“So tell meguys,” Jeff said. “You been on the road a while now. I always wonder what youguys get up to to keep yourselves amused. Is there someone in the band that’s abig prankster? Like, are you guys always pulling practical jokes on oneanother?” He puffed out his chest proud of his investigative journalismprowess.
“No,” I said,about ready to introduce Jeff’s face to my rings.
“So, it soundslike Train here’s your new guitar player,” Jeff continued. “I understand youhad some trouble with your last guitar player, can you tell us a little aboutthat?”
“Well, actually,Jeff, I can’t, because there’s an ongoing investigation, and really, I’m hereto talk about my new album and tour.”
“Yeah, ofcourse, and we wanna talk about that stuff, too. But if you could… just for asecond… because we’re sure your fans are dying to know, what happened with GillCrenshaw?”
“Hey, man, shesaid she’s not gonna talk about that,” I said. “So, how about you drop it?”
“Speaking ofdrop,” Melody said quickly. “My new single just dropped. How about we play itfor you?” she suggested, keeping me from tanking the interview entirely. “Weall know it’s Jeff’s favorite song. FlowersonFire.”
We played andfor a moment I forgot for a minute we were in this douche factory. That’s theway it was when I sang with her. I felt present. Connected to her. It was morethan just the connection you felt with another musician, and it was gettingstronger every time I played with her.
We finished upat the radio station and the car took us back to the hotel. I found myself notwanting the morning to end but knew I needed to get some sleep before myeyeballs dried up and fell out of their sockets.
Melody thankedme again for playing and singing with her and I headed to my room. Thankfully,sleep came quickly, but my dreams were filled with all things Melody.
Melody
The day afterthe Phoenix gig wasscheduled to be a travel day. We got on the road early and would be pullinginto Albuquerque late. Instead of riding on my bus, I decided to spend themorning on the band bus to work on a few new song ideas with Vick and Rod.Train was happy because he had a full day of riding ahead of him. I suppose Ishould saytheywere happy, as Train’s merry band of riders now includedPuddin’ and his guitar tech, Ant.
Puddin’ pickedup his bike from his ex while we were in Arizona. The bike hadn’t been riddenin years and was in rough shape, but Train helped Puddin’ get it road worthy.Picked up parts while we were on the road, and the two of them worked on it onour first day off, which I thought was sweet. Train obviously loved and lookedup to Puddin’ so it made perfect sense that he’d shell out a few bucks and someman hours to help him out, but suddenly there was a new bike. This one was forAnt, and once again Train has taken care of payment. So, Train either stolethis bike, spent a good chunk of his tour paycheck on it, or he had more up hissleeve than I was aware of.
We pulled up tothe Starbright Diner around lunchtime and I waited on the bus while the otherswent inside and found tables. I told them I needed some time to put my disguiseon, which was only partially true. I could slip in and out of just about anydisguise faster than Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, but the truth was, Iwanted to wait for Train. To make sure we sat together at lunch so I could askhim about Ant’s new bike, and other things. I noticed Train often ate alone, orsimply wasn’t around during mealtimes. I found this a bit odd considering howsociable he normally is. I figured if I didn’t ask him to sit with me at lunch,he might go off on his own again. Jesus, I sounded like thirteen-year-old me.
Train’s personalMC pulled up and parked their bikes in front of the diner as I exited the bus.
“Oh, I get itnow,” I said as Train removed his helmet. “You ride these things in order toget the primo parking.”
Train smiledear-to-ear and I swear I could feel my heart sweat.
“You look goodas a brunette, and that’s a very nice…beret, is it?”
“Ouï. Jem’appelle Sophie…and I am a French foreign exchange student,” I saiddropping what little French I remembered from my tutors and instead adopted ahorrible French accent that was even worse than my British accent.
“French foreignexchange student, eh?” Train said.
“If you sayanything about my age, I’ll jam a baguette up your—”
He raised hishands in surrender with a laugh. “No ma’am. Never.”
“In that case, Iwas wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me?”
Train’s smileturned to a twitchy smirk, and he turned visibly three shades paler. “Uh, here?Now? Uh, Now?”
“You said thattwice, but yeah,” I giggled nervously. “It’s not a date or anything, I’d justlike to get to know my guitar player a little better.”
“Um...” Train’seyes darted back and forth nervously.
“Look, if you’vegot plans or something—”
“No, I’m sorry.”He sighed. “Thank you, I’d love to join you for lunch. We should probably talkanyway.”
“Uh, oh. Thatsounds ominous,” I said, my pulse elevating. “Please don’t tell me you’requitting the tour.”
“What? No,”Train said, his hands going to mine, then pulling back. “I’m sorry, I—”
