44. Tom Cobalt #2
“We can wrap the interior of their tour bus in Christmas paper,” Luna adds. “That’s always funny.”
“That is a classic. But no,” I say. “They’ll just escalate, and I don’t want to keep the pranks going. There’s a time and place for them. My job is not it.”
“Do they not take the job seriously?” Luna asks.
“Phoenix says it’s normal for bands to prank each other. More abnormal not to be doing them.” I rub at my eyebrows. “Am I…a…buzzkill?” I feel lightheaded even saying the word. Holy fuck, I’m no fun. I am the opposite of fun on tour. I’m like a grouch.
I splat a hand to my face.
“No,” Eliot says. “No, you are definitely not a buzzkill, brother. Don’t even utter the word again.”
“You are the antithesis of a buzzkill,” Luna agrees.
“You are a firecracker. Pop pop. Boom boom.” She says the last four words in a sing-songy voice, and I truly wish my cell service wasn’t absolute dogshit.
We tried video-calling already, and they were fuzzy blobs, so we gave up and went back to audio only.
I miss them. I’ve only been on tour a week, but I can’t deny how much harder it is to keep in touch.
Eliot is busy. Luna is busy. Our hours barely sync for calls.
I guess this is just how it’s going to be for three months, and I’m going to have to get used to it.
I will. The upside, I’m still flying home on our days off for Wednesday Night Dinner so I’ll at least see Eliot some.
“How are finals?” I ask Luna.
“All right. I’m only taking two classes, so it’s not as intense as it could be. Charlie is helping me study tomorrow night.”
I cackle. “And he acts like you two aren’t friends.”
“Sheer lies,” Eliot says.
“Well…I don’t know. He’s making me flashcards. It’s not like he’s quizzing me in person.”
“Dude, Charlie has never once made me flashcards.”
“Me neither,” Eliot says.
“He’s—” I cut myself off as an incoming call interrupts me. “Hold on, someone’s calling.” It’s an unknown number, and I usually don’t get many of those.
I answer and put my brother and best friend on hold.
There’s no time to even say hello. A girl tells me, “I’d like to crack open a cold can of Fizz on you.” Then she hangs up before I can say anything back.
What the fuck.
I’m about to return to Eliot and Luna, but I’m getting another unknown call. I answer again.
This time it’s a deep, masculine voice that says, “I’d like to crack open a nice cold can of Fizz on you.” He ends the call immediately. My pulse climbs. I don’t understand fully, but I’m piecing some of the puzzle together when I take Eliot and Luna off hold.
“So…” I tell them, trying to subdue my annoyance. “I think Gunther might have given my number out to somebod—” I don’t finish the sentence before my phone rings again with another unknown caller. “Holy shit. I have to go.”
“Keep us updated,” Luna tells me.
“Yeah. Yeah. I will,” I say.
“I can jump on the private jet at any time,” Eliot adds. “Lex talionis.” An eye for an eye.
“No, dude. No retribution.” I’m trying to make this tour as drama-free as possible.
Fuck me for basically being a lightning rod for it.
I end the call with them. My phone is like a bomb in my hand.
It won’t stop fucking buzzing. I put it on silent just so I can slip out the door into “bunk alley” where all twelve bunks reside, six bunks on either side of the hallway. Stacked three high.
I pass a ton of bunks with curtains drawn closed.
Not a surprise since it’s three in the fucking morning.
We’ve taped names to people’s bunks so no one accidentally yanks open the curtain to the wrong one.
I take note of who’s asleep: Delia (tour manager), Stan (production manager), Hannah (backline tech), Ian (my bodyguard), our front of house engineer, our monitor tech, our merch manager, our production assistant, and Phoenix (my drummer).
So everyone.
Except me, obviously.
I kneel on the floor at one of the bottom bunks. I pull back the curtain slowly, expecting to see Phoenix sound asleep, but he tilts his head to me with one of his standard-issue glares. “What the fuck are you doing up?” he asks in a low whisper.
He must be a light sleeper, and I probably just woke him. I roll over that fact to squeeze myself into his bunk with him.
“Yeah, sure. Welcome in,” Phoenix grumbles as he scoots to the side to make room for me.
Our knees thread together, and he wraps an arm over my waist. I’ve been less worried about the people on the bus thinking Phoenix and I are hooking up.
I’d trust each one of them with the secret.
It makes living on this bus tolerable. I don’t have to hide so much.
Our chests press together and our lips are inches apart. My mind goes fuzzy before I remember I came here for an actual reason and not to make out with him. I talk in a soft whisper. “I have a problem.”
Phoenix arches his brows. “No shit.” In the moody lighting, he looks doubly snarky.
“Okay, yeah. I have many problems. But this is a specific problem,” I whisper-hiss. “Evening Glory is pranking me again.”
His face goes instantly grave while I start explaining the prank calls. How I have no clue where they’re coming from, but I’m up to thirty-missed calls right now. All from different numbers, so I can’t exactly block one to block them all.
Phoenix is pissed. His jaw clenches, his body bristles, and he’s pushing me out of the bunk. Instead of confronting Evening Glory, we go into investigation mode in the front lounge. Laptops open. Coffee machine brewing. It takes two hours and three cups of Joe to find the origin of the calls.
A Craigslist ad.
We’re offloading some free signed photos of Fizzle royalty, the Calloway sisters! Just call this number and say, “I’d like to crack open a cold can of Fizz on you.” We’ll save your number, and you’ll be automatically entered to win a signed photo.
Gunther included my cell number in the ad.
“Diabolical.” My hands are on the back of my head, fingers threaded together. “If I wasn’t so annoyed, I’d almost be impressed.”
“How’d he get your number?” Phoenix asks me.
“Uh, he asked for it?” I say with a weird look. “Dude is touring with us. What was I going to do—say no?”
Phoenix scowls. “I’m calling Gunther and telling him to fuck off.”
“You are not doing that. You said it yourself that pranks are normal on tour. I don’t want to be the guy that can’t take a joke. That’s not me, okay? I can take jokes.” My chest rises and falls heavily. Fuck, why is this getting to me all of a sudden?
Phoenix frowns. “I know you can take a joke, Tom.”
“Okay. Cool. So I’m going to just block the numbers. Laugh about it with Gunther tomorrow, and we’ll move on.”
Phoenix winces like the plan physically hurts him. So I’m surprised when he forces a stiff nod. “If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I want.”