Page 9 of Feuds and Interludes
And we had two more songs to play.
We coasted through two of Papa’s biggest solo hits to riotous cheers from the audience. I’d lost my focus, however. I was in a daze until we took a big bow and walked offstage.
“What did he say to you?”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I was stunned. The weight of what I’d just heard, and the performance that followed, was crushing me. I needed to sit down. The adrenaline was leaving my body and I had the shakes. I probably needed to put my head between my knees.
Sounds were muddied and spots appeared in my vision. I knew my band was right behind me, and I felt Annie’s hand on my back. She guided me to a spot in an empty hallway and pushed me down on a bench.
“Fucking incredible,” Brandon said as he did a victory dance, bouncing his knees out and in while walking around on his tiptoes. “That old guy is rad!”
My hands tingled like pins and needles and the room started to spin. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.
“Shut up, dumbass! Get him some water,” Annie yelled to her brother.
Brandon grabbed a roadie with a headset and asked him for some water.
“You sounded brilliant,” Annie said, giving my hand a squeeze. “Truly. I’ve never cried over that damn song, and you had me bawling like a baby.”
I opened one eye and sure enough, her black mascara was smudged.
All I could do was grin.
“Great job, kid.”
Bruce walked by with his guitar tech as he used a towel to wipe his face.
I couldn’t speak. Which was good. I didn’t know whether I wanted to hug him and weep or punch him in the mouth, which would be wrong. The guy was in his 70s.
I lifted a hand and waved at him, which was probably the smartest bet.
“You okay to go back to the table?”
Brandon handed me a bottle of water. I gulped half of it down, and then coughed as some of it took the wrong pipe to my lung.
“Just a minute,” I said. I hated being fucked up after a performance. I’d been feeling shitty the last several months on tour, and when my bloodwork came back with an 8.2 A1C and a fasting blood sugar reading of over 180, it was enough to be diagnosed with diabetes. I did everything I could to change my diet, but some things were tougher to deal with, like a regular sleep schedule, exercise in between bus rides…I started medication and that was helping some.
The only thing that was going to help me right now was to get back to the hotel and crash.
“What was that little shoving match with Butler about earlier?” Annie asked me. Apparently, they’d had an excellent view for that interlude.
I couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that spread across my face.“Saw that, did you?”
Annie shook her head. “What did you say?”
“Told him I wanted him to bend me over a couch.”
“You did not!”
I burst out laughing and coughed again, my body letting me know I needed my inhaler. Too much stress for one night. But laughing helped. Remembering the look on Shane’s face?Priceless.
“I didn’t. But it doesn’t matter what I say to him, he hates me.”
“Yeah, well, hatred, and wanting to tear your clothes off and lick you like a popsicle must be the same emotion to him, because that’s the vibe I got.”
My eyes bugged out. “No way.”
