13. His Name is Pepe
13
HIS NAME IS PEPE
FELIX
All These Things That I’ve Done By The Killers
I scribble a few lyrics onto my notepad, only to scratch them out in frustration. The melody swirling in my head isn’t flowing onto the page the way I’d hoped. With a sigh, I yank my earbuds out and let the silence envelop me. Peering through my open bedroom door, I cast a glance to the front of the bus, where Maggie’s bed lies empty. A part of me should feel relief at not having to endure her incessant intrusions into my space, but the quiet feels suffocating. I collapse back onto my bed, tossing my arm over my eyes, reluctant to face the thoughts swirling in my mind. Sleep eluded me last night; the adrenaline rush from the show still coursed through my veins, leaving me restless and tossing all night.
Just this morning, the video Maggie uploaded had shot up to over a million views. I catch myself fighting the urge to check the count again—because it really shouldn’t matter. I’ve always told myself that it doesn’t matter if I have two views or a million—but even I can’t ignore the truth that twists in my gut.
I watched my dad play for years, stood on the stage and looked out at the crowd and thought nothing could feel as good as people singing along to the lyrics you wrote. Last night, I finally felt what a rush that was for myself.
In fucking Oklahoma.
I lean my elbow on the other pillow and feel something crinkle underneath my head. I pull it back to reveal—of all things—a tampon?
That little shit!
Laughter bubbles up from somewhere deep. This fucking chick has me turned all upside down. I came on this tour determined to kickstart my career, not to have some girl invade every corner of my mind. Yet, Maggie isn’t just some girl; she’s a force, an event that is slowly turning seismic, that I didn’t see coming.
I’ve turned down every chance for a one-night stand since she came into my life, and here I am, sitting alone in my bed, thinking about how much I miss her. I crumple the tampon in my hand, march into the kitchen, and toss it in the trash before opening the refrigerator.
My fucking yogurts are a war zone!
Jesus Christ. I bark out a laugh and slam the door shut.
I check the time on my phone and decide to head over to craft service. As I throw on a shirt and shove my feet into my well-worn Converse, I convince myself I’m going there to keep the band’s momentum alive after last night.
I’m going there to see the band—not Maggie fucking Morgan.
But if she happens to be there, then I’ll definitely give her hell for leaving a tampon under my pillow.
I scan the long tables, and to my disappointment, don’t see her. Instead, I spot Dex, Bash, and Gunner gathered with some of the other crew.
Inflated condoms litter the table as well as plate of cupcakes and brownies, and I push one aside as I sink into a chair. “What in the hell is all this?”
Bash clasps a hand on Dex’s shoulder with exaggerated theatrics. “It’s this idiot’s birthday! We figured these would get some use since he clearly won’t.”
It’s Dex’s birthday? How did I miss that?
“Fuck all the way off!” Dex shoves him away.
“Happy birthday, man,” I chime in, lifting one of the bizarre balloon creations. “Let me guess, a dog?”
“My balloon skills are unmatched,” Gunner jokes.
“Only second to my baking skills,” Bash smirks, nudging a tray of brownies toward us. He talks a big game, but I doubt they can compare to my mother’s.
Written in icing, in what could only be deemed the handwriting of a serial killer, is Happy Birthday Fucker .
“Let’s pray they taste better than they look,” Dex jokes, reaching for a piece.
“You want some?” Dex offers, but I shake my head, still slightly cautious.
Gunner snatches a piece for himself. “They do taste better than they look,” he insists, a giant grin plastered on his face.
“Hey, you’ll be thanking me later,” Bash adds with a suggestive wiggle of his brows.
“No thanks, I try to steer clear of sweets,” I reply.
“Sweets, yeah,” Gunner laughs and I don’t get what’s so funny.
“This is a fucking rock tour,” Dex retorts. “You gotta live a little.”
“Have you seen Maggie?” I ask, and then realize how completely obvious I’m being.
“Someone’s got a crush,” Gunner says.
“Don’t blame you. Maggie’s a cool chick,” Bash adds.
“She’s usually got her camera shoved in my face,” I mutter, half-joking, half-annoyed.
“You do have a crush on her!” Bash smirks, clearly relishing my discomfort.
I pull the tray of brownies closer and shove one into my mouth. “This is surprisingly good,” I say through a mouthful, reaching for another.
“Whoa, slow down there,” Bash cautions, reclaiming the tray. “Save some for the rest of us.”
“Hey boys, make any girls vomit today?” Maggie strolls over, sporting those tight fucking shorts that hug her curves and a knotted shirt that exposes a tantalizing sliver of her stomach.
“Maggie!” Dex yells, a goofy grin stretching across his face. “It’s my birthday! Do I get a present?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.
“Of course I got you something,” she replies, a little too sweetly.
“Really?” Dex’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He really is a fucking idiot.
She straddles the bench beside him, a playful glint sparking in her gaze. “Just close your eyes.”
Dex beams, eagerly closing his eyes, and I can hardly watch as this fucker starts to pucker his lips, convinced he’s about to receive a kiss. But I can see the playful smirk on Maggie’s face. I almost feel bad for him as she snatches a cupcake and hilariously shoves the frosting straight into his face.
“Hey!” Dex jolts backward.
Laughter erupts from the table.
“In your dreams if you think I was going to kiss you,” Maggie chuckles.
Maggie stands triumphantly, her hands on her hips, and then lifts her camera, capturing Dex’s frosting-covered face. I can’t help but join in the laughter, reaching for another brownie. I’m definitely going to have to work off all the sugar tomorrow.
I hand Dex a napkin, and he dabs at the remnants of frosting on his face, licking some off his fingers in contemplation. “Not bad,” he laughs. “I need to go shower,” Dex announces, rising from his seat. “I’ll be thinking of you.”
“Gross,” Maggie retorts with a playful shove.
“Maggie, you’re a pretty awesome chick, you know that?”
“I think the brownies are kicking in.” I hear someone mumble from the table.
“Are you high?” Maggie asks, her brow furrowed with concern.
“What? No.”
But then why do I feel high?
“Says the boy with the dilated pupils,” Maggie quips, grabbing my face and examining me. “Did you eat those brownies?” She gestures to the table. Maggie shakes her head, trying to mask her amusement. “Those are pot brownies.”
Horror strikes me, wide-eyed. “Fuck, are you serious?”
“We thought you knew!” Bash chimes in from the sidelines, wearing a slightly guilty grin.
“Why would I fucking know that?” I retort in frustration, my heart racing as the implications sink in.
“Maybe you should go lie down,” Maggie suggests, concern flickering through her eyes, though I can tell she’s suppressing laughter.
“Good idea.” I get up from the bench, but when I glance back, she’s not following. “Are you coming?”
“Do you need someone to watch you sleep?” she jokes, a little grin playing at the corners of her mouth.
“I need you to stay with me in case something happens.”
“Like what?” she asks with incredulity.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Don’t you know about these things?”
“Excuse me, you’re the rockstar!”
“What does that even mean?” I shoot back, feigning indignation.
Maggie places her hands on her hips, eyeing me as if I’m oblivious.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t exactly go around eating pot brownies every day.”
“God, this is what I get for hitting up craft services. This is all your fault,” I accuse her.
“How is it my fault?” she protests, crossing her arms in mock defense.
“You and your tampons.” I point at her, and she bursts into laughter.
None of this is funny, especially when my head feels lighter than a balloon right now.
“Am I supposed to feel this way?” I mumble, almost to myself.
Maggie’s expression softens as she looks at me sympathetically. “Come on, I’ll take you back to your bus so you can sleep it off.”
“Fucking Bash,” I mutter under my breath as we head out.
When we arrive at the trailer, I pause, tilting my nose to the air. “Do you smell something?”
Maggie leans back, questioning. “Like what?”
“It smells,” I sniff again, trying to pinpoint the odor. “Like a skunk.”
Maggie gets the giggles, pointing toward some roadies lounging nearby. “You mean those fossils over there smoking pot?”
I shrug, then step into the trailer, where the smell seems even worse.
“Oh God.” Maggie pinches her nose shut, her expression morphing into one of sheer horror. “What happened in here?”
“Okay, so I’m not imagining it,” I say.
“The hairs in my nostrils feel like they’ve been burned off!” she exclaims. “Did you eat one of those protein bars for breakfast?”
“That did not come from me.” I start rifling through cabinets, searching frantically. “Did something crawl in here and die?”
“I don’t feel well,” Maggie admits, her face paling slightly.
“No, no, no, you are not wimping out on me, Sass. Help me find it,” I plead, panic rising in my throat.
Suddenly, a flash of black and white darts through a broken baseboard under the sink.
There’s a skunk in my trailer. There’s a fucking skunk in my trailer!
“You saw that, right?” I exclaim, pointing at the jagged edge of the board beneath the sink. Gripping Maggie’s arm a little too tightly, I gaze at her, wide-eyed.
“I think so,” she murmurs.
“Well, go check it out!”
“What? Why me? You’re the man!”.
“Now who’s being sexist?”
“Maybe Dusty can do something,” she offers, attempting to leave, but I cling to her like a lifeline.
“You’re not leaving me alone in here.”
The skunk’s head pokes out of the board, meeting my gaze.
Is this little fucker smiling at me?
“Aren’t there traps for these things—predators? What eats a fucking skunk?” she asks.
My eyes widen as I look to the skunk.
“I won’t let them hurt you, Pepe,” I declare out loud, feeling absurd but oddly protective.
“His name is Pepe?” Maggie gets the giggles again.
“You heard him, right?”
“Just how many brownies did you eat?” she says between fits of laughter, leaning against the wall for support.
“This is not funny, Sass!” I shout, but my voice only adds fuel to her amusement. Turning to confirm the skunk is still residing in my trailer, I frown at the sight of it sporting a tiny tutu. “Go away, Pepe!”
Maggie is still doubled over with laughter, and I grab her shoulders, pulling her in front of me. Let’s see if it’s funny when I use her as a human shield against skunk spray.
* * *
“You’re not going to hurt him, are you?” I protest as Dusty’s hulking frame fills the doorway of the trailer.
“Oh God, are you one of them vegans?” Dusty grumbles.
“Who even eats skunk?” I shake my head, and Maggie bursts into giggles beside me.
Dusty raises an eyebrow, and I realize I don’t want to know the answer to that. I just want my trailer back to ride out this godawful trip in peace. I am never eating fucking brownies again.
“Just—please don’t hurt Pepe,” I plead, staring up at Dusty with wide eyes.
“You fucking named him?” Dusty asks, while Maggie palms her face.
I shoot her a glare. “That’s his fucking name.”
“Jesus, I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” Dusty grunts.
“Give him a break—he ate five too many of Dex’s special brownies,” Maggie explains, playfully nudging my shoulder.
“Ohhh,” Dusty drawls. “Well, that’ll do it.”
He hoists the trap up the steps into the trailer. Maggie points toward where we last spotted Pepe.
“Yep, that’s a skunk,” he says, holding his breath.
Dusty sets the trap down with a thud and begins to bait it, while Maggie flings open all the windows, letting in a rush of fresh air.
“What do we do now?” I ask, frowning at them—my patience is wearing thin.
“We wait,” Dusty replies casually.
“We wait?” I throw my hands up. “I’m having the worst trip of my life, and you’re telling me to wait?”
I tap the cabinet. “I’m not fucking around, Pepe.”
“Well, that strategy is totally going to coax him out,” Maggie quips between giggles, biting her lip to suppress more laughter.
“Maybe you should sweet-talk him?”
“You’re the one he’s been talking to,” she shoots back, waving a hand at me.
I slump down into the chair. “I don’t want to be a skunk whisperer,” I whine, burying my face in my hands.
Maggie comes over, rubbing my shoulders gently. “It’s gonna be fine, really. And hey, look at the bright side, I’m not even filming this—because if I was…”
I whip my head around to glare at her. That’s all I need for this to be documented. She lifts her hands up to show that she’s not holding the camera and I relax.
“Okay, well come get me when the little guy takes the bait,” Dusty says, turning to leave.
I jump out of my seat, following him out of the trailer. “Well, how long is that gonna take?”
He turns to glare at me. “Do I look like a fortune teller?”
At this point I don’t trust my response to that question. “You can’t leave me in here with a skunk,” I protest.
“Don’t worry, Maggie will protect you,” he barks out a laugh.
“Now look what you did,” I wave a hand at Maggie who has her hands on her hips like a superhero. I’m not gonna live this down as it is.
Suddenly, I hear a sharp snap coming from inside the trailer, followed by the clanking of metal. We peer into the trailer to see Pepe munching on the treat like it’s a gourmet meal.
“Blanket, sheet!” Dusty yells, and Maggie immediately snaps to attention, ripping the sheet from the bunk like a seasoned pro.
“Don’t want him to spray, do ya?” he asks, noting my horrified expression as he drapes the sheet over the cage.
Dusty carries the cage down the steps and I lean out of the trailer, my heart racing slightly. “Where are you taking him?”
“Do you need a moment to say your goodbyes?” Dusty quips sarcastically, arching an eyebrow.
I shoot him an icy glare.
“Relax, I’m just gonna release him into the woods.”
“Can you at least not mention this to anyone?” I call after him anxiously, and he chuckles, shaking his head as he ambles away with the skunk.
“I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” I hear him say as he turns the corner.
I find Maggie spritzing my aftershave all over the trailer like it’s some magic potion. At this point, I don’t care how bad it smells, I just want this nightmare over with. When I regain my senses, I’m going to fucking kill Bash.
I sit on the edge of my bed. Maggie stands before me, head tilted as she surveys me. She then pulls off my shoes, and I hear them drop to the floor. I flop back onto my pillow, feeling heavy and—let’s be honest—spent.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” I ask, grabbing her arm instinctively.
She sighs. “I guess not.” Then she settles onto the bed, facing me as I scoot over to make room for her.
I meet her gaze. Her blue eyes sparkle, and I can’t believe I’ve never noticed how the freckles dance across her nose and cheeks before.
“You’re really pretty,” I say, my voice a lazy whisper.
Maggie giggles, her cheeks flushing as she tucks her hands under her head, smiling at me. “Okay, Felix,” she says, skepticism lacing her tone.
“It’s true. I’ve thought about you ever since the first time we met.” I close my eyes despite wanting to stare at her, but the heavy feeling of sleep begins to steal me away.
“You mean when I called you a pampered rockstar?” she teases.
I smile, a lazy grin creeping across my face. “No, when I let the elevator doors close in your face.”