“That’s great,” I said. “I know what you mean about creativity. You have to strike while the iron is hot.”
And then, like a thirsty groupie, I asked, “Do you want your muse with you? To help boost that creativity?”
He twisted to stare directly at me, his eyes dark pools in the night. He smiled broadly, then leaned in to give me a sensual kiss. The kind of kiss that immediately soothed my concerns.
Until he said, “I’m awful to be around when I’m working on my music. I go days without showering, eating nothing but takeout and drinking Red Bull. Trust me: you’ll want to be as far away as possible.”
My heart sank.
“You’ve been amazing on the tour, though,” he said. “I owe so much of this album to you. I know the rest of the band would agree. Thank you for everything you’ve done, Roxie.”
My heart sank even further. He was already using the past-tense.
“You’re welcome,” I said, grateful that the darkness concealed the tears welling in my eyes.
46
Riot
This tour was everything I could have dreamed of.
Before this, we were like a stray dog trying to find a home. For years we had begged, argued, and negotiated our way into every venue. We crowded onto tiny stages in dive bars, getting paid in exposure and tips. We hawked merchandise after the shows like beggars, averaging about ten bucks total every night. Before splitting it four ways.
We latched onto other bands, opening for them for a few shows at a time. Slowly, we built up a following. Our Spotify channel grew. Our YouTube followers increased. Eventually, we signed a record deal and put some money in our pockets. Not enough to make a living as musicians, but enough to call ourselves professional.
And then, almost overnight, we went viral.
It was a video from one of our shows in San Antonio a year ago. Someone in the front row was recording, and I leaned down and serenaded the girl for a few lyrics and gave her a sexy little wink. Hamming up the showmanship that was required when you were the frontman of a band.
TikTok loved it. The video blew up. And then everything changed. Our record label shelled out the money for a full tour. They wouldn’t pay for a hotel in every city, and we had to get Dana’s dad to loan us a tour bus, but we didn’t care.
We finally felt like we’dmade it.
I still had impostor syndrome when the tour began. Like the label would suddenly change their mind and tell us that the tour was canceled and we had to go back to singing in breweries while the patrons ignored us. Only after playing in a few packed arenas did I feel like I belonged up there.
It was a lot to handle, mentally. Achieving your dream. I wasn’t sure if this was the only tour we would ever have, or if our success would continue. Everything was unknown, which was terrifying.
But it was thrilling, too.
These thoughts preoccupied my mind over Thanksgiving and during the last two weeks of the tour. We played in Saint Louis, Indianapolis, and Columbus. My confidence reached a peak in Pittsburgh when we found out the entire Penguins NHL team had bought a suite to our show. Milo seemed in disbelief about all of it, while Cash was quietly content with our success.
It felt good to be almost done. To figure out what would come next, to see if this was going to continue for the rest of our lives or if we had caught lightning in a bottle for a single year.
But as happy as the four of us in Cherry Midnight were, Roxie seemed like she was in a funk. She was quieter and less energetic. She put her headphones on a lot more and hunched over her laptop, working on her freelance gigs.
I understood why. The tour was exciting for us because we were performing in every city, but she was just tagging along.Watching basically the same performance night after night. It was obvious she was bored of being on the tour.
And, deep down, I was afraid she was bored of us.
Ofme.
As the lead singer of the band, I had an abundance of confidence. It was a job requirement. But Roxie’s mood was infectious, and I began to feel down about the tour coming to an end. I was dreading my relationship—ourrelationship—with this incredible woman reaching its conclusion.
This wasn’t like other groupies we’d had. This was different. Which made it that much more painful when she started faking smiles and insisting everything was fine.
And with that, I could feel my creativity drying up. I was stuck in the middle of a song, still lacking a catchy chorus, and couldn’t get the music toflowout of me the way it did when I was really motivated. The way it did when we first met Roxie.
There was a funereal mood on the tour bus as we drove down to Miami, the final city of the tour. Our record label had booked a few weeks of studio time after the show for us to record our next album, but I was still missing those last couple of songs. I was hoping I would figure it out when we were in the studio together, brainstorming and trying new things with the rest of the band.
