down at my pink rolled-up sweats and white tank top. “It works for me.”

“How are we going to get Hawkins to notice you dressed like that?”

“I don’t care if Hawkins notices me.” Not that it mattered, but I remembered Hawkins staring at me from across the parking lot this morning. I was pretty sure that was called getting
noticed
. Yet, I didn’t want Lizzie to make a production out of nothing so I just smiled smugly to myself.