That Blue Gibson: Another Round

thirty-eight

"David said you're jetting off to Paris after this."

Liz didn't look up from her massive bottle of water, just kept sucking as much as she could down in an effort to keep from throwing up, "Yep."

Her mother slowly sat in the chair beside her, "Are you sure you're ready for that?"

There was a long pause in which Liz wondered who squealed and told her mother what had happened the last time she had been in Paris and then finally replied with, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just...," Nancy looked her over, no doubt assessing the brutal hangover her daughter was in the midst of, "I'm not sure you're physically ready for all this hopping around, dear. Your body just went through real trauma."

"It's just a hangover, Mom," she joked, trying to lighten the heavy topic before it crushed them. But, she was right, as mothers usually are, though Liz hoped she unaware just how complicated Paris was for her daughter and son in law.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah," Liz sighed, "but we're taking it easy. It's not like Dave and I are staying in hostels and rationing loaves of bread."

Nancy barked a laugh, "I didn't say you two were doing this like Victorian-era orphans or reenacting Les Mis, Nicole Elizabeth. I just don't want you to overdo it."

"You know he won't let me, Mom. Aside from last night's overindulgence, he's even worse than you when it comes to keeping me in check."

Her mother laughed again, then stood from her chair and planted a kiss on her daughter's forehead, "I know. That's why we love him so much."

*

Dave jogged down the line of tents and trailers that made up the festival's backstage, almost missing the one with the little white sign announcing it was reserved for the Foo Family. 

"Hey, man," he nodded to the staffer closest to him once he ducked in, "Have you seen Liz?"

"Right here," she called, making him follow her voice to the crushed grass beneath a catering table where she had curled up.

"You okay down there?" he asked, crouching to brush the hair and grass off her face.

"Peachy," she grumbled, reaching out to grab his bottle of water and roughly twisting the cap off. 

"Hey, don't get pissy with me," he warned gently, "I told you to back off that bottle of Turkey at least three times."

"When in the hell have I ever listened to you, though?" she insisted, unable to keep from smiling when he laughed at her. 

"Press want you to come do an interview with me and I promised I'd ask." Her smile faded as she took a long drink and considered his offer while staring him down. "It's Radio X. Gordon Smart. Nice guy."

Liz perked up a bit at that, "The cute Scottish guy?"

There was a brief pause as Dave registered her words and then a short, "Never mind," as he stood up from the grass.

"No!" she laughed and grabbed his arm before he could flee. "I'll do it. If it's cool with you, the rest of the guys and Silva and Gus, I'll do it."

*

Two of the black upholstered chairs in the interview space had been replaced with a grey loveseat and a coffee table, complete with some bottles of beer and water, but an over-caffeinated intern swooped in before Dave could sit. 

"Sir? There's been a slight change in plans."

A quick glance over to Gus in the corner of the room told him that it had already been cleared with his tour manager and this was just a formality. "Yeah?"