Chapter Three #2
THE NEXT DAY, CHRISTINE PACKED her clothes.
She went with sweatpants and a tank top to sleep in.
She’d be comfortable and fully covered. After that, she struggled.
Should she go cute with a little dress, business with a blazer, or casual with jeans and tops?
She didn’t want to overpack, but she also wanted options.
She added two pairs of jeans, two tops, and a baby-doll dress.
She put on a black leather jacket and a pair of boots. Both would go with all the outfits.
She met at the designated Kroger parking lot at 8:00 p.m. They had a twelve-hour drive and needed to load in at ten in the morning. Add in some fuel stops and they’d be right on time.
“Chrissy. You made it,” Austin said.
“I did. There’s a lot of people here,” she said, mentally counting heads as people loaded luggage into the compartments under the bus. She knew a standard tour bus had twelve bunks.
“Three band members, Alicia, a sound guy, a guitar tech, Matt, a bus driver, me, and you.”
She counted ten people, and eight of them were guys. It was an incredible amount of testosterone.
“One day, I’ll have two tour buses. But for now, we’re all squeezed on here. But we have room for you.”
She stepped onto the bus with her oversized backpack and looked into the lounge.
There were couches on both sides of the bus, each facing a flat-screen TV.
One of the guys was channel surfing. Another was putting food and drinks into the fridge in the kitchen area while two sat across a table from each other playing cards.
Alicia sat on a couch with her feet propped up on a box.
Her baseball cap sported the famous Rolling Stones tongue logo.
She looked up and gave Christine the peace sign. “Nice jacket,” she said.
“Thanks. Nice hat.” Christine hoped she and Alicia could form an estrogen bond. Women in the industry needed to stick together.
She noticed a closed door and assumed it was the bathroom.
Then she walked through the lounge into the center area that held the beds.
There were twelve, two rows stacked three high on both sides of the bus.
Austin offered her his bed since it was a bottom bunk and, apparently, they were the best. She felt guilty taking it and said she’d be fine in the top bunk—until she tried to climb into it.
“What if I fall out?” she asked.
“You won’t,” Austin assured her.
“How do you know?”
“I don’t. But nobody else ever has, so I have to assume you won’t, either.” It was a weak guarantee, but she nodded anyway.
“Are you sure you won’t take my bunk?” Austin said, pointing to it.
Christine imagined what all had gone on in that bunk and gave an internal shiver. No soap was strong enough to get all that out.
“Nope. I’ll be fine up here,” she said, patting the upper bunk. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
“Yes. If we stop in the middle of the night, you know, to gas up or whatever, do not get off the bus without someone knowing about it.”
“But if it’s the middle of the night, I won’t want to wake anyone,” Christine said, reasoning it through.
“The driver doesn’t do a bunk check. You’ll get left behind. If you can’t find the bus driver to let him know, the signal is to leave a roll of paper towels on his seat. That lets him know somebody got off the bus.”
“Do people really get left behind?” Christine asked.
“Hell, a superstar once got left behind. Trust me, use the paper towels. It works.”
“Got it.” Christine prayed she wouldn’t need to get off the bus. She couldn’t fathom being left at a truck stop somewhere.
Another door at the far end of the bunk area caught her eye.
“The back lounge is through that door,” Austin said. “I’m sure you remember the closet of women’s clothing.” He chuckled. “There’s another small bathroom and a couch in there. Use whatever you need.”
“Thanks.” She didn’t want to think about any recent additions to the closet.
They returned to the front lounge, and Christine met the few people she didn’t already know.
The bus driver, Al, peeked his head into the front lounge where everyone was packed in tight.
He addressed Christine directly. “Now, little lady, I’m not sure what you know about being on a band bus, but we don’t go number two in the toilet. ”
Christine’s eyes darted from the bus driver to Austin to Matt and back to Austin, who stepped in to save her.
“I’m sure she’ll be okay.”
Christine smiled with relief.
“I told her to poop before bus call.”
“You what? No, you didn’t.” She looked at the band and then the bus driver. “I didn’t . . . I mean . . . he didn’t. I . . . um . . .” Her eyes briefly met Matt’s before she looked away in humiliation.
“Long as you don’t poop on the bus, we’re good. Let’s go,” the driver said. He hopped into his seat and started up the rig.
Christine sat down, horrified, while Austin fell onto the couch roaring.
“Asshole,” Christine mouthed.
“Welcome to the road, Chrissy!”
The guys fired up the movie Jackass Number Two , and as the movie played, they yelled things like “gross,” “freaking disgusting,” and “dude, that’s fucked up” while Christine sat in her corner trying to appear like she was enjoying it while nearly throwing up.
Alicia fit in like one of the guys. She high-fived the others at the most disgusting parts, and when there was a scene that included a guy getting overturned in a port-a-potty, she laughed so loud she snorted.
Christine tried to laugh with her, the whole female bonding thing, but it came out more like a smirk.
Christine heard a door open and then close, and a guy walked into the lounge from the back of the bus. His wrinkled T-shirt read S HART H APPENS . His sweatpants had a food stain as well as a couple of holes, and his hair stood up in all directions.
“Dudes, I just left an epic fart in the back lounge.”
“Shit, man. I’ve got a guest on board. Chill,” Austin said. He looked at Christine. “This is Ralph, our sound tech.”
Ralph reached over to shake her hand, and Christine wished she was wearing a glove. “Christine,” she said.
“ Woo-hoo! We’ve got a chick on the bus,” Ralph said, causing Austin to groan.
“Excuse me. You always have a chick on the bus,” Alicia said.
“Where?” Ralph asked, looking past her.
Alicia flipped him off.
“My name’s not really Ralph.”
“Then why do they call you that?” Christine asked.
“’Cause he’s always ralphing up something: farts, burps, and God knows what else. He’s a one-man show,” Matt said.
“I see. Nice to meet you,” Christine said, thinking it really wasn’t.
Ralph wiggled his way between Cat and Matt, causing them to groan. The movie resumed, getting more disgusting with each segment.
When her gag reflex could no longer handle it, Christine stretched her arms, gave a fake yawn, and announced that she was going to bed. She briefly stopped in the bathroom, only went number one, brushed her teeth, and climbed into her upper bunk. She was still getting settled when Matt came in.
“You have everything you need, Christine?” His voice gave her chill bumps.
She peered out from the bunk to see him standing below her. Crazy thoughts of him jumping into the bunk with her flashed through her brain. Where had that come from? She shook her head to clear it and return to reality.
“I’m good. Feeling a little awkward, but I have everything I need.”
“I’d feel uncomfortable on a bus full of women, although they probably wouldn’t be watching Jackass movies.”
“No. We’d be knee-deep in Love Actually ,” she said.
“True confession? I love that movie. Hell, I love chick flicks. But don’t tell the guys.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
He bid her good night, and she watched him walk out the door.
The lights were off, the door was closed, and the room was pitch black. And it was cold. Christine snuggled down in the comforter, and with the road passing underneath the wheels and the bus gently rolling, she fell into a peaceful sleep.