Page 6 of Love on Tour
“Anyone else need the bathroom?” Austin asked, coming up beside them.
“I’ll walk out with you,” Matt said.
“Uh, sure,” Christine said, following behind. She spotted Cat and Kennedy talking with a group of men. She’d lost sight of Alicia and Red.
The port-a-potties were the biggest she’d ever seen. Three normal-sized stalls could fit inside one. She wondered if they each held more than one toilet. As they got closer, one of the doors flung open, and out walked a blonde-haired woman. She was dressed in a white blouse with a flowing floral skirt. She was pretty. Very pretty. Not in a Barbie doll way, but definitely eye-catching. When she talked, she had the strongest southern accent Christine had ever heard.
“Holy crap, that’s a big shitter. I mean, it’s like acondoshitter. I could live in that thing.”
Christine howled. She looked at Matt, who was shaking his head. “I love her,” Christine said.
“That’s our Andy,” Matt said.
Andy walked over, said hello to Matt, kissed Austin on the cheek, and introduced herself to Christine.
“I’m the record rep, Andy. Short for Andrea, but nobody calls me that. Unless I’m doing the naked dance with some dude. They hate yelling out ‘Andy’ in the throes of an O. Like I enjoy yelling out ‘Bubba.’ Who the hell names a guy Bubba? That just ain’t sexy, you know what I mean?”
Christine was shocked into silence.
Matt let “uh-huh” slip from his lips.
“Okay, gotta roll. Later, peeps.” And with that, Andy was gone.
“I love her,” Christine said.
“You already said that,” Matt told her.
“It was worth repeating.”
Christine used the condo shitter, more out of curiosity than need, and when all three were finished, they returned to the party.
Austin ordered three Fireball shots, which they sucked down. One was usually her limit, but when he ordered another round, she knocked it back. When her next sentence came out slurred, Austin appeared oblivious to the fact she was buzzed, but Matt stayed close by, plying her with water, while Austin worked the room. Christine could feel the fuzziness creeping into her brain. She usually didn’t drink because she didn’t like feeling out of control. She fell mute, sticking with the old adage: it’s better to keep quiet and be thought stupid than open your mouth and prove it. She tried not to think about all the times she’d embarrassed herself, trying to be cooler than she was. She’d found a niche she was comfortable with. A talented song plugger known for her hard work and professionalism. She was pretty sure getting drunk at an industry party and slurring her way through conversations would not enhance that reputation.
A number of people came up to chat with Matt. Christine nodded and smiled, but aside from a few basic introductions, she stayed quiet. She recognized some people in the room but didn’t know them well enough to strike up a conversation.
“I never say the right thing when I drink,” she said to Matt. She had leaned in to whisper in his ear but misjudged and her lips touched him.
“Who does?” He grinned and lightly touched her arm. It gave her chills. “Are you bored yet?”
“Parties aren’t really my thing,” she said.
“Mine either. I’m the tour manager, the right-hand man, the wingman. So I have to be here, ready to jump and ask how high. But right about now, my sofa sounds pretty damn good.”
A visual of Matt lying on his couch, shirtless and in sweatpants, breezed through her mind. She wished she could screenshot it.
“You two look awful cozy,” Austin said.
Christine looked up. She hadn’t noticed Austin walking their way.
“Just killing time,” Matt said.
“I’m ready to hit the road if you are,” Austin said. “I told the others to hang as long as they want. They can Uber home.”
“It’s only one o’clock. I expected you to party all night,” Christine said, most of the Fireball having worn off.
“If it was my party, I’d go all night. But at this kind of party, it’s best to leave early.”
“Why?”
