Baby You Can Drive My Car

Chapter Eleven

After I searched out the bottle of wine I still had from the other night and knocked the top the hell off it, I poured my quivering girl Lollipop a glass full.

"So what's up?" I asked her.

It turned out Lauren had found her problems looming large quicker than she expected.

"Well, you know I'm talking to Tyler every night and we're just kind of hanging out a bit? I hadn't mentioned James," she sniffed.

"You hadn't mentioned you live with someone who fucks your lights out five nights a week when you're not on tour? And afternoons on the weekends?" I said kindly, wine in hand, or rather in mouth, and patting her knee.

"I was hiding from it. I thought if I mentioned it, it would come between us making friends with one another, and I love talking to him so much, I didn't want him to be giving me that "you belong to somebody else" vibe and backing off, you know? I wasn't exactly lying, I just wanted, oh God, I don't know - I was lying, wasn't I?" she mumbled feebly.

"Lying by omission isn't technically lying. What it is is not telling the whole truth, which isn't quite the same thing, although it's still dishonest. However, that's semantics. So what happened tonight? You were fine when we left the venue," I said.

She finished the wine in one gulp, and poured herself another. It was going down fast. Fuck, mini-bars are expensive, and our next day's pds would take a serious hit if we got into the tiny little g and t's. And Gog would know I'd been drinking, because he'd find out from the desk clerk when he checked us out, unless I blamed the whole lot on Lozzie. But wait a minute - maybe he'd say I had to share his room since I was so badly behaved? Jesus, to share his room I'd empty every little bottle and even eat one of those nasty packets of pretzels, and I fucking hate pretzels.

"Yes, things were fine, and then halfway to back here Tyler texted me. He asked straight out if I had a boyfriend."

"Oh. That's direct. Why didn't he ask you in person?"

"I don't know."

We sat there. Me, Lola, and the pretzels. Fuck, I needed to concentrate on her now and not worry so much about the barsnacks.

"Okay, before you tell me what you said, let's play a little game. I ask you a difficult question and you rip your guts out answering me," I started, and she took a deep breath and nodded.

"And, baby, I'm not going to judge," I added. "Do you love James?"

Lauren bit her lip and a fresh tear fell. "Yes," she admitted.

"Is he the best fuck you've ever had?"

She turned bright red. "Well, no, but... he's sweet and considerate and he makes me feel good."

"Do you see your first child being named James junior?"

"Oh, Bella. I don't know. I care about him and it's comfortable and I'd hate to hurt him, and I don't know whether that's forever sort of love, or if it's loyalty and affection. But surely I couldn't feel this way about someone else if I was truly in love?" she asked.

I finished my wine and refilled my tumbler. There are supposed to be seven and a half standard drinks in a wine bottle, but that's really overstating it. If you drink the way we prefer to, a bottle only holds four glasses.

"Lauren, it looks to me like you've got someone who loves and wants you, and someone who likes and wants you. You could stay with James and be secure; you could give him the flick and have wild monkey sex with Tyler, or you could give them both the flick and have some Lauren time. I can't tell you what to do, but do you know, I think I'd rather have the wild monkey sex with a guy I might not have something ongoing with than be made love to by someone when I'm not sure of my feelings about him - I just know that they've faded and I can't bear to tell him."

She sighed.

"What did you reply to Tyler, anyway? And why the tears?" I pressed.

"I said yes. He texted back and asked if it was serious. I was wondering what to say when a message came through from James saying how much he misses me and can't wait for me to be back there with him, and I just got overwhelmed. I'm not looking forward to going home."

"I think you've got some sort of answer for yourself right there," I said. I am such a sage. The wine was all gone, and my glance kept stealing to those tiny vodka bottles. I am also such a lush, although I will never give myself a gargantuan vomitous hangover ever again. On the day of a show.

Lauren didn't look any happier but she said, "Bells, I've got some chablis in my bag," and I kissed her. I was feeling a bit like a bad friend because I had been fondling Gog's chest while poor Lolita was having a crisis.

We put the tv on to some channel with music videos and lay back on the twin beds. Two halves of two bottles of wine hardly equated to anything, and I wouldn't be any the worse for wear in the morning, and anyway, tomorrow was a day off. I resolved to spoil Lauren and show her a boyfree good time.

"What's on the agenda for the morning?" I asked her lazily. "Has anyone said?"

"Ron said something about the guys planning golf," she replied.

"Golf? You are fucking shitting with me! Of all the boring fucking things in the world they want to play golf? I vote laser skirmish!" I exclaimed.

"Apparently our lot and the crew all want to do nine holes," she said, and then giggled at herself. I fucking guffawed.

"So, did you end up replying to Ty-ty? About the serious factor?" I asked.

"No."

"Well, Jesus, girl, you're fucking answering it by not answering, aren't you? If you felt your future was with James you would have said so without hesitating. You'd better send Tyler something. Tell him you want to see his cock before you decide," I said helpfully. Wine is so relaxing.

"I'm going to tell him it's complicated, and leave it at that for tonight," she decided. "Anyway, Bella, whose cock do you want?"

"Gog's. No question," I said emphatically. "And maybe Jasper's. No, I want to kiss Jasper and fuck Gog. Damn. I'd have either of them, but not both. Not at the same time, anyway. Oh, damnit, let's go gay, Lolly. We'll do the scissor-sister thing all night long and not worry about any of these fucking boys. It's too hard."

Lauren sniggered. "You said hard," she said.

The two of us were no better off as far as our love lives were concerned when we went to sleep, but at least we had the sisterhood.

And Christ, did we need the sisterhood the next day. The moron males really were going to play golf. It's not even exercise, it's fucking time-wasting on an epic scale, but because we all had to check out of the stupid fucking hotel, Lauren and I couldn't just lie around and give ourselves facemasks and pedicures all day. That's a fuck of a lot more fun than golf.

We girls grumbled and complained, but Deadwood drove us all to the waste-of-perfectly-good-land that was the golf course, and I figured at least we could get some fun in racing golf carts. The course was called The Pines and I told everyone I was going to climb up and re-arrange the letters on the sign so that it said The Penis, because of course I like anagrams, and Deadwood snorted but he avoided catching my eye, the great wuss.

Lauren and I got in a bit of slalom eventing in the carts, which have a maximum speed of tortoise, and it was quite fun playing sheepdog and trying to round the boys up, despite all the abuse they hurled at us. We kept off the fairways and everything, being very rule-abiding, but a boring and stuffy official turned up and told us to desist or we would have to leave. Hell, he wanted us to leave anyway. I don't know what it is about me and little fucking Hitlers in uniforms who all want me to stop whatever I'm doing.

Deadwood had already handed out pd's for the day, and I'd signed for mine with hugs and kisses underneath, which had made him frown and mutter, "The band could get audited, Bella. These could be seen by somebody at the tax department." Like I gave a damn. The chicks were cashed up and we decided to go into town.

On the way I texted Edward and told him so that he couldn't go off his head at me because I knew I'd cop more of a telling off than Mike had last night if Edward didn't know where I was. It was unfair, sexist, and probably personal but it was true. Lauren and I went off and treated ourselves to the Beauty thing - I had my eyebrows waxed and she got a french manicure, and then we went to a movie, and turned our phones off.

As soon as we got out of the cinema and I flicked my phone back on, there were fifty million messages from an irate Deadwood. Christ, he was an old woman.

I called him and held the phone away from my ear while he raved at me and as soon as I could get a word in I said we were only a suburb away and we'd be back any second, and anyway, I'd told him where we were. Just to push my luck, I suggested to Lauren that we pop into a department store we passed that had sale signs up. We wouldn't be eating again that day because we spent all our money, but boy, we got some lovely underwear. We often bought the same stuff, although this time we didn't. I got a set of boyshorts with days of the week on them, just to save confusion, and Lauren got a bra and panties matching set in snakeskin-print satin.

"Are you trying to entice an anaconda?" I teased her. "Have you been withholding information about Tyler?" and she smirked at me.

The boys were waiting for us, all ready to go by the time we rocked up at The Penis, Edward looking vaguely irritated. How were we to know they'd play so fucking fast?

We had another town to drive to, and I sat in the front with Gog again.

"So, you boys all out on the green together today. I know a little bit about golf. You have wood, right? And iron?" I asked, just being friendly.

"Both, yes," he answered.

"I imagine it's difficult getting much practise in, when you don't have anything suitable to practise with. How was your grip?"

"Fine."

"Could you give me a ball-by-ball description of the game?"

He drew a deep breath. "No."

"Did you get in any good strokes?" I continued.

He stopped responding.

"Okay, I'll give you a blow-by-blow account of the movie," I offered, which was really very nice of me, but Deadwood replied, "No, I need to pay attention to the Satnav. If you talk I won't be able to hear it."

"Suit yourself, Grumbles," I answered.

We hit the next town, and us girls had no money for dinner. Deadwood gave us some out of the float, and it was another quiet night. This time we did do the facemasks - cucumber and avocado, and Lauren had snuck some champagne. It was a pleasant evening for the two of us, and we gossiped and watched arthouse films on cable and deconstructed them and we contemplated going to find the boys and hang with them for a bit, but we had green faces, and Mike never lost an opportunity to call me a fucking witch, so we stayed put.

Nights off are all very well, and it's okay I guess to have the opportunity to calm down, but after four shows in a row I was pretty pumped and I couldn't wait to get back on stage the next night. We were all pumped, we were all excited, we knew we were playing well because a show is worth half a dozen rehearsals, and add to that the state of fucking sexual unrest I was living in - it's a recipe for success.

The next show was our best yet. Fuck yeah. When the FLM's came on I went down to the back of the room which was the only place there was space to stand without being jammed in like sardines on a Japanese commuter train, and watched the Sexinator grin and grind his way through one hour fifteen of pure sex juice. He was getting sweaty all to hell with his wild dirty hair and flushed face looking like he'd just had a good long fuck. Mike was with me, nodding and stamping and cheering, and the Monsters were just so awesome we all rode on their wave with them.

I was nearly creaming my new panties when Jasper came into the band room. I stood up and gawped at him like a stupid fangirl and he laughed at me, pulling me close and kissing me on the cheek yet again with his perspiration-drenched mouth. It was getting to be a habit of his.

"Is there still an embargo on the bourbon, baby?" he asked, and when I nodded dumbly he got us both OJ's. "Solidarity," he winked, chinking glasses with me. His shirt was soaked and sticking to him, and turning away, he peeled it off, picking up a towel and wiping himself down as he talked with his bandmates about the set they'd just performed. We conducted post-mortems of shows too, and I guess probably all bands do it. You talk about what went well and what didn't, and you point fingers at whoever made mistakes. It keeps us sharp. I attract a lot of finger-pointing, but shit, that's because I'm the one trying to push the envelope all the fucking time and not be some safe little piss-ass girly band. I want to rule the fucking world, not just the playground.

Jasper turned back around after the towel business, and really, he wasn't dried of at all. He was glistening. And then - what the fuck? How did I miss this the other day? Maybe his jeans were lower tonight, but my eyes were drawn to just above the waistband, which was really a hipband, because those jeans were low. Holy-father-bless-me-for-I-am-having-sinful-thoughts. He didn't have a happy trail - did he shave there? Would he let me watch? - but Jesus Christ, Bella, stop staring. He had a tattoo. Just to the inside of his pelvic bone there, on his belly. It said I'm lost in a beautiful cursive script. Well, I could have a look around down there and see if I could find you, I thought. I tore my gaze away with difficulty and hoped nobody had noticed I'd had my eyes shamelessly glued to the lower front of the Sexinator's abdomen.

Luckily, no-one was looking at me, and luckily, Gog wasn't in the room. Then I glanced at the mirror, and found someone was looking at me after all, and it was Jasper Whitlock.

Evacuate! I fled, this time bumping into Mike, who swore liberally at me, and I went and hid in the ladies restroom, fixing my lipstick with trembling hands. Within minutes Deadwood knocked on the door calling for me, asking if I was all right.

"Perfectly, thank you," I answered, "I'll be out forthwith."

"Good, because we're leaving," his voice answered flatly. My fucking sanity was leaving, that was for sure. I was a bit scared it had a one-way ticket.

I went out and waited by the van, hoping someone would perform an idiot-check in the room and find my bag and bring it, and sure enough, Edward I'm On Top turned up with it slung over his shoulder.

"A man-bag... nice," I remarked to him and I sat next to Ron, starting to talk loudly.

"Where's the party tonight? Whose room? Lauren and I miss you boys. I haven't annoyed anyone for days, have I? I can't remember how to do it. I'm going to come and treat your beds like trampolines," and I went on and on. How many more shows did we have? How much more of Gog and Jasper did I have to take? How much more fucking unrelieved horniness?

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