The first halfof the setlist was made up of songs from the early part of Melody’s career,which consisted of mostly straightforward pop tunes. Running through the secondhalf of the set was a bit trickier as it contained newer, more sophisticatedsongs. As we played the whole set, I could see how much her writing andarranging had matured over the years.
During our firstmeeting, Melody had explained her vision of this tour, and now playing throughthe setlist for the first time, I was beginning to understand. For this tour,the setlist was in chronological order. Starting with the first song on herfirst album, all the way to her latest single.
We were inbetween songs, discussing whether we’d jumped to the bridge of the last song ameasure too early when Melody walked in with Brandy and a member of hersecurity team.
“How’s is goin’in here, fellas?” she asked cheerily, taking off her Jackie O shades. She woregray sweatpants, a black tank top, and her hair was piled on her head in amessy bun. She was undoubtedly the sexiest woman I’d ever seen, and for thefirst time, I doubted if I should have ever taken this job.
So far, I’d beentoo hyper-focused about the music or scared shitless about the show to thinkabout what it was going to be like to stand on stage with a goddess night afternight. Of course, I already knew Melody was impossibly beautiful before I’d mether, but I’d always assumed she was some vapid pop-tart. But now that I’d mether and her band, I knew she was a woman of substance, which made her far moreattractive to me.
“They givin’ youa hard time?” she asked me, motioning to her bandmates.
“Perfectgentlemen,” I replied.
She chuckled.“Now I know you’re lying.”
“Can’t rememberthe last time I saw you in the tuning room, Melody,” Vick said. “Everythinggood?”
“Yeah. Justthought I’d check up on the new guy. Make sure you hadn’t scared him away.”
“D’you hire Mr.Muscles here to make us all look bad?” Puddin’ cried out.
“Says the mantime forgot,” Melody said. “When was your last birthday, anyway? Twenty yearsago?”
“It’s the cleanlivin’, love. One beautiful day at a time,” Puddin’ replied.
“That’s ourboy,” Melody said in a way that conveyed a deep connection between the two ofthem. “So, you feeling okay?” she asked, turning back to me. “Nervous at all?”
“I feel like I’mabout to be shot out of a cannon. Does that count?”
“You’ll begreat. Besides, our show is nothing like that,” she said.
“No?”
“No,” she saidwith a smirk. “The cannon guys use safety nets.”
I laughed.
Melody waved theman she walked in with over to us. “Train, this is Chip Robertson. My head ofsecurity.”
He shook myhand. “Pleased to meet you, Train. I understand, you’re to serve as extrasecurity at Ms. Morgan’s request.”
“I’m not here tostep on your toes, sir. This is your show. I’m happy to help wherever I’mneeded.”
“I appreciatethat, son,” Chip said, before handing me a security badge. “Keep that with youat all times. Are you licensed to carry a firearm?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Chipsaid. “Now, the last thing to do is assign your code name.”
“Code name?” Ilooked to Melody.
“This tour we’rethe Marx brothers,” she replied. “Vick is Groucho, Rod is Chico, Puddin’ isHarpo—"
“And you’reGummo,” Chip said.
“Gummo? Who thehell is Gummo?” I asked.
“He was theleast known of the Marx Brothers,” Chip said. “He was drafted into the war.”
