Life with the jokers: on tour

Part 27

The dinner was closing up, drinks becoming empty and many of the crew left to get some sleep. Just 8 of us were left on the table, now making last minute chat.

"Are you nervous for tomorrow?" I asked Rachel, who still looked confident.

"No, they'll never let us down. They could go in totally unprepared and still make a killing. It'll be fine."

"You're right."

"Just one piece of advice. Don't overwhelm Sal with all of this 'where is this relationship going?' Especially not tonight or tomorrow, he usually needs space before a big night like tomorrow. Just ignore him if he gets grumpy."

"Thanks," I smiled, then addressed the remaining people on the table, "I'm going to my room now, good night."

I began to walk away when Sal called out, "I'll walk you back."

I could imagine Rachel's bemused expression drilling into my skull, but it was his decision. We walked up to the stairwell, ready to embrace the huge incline.

"I don't want to burden you before tomorrow," I said, "you should rest. Get some space."

He sighed, "I think I just wanted to stay near you. You keep me sane."

"You flatter me. Are you sure it wouldn't stress you out?" He shook his head. We reached the 7th floor and were at my room in an instant.

My mind jumped between inviting him in or not, but my thoughts took over. "Do you want to come in?" He sighed and nodded like a helpless child.

He immediately took over my bed, laying on it within seconds, staring to the side out the window.

"Are you alright?" I carefully sat on the other end.

He didn't respond, but moved his body to face the ceiling, then sighed. "I'm just so stressed. You heard Pete- biggest night of our lives. Unless I screw it up."

"You could never. You'd still bomb a show even with no preparation, you just need to have more self confidence."

"I don't need that. I'm just being realistic. It could all go to shit or get a bad review and the guys will know it's my fault. I'll get kicked out of the group in no time."

I could sense the grumpiness levels rising like a thermometer, but I just felt pure sympathy for someone as self conscious as him.

"That's crazy. You've been performing with them for 20 years. They'd never get rid of you. If they're kicking someone out, my best bet has always been Murr."

He smiled, and did that breath-through-your-nose laugh, "me too."

I wandered into the bathroom to wash my face, practically talking to myself about after the tour and how he should be excited, but when I arrived back I was greated to him asleep on my bed, above the covers, and already snoring. My heart went out for him. He must be exhausted, and this was the first nice bed, without the confinement of the bunkbeds, that we have slept in in weeks. But now I was conflicted, could I get in a bed with him? Of course it looked totally innocent, he was fully clothed and on top of the covers, so I could slip in no problem. As long as the guys don't fear his disappearance tomorrow morning.

I got ready in the bathroom, put my hair into a bun and slid under the covers, turning the lights off as carefully as I could.

Now this was the moment I wanted to last forever. His long, uneven breaths reminded me of the shore. Sal Vulcano was literally an arms length away from me. I hid my smile and went to sleep.

I sensed him fumbling around the bed in the morning, the sun lighting up the room.

"Oh shit," he said, looking at me and then to where he was sleeping. My eyes flickered open and caught his.

"Did we...?"

"No!" I spat quickly. "How much did you drink last night?"

"Not that much. I don't think." He held his head, laying back onto the bed. "I'm sorry. I'm a mess. I'll be better once tonight is over."

"Don't treat this show like a burden. It's meant to be exciting."

"You're right." He stared at the ceiling in silence. Time became the longest thing. Silence. More silence.

"Am I a mess?" He asked

"What do you mean?" I sat up in bed, still under the warm comforter.

"My hair," he said bluntly. Self-conscious Sal.

"Of all the things to worry about today," I laughed, but his face went a thousand miles an hour over how important today is, "I'm sorry. It looks great. I actually prefer it not styled." It tousled over his forehead in a style that was rare.

He raised his eyebrows and shook his head vigorously, messing up the hair even more, "now I'm a surfer dude."

"Wasssssssup?" I mimicked, giving the 'surfer-boy' hand signal, he over enthusiastically repeated it back.

"You need to get up," he hit me with the pillow, and signalled up. "The guys will be here soon. We can't miss breakfast. Get up," he hit me with the pillow again.

"Stop!" I laughed, grabbing mine and throwing it in his direction. I was disarmed. I had to evacuate the bed. "Fine." I surrendered, heading towards the bathroom. Our eyes interlocked.