Page 57 of Backstage

“You mean intercourse?” Taylor asks me, weird and amused at the same time.

I look at him sideways and relax a little bit by putting my hands in my back pockets. “We fuck, we screw, we shag, we fuck like rabbits...I mean, we have sex...” I keep explaining in the incredulous silence of the bus.

Martin starts laughing and reaches out to Luke. “I knew this would happen. You owe me fifty bucks.” He snickers as Luke grabs his wallet and reluctantly drops the money.

“Would you stop betting on my sex life?” I give them a dirty look as I fetch a plate from the cupboard and approach the table.

“Absolutely not. I was sure I’d win. You eye-fuck each other every time you’re in the same room together. I knew you’d get down to business. Easiest fifty bucks of my life,” laughs our guitarist.

Luke looks at me wrong. “I was counting on you. Traitor. I thought you, at least, were immune to the allure of the sex machine,” he whispers slowly.

I burst out laughing at Damian’s nickname and fill my plate with a slice from every carton of the three pizzas in front of me, slapping Taylor’s hand trying to stop me when I reach his. It’s punishment for getting mad at me for stupid reasons.

“I’m sorry, honey, but he deserves all the praise he gets from that point of view. I can guarantee you I’d never stop giving it to him. The man makes you reach Nirvana and then takes you further,” I joke back to Luke.

Taylor and Martin burst out laughing while Luke looks disgusted. I know he doesn’t want to hear about my sex life, but that’s the punishment for betting on it.

“So, that’s why you go on their bus every night?” Taylor asks me in disbelief.

“Yes, and this has to stay between us. If the media found out about this, they’d slaughter us, and we don’t want that kind of publicity.” I point my finger at each one of them and look at them threateningly.

They all nod seriously, understanding exactly why I don’t want them to make such insinuations about Damian and me, after everything that happened before the tour. I eat my pizza without talking, and they resume eating as well. They’re my family, of course they’re gonna be pissed off if I even think about leaving. My heart fills with a calming warmth that makes me feel loved, and I smile.

We are twenty years old, with a career that is taking off at the speed of light. I spend my nights between the sheets with the god of sex and evenings playing music with my dearest friends... and we’re paid to do it! In a few months, we’ve raised enough money to afford an apartment in Manhattan, and people sing our songs when they come to our shows. I feel intoxicated, invincible, like nothing bad can touch me.

We stop on the way for lunch and, since there’s no show tonight, decide to spend some time in the desolate countryside we are going through. Living all year round in an apartment in the middle of skyscrapers, sometimes I forget how huge the distances between one city and another are. Around us, the expanse of sunburnt land and low bushes stretches for miles.

Except for this gas station with the diner, there are no houses or anything to remind you that people live in this place. Every now and then, a car pulling a trailer with a boat headed for the Great Salt Lake, near Salt Lake City, speeds along the highway. A yellow sign warns us not to stray in the middle of the brushwood to avoid being bitten by the rattlesnakes that populate this area. It makes me smile: I guess they’ve never seen the rats roaming around New York. Those are creatures you have to fear.

The diner isn’t very big, but it’s two o’clock in the afternoon, so it’s empty, and it can safely contain our whole crew. What I like the most about touring is the family atmosphere it creates, not only among the band but with all those who live around us: sound engineers, musicians, stage crew. There are dozens of people who live elbow to elbow with us, some of them for years, others are new, but all share the same passion for music. They are the roadies, and they are the soul of every tour.

I sit next to Luke and Martin, across from me is Thomas, next to him, Lilly and next to me, on the other side, Simon.

“Do I have time to fuck the waitress?” Martin asks after the girl leaves after bringing us beers.

We all burst out laughing.

“She set her eyes on Damian first, then on Simon and then on me. You have to beat the competition before you can get between her legs,” says Thomas, amused, and I can only laugh.

“How come you get first choice of every girl?” Martin asks in a tone somewhere between annoyed and good-natured envy.

“Because we worked our asses off for years to become Gods of Sex. It takes hard and meticulous work, leaving women satisfied so they can go and tell their friends about the mystical experience. And who are we to deny women healthy pleasure?” I answer.

Thomas smiles behind his beer, Simon rolls his eyes, Luke snickers, and Martin makes a funny face. “Yes, Lilly told us you’re more than living up to your reputation. How did she put it? Ummm, oh, you bring her to Nirvana and further? So, our bass player confirmed you’re a sex god. Go ahead, give yourself a pat on the shoulder. She’s usually very selective in the choice of men she sleeps with.” Martin’s words slam everyone at the table, and tense silence follows. “Oops. Did I just say that out loud?” He throws a worried look at Lilly.

I look at Lilly, who keeps eating as though she doesn’t hear our conversation, but her utterly red-as-a-traffic-light face tells me she absolutely heard Martin’s comment. Thomas looks up at me, worried.

Simon rescues us from our embarrassment with a joke aimed at Martin. “So how do you plan to approach the waitress? Have you tried begging on your knees yet, or is that your next move?” Everyone laughs except the person concerned and me.

Lunch goes by as if nothing happened, but I notice the looks coming from the tables next to ours. It seems quite the opposite; everyone heard it. I might just be paranoid, but the kid’s statement just about made me choke on my lunch.

*

“Why the hell did you go and tell Martin?” I hiss, blocking Lilly before she can get on her bus.

We’re stuck between our tour bus and theirs, and no one can see us unless they have to get on this bus. Still, arguing with her out in the open makes me feel uncomfortable, and the fear of someone seeing us becomes more real.

Lilly shrugs, slightly distraught. “They suspected that I wanted to leave the band and start a solo career because I kept disappearing to your bus. So I was forced to tell them,” she explains with a sorrowful grimace.

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