5. Río
RíO
“Now that that’s settled, I’ve been in touch with our flight crew. I want to see you in the hotel’s lobby, fully packed, in three hours.” Luke makes his ridiculous pronouncement and walks out of the conference room.
I hate this feeling. I’m not a fucking child and don’t need to be monitored as if I were one. This PR chick can screw off.
“Listen, Río, let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be.
I’ll keep an eye on you and your phone because it’s my job.
I’m not going to interfere if you want to hook up with a groupie or anything.
UC simply can’t afford any more bad press.
You know the toll Lissa and Michelle put the Hardys through. ”
When she puts it like this, I have to agree. Still. “I wasn’t looking for publicity. I was only having fun.”
“Luke didn’t ask this before, but were you drinking at the fountain?”
“No.” I remember the Italian chick with the beer. “Well, one, okay. Someone handed me a beer. But that’s it.”
“Simply because someone hands you a beer doesn’t mean you have to drink it.”
I pull back. What planet is this woman from? “It would’ve been rude of me not to accept the fan’s gift.”
“There’s ‘accepting’ and then there’s ‘drinking.’ See the difference?”
My eyebrows rise then lower. If someone gives me a free drink, no way am I not going to drink it, babysitter be dammed. “I’ll keep it in mind.” Not.
“Come on, let’s return to the hotel. Luke said we have three hours to get our stuff together and I don’t want to be late.” She squints at me. “We don’t want to be late,” she amends.
Whatever. I exit the conference room and wave at the guard who took a selfie before.
We don’t walk by the holding cell, so I’m unable to wish those guys goodbye.
When we arrive at the front of the building, I fist bump a couple of the officers who were down by the fountain.
Everyone offers me what I assume to be best wishes in Italian. See? I’m not a bad guy.
We enter the streets of Rome and the PR chick banks right.
She’s a few inches shorter than me, but she maintains a fast clip.
A window filled with men’s clothing catches my attention, and I stop in front of it, debating whether to go in and try on the shirts.
Not like I wear too many of them, but I am half-naked. Perhaps I should buy one now?
My babysitter returns to my side. “What are you doing? Luke said to go back to the hotel.”
“Our manager said we have to meet up in the lobby in three hours,” I correct her. “It’ll take me fifteen minutes max to pack, so I still have two-and-a-half hours to enjoy Rome. What do you think of these shirts?” I point to the window.
“I think you have enough clothes.”
I hold out my bare arm. “I might need a few more shirts.”
“Why? You never wear them.”
She got me there. “Maybe I’ll start. I’m going in.” Not waiting to see if she follows, I enter the store where a pretty woman approaches. Not a minute later, my babysitter joins us at the rack.
The clerk helps me select three shirts and directs me to the dressing area. Good thing, as I was about to try them on in the middle of the store. Do I need to learn some decorum? Nah.
I go into the dressing room and put on the first shirt. As I’m buttoning it up, the PR chick yells, “How does it look?”
I bet Nese Dalton, the band’s stylist, would have something to say about her butting in. I check out my reflection from the couple of different angles afforded in the small room. Guess I could use a second opinion.
Exiting the dressing room, I seek out the clerk. Who is standing next to my babysitter. My arms go out wide. “How does this look?”
Both women approach. The clerk pulls the material in a few directions and gives her approval. On the other hand, my babysitter asks me to turn around. “I like the fit, but I’m not sure about the color. Do you have another to try on?”
Since I don’t usually buy clothes, this is foreign to me. One thing I do know, though, is my patience for it is wearing thin. “I’ll show you what I have.” See how reasonable I can be.
Hayden smiles, her blue eyes twinkling. Whoa. The mix combined with her shoulder length, strawberry blonde hair, is arresting.
What am I thinking? This is my babysitter for fuck’s sake.
I duck into the fitting room and pull out the two other shirts.
Holding both of the hangars to my body, I give her exactly thirty seconds to decide which one I need to model for her.
Lucky for her, she doesn’t take up her allotted time, and I disappear into the dressing room to put it on.
The dark green does look better with my coloring. Who knew?
I step out and both she and the clerk await. “Oh yes,” Hayden claps her hands. “Looks great.” The clerk agrees with her, and soon I’m the new owner of an Italian shirt. Not to mention a navy and black one the clerk brought for me to try.
“Put it on,” my PR watchdog says.
“Don’t like me bare chested?” I prefer to go shirtless for several reasons. One, less laundry. Two, less packing. Three, and most importantly, shirts make me uncomfortable when I’m performing.
She gives me the side-eye. “In polite society, men and women wear shirts when out in public.”
“Who ever said I was polite?”
She sighs. “Not me.”
I leave the new shirt in its bag and reenter the Roman streets.
The fact the PR chick is in a rush to get back to the hotel makes me slow down.
I linger at windows selling pastries, novelty items, and gelato, in order to piss her off.
When we reach a coffee shop, though, I’m not playing. Italians really make the best brew.
“Want a coffee?”
“What? No. We have to go to the hotel.”
Her words roll off my back, and my hand lands on the door knob. “I’m going in.” I stand with the door open for the split second it takes for her to huff past me. Perhaps having a shadow can be a diversion?
We approach the counter and I turn to her. “What would you like?”
Ignoring me, she looks at the clerk. “I’d like an Americano, per favore.” I raise two fingers, and the clerk nods.
“This is on you,” she says.
“Of course.” See how agreeable I am?
At the register, I pay while she scouts out a table. Once I’m done, I turn to find her. Naturally she didn’t take one outside. Or even by the window. No, she had to choose a table tucked away in the back. I walk over to her. “Seriously? Couldn’t you find a place in the backroom?”
Her head swivels. “They have a back room?”
I roll my eyes and sit. This strait-laced chick is a ball-buster. “Stay here. When our names are called, I’ll bring your drink to you. I’m finding a table in the middle of the action outside.”
“No.” Her hand covers mine. It’s surprisingly warm. “You stay here. Please. I’ll get the drinks. After all of today’s videos, we don’t want to cause more of a stir in Rome. Remember, the police want us out of the country.”
I complete her thought—because of what I did at the Trevi Fountain. I slink into the chair and watch as she approaches the counter. She has a nice ass. Frowning, I shut down my inner monologue.
“Here you are.” She places a cup in front of me and takes her seat. The barista made a cute heart out of the milk on top of both. Neither one of us comments on it.
I get lost in my head. I didn’t mean to cause a ruckus at the fountain and no one was hurt. Why do I need a babysitter? Coop and 007 have done much worse, but yet nothing bad ever happens to them. Why me?
Pop’s voice cuts through the noise: You need to stop acting up and lead by example, like I do at work.
Of course, his words were accompanied by the zing of his belt. I move in my seat.
I take another swallow of my coffee, savoring the unique flavor that’s only available here in Italy. Better savor it, since I won’t be back for a year. I tap a beat on the table with the coffee cup.
Hayden puts her mug onto the table. “That was delicious. Ready to head back?”
Seriously, this woman is on my last nerve. “Did you even enjoy your coffee?”
“What? Of course I did. But we need to go to the hotel so we don’t make Luke wait for us. He gave us three hours, and now it’s down to two. Are you done?”
“How much longer will you be on my tail?”
“Until you grow up.”
Damn. Guess I’m never getting rid of her.
Two hours later, the band is on our way to the landing strip where UC’s jet is waiting. Our guitarist elbows me in the ribs. “Thanks for getting us kicked out of Rome, dude. At least we’re headed to Barcelona.”
I shoot my best friend a dirty look. “Hey. How was I to know the cops don’t like gelato?”
“I don’t think they were objecting to the words you used,” Coop explains. “I think it was the naked swimming in the Trevi Fountain that did the trick.”
“Plus encouraging thirty people to follow you into the fountain,” 007 chimes in.
Gotta love my UC brothers. They never miss an opportunity to razz me. “At least I had people following me. What were you losers doing while I was out there? Playing guitar hero?”
“Hey,” our new keyboardist replies. “007 hit an all-time record.”
“Sounds like our boy Río did too,” Bennett adds. “Got kicked out of Italy for a year. None of us can beat that.”
“Well, he got the same time-out in South Africa, remember?” Coop reminds the band.
I give them all the finger. “Fine. My ban is basically up there now, so we can plan some gigs there again. What can I say? People follow me.”
Before anyone can respond, the vehicle stops. Next to Bennett, Luke says, “Alright. We’re heading over to Spain where no one is banned.” His coffee-colored eyes sear into me. “Let’s keep it that way. Go on, get on the jet. I’ll make sure your luggage joins us.”
I follow my bandmates onto the tarmac, then up the stairs of our jet.
Damn. Having this available to us as a mode of transportation is amazing.
The less time I have to spend in a bus, the better.
It’s been fun traveling with these guys, but riding on a bus, even playing several tournaments of video games, gets old.
However … maybe I can ship my watchdog on one?
Or at least she could fly commercial over to Barcelona with the rest of the roadies and crew?
I’m mulling over this idea when Hayden exits another vehicle. Damn. I’m reminded that as a member of the UC entourage, she’s travelled with us on the plane before.
Once we’re all on board, I watch Luke talking with Hayden. Too bad I didn’t think to ask him to send her on commercial. Whatever, she can take a seat in the back.
To my dismay, my babysitter lowers her shoulders and joins us in the front part of the plane. More than that. She sits in the empty chair next to mine, where Coop usually sits.
“Excuse me,” I tell her. “This is Coop’s seat.” I glance around and find him a couple of rows back. He lifts his glass to me. Fucker.
“Luke told me to sit here.” Her seatbelt clicks. “Buckle up.”
The freaking flight attendant didn’t even tell us to do that yet. I refuse to comply in advance and get to my feet. Shit. All the other seats are taken. Luke points for me to sit down.
I reluctantly take my seat, then pop up again. “Guys, are you ready for Barcelona? I love the bars there. Who’s with me?” They all grumble about being tired and needing their sleep. “Come on, it’ll be like ten o’clock when we get there. Plenty of time to paint the town red!”
“I think you’ve done quite enough painting here in Rome,” Luke says. “How about the whole band stays in and gets a good night’s sleep. Novel idea, huh?”
The rest of my band folds like a wet deck of cards. Bennett pipes up, “I don’t care about you assholes, but my wife and I are looking forward to a quiet evening in a nice, fluffy bed.” Jenna’s cheeks turn pink.
I focus my attention on Coop, 007, and Tris. All of us need to pick up chicks to get in on what Bennett’s got going on in his room. “Fine. Let the old married couple turn in early. What about you guys? The Spanish ladies know how to do the flamenco.” I move my hips.
“Río, I’m beat,” Tris replies.
“Yeah,” 007 says. “I need some shut-eye.”
Coop adds, “Me three. Feel free to hit up Las Ramblas and cause another riot like you did in Rome. We won’t stop you.”
“You assholes suck.” I spin around when the pilot comes over the intercom, telling us to buckle up for our flight.
As soon as we’re in the air, Luke stands in the aisle. “Alright, guys, we’re going to be in Barcelona for a few days. We have two sold-out concerts there, and then a couple of days off before flying to Madrid for two more concerts. All good?”
I join my UC brothers in agreeing. Barcelona is a cool town. I can dig spending some downtime here. The bars and clubs are top-notch.
“Guys, one more thing. I wanted to let you know that Hayden’s job expanded to include making sure Río stays on the straight and narrow, so I’d appreciate it if the rest of you would be on your best behavior.”
Oh, great. Now I look like a total douche.
I brace for incoming.
Coop doesn’t disappoint. “Like seriously, Hayden’s in charge of Río?”
Luke nods. I slink lower in my seat.
“Good luck with that,” 007 calls out. “Did you bring your body armor?”
Hayden replies, “I have plenty of scarves to tie him up with, if he gets out of line.”
Well, well. Things could get fun with those. I sit up, staring at the strait-laced babysitter. Who is now turning a deeper shade of red than a prized Italian tomato.
“I mean,” Hayden backtracks. “I could tie him to a chair if I need to keep him in one place.”
“Yeah, right!” Coop laughs. “I would think Río would quite enjoy being tied up by you.”
“You’re just jealous,” I call back.
“Well, she might need to tie his hands to something, since she’s also tasked with keeping our boy sober.” Luke’s last word lands like a bomb.
There’s a second of silence, punctuated with roars of laughter. “Keep him sober. Río?”
I get onto my knees in my chair. “I can do it, Bennett!”
Our lead singer retorts, “Yeah, right. When was the last time I saw you without a drink in your hand?” His wife puts her palm over his mouth. At least she’s on my side.
“I wish you luck,” Jenna says to Hayden. “You’re amazing at PR, but this is one tall ask.”
Knowing I can’t call Jenna the “b” word, I stand up and move through the cabin, giving all my “friends” dirty looks.
I don’t need to drink all the time. I haven’t had one since the Trevi Fountain, and the beer was a gift. I didn’t ask for it.
“What do you asswipes know? I don’t have to drink.”
“Besides,” Hayden pipes up. “If he gets tempted, I’ll be there to remind him not to do it.”
Luke interjects, “Río’s agreed to stay sober through this leg of the tour.”
Hayden stands. “I know I can keep him away from alcohol for this leg.”
More guffaws ensue.
“I don’t need this shit.” I walk to the back of the plane and barricade myself in the bathroom. This part of the tour is what? Three months?
Three months without a drink.
This is going to be the longest three months of my life.