Without limits ssion and.., p.135
Without Limits: A BWWM Collection of Passion and Desire, page 135
“Yeah. Well.” His voice brightened. “How about I tell you the boring story of my tattoo? That’ll put you to sleep.”
“I’m sure it’s not boring.” Zoe smiled into the phone. “I’d love to hear it.”
“First, some background. I was arrested when I was sixteen. For stealing a car.”
“That’s a hell of a hook.” Zoe laughed. “Why did you steal the car?”
“If I tell that story, it’ll delay the tattoo one.” Cars honked in the background.
“Tell me both.” Settling back against the pillows, she drew up her knees and got comfortable. She would listen to him as long as he wanted to talk.
“When I was young, I was a kind of a dumbass. After learning bass guitar for a grand total of one solid month, I ran off to go on tour with a band that needed a bass player, because the original player got the chicken pox.”
“Chicken pox?” Zoe burst out laughing. “How old was he?”
“It was a she, and she was seventeen. So, they asked me. I think I was the only one they knew who had two amps.”
“How old were the rest of the band?” Zoe tucked a pillow behind her head. This was so much better than crying over dog food commercials.
“I think one of the guys was fifteen; then the others were like seventeen, eighteen.”
“Oh, good lord. Why weren’t you people in school?”
“I was in school,” he said, a little defensively, then laughed. “I had jazz band.”
“All right. Point taken. Back to the story. You stole a car.”
“Borrowed. We were going it bring it back. It was the delivery van for the grocery store. I didn’t really steal it, per se, I mean, Jack gave me the keys, and I drove it away.”
“Because if you got caught, you would be less likely to be sent to jail, being underaged,” Zoe concluded. “Who’s Jack?”
“The drummer. He worked at the store, which is how he got the keys. It was his idea to borrow the van for the tour. Let me emphasize the word, borrow.”
“Not according to the police, I wager.” Zoe turned off the television. “Why did you go? Seeing as you had jazz band and all.” She had another laugh at that.
“I don’t know. Seemed like a good idea at the time.” He sighed. “My dad and I weren’t getting along. It was tough for my mom, playing referee.” He paused. “I figured if I left for a while things would smooth out. But…” He took a deep breath. “They didn’t, but that’s another story. The tour was interesting though.”
“How did these places hire underage kids?”
“The guitarist was eighteen, so I guess he vouched for us. No one ever asked.”
“Sounds like an experience. So, about the tattoo.” She raised her eyebrows.
“One night…shit, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
“Don’t chicken out on me now. Let’s hear it.” Zoe urged. The story was just getting good.
“We got drunk, went to some place, some hole in the wall, and they dared me to get it, so I did.” He cleared his throat. “When I got home, I think my mom was angrier about the tattoo than the tour. I did, however, score a bass guitar out of the deal.”
“In my book, that’s worth it.”
“Agreed.” He paused. “So that’s the story. Did it put you to sleep?”
“Not at all.” She yawned, betraying herself. “I like listening to you.”
He laughed a little. When he spoke again, his voice had lowered to an intimate murmur. “I miss you.”
The wall of emotion she’d been feeling earlier slammed down on her, and the tears welled up in her eyes. “I miss you too,” she whispered, barely able to form the words.
“Don’t cry, Zoe, please. It’s killing me that’s you’re upset.” Voices clamored through the line, and he lowered his voice even more. “We’ll see each other soon.” The noise in the background was raucous.
“I saw a commercial about a dog,” she said suddenly, wanting to share something new. “They showed him from puppyhood to old age. He had a gray muzzle.”
“I’ve seen that commercial before. Speaking of dogs, I gave one a sandwich yesterday. He looked hungry.”
Zoe smiled into the phone. “You’re an animal lover.”
“I always wanted a dog but didn’t want to leave him alone all day. Hey,” he said. “Fun fact. You know they call them just Shepherds here, not German Shepherds.”
“I know for a fact that is not true.”
“Are you sure?” His tone was mildly teasing.
His question made Zoe doubt herself. “Well…is it?”
“Nope.”
A wash of loneliness came over her, and she was unable to answer.
“That was a joke, you know,” he said into the silence.
“I know,” she said in a teary voice. “I just can’t laugh when I miss you so much.”
“Zoe, I’ll be home soon. Soon.” A voice called his name, and he sighed. “Look, they’re loading the bus. I’ll call you when I can.”
“No more feeding your lunch to stray dogs.”
“I’ll try not to, but they look so damn sad.”
The voice called again.
“Go,” she said. “Before they leave you.”
“I’ll talk to you soon.”
Pressing the “end” button on the phone made her feel more depressed than ever. It was going to be a long couple of weeks.
Winds of March
The hotel restaurant was quiet this time of day. Only a few stragglers from the lunch crowd lingered, and the servers walked around refilling the salt and pepper shakers and talking among themselves. Near a window where she could bask in the mid-afternoon sun, Zoe sat with Holland in a quiet corner, eating a combination of breakfast and lunch. Holland looked concerned as she picked at her brunch plate and ordered another cup of tea with lemon and honey.
“You’re still not over that cold. I’m kind of concerned.”
Zoe lifted one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug and sipped at her cold tea. Her throat was scratchy, and no amount of lemon and honey would make it feel better. She’d even tried those throat lozenges she’d used before, but they did nothing but numb her tongue and make her mouth feel funny. But if she gargled enough warm salt water before a show, she was able to perform.
“Your range is diminishing. I can hear you straining.”
She smiled a little. “You know too much about me, Holland. We’re like an old married couple. Thank you.” She accepted the cup of hot steaming tea from the waiter. “Stop fussing over me like an old woman.”
“We’ve worked together for too long for me to play games with you, Zoe.” He took a swallow of his water. “Face it, if you don’t take care of yourself, you’re not going to be able to tour much longer.”
“But—”
“I made an appointment for an excellent throat doctor this afternoon.” He ignored her interruption. “She’s squeezing you in, so don’t be rude and skip it.”
“We have a week off in a couple of days, why the hurry?”
“Because from what I hear, your voice might not last that long.”
“You’re such an alarmist. I’m sure it’s something simple.” Rolling her eyes in exasperation, but secretly glad Holland was taking care of her, Zoe pulled out her phone. “What time?”
“Five. I’ll give you the address.”
After the exam, Zoe lay back in the chair and waited for the verdict. She tried to read the doctor’s expression during the exam, but her face was impassive. She drummed her fingers together and waited for her to come back.
The doctor sat on the stool and assumed a neutral expression. “What do you want first? Good or bad news?”
“Give me the bad news first.”
“You’re exhausted. You have vocal fatigue. If you keep going the way you’re going; your vocal cords will give up on you.” She gave Zoe a meaningful look. “And that’s not an if, but a when.”
A feeling of coldness rushed into her chest and traveled to her face. She touched her cheeks with both hands. “What do you mean?” Her voice was soft, quiet, in an unconscious effort to preserve it. “You mean I can’t sing anymore? Do I have nodules?” The familiar panic rose in her chest.
Dr. Miller placed a calming hand on her forearm. “Take a breath, Zoe. That’s not what I said. Your vocal cords are fatigued. Tired. You must rest them. And I think you’re under a lot of stress.”
“I’m touring, of course I’m under a lot of stress.” Zoe tried to put on a stoic face. “That’s the nature of the business.”
“I’d advise canceling a couple of shows.”
“I can’t do that!” Zoe threw her hands up. “There’s too much going on. I simply cannot cancel shows.”
Dr. Miller eyed her. “Then this may very well be your last tour. On top of your vocal fatigue, you’ve got a slight upper respiratory infection. Nothing that won’t be improved by a few days’ rest, but I certainly don’t advise you to sing tomorrow night and aggravate the problem.”
If she had to cancel shows, then she’d have to reschedule them, most likely during the week she had off to visit Salem. She put the heel of her hand to her forehead and took a deep breath. If only she could be sure her band would have jobs immediately, she would quit today.
The next day was a travel day. Zoe was so quiet on the bus, staring out of the tinted windows in the common area and tired from a fitful sleep. The cream-colored blinds were half-drawn, giving her enough area to view while keeping out the afternoon sun. Jeffrey was in his bunk, napping, and from the sound of it, Wallace, Renee, and Mitchell were playing their weird Ombre card game. Zoe tried to play once and got everything so confused; they put her out. Laughter and the occasional swear word drifted up front.
Holland got himself a bottle of water and sat next to her on the sofa. His light stubble shone almost gold in the sunlight. “What did the doctor have to say?”
“Oh, nothing.” Waving her hand, she tried to dismiss the doctor’s words. “Same old thing. Stress. Stuff like that.” Smiling was a struggle. “Nothing that a couple of good cups of tea won’t cure.”
Holland watched her steadily, his blue eyes searching her face. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s all she said.” He placed the bottle on a coaster on the table. Crossing his arms, he leaned back. “Why don’t you tell me the truth now?”
Zoe closed her eyes and put her hand to her mouth to keep herself from bursting into tears. She grabbed Holland’s hand and squeezed it. He had been her friend for so very long. Why was she lying to him about this? “She said I have to cancel a couple of shows or risk losing my voice.” Zoe let out a shuddering breath, glad to be free of the burden. “I was trying to figure out how to tell…everyone.”
“By everyone, you mean me?” He rubbed her shoulder. “Zoe, you don’t have to keep anything from me. How long have you known me?”
Zoe smiled a little. “Ten years?”
“Twelve. You outlasted my marriage.” He chuckled a little. “Don’t be afraid to tell me anything.”
She turned her attention back to the road outside the window. “I didn’t want to disappoint the band.”
“They still get paid. So, we push back the next set of shows for a week. We had a free week, so it’s a push back rather than a cancellation, right?”
Zoe nodded, a little sadly. Her week off was gone, just like that. “I guess it’s for the best, you know? I mean, I do need to take a break, re-evaluate…and things like that.” She struggled to put her feelings into words. “Wallace was saying how he wanted to retire after this tour, and sometimes, I can’t say I blame him.”
Holland patted her knee and got up. “Then you can hire, what was his name? Salem?” He laughed. “That’s a trailer trash name if I ever heard one.”
“He told me he got his name from the city in Massachusetts.” Just talking about him made Zoe’s heart seize up. “His mother’s family was from there.”
Holland snorted. “Either way, it’s weird. But,” he sat down and gazed out of the window. “He was a good bass player.”
“He was,” she said quietly.
“Last time I heard, he was touring with the…Bloody Piranhas.”
Zoe laughed as if she were hearing the name for the first time. “Now that’s a weird name.” She looked down at her fingers. “Either way, I need to start making some plans for the future. I’m not getting any younger.”
“Ridiculous,” Holland said. “You’ve got more gas in the tank than you think. Besides, what would I do without you?”
Who’s Crying Now
As she did every morning, Zoe woke up and reached for her phone. Since it was Wednesday, she scanned the social media networks just to see what was going on. Lucky for her, there were far too many postings for her to respond to personally. When she got a chunk of time, she would sit and read what people were saying about/to her and what Renee had responded.
Finished with the news of the day, she clicked over to her cat and mouse game and had cleared three levels before her phone blipped with an alert. Nosy and bored with the game, she touched the notification to see what it was all about.
What she saw made her sit up straighter against the plush hotel pillows. Her face heated and her eyelid twitched. Disbelieving her eyes, she stared at it until she could stare no more. Her respiration increased, and her hand holding the phone shook. A train horn sounded in the distance. All her senses became sharper until she could almost smell the lemon oil used on the wood dresser.
Zoe Leaves Boy-Toys in Every City
The headline made it seem as if she were some Pied Piper, luring young men into her bed and discarding them by the side of the road when she left town. The article went on to underscore that impression, saying she’d pick the local promotion and public relations agencies to scout out the finest young men and sleep with them. The author of this trash was quick to point out all this information from an "inside anonymous source". The details were telling, however, and were pretty much true. Sure, she slept with guys; what was wrong with that? It's not that she was doing anything any other musician didn’t do or wished they could do.
A glutton for punishment, Zoe scanned the rest of the article and gasped at the end. Not only was the source "anonymous" but he was now "hiding out in Europe" to not face the wrath of “Zealous Zoe”.
Zoe squeezed her phone to prevent herself from throwing it across the room. She'd ruined one phone like that, and she didn't want to waste money on another. There was only one "inside source" who was currently “hiding out” in Europe she knew of.
Salem.
Another miserable day on this wretched tour. Salem checked the calendar on his phone and saw with great relief only a few more weeks remained on this test of his endurance.
Jamal, Siouxsie, and Ralphie were the epitome of every rock and roll cliché out there. They were loud, obnoxious, and took great pride in finding the bottom of a bottle, any bottle. They barely had enough initiative to get up by mid-afternoon and get it together to either play or go on to the next gig.
There were no formal soundchecks. They showed up, usually late, threw their equipment together and played a few chords before it was time for the doors to open. Most of the places they played the audience was focused on Jamal’s singing or Siouxsie’s boobs, so he didn’t care how bad or good they sounded, as long as his money ended up in his account at the end of the week. And it did, which made it mostly worthwhile.
As for seeing the countryside of the various countries, he was in, that was a joke. In most venues, they played from ten to midnight, then again from one am till three am. There was just enough time to eat something and sleep until it was time to get on the bus to go to the next date. Often he didn’t even bother with sleeping, just went to his room, made his calls to his sister or Zoe, grabbed his bag and hopped on the bus. He was used to the wild ride by now and often fell asleep until they reached the next venue, usually after dark. Then, the cycle started all over again.
Not knowing the language and hating the cold almost-winter weather, he minded his business and kept his mouth shut. The hotels were cheap but so seedy he often he ended up sleeping with his instruments, instead of propping them in the corner of the room. He was more worried about the other band members than outsiders; they seemed to be willing to do anything to get more cash.
Keeping questions to a minimum was also the best way to go. At first, he wanted to familiarize himself with his bandmates, especially since they were going to be spending so much time together. As it stood, it turned out they were all getting paid through some arts grant from the Czech government. Siouxsie was Czech and Jamal’s father was Czech, but who was even looking. Money mystery solved, he pushed his luck and asked about the original bass player. He immediately wished he hadn’t when Jamal grinned and said, “Got murdered, mate. Bad hotel.”
Okay. After that, not only did Salem sleep with his instruments, but he also pushed a coffee table or chair against the door at night, just in case. Even then, he stared at the flaking paint on the ceiling until he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.
Late afternoon, the streets were beginning to fill with people leaving work. The rain poured down, soaking through his wool pea-coat and his shirt. Wet and cold, he stopped into a barbershop for a straight-razor shave. At least it was warm. The hot towel on this face revived him somewhat, and the pleasant woman shaving him spoke a little English.
Feeling a little more human, he left her a generous tip and made his way to the night's venue. Jamal gave him directions from the hotel, and he only got lost once. He stood in the street outside the place in weary acceptance. The club where they were to play barely laid claim to a building. Inside the walls were cracked and most of the doors hung off the hinges, like a movie set for a haunted house. The sticky floors and the outdated décor told him all he needed to know. The smell of old alcohol and even older body odor sealed the deal.
