She nods, the corner of her mouth turned down into a frown.
“It won’t always be like this,” I assure her.
“Is there something I can do to help you prepare for the show?”
“No, and I’d suggest you get that out of your pretty little head. Carl is adamant about you not doing too much, so do your PR thing.”
“Got it.”
“I’m not sure how much you remember about the bus, but the lounge is over there,” I point toward the head of the bus, “and the bathroom and kitchenette are on the upper level.”
“Here’s hoping I don’t get lost.”
“Since we left your car at your father’s office, you won’t be able to leave easily.”
“Understood.”
Vanessa storms downstairs, slowing when she sees Samantha.
“Samantha, this is Vanessa. Vanessa, Samantha.”
Samantha smiles, but it’s easy to see that Vanessa is annoyed.
“I swear to God, if we’ve picked up another stray?—”
“It’s only for a week,” Samantha says, her tone cold as ice.
“Jesus Christ!” Vanessa snaps as she storms past us, heading out to the venue.
“Would you like a burger?” I offer. “Armando grilled them, and I guarantee you’ll never taste one finer than the ones made by his hands.”
Samantha hunches over ever so slightly, grabbing her stomach.
“Sweet Baby Jesus, is little droid coming?”
Looking shocked, Samantha whisper-shouts, “I’m only a few months along!”
“Oh, yeah. You feeling sick?”
“Just…on edge.” She places her hand on a rail, leans forward, and takes a deep breath.
“You need to see a doctor.”
“And I will, but right now, I need to concentrate on not emptying the contents of my stomach all over the Hunks tour bus.”
“Gotcha.”
After a long moment, Samantha says, “Could you grab my laptop so I can work upstairs?”
Glad to have something to do, I rush out to the car and grab her bags, but when I bring her laptop upstairs, I hear her retching inside the bathroom.
The sound of her puking makes my stomach twist. I bend over, trying like hell to turn my gut to steel, but the moment Samantha opens the door to exit the bathroom, my mission fails.
Gray, green chunks of food and bile eject into the aisle.
“What the fuck, Toxic!” Samantha snaps, and a moment later, she retches into my pile of puke.
With the amount of drinking we do, this bus has seen its fair share of piss, vomit, and lewd, offensive smells, but I can’t say I ever remember a time when they were made by two sober people.
