Fuck it. I don’t need the band’s approval to tell me I did a good job. I got enough from the media. I’ve spent most of day going through all the concert write-ups of the show, trying to see how we appeared to everyone else.
The good news is, everyone loved it. Specifically, they loved me. Sure some said that it seemed I hadn’t found my place yet on stage and was both a bit rusty and a bit green, but most said I brought a new energy to the band and that I was a breath of fresh air after Nick.
The bad news is, I’m not sure how much the band likes all the focus being on me, nor do I know how the fans feel. I mean, I should know, I’m still one of their biggest fans, even though I’m in it. But I also know what it’s like to love the original lineup and hate change. Nick was a dick but he was what they knew and expected. I’m not sure the fans know quite what to do with me yet and obviously there’s going to be a lot of talk over the fact that I’m Ronald’s daughter and probably bought my way in. Plus some rock fans can be pretty misogynistic when it comes to a girl wailing on the bass and holding her own. I think I’ll have to prove myself over and over again.
Eventually we stop at a hotel in Oregon for the night. We’re doing things the long way, driving up from LA to Seattle, then working our way down the coast. Normally Arnie and George take turns driving through these long hauls but in this case, since there’s now a stupid extra bus on account of me, we have to stop for the night.
At least it gives me an opportunity. The minute I exit the bus and see the band getting off their bus, I beeline it over to Brad.
“Hey,” I tell him, grabbing his arm lightly. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
His eyes light up when he sees me, which is a good sign.
“Sure, what’s up? How’s the bus?”
I pull him aside so that we’re out of earshot of Switch and Calvi who are giving us looks.
“About that,” I say. “I think it’s fucking ridiculous.”
He bursts out laughing. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“I’m serious. It’s costly and pointless.”
“It’s your father’s bill. And his wishes.”
“So? Do you always do what he says?”
He cocks a brow at me, studying me for a moment. I think I may have hit a nerve there.
“No,” he says. “You’re here because you wanted to be here fair and square. You won that audition.”
“What I mean is, I’m a grown woman.” At that, his eyes skirt down over my body and I feel myself blushing from head to toe. I swallow hard and push on. “And I can make my own decisions. It’s not up to my father to decide that I should travel in another bus, which not only keeps me purposely excluded from the band I should be connecting with, but adds to the stress of the journey. We could get places quicker on one bus with Arnie and George taking turns as they used to do.”
Brad sighs and runs his hand over his face. “I know,” he says, looking off toward the hotel.
“Plus don’t you want me to get to know you guys better? Become a real band? I can’t do that if I only see you on stage every night. Our music, our shows, they’ll be a thousand times better if I got to be around you all more often. We need to act like a unit. The audience isn’t stupid, they can tell when bands know each other, like each other. There’s a synchronicity in the air.”
He looks at me curiously. “Is that so? You were great last night.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I tell him pointedly. “After the show, you guys all just went your own ways.”
“We don’t sit around and congratulate each other.”
“Well I could use the encouragement. It was my first show with you guys. Shit, it was my first show playing to more than twenty people.”
“Well you did good,” he says with a nod. “And you’ll do better every night. And yes. I agree we should get rid of the bus. Hell. I want to get to know you better too.”
I bite my lip, trying not to smile. It’s funny how certain words and looks from him have me fangirling all over the place. I need to pull it together. I need to ignore that smile that makes my toes curl, those dark eyes that make my skin feel hot.
“But for tonight,” he goes on, “let’s get you checked in to your room. I’ll tell Arnie and George what’s up. Just so you know, we may have to have the other bus trailing behind as a decoy for a few more days.”
“Decoy?”
“Hey, I’m not scared about disobeying your father’s orders but I’m not going to fuck with anything this early in the tour. Believe me, your father has eyes everywhere. He’ll be asking about the bus for a while yet. You just won’t be on it.”
I laugh. “It’s still ridiculous then.”
“Welcome to the world of rock and roll,” Brad says. He places his hand at the back of my arm and steers me toward the hotel. “Come on, let’s get you settled in. Tomorrow we play Seattle, then Portland, then San Francisco. Those crowds are going to be insane, so you need your rest. The best is just ahead of us.”
Chapter Seven
Brad
I was never good at sleeping on a moving bus, especially when Arnie is driving. Arnie spent a great deal of his early twenties rally car driving and he seems to think the I-5 is a race track. I much prefer our normal driver who is the opposite of Arnie in every way. George is the calmest person I have ever met, and the bus seems to float along the highway when he’s driving. But ol’ Arnie is flying along, yelling at cars as he passes them, his accent deepening with his road rage.
Get off the road, ya Wanker!
Learn how to drive, plonker!
The drive from Portland to San Francisco is ten hours, and Arnie splits the driving with George for the long trips so we don’t have to stop anywhere. We couldn’t keep up this schedule otherwise.
But I can’t blame my insomnia entirely on Arnie’s driving—I have a hard time winding down after any show. My adrenaline doesn’t switch off when I step off the stage. Instead, it lingers like an idling race car engine, maybe like the cars Arnie used to race. It rumbles along in my chest as I lie in my bunk and watch the dark Oregon forest fly by.
Switch snores. If he wasn’t such a great guy to be in a band with, it would be a deal breaker. I take his snoring like he’s showing off, boasting at how easily he can sleep on this bus. I go through an internal emotional journey until I can’t take it anymore and consider hitting him right in his rumbling nose. Then the tone of his snoring changes and I feel like he’s making an effort even though he doesn’t know it.
Calvi is showing off too, that bastard. This one actually smiles like a weirdo while he sleeps. We could have had the worst day of our lives and the bus could be on fire and this smug bastard would still smile away in his slumber. Sometimes he even giggles in his sleep, though he always says he doesn’t remember what he dreams about. I think he’s just laughing at me and my insomnia.
I’ve been trying not to stare at Lael ever since she joined our bus. She’s created a happy home within the confines of the tiny space of her bunk. Right now she’s wrapped up perfectly in a blanket that she brought with her, her phone lying next to her like a loyal companion. Her purse is tucked in the corner by her feet and a notebook and some magazines are under her pillow.
I have to admit, she’s hard not to stare at. She has my full attention more and more these days. I trace the lines of her lips, the curve of her nose, her eyebrows, her chin—I barely blink as I take her in.
The race car in my chest turns off its engine.
I hold her in my gaze and I feel…calm.
She slowly opens her eyes and looks over at me as if she knows I have been watching her.
I don’t look away.
We share a moment, our heads resting on our pillows as we look at one another.
She smiles.
I sleep.
I feel like I merely blinked but somehow it’s morning, and judging by the colorful buildings I can see from my window of the parked bus, I know we have arrived at our destination.
r /> I sit up and rub my eyes. Lael’s bed is made up and one of her duffle bags is in the corner. The other two vacant bunks are left in a twisted mess.
I’ve always liked San Francisco. The sky, when you can see it, is a slightly different shade of blue, and the ocean air always feels clean. Today it’s sunny, and considering it’s mid-December, the sun feels warm. I don’t mind the bus sometimes, but a hotel room with a hot shower is in order at this point.
“Morning, young man,” Arnie says as he climbs up the narrow steps into the bus. He offers me a very large coffee and a familiar piece of paper—our itinerary for the day.
“You’re a good man, Arnie,” I respond as I take the coffee and sheet of paper, glancing at it.
9am - Interview at 865 Battery Street, Live 105 radio show
11am - Hotel check-in, 181 3rd St., W Hotel
12pm - Lunch with App designer at 27 Hotaling Pl., Villa Taverna
1:30pm - Band meeting and rehearsal at venue, Warfield Theater, 982 Market St.
2:30pm - Interview with full band, Rolling Stone magazine
3pm - Meet and greet with VIP ticket holders
3:30pm - Sound check
6pm - Dinner at Boulevard Restaurant, 1 Mission St.
7pm - Wardrobe
7:30 - Group video message for And Then Fan club website stream
8pm - Meet and greet with VIP Elite plus members
9pm - Showtime!
After party: Kirk Hammett’s house
I look over my morning orders, rolling my eyes and shaking my head at each item.
“Lunch with an app designer?” I question.
“Don’t you remember? The Brad Snyder App. They’ll get a notification every time you take a piss,” Arnie answers.
“Is there really an after party at Kirk Hammett’s house? I mean, the Kirk Hammet. Guitarist for Metallica?” I ask.
“Yeah, mate. I guess he’s a fan. He invited you and the boys over. You know he’s a collector of horror memorabilia and his house is like a museum full of the shit.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now, let’s try to stick to the schedule today. No flaking off, especially for the interviews. The other turkeys have already started their days. Time for you to get on with it. There’s a driver waiting outside to shuttle you around. I’ll leave you to it and meet you at the Warfield after lunch.”
Arnie leaves the bus like he’s late for something. I know it can’t be easy for him, keeping all of this going. It would all fall apart in a minute if it weren’t for him herding us like cats.
I rummage through my storage space to find some clean clothes, quickly wash up, and step out of the bus with coffee in hand, squinting at the morning sun.
“Mr. Snyder.”
A rather short man with a middle-aged face and the body of a boy is standing next to a black Suburban. My driver.
“Hello,” I greet him with a smile and step into the vehicle. I can barely see him from my back seat so I’m concerned he can’t see over the dashboard. His small hand reaches up to adjust the rearview mirror, and I meet his eyes.
“Okay, Mr. Snyder. First stop is 865 Battery Street. Away we go.”
We pull away and I stare out the window, sipping my still hot coffee. This will be a fairly standard day, save the party at Kirk Hammett’s house, which sounds absolutely unreal. I’ve learned to take things one step at a time. I tend to be a good boy and do all that’s asked, but on occasion I put the itinerary in the waste basket and disappear for the day, only to show up when it’s time to play. I wish today was one of those days.
Especially when it comes to the first stop. I hate morning radio shows. There’s nothing worse than fake enthusiasm and sound effects. I guess the only good thing is there are never any curve balls—all the questions are standard, a couple call-in questions from listeners that have been screened, some fake laughter, and you’re done.
Our vehicle is at a stop due to heavy traffic, and we’re only a couple of blocks further down the street from where we started. My driver has his attention on his GPS, where he’s looking for a better route.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Snyder. We’ll be on time.”
I wasn’t worried. I try to worry as little as possible. I’m content just people watching out of the tinted window from the confines of this Suburban.
Then I see Lael walking back toward the bus, her hair tied up under a hat, large vintage sunglasses covering half her face. I roll down the window and shout to get her attention.
“Lael!”
She smiles when she sees me and walks over to the stopped Suburban.
“Good morning, Brad,” she says, polite as always. Even though I’ve slowly been getting to know her better, I still get the impression that she’s not letting her guard down around me. Not that I would blame her, being Ronald’s daughter and all.
“So what does your day look like?” I ask her, curious.
“Just going to take it easy, maybe use the gym at the hotel if I can stop being so lazy.”
“Take it easy?” I raise my itinerary. “You didn’t get one of these?”
“No. Arnie just told me to meet at one-thirty at the venue.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem fair that the new kid gets the day off while I’m running all over town alone. Care to join me? We can get through this together.”
I smile and she gives me a cautious smile back, mulling it over.
I open the door. “Come on.”
Lael slides in and I give her the itinerary to peruse.
She looks it over and her eyebrows raise.
“Kirk Hammett?” she asks.
I laugh, and before long we’re moving again.
We arrive at the radio station just in time. Everyone that works there is fake smiling and completely obnoxious in their excessive energy.
***
It was an easy interview in the end, but it wasn’t without some annoyances. When Lael and I first walked into the studio and put our headphones on, the DJ, Stuntman Jim, made a comment about my girlfriend being too young for me. I corrected him and introduced Lael as the new bass player but his opening remark lingered in my mind for the entire live broadcast.
When I’m asked at the end to do some sound bites for the radio station, I tell them that Lael will do it instead. There was a time I got a thrill out of doing these live interviews, but that enthusiasm has long since gone. But watching Lael’s excitement is refreshing and fun, like a parent seeing Christmas again through their child’s eyes.
She does more takes than anyone should, her nerves getting the best of her while the jackasses at the radio station increasingly lose patience. Even their fake smiling stops while our laughing increases until Lael and I have tears in our eyes. Finally, she nails it so we can move on.
This is Lael Ramsey, the new bassist for And Then and you are listening to Live 105.
We laugh at the ridiculousness of the moment, and just like that the tone is set for the day. We find amusement in just about everything on our way back to the hotel: the wide-smiling receptionist, our little Italian driver… It’s like we’re kids on a field trip, amused solely by our own laughter.
In the hotel lobby we sign a few autographs and run into Switch, dressed in a leather jacket with a fur collar and aviator sunglasses. Switch enjoys the attention and tries to goad the paparazzi into taking pictures of him every chance he gets.
“Hey, man, what are you up to?” I ask Hollywood Switch.
“I have an interview downtown,” he answers, turning his head so the fan taking a picture with their phone gets his good side.
“Right on. Who with?” I ask and motion to Lael who is walking by to wait for me.
“Costco,” he says.
I raise my brows. “Like the store where you can buy six packs of underwear?”
“Yeah, dude, they have their own magazine.”
“All right, man. I’ll see you later.”
Have fun with that.
I walk with Lael to t
he elevator and head up to the top floor. All I can think about is a warm shower and a little downtime.
And yet…
Lael’s room is directly across from mine, and as our backs are to each other, putting in our key cards, I say, “I hope you don’t think you’re done.” I pause until she turns around to look at me with an open expression. “What’s next on that silly list?”
Lael holds the door open with her foot while she takes the itinerary out of her pocket.
“Let’s see,” she says, looking it over. “Ah, right, you have a lunch at noon to discuss the Brad Snyder app with an app designer.”
I bow my head, shaming the concept.
“I think that’s exactly what the world is missing,” she says with a playful tone. “A Brad Snyder app.”
“We’ll skip that one,” I tell her quickly. “I’ll tell Arnie it’s a no. Let’s just go to the wharf and get some chowder or something.”
“Are you sure? Playing hooky seems awfully rock star of you.”
“If the shoe fits. So are you in?”
“Hell yeah.”
We both smile, somewhat still giddy from earlier. I find myself not wanting to say goodbye to Lael. Her face has a glow from all the laughing and fresh air, and she looks beautiful. I wonder what would happen if I invited her into my room. For a moment we stand there holding open our doors, letting the possibility hang in the air, subtle but undeniable.
“Rest up, mister. I’ll knock on your door in an hour,” she says with a smile. Then she winks and disappears into her room. I stare at her closed door for a moment before I retreat into mine.
Luckily, it’s not long before I’ve had a shower and freshened up and the two of us are back out there. It’s high noon on a sunny San Francisco day, and we’re walking along the wharf looking for a place to have a bite.
It’s an odd moment for me. If it wasn’t for the occasional looks I get when people recognize me, I’d feel like I’m just a normal guy sharing a sunny afternoon with a pretty girl. I have to say, it’s interesting getting to know someone new, even though Lael isn’t exactly new. She just feels new. People will always surprise you if you let them. No one’s exactly as they seem, and Lael is no exception.