"Hiya curly, you wanna go grab a bite to eat after the show?"
I didn't bother to look away from applying my makeup, frowning slightly as I carefully traced the black lines through the greasepaint.
"I think I'll be okay, thank you though," I said, and he sighed.
"Come on, Gene-o. You haven't been out with me and Pete in ages. You're worrying me, you just go back to your room and you don't even take a girl with you, that's not like you at all," he said.
"I've had a lot on my mind," I muttered, and he put his hands on my shoulders, shaking me back and forth gently.
"I know but it's been five months. Just for tonight? Please?" he asked, grip on me tightening. "This isn't good for you."
"I told you. I've had a lot on my mind," I snapped, brushing his hands away, and he let out a soft sigh.
"Alright. But if you change your mind before Peter and I leave, just let me know alright?" he said cheerfully, giving me a smile through the mirror, and I smiled wanly back.
"I will."
Paul didn't bother to look up from doing his makeup in his little secluded corner of the dressing room. He had given up on talking to me ages ago, after weeks of me ignoring him. I didn't want to hear any more excuses from him, I didn't want to hear his reasonings to lying to me for months. I just wanted to keep pretending that Bea never existed, that Paul had never told me what he had.
It had been easy to fall into the routine. Put the makeup on, put a mask on, pretend like I didn't hate Paul onstage before going right back to ignoring him offstage. Tonight was no different, and he got the cold shoulder as soon as the curtain dropped. Ace and Peter fell into step beside me, one on each side.
"You're coming out with us," Peter said in a matter of fact voice, pulling his gloves off with his teeth.
"I was actually going to--"
"Come out with us, we know," Ace said, cutting me off, and I sighed as they each grabbed one of my arms, knowing I had no choice.
A half an hour or so later, I found myself sipping on a Roy Rodgers and watching Ace and Peter enjoy a copious amount of alcohol, per usual. I stared across the bar, eyes slowly roving from woman to woman, wishing I was in the mood to swoop down on a chick and whisk her back to my room. But I hadn't managed to get with a groupie since Paul told me everything. They all just reminded me of Bea.
"Looking for a companion for tonight?" Peter asked, snapping me out of it, and I shook my head, staring down at my drink.
"Nah. Not tonight."
They exchanged glances, before Ace perked up suddenly, giving me a smile. "Oh I've got a friend you'd probably like!" he said, and I frowned.
"I'm kind of done with friends of friends for the moment," I said, but he pulled open his jacket, revealing a little teddy bear tucked in his breast pocket.
"He's my wingman!" he said gleefully, dissolving into his wild laugh, and I chuckled in spite of myself.
"How's that worked out for you?" I asked, and he grinned.
"Quite well. Here, you should meet him!" he said, pulling it free from his pocket and stuffing it in my hands.
I looked down at the teddy bear, smiling faintly before shaking my head and trying to hand it back to him.
"Very nice," I said, but he pushed it back to me.
"No, no you keep it! You can use it!" he said, cheeks a bright pink from the alcohol, and I just gave up and tucked the bear into my pocket.
I mainly just sat at the bar, halfheartedly joining into Ace and Peter's conversations. I was grateful to be out of my room, but at the same time I wanted nothing more than to be back there alone. Ace soon wandered off in pursuit of a woman who wasn't his wife, leaving just me and Peter sitting at the bar. He sighed, lighting up a cigarette.
"This isn't as fun anymore," he said, exhaling a puff of smoke.
"What isn't?" I asked, giving him a confused look.
"The band. I dunno. I feel like we're selling out. I've got lunchboxes out there with my face on it. What happened to being the band for the people no one else would accept? What happened to slumming our way through clubs in New York? Now we're on the road for two thirds of the fucking year, and we're all turning into divas. You and Paul haven't talked in months, I can't even relax in the dressing room anymore. I dunno. Maybe I'm just looking at the past through some thick fucking rose colored glasses," he said with another sigh, staring off into space.
"Yeah," I said quietly, looking at the condensation dripping down my glass, the soda watered down by the melted ice.
"What happened between you two? Your girl died, yeah, but how come you hate him? What's he got to do with that?" he asked, smoke spiraling into the air from his cigarette, the faint light making his eyes shine strangely.
My stomach turned and I stared harder at my drink, watching the lone cherry bob sadly up and down.
"Hard to explain. But things...he did things," I settled on lamely, and he scoffed.
"No shit. You wanna tell me what things he did so we can find a solution? Or are Ace and I just gonna be stuck with you two hating each other forever?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Just give me time, alright?" I snapped, starting to lose my patience, and he rolled his eyes, putting his cigarette out on the countertop.
"Fine. Guess we'll stop dragging your sorry ass out to try and cheer you up," he muttered. "I'm going to go find Ace. Enjoy the rest of your night."
I watched as he walked off, vanishing into the crowds of the bar, and let out a sigh. I hated how much the dynamic of the band had shifted as much as Peter did. I wanted things to be how they had been, with the four of us getting along great, but that had been changing for years, even before Paul and I started our fight. And Paul and I making things up wouldn't just magically fix everything either.
