Chapter 11: This Disaster
Once the initial excitement of Lestat's appearance had worn off, the band once again sprawled themselves out over the available furniture. The atmosphere, however, had changed. I could see in their faces that they were acting – the casual informality that had existed when we first sat down was long gone. Now their faces were set, their sitting positions carefully executed over chair arm and speaker, their eyes darting from me to Lestat, desperate to make a good impression on the superstar. I could see instantly that the interview would be awful; now they'd never answer my questions honestly. My hopes for an interesting conversation that would provide proof for my conviction that these guys were more than just eye candy for teenagers were dashed. It was interviews like this that picked and prodded at my already terminally diseased view of the music industry. Again I found myself muttering "god dammit" under my breath and cursing Lestat, who had managed to out-sit them all (however it is you do that) in another folding chair to my left. His characteristic smirk was setting the new terms for the Q it remained unwavering beneath his black eyes.
After a few moments of this manipulated awkwardness I finally decided it would be up to me to begin. I didn't want to completely give up so quickly; I had been pleasantly surprised on occasion – I knew that the right kind of question could revive the sort of stagnation I was expecting. I cleared my throat and all eyes turned to me; not exactly the most comfortable feeling in the world but now was not the time for waffling. "So," I said, "We could start with the basics if that's ok with everybody." I saw Lestat shift a little out of the corner of my eye, but I decided that for the duration of the interview he was not going to be there. No matter what. It turned out that it was a good place to start because I noticed the band members' demeanor slowly calm – I began to feel that so long as I actively ignored Lestat (despite his constant fidgeting) they followed my example and expressed themselves more freely. We moved on to the more involved questions and the interview turned in a direction I was much more happy with. We all talked animatedly about their experiences, influences, the meaning and structure of their music. Perhaps there was truly hope for this band after all.
It was completely by accident that I began to notice Jack's eyes following me more closely than necessary. Apparently I wasn't the only one to notice, because the other band members picked up on the static flashing between us and played along as the harmless flirting commenced. I asked him about his performance style and the way he looked at me as he answered definitely led to flushed cheeks on my part. At this point I was making sure not to look at Lestat period; though I could tell from the guitarist and vocalist, who were sitting closest to him, that he was visibly angry. Their eyes were getting bigger by the moment and they kept fidgeting, moving ever closer to the edge of their seats farthest from him. I didn't want to get anyone in trouble so I began to segue into my closing questions. I was doing my best to tie things up as quickly as possible, but Jack wasn't making it easy. Apparently he hadn't noticed the sickly pale shade his bandmates to the right had begun to display, or whatever look on Lestat's face was causing that little phenomenon. Finally I decided to close things up for good; I said determinedly that I had all I needed and thanked them for their time. Still, Jack was oblivious to the ever-intensifying situation. He made a beeline for me as the other band member began to pack up equipment.
"We don't have to be in the next town for a couple days so we're heading out to bar hop for a while. Wanna join us?" He smiled in the same disarming way he had when he saved me from tripping earlier. Part of me wanted to say yes so badly, it had been a while since I'd given myself over to that kind of carefree pleasure; and yes, the fact that it would have been a real stitch in Lestat's side didn't hurt either. The other part knew that answering yes would put Jack and the rest of his band in real danger. However, before I had time to answer either way Lestat stepped in beside me saying, "It's getting late, we should be going." He even went so far as to reach for my free hand, which I deftly pulled out of the way, wrapping both arms around my chest.
It was as though time had stopped. Jack looked as surprised as I was. I managed a sidelong glance at Lestat; his face said that now was not the time for arguments. I couldn't believe this was happening. But my work wasn't done quite yet, so I had to remain as professional as possible.
"I'm sorry," Jack mumbled uncomfortably, "I didn't realize you two were together…" Discomfort and the desire to flee was practically radiating off him.
"We're not." I said, stone-faced and decisive. Lestat hadn't moved an inch. I turned away from him saying, "Can I help you guys finish packing up your things?" with as cheerful a tone I could muster. I was not going to end this interview on a note of fear; if word got around…I didn't even want to think about it. I took Jack by the arm and headed towards his fellow bandmates who were lugging big black cases out the back door and into a grey van.
"It's alright, really," he said, glancing fearfully at Lestat.
"Listen," I half-whispered, "I'm so sorry about this, I had no idea he was going to show up."
Jack looked at me anew with surprise. "Are you going to be ok? I mean, are you…safe?"
"I'll be fine," I answered in my best motherly tone, "I can handle myself quite well."
He looked at me skeptically, but in the present circumstances it was obvious that there was nothing he could do (even if he wanted to, we had only just met – and I wasn't exactly the type for a knight in shining armor).
The other four guys joined us to say hasty goodbyes; Lestat was forgotten completely. Thanks were shared all around; I told them to get in touch with me if they were ever in town again. Jack hung back again as the group scrambled into the fully loaded van. He gave me a look that said, "You're sure you'll be alright?" but his face froze when he looked over my shoulder. I could only assume who was standing behind me. So I gave Jack a hug, wrapping my arms around his neck and whispered in his ear "Don't worry, good luck with your tour". He tentatively put his arms around me; it was a short hug to say the least. I gave him a reassuring smile and waved as they drove off.