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“Shoot,” I said, as I gauged his tense body language and noted anger rolled off him in waves.
“Wiggy.”
“Fuck,” I cussed. “What now?”
“He needs a new sponsor.” I eyed Hammer carefully, unsure if he’d meant that due to his own substance misuse, but he looked sober and clean, bright-eyed and healthy.
“Because?” I asked, cautiously.
“Because the fucker is making me antsy … tense, and I figure if I don’t have a break from him, if he slips the fuck up and gets some shit, I might well join him in using it.”
“Okay, I’ll speak to Strings and we’ll take turns watching him. How does that sound?”
“Sounds good, but when we finish this tour, I’m thinking this needs to be longer term. He’s no good for me now, dude.”
“Buddy, you’ve got to think of yourself. If you aren’t feeling strong then it’s time to do what’s right for you.”
“As long as I know this arrangement with him is ending, I’ll be able to manage. It’s three weeks. I’ve got the will for that at least.”
From day one of the tour, Wiggy became a concern. Since Hammer’s disclosure, it had taken all of us acting as babysitters while we tried to prevent him from slipping back to his drug-fueled promiscuous ways. One night it had taken both Hammer and I working together to prevent him from hooking up with a young girl, who had clearly looked underage.
It was a great pity he had his heart set on self-destruction because his musical talent remained faultless, however as soon as the lights went down on a gig and the music died, we thought he was been fast becoming too hard to handle.
“Are you scared you’ll come up short if you fuck a real woman?” Strings spat, his hands on one arm as he freed the wrist of a young girl at a meet and greet. Our bandmate’s usually brown eyes were black with rage as they settled intently on Wiggy’s face.
“She wasn’t that young,” Wiggy shot back, raising an arm in the direction the young teen girl had gone. He had a wicked smirk on his face like he’d thought it all a joke, until Strings stood up and looked as if he had been going to beat him senseless.
Immediately, Hammer placed a hand on Strings forearm. “Dude. He’s not worth this.” he cautioned and shook his head, which immediately brought Strings back from his ‘red mist’ moment from being goaded by Wiggy.
Thankfully the incident never turned violent because Strings wasn’t a small man and looked around forty pounds of pure muscle heavier than Wiggy’s still drug ravished body. It would have been a bloodbath had he acted on his temper.
Quite apart from the fact it wouldn’t have been a fair fight, between us our morale as a band had been really low as well, and it would have done nothing for us to have our weedy-looking bass player hospitalized by our Herculean keyboard guy.
The only thing keeping me going during the tour was the times when we played on stage and the times when I spoke to Billie.
Talking to her made me more concerned. Our conversations had been short, due to time differences, mainly due to me spending my days with Wiggy. I had never felt so lonely in my life, considering the constant flow of people around me.
Time appeared to drag and by six days into the tour we had performed five dates in Cleveland. Strings, Hammer, and myself had viewed each day we’d gotten through without Wiggy fucking up as a bonus.
Arriving in Arkansas a little later than scheduled due to fog, we were thankful for the rest of the day off. I was beat and after a quick call to Valerie at her work, I crashed out in bed and slept for twelve hours straight.
After a much needed rest we were driven to the venue in Little Rock for sound checks. And the three concerts we did there went amazingly well. Tired but elated we were just about to leave night when Valerie Docherty approached me. I nodded toward her and when she smiled in return it was forced. I knew then and there something was seriously wrong.
“Can I have a word?” Valerie asked, placing her small hand on my forearm and steering me away from the others.
“Sure,” I agreed, but noticed the usual warmth in her tone from previous conversations had gone. “Sawyer, I’m just going to cut to the chase and save us all valuable time. We’ve loved your performances and the reviews have been great, your bass player on the other hand, not so much. He made a suggestive comment to one of my PAs the other day, and last night he hit on one of our permanent stage crew’s youngest daughters when her mother brought her to the gig, as our guest. She’s only fourteen years old.” Fuck.
“Jesus, I apologize, Valerie,” I mumbled, embarrassed to have been confronted on Wiggy’s behalf. “Don’t worry I’ll deal with this straightaway.”
“You may want to. The rest of you are great guys and we’ve enjoyed working with you. However, I’ve also lined up another warmup band for the second half of the tour, and I’ve decided to swap you out at the midway point, which means two more performances and that’s it. This has nothing to do with the rest of your band, but we cannot and will not be associated with someone like him out of duty to RedA’s young fans. As a goodwill gesture you will be recompensed for the whole tour at the rate we had discussed.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“What can I say? I completely understand your position and I’m very sorry our band member has had such a negative effect on your tour.”
That time her smile felt warmer. “It’s really unfortunate because Flynn has loved spending time with you. Perhaps when this is over, and your wife has had her babies, we can do dinner sometime.” I gave her a small smile again. It may have been a terrible ending for the other guys, but I had what I wanted and felt glad to have an excuse to go home.
“I’d really like that. And I apologize again on behalf of the band.”
* * *
