All I could think about was what Roxie was going to do.
The show itself was a great one; the crowd was energetic and rowdy by the time we came on, and we gave it our best. Pouring all of our energy into the performance and leaving nothing on the table. But when I glanced over to the wings of the stage, I didn’t see Roxie. As I sang the encore, I wondered if she was out in the crowd somewhere, choosing to watch the final show among the throng of fans.
But when we returned to the dressing room, we found her sitting on the couch, working on her laptop.
“Good show?” she asked, barely glancing up.
“A banger!” Milo exclaimed. “I’m so jacked up on adrenaline, man. I could do ten more shows.”
“Pass,” Violet said. “I need a break before I tour with my other band.”
Cash gave Milo a sweaty hug and said, “Save that energy for the recording studio.”
Roxie’s uncaring attitude about our final show was the last straw for me. I took a beer out of the fridge, cracked it open, and said, “You don’t have to stick around Miami. We’re usually in the recording studio all day, with no time for anything else. You can go home early.”
I didn’t mean it to sound harsh. I thought I was telling her what she wanted to hear.
But her eyes immediately welled up with tears, and she said, “Okay,” before getting up and staring at each of us in turn.
Then she fled the dressing room like she was never coming back.
47
Roxie
I’d expected the last part of the tour after Thanksgiving to be carefree and fun. A victory lap after a long, arduous tour around the country. I thought it would be filled with sex, and laughing, and an affection that deepened with every passing day until it became something undeniable.
Things were fine with Milo. He was full of smiles and jokes, and savored every moment with me. Cash was the same way; we crawled into a bunk and snuggled up together, reading our book separately and occasionally commenting on something interesting.
But everything with Riot feltwrong.
It was like something had broken between us over Thanksgiving. And in a way, that was true: the thing that had shattered was the illusion that this was all a fairy tale. That this was something real, something without an expiration date.
That Riot actually cared about me.
When the Miami show was over and he suggested that I go home early, it finally sank in that I was just a tool to him. Someone who boosted his creativity, someone to have sex with.And even though it was good, that wasallhe wanted. Another groupie.
Once the realization sank in, I felt like such an idiot for ever thinking otherwise.
I fled from the dressing room. Nobody tried to stop me, which hurt just as much as Riot’s suggestion that I leave. For a moment, I considered storming back in there and giving him a piece of my mind. Raging and arguing and breaking anything that was breakable. That was the rock and roll lifestyle, right?
But what was the point? It wouldn’t change anything. And deep down, I’d spent the last few weeks preparing myself for this. For what I knew was inevitable.
If I was being totally honest with myself, I wasn’t surprised by Riot’s attitude toward me. Notreally. I was mostly just sad. Sad about how this had turned out, sad that I’d allowed myself to feel hope.
I would never make that mistake again.
I hurried through the arena and exited out of one of the employee-only doors in the back. Despite being December, it was a warm night in Miami, and people were out walking to bars and restaurants like it was a pleasant spring evening. I wasn’t sure what to do or where to go, so I picked a direction at random and started walking.
Milo called me. I ignored it, and he left a voicemail that I listened to as soon as I got the notification. “Yo. Rox. You left in a hurry, so I want to make sure you’re okay. I’m worried about you. Call me?”
After listening to that, I saw that I had some texts from Cash.
Cash: Riot wasn’t trying to kick you out. He was just suggesting that you don’t have to stick around while we’reat the recording studio the next couple of weeks. When we recorded our first album, we went in at 6:00am every morning and didn’t leave until 10:00pm. We’d hardly see you. He didn’t mean anything by it.
Cash: But I understand why you might have taken it the wrong way.
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and let out a bitter laugh that caused a few pedestrians to glance at me nervously. Take it the wrong way? I took Riot’s suggestion exactly how he intended it to be taken. He was done with me. He was ready to cast me aside like an old guitar that was being replaced by a brand new Gibson.
