and headed out to the back door. Luckily, nobody I knew was in the hall. I made it out the town car. The rain fell in cold splinters against my skin. James opened the door and gave me a lopsided smile. The guy was cute. He was probably my age and our best driver to date. He was always looking out for me. Although he would never bring up my issues, I knew he was well aware of my shortcomings.
I watched the beautiful buzz of downtown Manhattan. People were lost in their surroundings as they observed the bright lights of signs and billboards. The city wasn’t a place to make friends. New York City became your friend. It was a city that compared to no other. I loved it but, as a New Hampshire native, I could only take it in small doses. Just the idea that I was on the small island and among so many people boxed in, I was more uneasy than enchanted. Nevertheless, it was exceptional to watch our crowds and their reactions to our band. I sucked it up. Coming to New York City was well worth the show.
James made it to the Hilton Midtown in record time and I flew out of the car. I ran in before I realized that I didn’t have a key card or that I didn’t say goodbye to James. As I stood in the lobby, feeling misplaced, James presented a card before my eyes and I hugged him in thanks. He rubbed my back in silence until I pulled away. I was just hugging my driver. Really?
“You better be good to yourself tonight, Jules,” James whispered. “Glad to see you taking the night off from the after party.”
“Why don’t you head back there and pick up that red head you were drooling all over before the show?” I laughed as I turned away but not before I saw his clever grin and heated blush.
As I headed up to my floor, I replayed the whole scene with Johnny and Brennan in the backstage room. I cringed at how inferior Johnny had made me feel once again. No doubt that Johnny would end up with some dumb bitch tonight and I would never see Brennan again.
I was no one’s bitch. No one owned me. No one stakes a claim on me. The more people tried to rein me in, the more I pushed against their restraints. Tonight I was worn-out from the battle. I met a man who I was instantly fascinated by and Johnny slaughtered any further conversation by making it look like we were together. He would never let me be happy with anyone else. One way or another I needed to set the record straight with him once and for all.
I picked up my phone and shot Johnny a text.
Me: We need to talk tomorrow. Not happy.
A few minutes passed and my phone chimed.
Johnny: Does this have to do with tatted nerdy guy?
Me: Tomorrow. Sick of your shit.
I silenced my phone and went to the full length mirror. Time to rehearse the speech. I put my hand up against the wall and leaned into the mirror.
“Listen, Johnny ... ” I started. I shook my head and started again. I needed all my expressions accomplished, my words articulated. I needed him not only to listen but to finally hear that I would never desire him romantically or sexually again. It was going to be a tough conversation but it had to be done.
SEVEN
When Love Sick Ponies first started to tour, the accommodations we were given weren’t exactly five star. Those dingy motels, God they were disgusting. The room consisted of beds covered in polyester floral blankets over hard smoke scented sheets and a five station cable television that was always on its last leg. We slept five people deep in a double bed room. Technically there were only three of us in the band but Johnny, Dex, and I usually had one or two people tag along after a show. We didn’t call them a groupie. The victim was a far better label. The victim usually left the next morning looking like death had taken them multiple times.
From the very first night, I told the guys I would leave the tour if I didn’t get my own bed. Dex and Johnny constantly fought over the second double bed but the one with the scissors or rock normally won. Paper
I watched the beautiful buzz of downtown Manhattan. People were lost in their surroundings as they observed the bright lights of signs and billboards. The city wasn’t a place to make friends. New York City became your friend. It was a city that compared to no other. I loved it but, as a New Hampshire native, I could only take it in small doses. Just the idea that I was on the small island and among so many people boxed in, I was more uneasy than enchanted. Nevertheless, it was exceptional to watch our crowds and their reactions to our band. I sucked it up. Coming to New York City was well worth the show.
James made it to the Hilton Midtown in record time and I flew out of the car. I ran in before I realized that I didn’t have a key card or that I didn’t say goodbye to James. As I stood in the lobby, feeling misplaced, James presented a card before my eyes and I hugged him in thanks. He rubbed my back in silence until I pulled away. I was just hugging my driver. Really?
“You better be good to yourself tonight, Jules,” James whispered. “Glad to see you taking the night off from the after party.”
“Why don’t you head back there and pick up that red head you were drooling all over before the show?” I laughed as I turned away but not before I saw his clever grin and heated blush.
As I headed up to my floor, I replayed the whole scene with Johnny and Brennan in the backstage room. I cringed at how inferior Johnny had made me feel once again. No doubt that Johnny would end up with some dumb bitch tonight and I would never see Brennan again.
I was no one’s bitch. No one owned me. No one stakes a claim on me. The more people tried to rein me in, the more I pushed against their restraints. Tonight I was worn-out from the battle. I met a man who I was instantly fascinated by and Johnny slaughtered any further conversation by making it look like we were together. He would never let me be happy with anyone else. One way or another I needed to set the record straight with him once and for all.
I picked up my phone and shot Johnny a text.
Me: We need to talk tomorrow. Not happy.
A few minutes passed and my phone chimed.
Johnny: Does this have to do with tatted nerdy guy?
Me: Tomorrow. Sick of your shit.
I silenced my phone and went to the full length mirror. Time to rehearse the speech. I put my hand up against the wall and leaned into the mirror.
“Listen, Johnny ... ” I started. I shook my head and started again. I needed all my expressions accomplished, my words articulated. I needed him not only to listen but to finally hear that I would never desire him romantically or sexually again. It was going to be a tough conversation but it had to be done.
SEVEN
When Love Sick Ponies first started to tour, the accommodations we were given weren’t exactly five star. Those dingy motels, God they were disgusting. The room consisted of beds covered in polyester floral blankets over hard smoke scented sheets and a five station cable television that was always on its last leg. We slept five people deep in a double bed room. Technically there were only three of us in the band but Johnny, Dex, and I usually had one or two people tag along after a show. We didn’t call them a groupie. The victim was a far better label. The victim usually left the next morning looking like death had taken them multiple times.
From the very first night, I told the guys I would leave the tour if I didn’t get my own bed. Dex and Johnny constantly fought over the second double bed but the one with the scissors or rock normally won. Paper
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