Chapter 45
“Are you hungry?” Keith asked. In the quiet of the Sanctuary, he could hear his stomach growl.
“Yes,” Annie said. “I think I am, even though I’ve eaten about seven meals today. The days are so long somehow, aren’t they?”
“They really are. Let’s see what we can find.” Keith stood up and then offered a hand to Annie. She looked at him, her mouth twisted to one side, like she was about to laugh, but she didn’t. Instead, Annie took his hand and stood up. She let go quickly and brushed her hair out of her face.
“I forgot I was wearing this silly bow,” she said, unhooking it and tossing it back onto the couch.
“I liked it,” Keith said. “Better than this. I feel like a banana.” He gestured to his pants.
“You do look high in potassium.” Annie smiled.
Steffani had never come on a cruise. The first time, she argued that Madison was too young, that she didn’t want to leave her for so long, but after that, it became clear that Madison was not the problem.
Steffani just didn’t want to go. Keith couldn’t blame her, really—the food was mediocre, the boat only made one stop, and so it wasn’t even good for sightseeing, and everyone there had been obsessed with her husband and his bandmates for thirty years.
It wasn’t a place to make friends, and if she was going to hide away from the Talkers, it was little more than being trapped in a hotel room for four days.
It wasn’t appropriate for Madison, god knew, what with all the signs that people made about riding him like a horse (Cowboy Night).
He’d never brought a friend, because why on earth would anyone want to do that?
There were sometimes other people in the Sanctuary—other people’s wives, other people’s friends—but Keith had never had a guest before.
It was nice to have someone to show around.
“Over here,” he said, and bowed slightly as Annie walked into the hallway that led to the greenroom.
“Wow,” she said. There was a full spread out: fruit and cheese and tiny sandwiches with toothpicks poked through them and the cold cuts that Scotty insisted on, even though no one else ate them.
Terrence only drank red wine and Dr Pepper, so there were plenty of both.
“You know what this feels like, actually?”
“What?” Keith asked. He picked up a plate and held it against his chest.
“After prom. You know, when you and your boyfriend or you and your friends go to a diner and it’s like, two in the morning, and you’re all in your dress-up clothes, but it’s so late, and you’re starving, so you go somewhere to eat french fries in bad lighting. This is not bad lighting.”
“I never went to a prom,” Keith said. “We performed at a couple of Sweet Sixteens for, like, daughters of record execs, but that’s about it.”
“Oh, you didn’t miss much,” Annie said. “This is the fun part, after the pressure is off.” She smiled. “Slow-dancing, punch—who needs it?”
Slow-dancing and punch sounded nice. He imagined putting his hand on the small of her back and pulling her close, right here in the catering room. Keith watched as Annie picked up a plate and made herself a snack. “So, where are you from?”
“New York City. Manhattan. And you’re still in Jersey, is that right? Do you live—” She paused here. “If that’s too personal, please don’t answer.”
Keith laughed. “Yeah, I still live in Jersey. Bergen County. About a half hour from where we grew up.”
“That’s pretty close,” Annie said. “I grew up close too. Dobbs Ferry, on the Hudson. It’s probably a half hour away, actually. But psychologically, an important half hour.”
“I always thought I’d move into the city someday,” Keith said.
“Oh, you should!” Annie said. “I mean, sorry. I don’t actually know you. Please don’t let me give you advice.”
Keith nodded. “No, I’ll take it.”
—
There was a knock on the door, and Bobby’s face appeared. Keith felt his chest deflate. It was nicer pretending to be somewhere else, making conversation with a stranger.
“Hey, slugger,” Bobby said.
“I’ll go wait out there,” Annie said. She bowed slightly to both of them and zipped out the door, back to the couches. Keith wanted to follow her but knew that he couldn’t.
“Look, man,” Bobby said. “We have all wanted to hit Corey.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Keith said. “Should I go back up there?” No part of him wanted to see the lido deck ever again, but it came out so quickly, the offer.
Bobby put his hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Nah, man. Listen, let’s just talk about it. I want to help you.” His face wasn’t as round as it had been when they were young. Baby Bobby, that’s what the Talkers had called him. None of them were babies anymore, though. Not even close.
Keith said, “I appreciate you, Bobby, I do. But why isn’t Shawn down here? I want my brother to put someone else first for once. I want to do my job. I want to do this job. But it’s just so hard, you know? And he doesn’t make it easier. He just keeps pushing.”
They’d had this conversation before. They’d had it on the back of tour buses. They’d had it backstage at venues. They’d had it in his living room.
“I think that this could be a really good thing, the tour,” Bobby said. “It could be good for you, man. Huge crowds, big money. Maybe it’s time.” He clapped his large hand on Keith’s shoulder. “We’ve had a solid run.”
Keith hadn’t thought that far ahead—of course it meant that Bobby would be gone, with swaying neo-hippie Jonathan in his place.
Bobby wouldn’t be on the planes or at the hotels.
He wouldn’t be there at all. This was Shawn finally putting his ambition before anything else, no matter who got left behind.
“I see,” Keith said. “Well, I don’t like it.
” Show me a famous kid who didn’t have to trade their life for their talent, that’s what he wanted to say.
Show me a world in which I get to keep my brother.
Instead, Keith put some food on his plate and walked back to his guest.