Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
L as Vegas, Luka thought as he looked out of the bus window, was undoubtedly the cheesiest place he’d ever been. Everything was completely over-the-top, from a lagoon of fake ships to the half-sized Eiffel Tower, to the reproductions of Greek statues, all thrown together with no concern for cohesiveness or aesthetics. It was obviously meant to overwhelm the observer, and it certainly succeeded in that goal. If the sound outside was as disharmonious as the visuals, he’d count himself lucky that the bus windows filtered it out.
His critical thoughts about the architecture didn’t mean he was any less excited about playing Sin City, however. Other than Rocktoberfest, which they would play the following weekend, Vegas was their largest gig, and he’d been looking forward to it ever since it had been scheduled. They’d managed to get an entire week as guest headliners at the Garden Arena of the MGM Grand, one of the best locations in the entire city. The shows weren’t sold out yet, but Greg told them not to worry, because Vegas did a brisk business in last-minute sales. Greg had even had special band merch designed for both Vegas and Rocktoberfest, stuff that was a little racier than the standard things they sold at concerts.
“I’m glad we’ll have a chance to actually see Vegas. I missed out on doing much the only other time I’ve been here.”
Luka glanced over at Kit, who had taken the seat opposite him at the dinette, and found himself curious. “Oh?”
Things between them had become far more relaxed in the last two weeks, to where Luka could even listen to Kit talk about Sultana without tensing up. While things hadn’t gotten back to the point of them being totally open with each other — and honestly, Luka thought with regret, he wasn’t certain they ever would — at least they seemed to be building the framework of a friendship again. It was at least much better than feeling as though he constantly had to be on guard, even if he wasn’t sure he was ready to fully trust Kit yet — even though he found more and more that he wanted to trust him.
It was strange, however, to hear about things Kit had done in the time they’d been estranged. Logically he knew Kit’s life hadn’t stopped when Luka had slammed his way out of it, but Luka had tried so hard to not think about Kit, or the rest of Sultana for that matter, that he’d probably compartmentalized a little too well. They’d shared so many experiences growing up, ones that Kit had slowly started bringing up to the rest of the F-Holes, that hearing about something Kit had done without him was both disturbing and interesting. It was like they were learning about each other again, the way they had in high school.
The first time had been rather uncomfortable, and it made Luka squirm a bit, but since Kit never brought any hint of accusation to the stories he shared, Luka had been able to relax and simply listen.
At the moment, they were currently crawling along the Strip, headed for the hotel, and Kit pointed to the front of the Bellagio, where the famous fountains were currently shooting water high into the air.
“Yeah. Two years ago we had a gig at T-Mobile Arena, part of I Heart Radio,” Kit explained as he stared at the fountain show. “That was near the end of Sultana’s first tour, and it was kind of overwhelming. So many big names, I was fan-boying all over the place. We’d actually been a last minute replacement for someone who needed to drop, so we had to squeeze it in between other concerts. So… no sightseeing. We drove from LA, then had to get back in a hurry.”
“Well, we have plenty of time here,” Dmitri interjected from his seat on the other side of the bus, as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “I for one have been to Vegas many times before, and I’m going to hit every new Cirque Du Soleil show I haven’t seen.”
Luka smiled at his bandmate’s enthusiasm. “I want to see at least one myself. I’ve heard they’re great.”
“Me too,” Kit agreed. He raised a brow at Luka. “Want to catch one together?”
Luka hesitated. While they’d done things with the rest of the band — starting with the bar crawl Dmitri had taken them on in Ft. Worth — Luka hadn’t spent any time alone with Kit other than their fraught conversation near the beginning of the tour. Despite his feelings toward Kit softening, and even though he’d come to somewhat trust Kit again, he still wasn’t sure if it might be awkward to be just the two of them again. Playing together was one thing, but would hanging out together the way they’d used to end up spoiling everything?
Taking a breath, he pushed aside the feeling of anxiety. What did he have to worry about, anyway? It was just going to a show with a friend, after all. The way he and Kit used to do back in college, where they’d taken in a lot of Broadway musicals, in part to critique the orchestras and conductors.
Kit was looking at him expectantly, and Luka knew he had to give an answer. “Um, okay,” he agreed, and was rewarded by Kit’s dazzling smile.
“Great! Pick out whichever one you want. Since I’ve not seen any of them, I’m up for anything.”
Luka didn’t have much time to think any more about it, since the bus soon turned into the parking deck of the MGM Grand. The hotel was enormous, and while it was no longer the largest one in the world, or even in Vegas for that matter, it was quite impressive enough just for sheer size.
As headliners, the band was greeted by the hotel manager at a private entrance. They were given the red carpet treatment, which Luka hadn’t expected, and made him feel strange, like it was something that should happen to someone else. Then he caught Andre and Dmitri exchanging delighted glances, and he relaxed. His friends deserved to enjoy being made to feel special, even if it made Luka feel a bit off kilter.
They were shown to a suite on the top floor of the hotel, a nicer room than anything Luka had ever stayed in. It had three bedrooms, each with two queen beds, and of course, Kris and Jo immediately claimed one of them. Andre and Dmitri took another before Luka could say anything, which left him standing in the middle of the huge living room, holding his duffle and looking at Kit.
“You don’t mind sharing with me, do you? I can ask for another room.” Kit asked, and Luka could see it wasn’t just an offhand question. Kit looked somber, as though he was worried about pushing Luka’s boundaries too hard.
Luka considered it, but decided he didn’t really mind. It just once again felt strange. He told himself to get over it; he wouldn’t have hesitated to share a room with Jett, and Kit was a bandmate now. “No, it’s fine,” he said, turning toward the remaining room. “It’s not like we’re going to get much sleep anyway, right?”
“Probably not.”
The bedroom was large with an ensuite bath they’d have to share. Luka put his duffle down on one bed, reminding himself they’d shared a much more cramped space on the bus for weeks now. This wouldn’t really be any different.
So why did it feel different?
He was distracted from his disturbed thoughts by Greg, who came to get them all so they could tour the arena and see how things were being set up. They had that night off, but the stage manager for the venue had some questions for them about their setup, so everything could be ready for them the following night. Then there was a working lunch in their suite for the entire band — where Jett joined them via video call — to talk about some business opportunities that had come up. Kit was there for the parts that concerned the audio and video rights for his time with the band, but then he discreetly excused himself, claiming to need a shower, as Greg went over things that were focused on the main band.
After the meeting, Luka decided he wanted a shower as well — while the bathroom in the bus was adequate, the water was limited and shared by six people, so he was looking forward to standing under a scalding hot spray for as long as he wanted.
When he entered the bedroom, he found Kit unpacking. His dark blond hair was still damp, and Luka caught the scents of soap and shampoo. Apparently Kit had brought his own along, which Luka hadn’t really noticed before. But the scents were almost achingly familiar, a mixture of warm tones that brought back memories of late-night pizza runs and walking through New York, listening to street musicians. That reminded him of the times he’d wondered if there could ever be more than friendship between them, but he’d been so afraid of fucking things up that he’d never allowed himself to even hope Kit would see him in a romantic light.
Kit straightened up when Luka entered and smiled. “Meeting over?”
“Yeah, we’re all done,” Luka replied. “Um, I’m going to take a shower before we grab dinner. Are you going with the group?”
“Actually, since we aren’t playing tonight, what do you think about grabbing something quick and catching a Cirque show?” Kit asked, his eyes wide with appeal. “I can arrange tickets while you shower, then, depending on which show, we can figure out where to eat.”
Luka wasn’t sure why he felt suddenly eager to take Kit up on his suggestion, but he decided to go with it. It wasn’t like it was a date, though he supposed there would be aspects of “getting to know you again” to it. What did he have to lose? And he reminded himself that he did want to see a Cirque show.
“Okay. Tell you what, instead of me picking the show, you pick it while I shower. If they are all good, any of them are fine,” Luka said. He picked up his suitcase, which had been delivered while they had been in their meeting, on the bed, unzipping it and rummaging through it for clean clothes and his own toiletries.
“Sounds good.” Kit grinned, appearing as pleased as if Luka had handed him a winning lottery ticket, then pulled his phone out of his back pocket and began scrolling.
Luka shook his head and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind himself.
The room was still warm and steamy from Kit’s shower, the lingering notes of cinnamon and amber still in the air. He saw Kit’s shampoo and conditioner in a niche in the shower stall, his damp towel neatly hung on the rod next to it. On the bus, they took their toiletries in and out with them because of the small space, but this felt much more domestic, like when they had been roommates in college. Luka put his own bottles into the stall and turned on the water before stripping down, then grabbing a clean towel and putting it within reach before stepping under the hot spray.
Strangely enough, his desire to linger in the shower disappeared, so he cleaned himself quickly, then dried off and donned his fresh clothing. He made quick work of drying and combing his hair, then bundled up his dirty clothing and stepped out of the bathroom.
“You won’t believe our luck!” Kit was waiting for him, almost vibrating with excitement. “The hotel concierge is a fan of the band, and he arranged for VIP tickets to Ka for us, right here in the hotel! He also said that we are welcome in the private dining room they have for high rollers.”
Luka was surprised. “Um, sure, that sounds good, but I thought you wanted to get out and see the city?”
“I’d rather spend time with you.”
The words were sincere and warmed Luka probably more than they should have. But he didn’t mind not having to fight crowds or wait in lines, and they could always go out after performances since Vegas never slept. “Okay, if that’s what you’d prefer.”
Several minutes later, after bidding farewell to the rest of the band, who were excitedly making reservations for one of the Gordon Ramsay restaurants on the Strip, they were headed down in one elevator toward the casino floor. The elevator to the VIP rooms had a small foyer in a secluded area rather than the main lobby, and there was a concierge at a desk, who smiled at them when they stepped out.
“Good evening, Mr. Petrov and Mr. Davies,” the woman greeted them as she rose from her seat. Luka was startled until he realized she must have been given photos of everyone who had a “right” to access the area, probably to help with security. She crossed to them, then indicated a door to one side. “I’m Gina. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the VIP dining room.”
Apparently MGM was giving them the full treatment, and Luka raised a brow at Kit as they followed the young woman down a short corridor to a set of double doors. No doubt Kit had gotten this kind of service before, but it was the first time for Luka, and it felt both strange and oddly gratifying. Gina swiped a card on her lanyard. Then there was a brief buzz before the door was opened by someone on the other side.
She left them in the care of the maitre d’, a man with a British accent who welcomed them into the small dining room. There were no more than a dozen or so tables, spaced well apart, but to Luka’s surprise there were at least four other groups already seated. He supposed it made sense; there was probably a lot of wheeling and dealing that went on at the casinos, and MGM was well known and also strongly affiliated with the entertainment industry. Not wanting to feel like a yokel, he followed Kit’s lead, ignoring the other people as they were seated at a table on one side of the room.
Kit grinned after the maitre d’ presented them with the wine list and drink menu, then discreetly withdrew. He kept his voice low. “I still feel like such a fraud dining in places like this,” he confided quietly.
“Really?” Luka was both surprised and curious. “I mean, Sultana is a huge success, or at least it must be if the royalties I’ve received are any indication.”
“Sure, we are successful,” Kit replied, seeming to emphasize the “we” as if to include Luka. “But a part of me still feels like that kid from LaGuardia High, wondering if I’d gotten in on a fluke and was going to crash and burn at my first concert.”
“I get it.” Luka looked down at the wine menu without really seeing it. “Sometimes it feels like a dream to me, too. The first time someone asked me for my autograph, I turned around to see who was behind me.”
Kit chuckled, then reached out to put a hand over Luka’s. His fingers were warm, and Luka felt a surprising tingle at the contact. “Face it, you’re a star, Mr. Petrov. You’re going to have fans, autograph requests, paparazzi, the whole nine yards. I had to get used to it, though even now it can sometimes seem unreal. You’ll adjust too, Luka. You’ll have to. The F-Holes are great. With your songs and everyone’s talent, you’ll be as big as Sultana in no time.”
“That would be amazing.” But Luka didn’t feel quite as happy about the F-Holes’s success as he should have. It was vindication, of course, that he was glad to finally be where he’d hoped, but there was also a degree of loneliness to the experience.
Their server came to take their drink orders, which meant Kit withdrew his hand — and Luka didn’t want to dwell too much on why he wished Kit hadn’t. After giving their drink orders and being presented with the food menus, Kit once more leaned close.
“Don’t look now, but someone at one of the other tables is looking at us.”
Luka wanted to turn around, but he instead reached for his glass of water. “Maybe they’re just scoping you out.” The thought made Luka frown. Kit was handsome in a rugged, all-American jock kind of way, even though Luka knew Kit had always hated sports.
“No, I really think he’s looking at you,” Kit said quietly. “In fact, he’s getting up and walking this way.”
“Wait, what? He is?” Luka was confused, but he didn’t have much time to panic before a tall, handsome man who appeared to be in his forties stopped beside the table.
“Excuse me for interrupting,” he said, flashing them a smile. “But are you Luka Petrov, from the F-Holes?”
“Um, yes, yes I am,” Luka replied. He caught Kit’s smirk out of the corner of his eye and kicked him under the table. “Is there something I can do for you?”
The man’s smile widened. “My name’s Dave Monroe, and my son Jay is a big fan of your group. I recognized you because he has a huge poster of you playing the cello up on his wall. He’s a cellist, too, and he says you’re a big inspiration for him.”
No one had ever told Luka he’d inspired them before, and it felt odd. “Um, please tell him I’m flattered. I never thought I’d inspire another cellist.”
“You definitely have,” Dave said. “It’s too bad I’m here on business, and he’s back home in Atlanta. He’s going to lose his mind when he finds out I met you.”
Luka regretted not being able to offer the young man a ticket to one of their performances. He didn’t even have anything to autograph, so he pulled out his phone. “Tell you what, if you are willing to give me your address, I can get the whole band to sign a photo for him and send it.”
“Really?” Dave asked eagerly. He rattled off an address while Luka tapped it into his contacts, then set himself a reminder to do it. They had some publicity photos in their merch, and he’d probably toss in a t-shirt or something, too. Apparently, Dave was the type of father who was more than happy to support his son’s passions, and while Luka was pleased for Jay, it also gave him a pang. He would have been happy if his own father had merely accepted his musical preferences, much less encouraged him in it.
After more profuse thanks, Dave apologized again, then excused himself as the server returned with Luka and Kit’s drinks, then took their orders.
“That was a little strange,” Luka said quietly to Kit. He’d ordered a lager, and he took a drink from it, pleased with the rich brew.
“You’ll get used to it,” Kit repeated. He was smiling proudly at Luka. “You handled that well.”
“Thanks. I think. I’m used to fans coming up to me at concerts, of course, but no one just out in public has recognized me before.” For a moment Luka stared at his glass, then looked up to meet Kit’s eyes, smiling slightly. “I kinda liked it.”
“Just be aware it won’t always be positive,” Kit said, his smile fading.
Luka picked up on the implication. “Speaking from experience?”
“Unfortunately.” Kit winced. “It wasn’t bad on the first tour we did. Like the F-Holes are experiencing now, we’d only just started to take off. But the second tour was different. We had to have more security because there were more fans, and sometimes there would be one or two who wanted to get to us so badly for whatever reason that they’d have to be removed. There was even a girl at one concert who ripped off her shirt — not realizing, I guess, that three quarters of Sultana was gay. Though I think Blake enjoyed the view.”
“He would,” Luka snorted. Maybe, someday, he’d get back in touch with Blake and Josh again, but for now, he was just glad that hearing them mentioned didn’t bring him the anger or pain it once had.
Kit related a few more anecdotes about touring with Sultana before their meals arrived. Luka ordered another lager, while Kit opted for red wine with his steak. At that point, talk turned to meals they’d shared while back in college, and Luka was glad that he could talk about those days now without nostalgia, rather than dismay and regret.
Luka had missed sharing things with Kit, yet he was aware that this easy comaraderie was temporary. In only a few weeks, Kit would go back to New York, and then Sultana was scheduled to record a new album, while Jett would return to the F-Holes. The band would remain on tour, doing a few concerts in Canada before heading down the west coast to end in LA, their current home base.
He would enjoy having Kit around while he had the chance, but Luka warned himself not to get too attached, no matter how tempting it was. Before long, they would have to go back to where each of them belonged — and no matter how much he might want it, it didn’t seem possible for things to go back to the way they had once been.