A Lush Rhapsody: A Rhapsody Novel (3 page)

* * *

“
D
id
you see this article on Lush?” Dez asks as he saunters into rehearsal the next day.

I turn a peg on my guitar, getting it tuned. “No. I specifically avoid articles on Lush,” I mutter.

“Well, looks like they’re going to have a girl on this 666 tour with them.”

“They always have their girlfriends, wives, whatever, on tour with them. Shit, I think Walsh brings his baby too. I mean, who the hell brings a baby to a rock tour?”

He sets his guitar case on the floor and gives a chin lift to Carson who’s screwing around with something on his drum kit, dark hair in a sweep across his gray eyes as he works.

“No, man, a girl
in
the band. They’ve added keyboards. Some chick named Tully O’Roark.”

I stop pinging my strings and blink at Dez. “Lush added a member? Are you serious?”

“As shit.”

“And we all know shit is highly serious stuff,” Carson jokes from behind the drums.

“I don’t believe it,” I protest. “Those guys grew up together. They’re legends. Why the hell would they add a new member to the mix? It’s probably for one song, like a special arrangement.”

Dez pulls out his iPad from his guitar case and swipes it on, hunting and pecking for a minute while I go back to my tuning.

“Here. Read it for yourself,” he says, handing me the tablet. “There’s even a picture of her.”

I take it from him, scanning the headline that reads, “America’s Favorite Rockers Segue Into New Era of Diversity”. My eyes drop further down the screen and there is an artsy shot of the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen. She’s standing over a keyboard, face full of concentration, blue eyes glowing, black ringlets hanging down past her shoulders. Her skin is creamy and she’s got a smattering of freckles across her nose. She’s wearing a black corset that laces up the front with a satin ribbon, and shows off cleavage that should be fucking illegal. Below that is a tiny waist. And her hands are tiny too, to go with her tiny nose, tiny ears, and the tiny diamond stud above her lip, like a beauty mark. But her eyes are big, and luminous, and framed by long inky lashes.

“Dayum,” Carson says over my shoulder. “Guess I see why they hired her.”

“Fuck off,” I mumble as I continue to stare at the photo. I know there are words there, but I have to get some blood back up to my brain to decipher them. I take a deep breath then read the caption on the photo,
Tully O’Roark, Lush keyboardist, will be adding to the band’s next album
.

“So, still think I’m fucking with you?” Dez asks reaching for his iPad.

I quickly glance at the web address before I hand it back. I need to bookmark that photo.

I scratch my head. “Uh, no. Looks like it’s for real.” And in a few months she’s going to get realer. Maybe I’ll like touring with Lush more than I thought I would.

“
I
still can’t believe
you’re complaining about spending six weeks on the road with all that hotness,” my sister, Savannah, says.

“They’re all married,” I tell her for the millionth time. “Plus, they don’t really like me that much—well, except for Colin and Walsh, but they like everyone.”

She laughs. “And Joss and Mike hate everyone, so what’s your point?”

I scrub at the bartop I’m standing behind while she stocks the cooler with bottles of Guinness, Harp, and Kilkenny. I came home for the weekend to visit before we head out on the 666 tour. My sister’s a good Irish daughter who married a good Irish boy and opened a good Irish pub, The Dublin Devil. I’m the bad daughter who has piercings, tattoos of birds on my ass, and plays ‘that damn piano’ for a living.

“Only that their hotness, as you put it, is irrelevant. But being stuck on a tour bus with them for six weeks isn’t. And if Joss’s wife, Mel, were coming that would help, but she’s five months along and he doesn’t want her traveling that much. Tammy will be there some of the time…”

“Ooh, she’s the really bitchy one, right?” My sister has loved hearing all the gossip about Portland’s favorite sons since I joined the band. She spends her days with her four-year-old and her nights helping out at the bar, so my life seems glamorous in comparison. I’ve tried to explain that it’s not, but she refuses to believe me. I think she needs to see it that way. It’s her fantasy that helps her escape sticky fingers and stickier tabletops.

“Yes, and she really
does
hate me, so I won’t be getting any support from that quarter.”

Savannah pops her head up from the fridge under the bar. “Do you think she and Walsh are happy?” she asks.

I shrug. She thinks about all of these things, I really don’t. They’re real people to me now, so my thoughts are more along the lines of who brings the best snacks to practice. That would be Colin by the way. Mike is the most patient about how long we spend in rehearsals, but I think that’s mostly because his wife, Jenny, is out on tour with her country band. There’s no one waiting at home for him right now. Joss always makes sure everyone is comfortable—are we warm enough, cool enough, rested enough—like he’s the host of a party or something, and Walsh is the one who jokes and puts everyone in a good mood.

“I don’t know. They seem really happy together. And with the rest of the guys she’s comfortable. They’re sort of like brothers and sister, they snipe at one another, but it’s not too serious.”

Savannah raises an eyebrow at me. We’re both thinking the same thing—that’s not how it is with our brothers. Our battles go far beyond sniping, and it’s always serious. Especially with James. He’s the biggest jerk of the bunch, the heaviest drinker in a family of heavy drinkers, and he’s not a nice drunk I might add. Luckily I have Savannah, my best friend and my only sister. I count my blessings and try not to think about the three Neanderthals that come as part of the package.

The door to the bar swings open and in walks a guy in a dark suit with a cap on his head like a bus driver.

“Miss O’Roark?” he asks, looking from Savannah to me and back again.

“You’re looking for her.” Savvy jabs a thumb my direction.

I step out from behind the bar. “I’m Tully. You must be here to drive me to the airport.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a small smile.

“Okay, let me grab my bags—”

“Just tell me where they are, ma’am, and I’ll get those for you.”

I stare at him for a moment, because my automatic reaction is to be prickly. I’ve spent so much time fighting for some scrap of respect from my brothers that I tend to react poorly to all kinds of situations, including people trying to help me, which often feels like people trying to control me. I want to tell this guy that I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own bags. But then I see the look on my sister’s face, and as if she’s talking to me telepathically, I remember that he’s simply doing his job. He was hired, by Lush, to do this for me, get me to the airport on time. No reason to take the guy’s head off for that.

So, I point him in the right direction and send him off.

“Good job,” Savvy says after he walks back out to the parking lot.

I sigh. “It’s hard for me. And now you won’t be there to remind me to relax for the next six weeks.”

She pulls me in for a hug. She’s five years older than me, and when my mom was too busy, Savvy was always there.

“You’re going to be fine,” she tells me before releasing me from her crushing squeeze. “Remember that the whole world isn’t our family. Not everyone is out to force you into a mold that you don’t fit. And for God’s sake, have some fun, rock star. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s your new life, enjoy it, find sexy boys and make them worship your badass self.”

I laugh. “Okay, okay. I’ll get a little action for you, how’s that?”

“That,” she says with a big smile, “sounds perfect. Tell me all about it when you get here for the Portland show. Now off with you, before all the hot guys leave you behind.”

As I walk out of my sister’s pub, and into the damp Portland air, I can’t help but feel like I’m walking into an abyss. This tour should be life-changing—but in only the best ways. It’s the symbol of what I’ve worked so hard to achieve, the culmination of five years of playing music with all sorts of bands, in all sorts of venues. Of struggling to piece together enough gigs and enough shifts at The Dublin Devil that I could feed myself and afford the little apartment upstairs from the bar. I should be jumping with joy about this tour. But instead I’m anxious, and if I’m honest, a little bit scared, because I’m worried that not only will my life never be the same after this, but neither will I.

* * *

I
arrive
in San Diego at the hotel several hours later. We’ve all been given an hour to check-in to our rooms and freshen up, then Joss says we need to meet with the tour staff and all the other bands at the venue.

The Sleep Train Amphitheatre in Chula Vista, California is the largest in the area, and will hold over twenty thousand spectators. I’ve discovered that for Lush, this isn’t anything exceptional. For me, it’s overwhelming. I think the biggest audience I’ve ever performed in front of is about two hundred, at a summer concert series in the Portland parks. That’s where Dave found me. He’s my manager and Lush’s—I guess I really have to stop thinking of us as separate. I’m Lush now, but whatever. The bottom line is, this place is huge.

“Yeah, it’s a decent size,” Colin says as he sits down next to me in the first row of seats, staring up at the stage.

Guess I said that out loud. “No,” I correct him. “It’s huge.”

“That’s what
she
said,” Mike pipes up from behind us.

I roll my eyes. I’m getting used to him, but he’s still an abrasive dick, and I tell him so at least three times a day.

Colin pats me on the arm. “Breathe, T-squared, breathe.”

He’s taken to calling me T-squared for ‘Tiny Tully’ because of my size. I’m not sure if I like it, but I appreciate that he’s trying to help me fit in.

“Oh fuck me,” Mike mutters from behind us as a big group of people comes walking along next to the stage, heading toward our seats.

“Not a chance,” I answer, even though I have no idea if he was talking to me.

“You only wish. It’d be an experience you’d never forget,” he shoots back.

“Yeah, I’ve heard PTSD is tough that way.”

I hear a scuffle behind me and turn to see Walsh standing behind Mike’s seat, both hands planted on Mike’s shoulders as he scowls and squirms to lunge at me.

“Settle the fuck down,” Joss admonishes as he arrives and sits next to Mike. “You’re acting like a bunch of preschoolers.”

Walsh smacks Mike upside the head—lovingly of course—and sits back down behind him.

“Oh shit,” Colin mutters. I turn to face the seats across the aisle, where he’s looking, and there, in the midst of the sea of the various other bands and crew that have been trickling in over the last few minutes is Rhapsody.

“Oh. Wow.” I sigh. Because that is one fine-looking group of men. There’s something for everyone in that band. Lean, bulked up, dark hair, light hair, fair-skinned, dark-skinned, if it’s found on a hot guy, they’ve got it covered.

“No way,” Joss says as he pokes me in the shoulder over the seats. “I won’t tell you who you can hang out with except for one thing—Rhapsody is off-limits.”

What?
“Why?” I ask. Not that I was planning on buddying up to them, but again, I don’t like to be told what to do.

Mike jumps in, face red, teeth grinding. “Because we have a long-standing feud with them, and Blaze Davis is a cock-sucking mother-fucker—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Joss interjects. “Chill out.” He looks at me. “Mike and Blaze have a checkered past, so we steer clear. Their fists tend to get involved if they get too close to one another.”

Colin chuckles.

“So, what, I’m not allowed to talk to them?” My eyes narrow in challenge.

“Of course not, just don’t go and try to be BFFs. And you know, refrain from inviting them to our dressing rooms or whatever,” Joss cautions.

Did I mention I hate being told what to do? But I remind myself that Joss isn’t one of my brothers, and he’s not trying to control me, just keep the peace. “Fine,” I agree. “No Rhapsody.”

It is a shame though, they’re exactly what Savvy would want for me.

* * *

O
ur manager
, Dave, has come to help out at our rehearsals. We’re getting along okay off stage, and I’m growing to feel more comfortable with my role in the group, but we’re still struggling musically, and this tour probably came a few months too early. We could have used more time to gel.

“Okay, show me what you’ve come up with for
Desire
,” Dave says as he sits on a stool on the side of the stage at the amphitheater. It’s hot out, and we’re in the bottom of a concrete bowl, so I’m glad the stage is shaded this time of day, otherwise, even my tank top and jeans might be too warm.

Walsh counts us in and we play the first half of the song, when we get to the point where we’re breaking down, Joss calls a halt to it.

“This is where I’m struggling, man,” he says to Dave. “I know you want that overlay of the background vocals, but the fact is, Tully’s got a much stronger voice than I do, and I’m feeling like we’re losing the core sound with her in here.”

I wrestle with my conflicting feelings—pride that Joss complimented my voice and frustration that he’s still not happy with having my contributions added to the song.

Dave nods and walks over to me where I stand at my keyboard. “I’m thinking it might be the combination of the keyboard and the vocals,” he says. “Try this—” He hums a little riff from the song to me. “Then do the vocals only on the final line.”

“Okay,” Joss says, “from the top then.” Walsh counts us in once again, and we do three takes using Dave’s suggestions. After the third try we play the final notes and Mike hollers, “Yes! That’s rock and roll, baby!”

We all grin at each other, and Dave nods in satisfaction.

“I knew you had it in you,” he says. “And can I say it’s about damn time you four—” he looks pointedly at the guys, “had a new challenge? You can’t get too comfortable, it’ll kill your career.”

I see the look on Joss’s face as he gives Dave a wry smile. We’re all figuring out why Dave insisted on this—me joining Lush. He saw the future, and he knew that if they stayed on the path they were on, they couldn’t maintain the momentum they’ve had the last few years. They needed to be shaken up, and he used me to do the shaking. But I’m okay with it. I’m starting to think that maybe Lush is okay with it too. I might even feel like I belong eventually. That’s something I’ve never felt, and I think I’d like it.