Chapter 59: Smart Girls Love The Life

Marley

One Week Later

My watch says 10am, but it feels like midnight at least three days from now. I'm smoking a cigarette with Andy, Dalton, Tig and Javi—Soundcrush's full-time crew. These guys are paid year-round to be at the ready. They go anywhere and everywhere Soundcrush goes, whether it's an appearance on Fallon or an arena tour.

Andy is Soundcrush's personal sound technician who always liaisons with house sound to produce exactly what the band wants. Dalton is the crew boss for equipment set-up, and Tig and Javi are his fulltime backline specialists—the guys that know exactly how every member of Soundcrush likes every instrument set, programmed or tuned. Alone, these four guys can put up a Soundcrush set for a small venue in about an hour.

For the last two days, these guys have spent four times that much time with me, teaching me how the equipment is set, how it is interfaced, how it is used, and how it is broken down. They said they needed the speed practice anyway, because Grammy run throughs at the Staples center start next week and the schedule is tight for each act to set and break their stage.

That show will bring another set of challenges—pyrotechnics, moving props, complicated choreography, a troop of dancers, on stage costume changes for Leed and Mac, and even flight cables for Leed and Trace, but fortunately those concerns are not mine. That whole imbroglio is executed by the Grammy production staff and my only job will be to liaison between our stage crew and their staff for scheduling concerns. And between the band and their production staff for any artistic concerns. Riley will also be there for the first couple of days to school me on how to handle things.

Riley has assured me that if I can simply keep Leed on his cue, the Grammy show will run itself. He wants me look ahead, to the tour logistics.

In four weeks when the Double Impact Tour kicks off, there will be twenty more backline crew exclusively dedicated to managing Soundcrush's equipment, and an equal number of specialists for Skid Marc's equipment.

A shared pool of about 75 riggers, carpenters, audio, lighting, and video technicians plus 17 trucks of 90,000 thousand pounds of stage set, rigging, lighting, audio and video equipment will travel in advance of us and be managed by a logistics company that specializes in arena tours. With Boss Hawkins as their point man, of course.

My responsibilities for Soundcrush will be the welfare of our twenty-four dedicated roadies, twenty-two security guys, three stylists, one personal chef, four PA's, two runners, twelve drivers, one teenager, one infant, one teen minder, two nannies, one Insta-Star girlfriend, and five rockstars housed on nine buses, with three trucks of dedicated Soundcrush equipment.

Including myself, that's eighty people I have to keep transported, fed, housed, on task, and on time for sixteen weeks over the course of 31 regular shows, 6 festivals and about 215,000 miles.

And that? That's a mini-tour.

It's insane, but it's the most exciting project I've ever worked on. In the last week, I've completely filled Bodie's home office with tour plans.

At first, it was Bodie writing massive flow charts on rolls of paper, explaining to me how everything tied together, and me writing lists of questions sometimes for Riley and sometimes for Dalton or Andy about things that even Bodie, after five years of being in the thick of this business, couldn't answer. In the last few days, it's been stacks of resumes, piles of files of itineraries, hotel bookings, catering contracts, travel routes, venue contracts, insurance forms, and more pouring in as Riley hands over the tasks.

One of Riley's interns has been at our house for three days, scanning all the necessary documents onto an Ipad, and organizing all the incoming emails about bookings, because there's simply no way to travel with the information needed in any other way. Files would require another trailer.

The personnel and the logistics I beginning to get a handle on, although there are lot of details to nail down in the coming weeks.

The technical side is what seems like a murky mystery to me. So yesterday morning, Bodie woke me up at four am, told me to dress to get dirty, and brought me to the sound stage that Skid Marcs and Soundcrush have rented for Grammy prerehearsals.

Yesterday, Bodie stayed for set-up. Rigging, building, cabling, tuning, balancing—showing me how, then letting me repeat the parts that didn't require playing ability. He said some of these things were useful for a road manager to know, because I might at some point need to be able to step in and help out with in an emergency. He explained every step of the process with more detail and more artistic input than Andy and Dalton shared.

After two hours of set up, he turned around and beat drums for a grueling eight hours. Eight hours because the Grammy performance is covering a lot of ground musically, and because Matt del Marco is a perfectionist, and because Trace Gallant is determined to live up to his biodad's expectations.

Soundcrush plays for the entire opening Grammy set—which means they perform the instrumentals for Dev and Mac's single, then Soundcrush's brand new drop—December Dawn—and then they close with Halfway There, joined by Skid Marcs. It's a complicated musical mash-up just to transition the songs, not to mention the varied instruments needed for the pop club song, the choir involved in the expanded Soundcrush track, and the double stage set for the Skid Marcs combo.

The first time they played through, I thought it sounded good, but not one of the ten performers—Dev, Soundcrush, and Skid Marcs—were close to happy. Mac, Trace and Matt all particularly seemed bothered by the run-through. Matt and Trace talked a long time, then Mac and Trace and Adam talked a long time, and then Adam and Bodie spent about an hour building rhythm transitions between the songs. Because Skid Marcs is only playing on their own song, they weren't really involved in the transitions.

Except for Matt. He was very upbeat and positive, but he gave constants notes to Adam and Bodie. They didn't seem to mind and everyone was pleased with the sound that he helped craft but Trace told me it took a lot longer than he expected to build the basic performance.

"The problem is...it's all going to change the minute the Grammy producers get involved. They are going to cut our time and Matt's going to get pissed" he sighed. "Skid Marcs isn't used to performing to spec anymore." Trace grinned at me and fake punched me in the arm. "Stick close to the discussions, okay? You might get to use your counselor hat before this is all through."

Last night when Bodie and I arrived home at nearly midnight, we showered and dropped into bed exhausted.

He wrapped me in his arms and said, "Tomorrow night we are leaving by nine at the latest, even if I have to roofie Skid Marcs and send them off to a strip club in an Uber to end the rehearsal."

He said that because it will be the first night we are in the clear to make love since our STI situation.

I laughed against his chest. "If Matt us makes us stay like naughty school kids, you could always ask for a smoke break and fuck me in the green room."

"Jasmine, there will definitely come a day when I will fuck you in a green room, I'm sure, but tomorrow night is not that night. Tomorrow night, I'm going to love you in this bed, in this house, in this way," he kissed me tender and long, "and maybe this way," he tugged at my hair and bit at my lip," "and maybe even this way," he turned me over to spoon me and nibbled and sucked the side of my throat so long that I was squirming for desire.

I had to cover the marks this morning when I put my hair up in a bandanna.

I thought Bodie would stay this morning for set up and help me learn more but he dropped me off with a tray of coffees and box of breakfast burritos for the crew and told me he was going to get a facial and a laser tooth whitening because the talent wasn't needed until ten.

"You suck, Jamison."

"My looks are a commodity, Jasmine. They aren't just for you to enjoy," he teased me. "They pay the bills, you know."

"I thought your hands paid the bills."

"My hands make the magic, but surely you've already figured out there's not that much money in making music, except for the arena tours. It's all about the brand, baby. You don't see my hands on any of those endorsements that bring in the big bank, do you? Nope. You see this." His smile blinded as he chucked deuces at me and drove away.

The only time I have ever sweat more than having sex on a drum kit?

You guessed it. Building a drum kit.

I don't even smoke, but damn this cigarette is rewarding after all that hard work. The crew wanders back inside, leaving me to finish it in peace.

Here comes Trace, looking prettier than any boy has a right to. He plucks the cigarette from my mouth and takes a long draw as he grins at me. "I see these guys are corrupting you already."

"When in Rome," I shrug.

"Right.Who's here?"

"All of Skid Marcs except Matt. And you."

He groans. It's so important to him to live up to Matt's expectations.

"Don't worry, they all know Matt likes to start on time. I've talked to them all. They are all on their way. I'm not worried."

He bites his lip. "Thank you Marley. Riley doesn't run us like a drill sergeant, but the truth is...we kind of need it. I've been doing the job and frankly...it's been killing my joy."

"I know." I give him a wry smile. "I don't mind keeping after everyone. One man's buzzkill is...

"Another woman's reason for living."

"Well...I was going to say second nature..." I grin.

He grins back and finishes the cigarette. "When is the final meeting with the lighting company to review the design for the tour light show?"

"Next Tuesday at ten, but I've already got a call in to push it because it conflicts with our assigned rehearsal time at the Staples center. Have you built the set list for the tour? We need to send the light people a playlist so they can tweak the design..."

"I know that, Marley," he laughs at me.

"Sorry, of course..."

"I'll have it for you by the end of rehearsal today, I promise. Actually, I usually rotate three basic set lists, but it's not that big of a deal for them to design variations. Once the rigs are built it's just a computer program. Let's make sure we look at the hours billed for the design compared to the last tour..."

"To make sure they don't inflate the charge. Okay. I'll ask Riley for those invoices..."

"Naw, you'll have the pleasure of dealing with our old tour manager Dawes Eddison on that one. He's a complete asshole, and he absolutely hates us since he did ninety days in jail for drugging Mac last year. He's working as a club promoter in Vegas now. He was supposed to turn over all our records but it would take a lot of time and he doesn't want a burn a second on us that he doesn't have to. If he gives you any trouble about records access—"

"I'll call legal and have them rattle his cage."

He sucks down the last of the cigarette. "You are a quick fucking study."

"I try. So did you see the Grammy rehearsal schedule at the Staples Center?"

"No." He takes a draw. "Did you send it to my email?"

"To everyone's. I put it on the calendar, too."

"Okay, make sure—"

"To get Leed there as sober as possible? Yeah, I have a plan."

"To dry him out?"

"Well, I can't prevent him from drinking if Moran insists on sending him out for all these club appearance, but maybe we can get him sobered up each morning before rehearsal."

"How's that?"

"Bodie thinks surfing."

"That's a good idea."

"Yes, I thought so too," I beam at Bodie as he hops out of his Ferrari and lopes toward us. His greeting is a passionate kiss. He pulls back.

"You been smoking with Andy. Naughty girl." He pops me on the ass. Then he kisses me again.

"You do know I was in the middle of a conversation with our road manager," Trace laughs.

Bodie kisses me for about thirty more seconds then steps aside. "Carry on."

Trace bites his lip. "I was done, actually. Except for...can we do our session at lunch today?"

"She can't. I've got a massage therapist coming over during lunch," Bodie says, rubbing my shoulders. "She's exhausted from learning how to roadie. She needs a little pick me up."

"Tonight after rehearsal, then?"

Bodie laughs, "Man...tomorrow you can work something out with Dr. Watkins. But tonight..." he wraps his arms around me from behind and rubs my stomach, pinching my hip where my tattoo is. "Tonight I'm in serious need of Jasmine's attention, okay?"

"Ooooooh," Trace nods. "I get it. Y'all have had to...back off, but everything's in the clear now?" he gives me a concerned look, with raised eyebrows.

Suddenly, Bodie's hands on me are beyond irritating. I slap his groping fingers off my hip and crane my neck to glare at him. "Are you kidding me? You told them?"

Bodie is shaking his head with vehemence. "Hold the phone, Jaz—I did not tell them. Darius told Gwennie who her told her mom who told Mac who told them."

"That little shit-stirrer!" I hiss. "It is completely inappropriate for our son to talk to his girlfriend about our sex life!"

Leed, weaving his way behind Trace, still has his hearing, even if he doesn't have his balance, because he slaps Trace on the back and say, "You just lost the bet. You owe me two hundred bucks."

"No, I owe Adam."

"There was a bet?"

"Course. There's always a bet on band sex stuff." Leed runs a hand through his auburn, shaggy hair, a look of concentration on his face. "Why the hell do you owe Adam two hundred bucks? I'm the one that didn't tease Marley about Bodie givin' her the clap...I should get the Benji's."

"The clap?!?!?" It sounds like I'm laughing, but it's more a cry of disbelief.

"Baby..." Bodie sighs.

"Don't baby me. I can't believe you let your bandmates gamble on our sex life!" I turn to Leed and Trace. "New bet? When is Bodie ever going to get some again? I can give you long odds..." I glare at my Babydaddy, but he's all smiles.

The man knows I'm all talk. I practically begged him with my body last night, but his cock refused to break quarantine.

The guys laugh and a mischievous voice chimes, "And y'all call me a bitch on wheels!?!?"

Mac and Adam walk up, hand in hand.

"Don't you start with me, MacKenna Lawson!" I point a finger at her, then step close and hiss, "You thought it was better to gossip to all of them about my very personal problem than to come tell me my son was sharing inappropriate and inaccurate information with his girlfriend?"

"Well...yea-uh," Mac says with a strawberry blonde pony toss.

"Why? Why is that?"

"Why did I think it was better?" Her pretty nose scrunches and her lips twist.

"Yes? Why?"

She chews her lip thoughtfully. "Because...what you said sounds like less fun than juicy gossip?"

All the guys laugh at her unashamed honesty.

"You have the morality of a tomcat," I grumble.

"But I have the heart of a tiger," she beams at me. "And you love me. You know you love me..."

I give her a begrudging smile. To my complete and utter surprise, Mac has embraced me entirely as road manager. She told me she's never seen a woman road manager before and she's all girl-power over it. She backs up everything I say to the guys without hesitation. Which, honestly, hasn't been all that much yet, except to Leed about his day drinking, and of course she supports reducing that.

Adam loves us getting along. He slings and arm around Bodie. "Bodes, I am so fucking glad that my sex life is on the back burner, and yours is front and center. Tell me, how many times have you cried this week, locked out of heaven like you are right now?"

"Nunya business, Corrupter of Virgins." I raise my eyebrows at him, threatening to tell more.

Adam looks terrified. "Marley! Damn, girl. You flippin' on me?"

"I knew it!" Mac said. "I knew he had a virgin fetish back in the day!" She tucks her arm through mine. "The crew is gossiping with you already? What have you heard?"

"I shouldn't have said that. Details like that are...unproductive in our work environment," I tell her and she pouts.

"Poo. You're no fun."

I get a text from Matt saying he's five minutes out. Matt is a truly good man, father and mentor, but he's a bit of a primadonna when it comes to rehearsals. He likes everyone around him ready to go the second he arrives.

"All right. Matt's here in five," I put my phone to my ear, "I need to get Dev's eta. We might have to do the first run through without his rap...."

Trace claps his hands. "Go time people. I don't want to give dear old dad more reason to nit-pick today." Adam sketches Trace—and me— a salute and steers Mac inside an arm slung over her shoulders. Trace jerks his head at Bodie, but Bodie holds up one finger. Trace cruises inside with his ultra cool gait.

Bodie disconnects my call and wraps me in his arms. His amber eyes look like pure gold. "You love this."

"I do," I laugh. "Who knew?"

He pushes me against the wall and takes my breath with his kiss.

A wolf whistle interrupts. "Nice start to a little home porn, guy's, but let's save the afternoon delight for the afternoon."

Matt is tying a bandanna around his head.

"Jamison, need you on that kit pronto, man. Dr. Watkins? Walk and talk, doll. Need to hear what kind of intervention you are planning for that drunk mess we got for a headliner in there...I ain't handing my crown over if he can't remember the words, you know? Then if that blue-headed rap bastard still isn't here? I'm gonna need you to give me one good reason not to shove my microphone up his ass..."

Bodie squeezes both my hands in his, kisses them, and slides away while I fall in step with a legend. It's like he said. This is our life now. And I love it.