Page 36 of For Eva

He sniffed and rubbed his fingers under his nose. “Chill out, woman. Thismakesme coherent. And clearly we’re in”—he squinted out the window as the bus rambled down I-20—“whatever city is really…flat.” He turned to the sofa across the aisle, where Danny sat snickering behind a pair of mirrored aviators as he took a sip from the red plastic cup at his lips. “Where in this country is really flat, dude?”

Liquid sprayed out of Danny’s mouth, and both he and Eric doubled over with laughter.

“Dallas, you dumbass.” I slapped my tour binder shut and tossed it on the table beside me. “We’re in Dallas.”

“How the fuck are we in Dallas? We were just in fucking Alabama, like, an hour ago.” Will groaned from the other side of the couch, his baseball cap planted strategically over his face to keep the light from assaulting his eyes.

I sighed and flopped onto the seat across from Eric. Maybe I did need to loosen up a bit. But rocking and rolling all night and partying every day for the first week of the tour had made me antsy for something to do other than suck down vodka and run menial errands for Bryan. So, I’d started to hang around after fetching his coffee to see if I could help with some of his actual work.

“Aren’t you just here because you’re Danny’s girlfriend?” he’d asked one morning in Miami, not bothering with a nod or smile orthanks for the coffeeas he’d flipped through several pieces of paper on his hotel room desk.

My teeth clicked as I locked my jaw. “No, I’m supposed to help. Iwantto help,” I answered in the sweetest tone I could muster, channeling my frustration into the fists tightened at my sides.

“All right, then. Does Danny play Gibsons?”

I peeked around him, my eyes darting through the type to see if I could find any key words to clue me in on what he wasreading. Bryan finally turned and looked up at me, and I quickly averted my gaze to the ceiling. “Hmm?”

“Danny. What does he play?”

“Oh, um, mostly Gibsons.”

He stared blankly past me, his forehead creased. “Huh. Why did I think Fenders?”

I knew exactly why, but I wasn’t going to tell Bryan he didn’t pay attention to details, and he hadn’t taken a single minute to get to know any of the guys individually—what brands they played, what made each of them tick, where they saw their music going. They were simplythe band, and he rarely spoke to them outside of that context. Bryan also didn’t seem to work particularly hard but most definitely enjoyed giving the appearance he did, and I was certain I could use that to my advantage.

“Eh, it’s hard to keep up,” I said. “But is that one of those endorsement deal things?” I bobbed my head at the papers on the desk and innocently raised my brows. I knew what it was, but I also knew playing the dumb blond, while not something I relished, served its purpose from time to time.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Just something kinda minor. They wanna give him a few guitars, maybe some gear. I mean, he’s got to use them, of course.”

Really, Bryan? I had no clue that’s how an endorsement deal worked.

“Well, if you think it’s solid, I’ll get him to sign it,” I offered. “And I could maybe call their entertainment relations department and set up a time for him to go by when he’s back in LA?”

Bryan titled his head, and I thought for a moment he might ask me how the hell I knew what entertainment relations was. I wanted to tell him I didn’t get a degree in marketing for nothing. To announce I hadn’t realized until the band almost ended upwith a fucking tiger on their album cover that I’d been using it for the past year without a title and a paycheck. But I just smiled at him until he handed me the proposal and mumbled, “Okay, sure.”

Not only had I called the ER department later that day, but I’d been able to get them to agree it was a fantastic idea to do a photo shoot for ad placements.

After I delivered the news to Bryan, he decided I could handle everything his job entailed, with the exception of telling Keith how wellhewas handling it all. So, he mostly hung back, tried to tune into Lakers games on his stupid Watchman, and told me what he wanted for lunch.

“Oh, hey, Eva.” Bryan took his headphones off as the bus lurched to a halt at the back of the arena. “Did you get everyone to sign those NDAs for the after-party tonight?”

I nodded and pointed to the binder I’d left on the counter. “I think Eric signed hisfuck off, but yeah, that’s done.”

Eric smirked, tapping the short straw he’d used to vacuum up what I hoped was the last of his stash. “I don’t understand why they’re so fucking paranoid.”

“Because this is their comeback tour with their brand new clean and sober image, man.” Danny lit a smoke and flipped his sunglasses on top of his head. “So, they don’t want you running your fucking mouth to anyone about the fact that you watched them snort coke off some naked chick’s ass.”

Will chuckled from behind his hat. “I’m surprised we even got invited.”

To be honest, I was, too. Black Widow Rising had been around since the ’70s, crashed and burned in the early ’80s, then somewhere around ’86 managed to take the needles out of their arms long enough to realize there was still money to be made. But rehab hadn’t exactly stuck. They were simply more discreet, their tastes were more discriminating, and their interests mostdefinitely did not include associating with a bunch of kids who’d just been handed the keys to the candy store.

Not that I blamed them. For Black Widow Rising, Counting Backward was there to sell tickets to a younger crowd, period. Danny and Will were half-drunk half the time and mostly drunk the other. Matt was right there with them, until he got bored and his focus shifted to how many chicks he could bag on any given day (after I’d assured him the chances of anything serious with Denise were slimmer than none). And Eric had fallen into a pattern of getting hammered and snorting himself awake. Rinse and repeat. Danny had said the coke wasn’t anything new for him, he just didn’t have to rely on his Beverly Hills housewife to get it anymore.

“I mean, I know it’s probably not a big deal, but do you think he’s maybe, like, a littletoointo it?” I’d asked as I sat cross-legged on the hotel bed after the show in Raleigh several nights before.

Danny walked out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his waist as he mussed his hair, damp from the shower, with another. “He’s out there killin’ it on stage every damn night. What does it matter?”

The corners of my mouth turned down. “Wow, way to care, Danny.”

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