Page 10 of The Librarian and the Rock Star

“You’re okay to get home on your own?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’m only having this one drink, and then I’ll get someone to walk me to my car.”

“I’ll take her,” Marky said.

“Cool, text me tomorrow!” I said as I turned back to join Jack, now wearing an old black leather jacket in the doorway. He seemed like he had said goodbye to everyone he needed to, and was waiting for me. We took off down the corridor, and out a back door to the fresh cool air.

9. A Walk with a Rock Star

We headed north, and Jack seemed happy to have me lead the way while he had no idea where he was going.

“Have you always lived in Toronto?” he asked.

“No, actually. I lived in a tiny town an hour east, but moved to Toronto for university and never left.”

“Do you like it here?”

I grinned, looking up at him. He was so sincere and genuinely interested that it was strange to me. But it shouldn’t have been. “Yes. I love the city. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

He nodded, as of processing something. “I really like Toronto. I lived here until last year, but still visit fairly often.”

“Where do you live now?”

“I have a little loft in Vancouver. That’s where the band is based now. I was hoping that we’d move back to Toronto, but that’s up to the suits I guess.”

“I guess being in a band gets more complicated the bigger you get? I asked. “At least, that’s what the books and movies all imply.”

We waited for a light to change, and he studied my face. “Please don’t believe everything you’ve seen in the movies,” he said seriously. “They make everything a lot more dramatic than it really is.”

“So,” I teased as we began walking again, “No riding motorcycles through hotel hallways? No throwing thousand dollar bottles of cognac into the swimming pool?”

“Not for us,” he smirked. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. We go crazy sometimes and politely ask them for better coffee on the tour bus, or maybe an outrageous request like no pizza for a few days in a row.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know how people stay sane traveling all the time. I like to t

ravel a bit, but months at a time? Isn’t that hard?”

“Well, sure, but it’s work. That’s why they call it work, not super happy fun playtime.” He laughed. “At first being in a band is a hobby and a creative outlet. But if you get picked up by a label, that part is now maybe forty percent of it, and the rest becomes a very strange day job. Or night job, I guess.”

“But all of those hours on a bus. Wow.”

He shrugged. “I read a lot.”

“Really?” I didn’t mean to sound surprised.

“Yeah,” he said. “I always have at least twenty to thirty books on the bus.” I nodded, quite impressed. He laughed. “I know,” he said, “You weren’t expecting that.”

“I’ve learned not to expect anything of people. As soon as you expect one sort of behavior, you’re going to be proven wrong at some point. Better to just let people be whoever they are, and do your best to roll with it.”

“Damn. That’s pretty deep.”

I shrugged. “What sort of things do you read?”

His eyes lit up excitedly. “Everything. Absolutely everything. Science fiction, mystery, self-help, biographies, spec fic, history, modern art, comedy. Everything that I can find for cheap at secondhand bookstores.”

“You never buy new?”

“I don’t have space on the bus, so once a week or so I’ll take books I’ve finished into the secondhand bookstore in whatever city I’m in, and trade them in for a new batch. It’s sort of my way to have a mobile library.”

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