Page 18 of Taming the Rockstar

“Sure. You let me know when you kiss Vince.”

“We already did,” I snap.

“When?!”

“It was a joke!” I say.

“So, a whimsical spit-swap?”

“No, Vince was going through a breakup! I was the decoy girlfriend.”

Allison is laughing so hard tears are streaming down her face.

“At this rate, you won’t be just the decoy much longer,” she says.

“Shut up,” I grumble, jamming my thumb into the screen to end the call. We pull up to the back entrance of the amphitheater, and I shove my way to the front of the bus to get ahead of everyone.

Priya’s trailer is a welcome escape from the dense end-of-summer humidity of D.C. in August. I sit cross-legged on the cool, speckled tile floor as Liza finds a pair of scissors in her apron pocket.

Tonight’s show is at an outdoor amphitheater, and we’ve taken over the vast field behind the venue, which is now overflowing with trailers and crew. Vince and the rest of the guys are lounging outside on a green vinyl couch that would usually be used for patio furniture.

Fatima, one of the roadies, set up an orange outdoor umbrella for shade, and there’s also a tiny patio table. It’s days like these when everyone is running around in shorts and t-shirts, tossing a frisbee at each other, where tour feels like glorified adult summer camp.

Liza examines Priya in the full-length mirror, her bleached eyebrows furrowing. “Do you want me to texturize your bangs? Just do a little dry cut?”

She shaved her head for the summer, which made her wide blue eyes more striking. She’s tiny, at five foot one, but today she’s wearing platform sandals that only make her brush my elbow. She’s wearing high-waisted jeans, a black t-shirt, and an apron full of hair supplies.

“That would be wonderful, especially if you could get them out of my eyes,” Priya says, settling back into the salon chair Liza brought with her.

Liza nods and brings two pieces of hair forward to meet at the bridge of Priya’s nose, studying the length.

“I’m gonna spritz them a bit,” Liza says. Priya nods and closes her eyes, humming contentedly as Liza mists her bangs with a spray bottle.

“So, how’s the tour going?” Liza asks me before adding, “Are you sure you don’t want a chair?”

“Tour’s going great so far, wouldn’t you say, Priya? And I’m good. The floor feels nice, and I need to stretch my legs.”

Liza jokes, “Oh right, you’re a giraffe. I keep forgetting.” She grabs a tiny pair of scissors and starts to snip at Priya’s bangs.

“I do think there is something especially magical about this tour. I think we’re all excited to be back out on the road,” Priya muses.

“That’s awesome! What about you, Lynds? How do you feel about everything?”

“Good! I feel like I’m managing everything,” I say.

Three weeks in, and I am finally starting to get the hang of the flow of this tour: Wake up, drive, call will call, load in, run around putting out various tiny fires while everyone else soundchecks, and wrangle bras during the show.

Priya scoffs. “Lyndsey, you’re not just managing; you’re excelling. I don’t want to jinx it, but every show so far has gone off without so much as a hitch. You’re killing it.” Priya beams up at me with her wide eyes as Liza texturizes some layers in her hair. She reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing it.

I don’t see Vince until show time, where he’s pacing backstage, draining a ginger shot and cracking his neck. For the first time all tour, he seems nervous.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He jumps when he hears my voice. “I’m fine, yeah. Uh, do you have Tums?”

“Always,” I toss him a container of travel Tums, and he downs a handful before throwing the container back to me so he can continue to pace.

“What’s up with Vince?” I whisper to Priya as she admires her new haircut in the mirror and the shimmering eyeshadow Liza dusted over her eyelids. Tonight, she’s wearing false eyelashes over her real ones, which make her lashes look more luscious than usual. She’s going to be glowing all night.

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