Time in a Bottle

Macaulay Jensen stepped out of his tour bus and smiled. The sun was still low on the horizon, peeking from behind the distant mountains, but the air was already heavy with the promise of triple-digit heat. The ground was soft beneath his feet, the dirt worked into fine dust by endless traffic, and he could smell the freshly mowed grass, rolled out like a rich carpet in front of the stage. It was the best possible day for the concert, and the forecast promised there wouldn’t be any unexpected rain or last-minute thunderstorms. “I just went and spoke to the stage manager,” Jill said from behind him. “You can do a sound check if you want. He said the stage is free at seven-thirty.” “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” “What?” “The day. It’s beautiful out here.” “Yeah. It’s great. Do you want to do the sound check?” “No.” Jill blinked. “What?” “I want to go see who else is here.” She held up a flyer. “You know who’s here.” Hoolabaloo 2008 featured three days of music and attracted bands and performers from almost every style and genre. There were alternative bands, indie bands, country singers, folk singers, spoken word artists, thrash metal, classic bands, tribute bands, and some of the biggest names in the entire music industry. The program had no overall pattern. There was no rhyme or reason to the show. Whoever wanted to show up and play was more than welcome to sign up for a slot. When Jill asked if Macaulay wanted to add the date to his concert tour, he didn’t even think twice. He loved playing these types of festivals. “I want to see who’s here right now. And maybe get a few autographs.” Jill blanched. “We didn’t come here so you could add to your autograph collection, Mac.” Jill had been his road manager since his first tour—almost ten years ago—but she still treated him like she didn’t quite know what to make of him. “You don’t need to look so scandalized. I won’t knock on anybody’s trailer.” “Look, we’ll just do the sound check, then we can find something to eat.” He plucked the flyer from her fingers. “You go get something to eat. Somebody’s already made sure all the wires and plugs are hooked up.” “But not your wires and plugs, Mac. I’m just asking for fifteen minutes of your time.” “‘Bye, Jill.” He half expected her to chase him as he walked away, but when he glanced over his shoulder, she was still staring at him with mingled anger and confusion. It was actually one of her more common expressions. He waved, but she didn’t acknowledge him. There was already a line of buses and trailers in the parking lot. They had pulled in at about three that morning, and Macaulay had tried to sleep through an endless parade of trucks arriving after them. But now everything was silent, except for the steady sound of drums floating to him from the stage, and the occasional shout from the men building the booths. He couldn’t believe the park would be filled to capacity in just a few short hours, bursting with people, overflowing into the streets. Then the scent of blossoms and mowed grass would be overwhelmed by kettle corn, cotton candy, barbecue, funnel cakes, and cheap beer. The thought sent a surge of nostalgic excitement through Macaulay. It’d be just like the county and state fairs of his childhood, only without the stench of farm animals, and with the possibility of meeting some of his favorite musicians. “There you are!” Arms wrapped around his waist from behind, stopping him from turning around. Though he saw the tattoo of thorns ringing the feminine wrist, and the press of very full breasts against his back was unmistakable, he didn’t need to see her face to know who the smoky alto belonged to. Wendy DeMartino. One of the headliners. As rock-oriented as he was alt-country. The second reason why he’d known he needed to come to the festival. She slid underneath his arm to face him. She’d cut her hair since the last time he’d seen her. Now it was short and spiky, though they’d been friends long enough for him to know the black was natural. It accentuated her pixie features, and her blue-gray eyes looked larger. Maybe it was because she wasn’t wearing any of the heavy makeup she did during her shows. He’d never tell her, but personally, Macaulay thought she was more beautiful without it. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up.” “I rolled in around three.” Macaulay couldn’t hold back his smile. She had an energy unlike anything he had ever experienced. “What time did you get here?” “Last night.” She rolled her eyes. “This place was f*****g dead. I got stuck watching Mouse and Soderquist trying to outpiss the other. I’d tell them to just go get laid, but I wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy.” Burying her face in his chest, she gave him a hug that squeezed his ribs. “But now you’re here. God, it’s been too long. Don’t disappear on me like that again, you hear me? I’ll hunt you down.” He laughed. “I didn’t disappear on you. I went on tour. That happens sometimes.” He wrapped his arms around her tightly, letting her warmth seep through him. “You need to get me on your tour. I think I could stand playing a few stadiums.” “Man, that would be great!” Wendy pulled back enough to wink up at him. “You’d bring in more chicks, that’s for sure. We’ve had to beef up security because of all the morons trying to get backstage.” “Are you kidding? It feels like my entire fanbase is made up of guys.” The early sun reflected off her black hair, making it look almost blue. “What are you going to do with your day, since you’re not playing until tonight?” “That depends. What’s my favorite guy doing today?” Macaulay knew not to take her seriously—Wendy had flirted shamelessly with him since the day they met. Still, even though he was completely not taking her seriously, he felt himself flush a little. “I was going to make a fool of myself and collect autographs.” She glanced around at the various idle vehicles. “Well, if you promise to keep me company until they rope me into the sound check, I can do some introductions for you. You should meet these guys anyway.” Her eyes glowed when she turned back to him, her smile somehow softer. “You’re too f*****g good not to be pulling the same kind of gigs they do.” Macaulay took her hand, folding his fingers around hers. “Maybe somebody important will hear me play today, and my big break will come. But my venues are getting bigger, and my manager is excited because Gift You Give Yourself has outsold my first album.” “Oh, God, I love that album,” she said as they walked along the edge of the grass. “Every time ‘It Mattered Not’ comes on, everybody in the bus knows not to bug me. I get violent if I can’t hear the whole thing.” Macaulay glanced away so she couldn’t see his pleased blush. She was the only woman—the only person—on the planet who had the ability to make his face and neck turn red. “That’s my favorite song, too. But speaking of albums, how long are you going to make everybody wait for a new one from you?” When she didn’t answer right away, he turned back to her to find her smile gone and her gaze distant. Though it was disconcerting to see her so somber, her mercurial moods weren’t anything new. Wendy lived like she sang—in the moment. Whatever she felt in that second was what got written across her expressive face. “Most of the new songs are s**t. It’s just same old, over and over again. I don’t know how you keep your muse so close. Mine took a s**t all over the last album and then took off.” “Your last album wasn’t that bad.” He stopped with a grimace. “That came out wrong. Your last album wasn’t bad at all. But…well, maybe my muse sticks around because I don’t let her get complacent.” Macaulay licked his lips. “Have you ever tried writing with anybody else?” Her brows shot up. “You’ve seen the Einsteins I travel with, right? I’m just glad they know how to play.” “That’s another thing. You’ve been touring all year, haven’t you?” He squeezed her fingers gently. “Maybe you need a break.” “Yeah, probably.” She leaned her head against his arm, pulling him tighter into her side. “I’ve mentioned how much I miss you, right? I already feel better.” When she said things like that, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to rest his lips on the top of her head and inhale the sweet smell of her shampoo. He wanted to touch his mouth to her temple, or the corner of her lips. But they had never had anything other than a friendly relationship, and he had been raised not to take those sorts of liberties. “I missed you, too. I’m surprised our paths don’t cross more often. But it always seems like I get into a town just as you’re leaving it.” “Ah, the joys of the rocking life. Not.” When she tilted her head up at him, he was glad to see the smile had returned. “So tell me all the good stuff that’s been happening to you. Whose heart have you broken lately?” “Oh, dozens of girls. You know what they say. Always leave them wanting more. As for the good stuff…well, I’m here, aren’t I? I’d like to think the promoters invited me to play at the fest because I can attract an audience, and not just to give the headliners a chance to get a drink and take a piss.” Her skin glowed in the early morning light. In spite of her hectic schedule and the harsh environment she worked in, Wendy never looked like a lot of the women on the tour. She took care of herself. She didn’t smoke, and every time Macaulay had seen her drink, she’d outlasted most of the guys. Even now, dressed in a simple black tank and jeans, she could have been anyone, anywhere. The important thing was she was here. With him. And her hand was squeezing his arm, her body soft where it still pressed into his side. “So are you going to be weirded out if I watch your set?” she asked. “I changed our schedule around so I could hear you, but if it’s going to mess you up, just tell me to f**k off.” He stared at her, knowing his surprise shone in his eyes. It was no easy trick to rearrange the schedule once it was set. Well, he amended, it was no easy trick for somebody like him. Wendy DeMartino had had the number one spot on the charts for over two months, and her single was still hovering in the top ten. “I would never tell you to f**k off,” Macaulay said, his voice far too solemn. He coughed and tried again. “I mean, I’d be…thrilled to have you watch my set.” “Cool.” Was that relief in her eyes? “I wish I could be in the front row, but maybe you can just pretend I’m there. Or make it up to me later with a private show.” “I don’t know if I could give you a private show. I’m shy.” She laughed and pulled him in a different direction, farther onto the grass and away from stages. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t suggest you pretend I’m the one throwing my panties at you.” Macaulay snorted. “You probably get more underwear tossed at you during a show than I do.” “Nah, my fans aren’t quite so classy. They just start flashing me whatever body parts they want my mouth on. Why do you think I asked for the extra lights in the show? Sometimes, it’s a hell of a lot better being blind.” Macaulay nearly tripped, but pulled himself up before he could take a header over his own feet. The thought of Wendy’s mouth on any part of his body made him a little weak. She might just be a friend, but he wasn’t blind to her very obvious charms, or her perfect mouth. “Wow. My audience is so well behaved compared to yours. I guess you make people a bit wild.” “Maybe,” she agreed, surprisingly noncommittal. “Just not the ones that matter.” Before he could ask her to elaborate, she tugged on his hand, veering sharply toward a large bus at the edge of the lot. “C’mon, let’s get some breakfast. I can relax enough to eat now I know you’re here.” Macaulay allowed her to pull him toward her bus, too perplexed to protest. Whenever they ran in to each other at a concert, or a party, or an awards show, or even the studio, they always had a great time together. He felt like he could live off her energy, and he was more than a little in awe of her. She was a powerhouse, an unstoppable force. More talented than anybody really had the right to be. Music poured out of her, in an unconscious, sweet revelation. But he never suspected that spending time with him actually meant so much to her. “What’s on the menu?” he asked, once they stepped inside her bus. “What do you want?” Wendy moved in sure steps toward the kitchenette at the rear, her rounded ass swaying nicely. Not that he was watching it as he followed. “I’ve got a little bit of everything here because nobody can f*****g agree on anything.” She pulled open a narrow cupboard that momentarily blocked her from his view. “I’m just going to have some Rice Krispies, but there’s stuff for breakfast burritos you can pop into the microwave, or yogurt, or some bagels if you want.” Macaulay sat at the table and drummed his fingers lightly against the Formica top. His stomach growled at the sight of her cereal. “Rice Krispies is great. And a bagel, too. I feel like I haven’t eaten real food in days. Probably because I’ve been living off of corn chips and bean dip lately.” Wendy filled the bowls quickly, setting them on the table before darting back to grab a bagel and a tub of cream cheese from a tiny refrigerator. She could have sat opposite him, but chose, instead, to slide onto the bench at his side, close enough her leg brushed lightly against his. “Well, then, that settles it. You’re sticking with me all day.” She poked him in the ribs with her spoon. “You’re skinny enough to take some real food for a change.” Macaulay squirmed, which only prompted her to poke his ribs again. “No, don’t. I’m ticklish.” She tried a third time, and he gently batted her hand away. “Eat your cereal before it gets all soggy and gross. And if you promise to feed me real food, you won’t be able to get rid of me.” “Sounds like a plan.” She took a huge bite, and her tongue darted out to catch a stray piece at the corner of her full mouth. “What are the odds I can lock us away this afternoon to maybe noodle around with something I’ve been working on? I think I need some fresh eyes to look at it.” He calmly swallowed his mouthful of cereal before exclaiming, “You want my help with a song?” “You’re the one who suggested I try writing with somebody else. Unless you don’t want to help me.” “No, of course I want to help you. It’d be, like, the high point of my entire career.” Wendy took a large bite of her cereal before nudging him good-naturedly. “It’s all about the music, right?” “Yes, when it comes to making music with somebody as talented as you.” They finished eating in comfortable silence. Sunlight poured through the windows, but the small oscillating fans kept it from getting too warm. Every once in a while, he caught himself staring at her slim fingers or the pout of her lips as they curved around her spoon. Then he had to focus on the fact she just wanted his help with her unfaithful muse. That made it easier to think about food and not eating the food off her. “So what’s the plan?” she asked, after pushing her bowl away. Twisting sideways, she lifted her legs and rested them over his lap. “Hit the vendors this morning, then hide away in here when it starts getting too hot?” “You want to wander around out there? With the unwashed masses?” “I’m willing to brave it if you are.” She nudged her foot against his hip. “You’re not chicken, are you?” “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about everybody mobbing you and taking your attention away from me.” Her brows drew together into a frown. “Well, that’s not good. Fine. No vendor wandering. What does that leave where I’m not inappropriately distracted from lavishing you with all the adoration you deserve?” Macaulay absently ran his palm from her knee to her ankle. “We could stake out a place backstage to watch the opening acts, but then I’d be distracted from giving you the adoration you deserve. Are you staying for all three days of the fest, or are you leaving tomorrow?” Wendy lowered her lashes, watching the casual strokes of his hand. “We have to take off early tomorrow morning. I’m supposed to be in Chicago for a dinner meeting with some studio suits.” When she looked up again, she almost looked sad, in spite of her small smile. “So I guess we have to make today count.” Count for what? He couldn’t stop rubbing her leg. He didn’t think he would until she asked him to. “Yeah, I guess we will. We’re supposed to leave tonight after the show, but I think I’ll tell Jill I want to actually rest for a bit before we take off again.” “Where are you off to next?” “Texas, by way of Denver. I’ve got shows in Austin, Lubbock, San Antonio…” She brightened for a moment. “Oh! Are you in Denver on the twentieth?” Macaulay grimaced. “No. I’ve got shows on the eighteenth and the nineteenth. We’re leaving early on the twentieth.” Wendy deflated again. “Oh. Well, f**k. For a second, I was actually excited about that stupid gig.” “You sound like you’re not having fun anymore.” He squeezed her knee. “What’s going on?” He watched her carefully, waiting for her response. Wendy leaned her head against the back of the seat, any sense of playfulness stripped away. She did nothing to stop the contact. If anything, it felt like she was resting more heavily into him. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe I’m just tired. Burned out, like you said.” It happened. It happened to everybody, sooner or later. Being on the road for weeks and months took a lot out of a person. Macaulay didn’t mind it too much. He long ago accepted the fact he would live his life on the road. Musicians in his position couldn’t afford to just stay home. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m really sorry to hear that, Wendy. I wish…I wish I could help you somehow.” The corner of her mouth lifted. “You already do. Let’s make today f*****g great, okay?” “f*****g great?” Macaulay nodded. “I think I can handle that. It’ll be easy with you.”