23. The San Antonio Music Festival
IAN
Archer made it to the stadium before sound check, which was an improvement over his last extracurricular voyage. He’d installed a pretty Latina named Roberta in the greenroom and announced that she was his guest for the night. Then he’d looked around to see if his message had registered properly.
Suddenly, I hated my best friend. Nicky wanted him, and he was showing off that he’d picked up a stranger. What was the matter with his brain?
If he was trying to show Roberta off to Nicky, it was an epic fail. Nicky was working the merch concession for the Dallas show and had no idea Archer was flaunting a girlfriend at her.
But Archer clearly wanted to get a rise out of Nicky. So, he went looking, leaving Roberta sitting alone and wide-eyed.
It wasn’t Roberta’s fault that she never even came close to being as amazing as Nicky. And if she was looking for more from Archer, she was in for a letdown. Since Archer had abandoned her, it felt like Roberta was now an Aftermath guest. Mal and I kept her company and introduced her to Charlotte. Roberta mostly wanted to know who everybody was, and when Sheree blew in, Mal and I ceased to exist in Roberta’s eyes.
Okay. Got it. A star fucker. Fine, then. Not our problem.
Archer wandered back after a bit, looking annoyed. That told me that Nicky had locked herself into the storeroom with all the crates of Sheree merchandise that were giving her nightmares. Archer hadn’t been able to needle her.
Good.
Sound check was normal, except for the lighting director who wanted to discuss the spots for “Charlotte’s Lullaby.”
“I’m already seeing TikToks,” he said. “Mothers singing the lullaby to their babies. A farmer singing to his goats. You guys are going viral.”
“It’s been two days,” Archer said. “And we’ve only played it once.”
Terry, the lighting director, tipped his head at us. “Welcome to the music biz. You guys need to get your own video out there. Like, now.”
Archer, Mal, and I looked at each other. The last three videos we’d made ourselves, with Morey coordinating things. This time?
“We’ll ask Nicky to help,” Mal said. Archer nodded.
Yes, we would.
She’d texted us the schedule of our interviews. Since she wasn’t in the VIP suite to advocate for us, Bruce hadn’t set aside a pressroom for us. Smugly, Archer showed Bruce our schedule, proving we were booked for the next two hours. Bruce grumbled but got Bianca to let us in to his “office,” which turned out to be an empty concrete roon with a table, one chair, and a large box of Sheree merch to give away. Every single reporter we talked to asked if they could have a T-shirt, which we gave them gladly. Bruce was annoyed by that.
But it took until the concert itself for me to feel comfortable with Archer.
I’ve found that it’s almost impossible to be mad at someone you harmonize with.
Charlotte was a star again and lay in bliss in Archer’s arms when he sang “Charlotte’s Lullaby.” The crowd loved it, and some of them actually sang along. It proved Terry was right. We needed to get ahead of this viral popularity with our own video.
I’d suggested that Sheree sing “If You’re Ever Down in Dallas” for her city-specific song, and she’d found a local fiddler who raised the roof. She didn’t need us, so we watched her entire concert in the VIP suite after reminding Archer that Roberta was still sitting in the greenroom. He shrugged, but we glared until he went back and got her.
They came back rumpled and cocky. Sex in the locker room again, Archer? It had seemed so cool to me in the past. Archer could get any woman, persuade her to have sex in a semipublic space, and they’d do it too.
Now it seemed sad.
He lost her when she left with a man in crocodile cowboy boots and a belt buckle that featured what sure looked like diamonds. “There goes your girl,” I said to Archer.
“Huh? Oh. Okay.”
“You don’t care at all, do you?”
He shot me a look. “What’s your problem?”
I shrugged. “No problem.”
But Mal wasn’t as conflicted as I was. “Yeah, I have a problem. Weren’t you kissing on Nicky a few days ago? You think she’d be okay with this?”
Archer dismissed him by looking away across the crowded, dark room. “I’ll make it up to her,” he said. Mal crossed his arms over his chest, which made his biceps look enormous, but Archer was ignoring us. “Who do I need to schmooze?” he said. “Anyone else in the press we need?”
“Hey.” Mal reached out and stopped Archer. “I like her.”
Archer focused again. “Who?”
“Nicky.”
Archer’s eyebrows went up. “Do you want her?”
And I hated my friend again.
“I’m just saying,” Mal said. “Don’t hurt her. Okay?”
Archer looked at Mal with a scornful curl to his lip. “She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself. God, you guys are such nags lately.”
I stopped Mal when he wanted to follow Archer. “They have to work it out themselves,” I said, hating that it was true.
Mal turned his scornful look on me, which I felt was unfair, but he let the conversation die.
Nicky slept beside me that night in my hotel room but didn’t have much to say. She locked herself away in the merch storeroom again for the second concert. It wasn’t until we were back together on the bus on the way to the San Antonio Music Festival that I learned what her strategy was going to be.
She was giving Archer an epic cold shoulder.
It wasn’t that she pretended she couldn’t see him. No, she’d answer a direct question. But she’d do it in an impersonal, frostily professional tone that he was incapable of understanding, having never seen such behavior in a woman before.
And she had plenty of chances to ignore him. The drive from Dallas to San Antonio took Ken just under four hours, and Nicky filled almost all those minutes.
“I want to review the reporters who want to talk to you guys in Denver because you’re running out of interview time. You and this dog are hot, guys.”
Charlotte thumped her tail on the ground beside the table, where she’d decided very suddenly would make a great-and-not-at-all-inconvenient place to take a long nap.
“They love us!” Archer said. “And what’s not to love?”
Her smile was the sharp response of a receptionist at a high-priced lawyer’s office. “Let’s talk about how to prioritize these interviews in the future. Should we group bloggers, then print, then people who want film?”
“Let’s do film first,” Archer said.
Nicky waited until he finished speaking and then overlooked him. “What about doing the bloggers first, when it’s quietest?”
She would respond if Mal or I said something; she was indifferent to Archer. As the drive wore on, he got frustrated. He’d thought he was going to rub her face in his ability to pull any woman he wanted, and she wasn’t letting him. Mal nudged me in silent delight.
Then Archer got confused. Nicky turned to the hoodie and its design. Archer wanted to weigh in.
“That photo of us from the back—don’t you think we should have us facing forward instead? So people can see our faces?”
“The shirt is already in production,” she said crisply. “We’re well past the design phase.”
“The hell? I never got to weigh in on it! Did you guys?”
Mal and I nodded. “You must have been getting your own ride at the time,” Mal said. Under the table, he nudged me again. I nudged him back. We both kept a straight face.
“Well, I never agreed to this.”
“By nature of your contract,” Nicky said, “the design requires approval by at least two members of the group. And Mal and Ian ceded me design responsibilities. Would you like to see the contract you signed again?”
She flipped her laptop around on the kitchen table, and Archer stood from the booth and began pacing the space, holding on to the overhead bar to ensure his stride was noticeably manly and his irritation was overt.
All three of us turned back to the laptop as if it were critically important. I nudged Mal, who swallowed a giggle but kept a straight face.
“So about making a video for ‘Charlotte’s Lullaby.’ I’ve been looking into video production facilities on our route.” Nicky went on to the next item. “Do you have thoughts on a director?”
Archer slammed down into his seat again. “I can direct it. I did all the others, didn’t I, guys?”
Archer’s sister had done a lot of that work, but there was no need to point that out since Nicky was shredding Archer’s soul without looking up from her computer.
“Those were very effective amateur videos. For this next step, I’ve compiled a list I’d like you guys to consider. We’ve got a rest day in Phoenix, and there’s a good film school there.”
“You want some stupid students to direct our video?” Archer tried getting a rise out of her with scorn.
“As you can see, two of the people I’m proposing teach film and have extensive backgrounds. I think we can get one or maybe both of them on our rest day, but we’d need to arrange the details right now. Plus, you’ll actually need to record the song. Timing might be an issue. And we need to consider who’s going to write the video. It’s not too soon to get storyboarding.”
“Write the video?” Archer was now attempting to sound offended. “It should be me singing to the dog. Like in the concert.”
“Thank you,” Nicky replied. “That is indeed one idea.”
Mal and I were now banging on each other under the table, thrilled at her effortless put-down.
Archer tried his own cold shoulder, turning icily professional. No reaction from Nicky.
He stormed off and pouted in the back lounge. In boredom, he even pulled down my Olson and practiced a few scales, but that wasn’t Archer’s style, so he was soon back at the table.
Like flipping on a switch, he suddenly began to smolder at Nicky. As if we were at a championship tennis match, Mal and I swiveled to see Nicky’s reaction. She gave him the polite smile again. Mal’s feet drummed on the carpet in pleasure.
By the time we pulled up to the festival grounds, Archer was stymied. Since Aftermath hadn’t been invited to perform, we had the afternoon and evening free to mingle with the fans and watch a day of great music. Ken dropped us off at the main entrance.
“You don’t want to come, Ken?” Nicky asked. “You can park in the lot, and we’ll take the shuttle in with you.”
Ken made a perfect psht noise. “You’re going to spend a June day in the Texas sun to hear a bunch of punks whine about who does or doesn’t love them. Pass. Have a good time, little missy.”
She was inspired to kiss his forehead, and he blushed.
And then we were alive and free and in the fresh air. Thumping beats came from the direction of the main stage, and the crowd was decent.
“What first?” Mal asked. He held Charlotte’s leash.
“A whole day!” Archer had forgotten that Nicky was freezing him out. He flung an arm around her shoulder.
She stepped neatly away. “I have to work at the merch booth from seven to midnight.”
“But you’re free before then,” he tried. “What are you going to do for six hours?”
She refused to meet his eye. “I thought I’d go listen to the music with my friends.”
She gave emphasis to the last words, and Archer bristled. “They were my friends first!”
Okay. That was enough. I pushed between them. “We can all be friends together, for god’s sake. Come on.”
We found a reasonable spot on the grass and let the heat and the music melt the various forms of anger and pain. We took turns going for beer and water, and Archer’s mood improved every time someone recognized him (or, as often happened, recognized Charlotte). The bands were good and got better as the day wore on. Lured by the promise of Sheree, the crowd grew as afternoon heat bled out in evening’s sunset.
I watched Nicky. I watched everyone. I thought about the new song, which I decided would be called “Street Dancing” because it had a better sound than “Festival Dancing.” And because the entire song had been inspired by Nicky dancing to the impromptu block party the night before.
We were lubricated by heat and beer and good music. Before Nicky left for her shift at the merchandise booth, Archer grabbed her hand.
“I’m sorry, princess. I’ve been a total ass. I know you can’t forgive me yet, but I’m going to try to make it up to you. To win my way back into your heart.”
She let him kiss the back of her hand. He might not have noticed her look of calculation, but I recognized it. It was the same look that she got when she was setting up press interviews.
“Okay,” she said, and that left Archer beaming.
Nicky looked at me and then at Mal. She nodded once and then walked away.
Archer turned back and waggled his eyebrows at us. “Told you. She’ll be fine.”
Mal thrust Charlotte’s leash into my hands so he could grab Archer’s white shirt at the collar, hauling Archer onto his toes.
Archer gasped. “The fuck, man!”
“Nicky,” Mal hissed, “has become important to us. To me. She’s not a quick lay or a one-night stand.”
We’d attracted attention. I put a hand on Mal’s shoulder, and he backed down. Archer straightened his shirt. “If you want her, just say so. I’ll stand aside.”
“God, you asshole.” Mal rolled his eyes and then his shoulders. He shot a look at me, but his rage was keeping mine at bay. I watched him neutrally. Mal didn’t see what he wanted from me, and he turned back to Archer. “Look. Besides being a damned good person, Nicky is now handling all our marketing and publicity. She’s pulling together a better video team than we’ve ever had before. She’s managed to get us merchandise that will be sold at Sheree shows for the entire month of July. Do you understand how important it is that we do not blow this woman off?”
Archer frowned. “I’m not going to blow her off,” he said, but the whining tone made it clear he was trying to convince himself.
“Yeah?” Mal was on a roll. Dimly, behind a wall of paralysis, I was grateful to him. “You’re going to make Nicky your girlfriend?”
“Maybe.”
Mal laughed in scorn. Even trapped between my loyalty to Archer and my desire for Nicky, I was able to roll my eyes at that.
“What?” Archer read our contempt. “I can have a girlfriend. And Nicky would be great. Come home to her every night? It would be . . . nice.”
“Come home to her? You going to marry her? Set her up in a house with a picket fence?”
Archer brushed aside Mal’s disgust. “It could be for the length of the tour. She could be my tour girlfriend.”
“So you’re going to keep her for the next five weeks. Thereby almost doubling your previous girlfriend record.”
“You’re being a dick, Mal.”
“Me? You think I’m being a dick? Fuck, Arch.”
“Fuck you. Fuck you both. Why don’t you let the girl decide for herself? Who are you, her brothers?”
“I feel like her brother.”
“Well, you’re not. What’s gotten into you? You hearing this, Ian?”
I sighed. “I hear it.”
“That’s it?” Mal was disgusted with me. “You hear it?”
I turned to face Mal directly, keeping my voice cool. “It’s up to them. Up to Archer and Nicky.”
“Thank you!” Archer was vindicated. “All right. I think I’ve had enough of this. Give me Charlotte. I’ll go drum up some attention. Do I have anything in my teeth?” He grimaced at me, showing off his newly whitened grin. I shook my head woodenly and handed him the leash.
After he left, Mal rounded on me. “Man, why can’t you speak up for yourself?”
I managed a minuscule shake of my head, afraid to release any more tension than that. “What do you mean?”
“Ian, the girl sleeps next to you every night. You can’t look away when she’s in the room. You’re writing songs to her.” He watched me, and when I didn’t answer, he pressed, “Do you deny it? Is ‘Charlotte’s Lullaby’ really ‘Nicky’s Lullaby?’”
I had to brace against the emotions welling up from my gut. “He’s my best friend, Mal. You and him both. And he’s who Nicky wants.”
My presentation of the facts was flat. There was nothing more to say . . . except Mal said it.
“Are you sure of that?” Everything was on lock-down. I could swivel only my eyes to Mal. He clarified, “Are you so sure she wants him? Because I’m not convinced.”
Archer all in white. Grinning that grin. No one else had ever resisted. “She’ll have to decide that.”