Page 18 of Goodbye Note

The lyrics wrote themselves.

I had a platinum record, I was about to leave on tour, and somehow, Varian wanted to be friends. It didn’t feel like real life.

When we went backstage, Val was sitting on top of one of the speakers, half watching the headliner play, half talking to some chick who was falling all over herself to get his attention. Val met Varian’s eyes and gave him a “you owe me look” as we approached.

“This is Lindsay,” Val said. “She does merch and photos for Death Nostalgia.”

“Cool, cool.” Varian didn’t even look at her.

I smiled when he met my eyes. “What do you need help with?”

“We just need to pack up this gear. The guys and I can get it. You can hang out.” Varian waved me off. “Chat with... What was your name again? Sorry, ADHD.”

“Lindsay.” She held out her hand, but Varian had already turned away. It didn’t seem like he was being rude, just distracted.

I wondered what had him so. “Nice to meet you. I’m?—”

She cut me off. “Arik. I know who you are.”

I took her hand and shook it. “You know me?”

She nodded, dropping her eyes down my body. “I’ve seen you play. A couple of times. I’ve toured with a lot of bands.”

I couldn’t put my finger on what she meant. Either her tour photos were hot shit, or she was a groupie who’d found an in. There were a couple of groupies turned guitar techs, too. And good for them. It was a solid job for those who liked the life but didn’t want the uncertainty of selling albums or being the public face.

“You have? Thank you.” I never knew how to react to those kinds of statements. It felt weirdly arrogant to say anything but thank you.

“You’re good. You’ve got a new record out, yeah?” She tucked her hands into the tiny pockets of her skinny jeans, tilting her chin down to look up at me through her lashes, softening her whole appearance. At first glance, she looked like no one could fuck with her. She was a mixture of punk and goth chick, tiny with a spiked belt, dyed black hair, and pigtails. She had short bangs, which were really in at the moment, and ivory skin with a ton of dark freckles.

“Yeah, not too long ago.”

“So cool. Good for you guys.” She bit her lip and smiled, softening her appearance even more.

“How long have you been into photography?”

“Why, are you looking for one?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

“Not having a good time with Death Nostalgia?” I laughed.

She lifted one shoulder noncommittally. “I can’t complain except for dropping out of Warped. I was looking forward to that.”

“Better for Dopamine-Fiend, though.”

“No shit. Lucky turn, but not so much for me.” She acted like she was looking for an invite.

“We aren’t really in the place to do the whole merch and photog. Maybe someday,” I said, also noncommittal.

“You’re gonna have to get at least merch for Warped. That’s where the money is at.”

“Really?”

She nodded vigorously. “Definitely. They do four to five figures a night with merch. Pays for itself.”

“I’ll have to talk to the guys about it.”

She dug into her tiny little purse and pulled out a card. “If you want to chat about it. Not saying you have to use me, but I will tell you what I know.”

I took the card from her. “That’s really nice of you?—”

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