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“I had a hard time seeing them at all through the bubbles, but I accomplished what I set out to do. That stage design puts the sun at their backs when it’s setting, which is perfect, they won’t be squinting into it or jumping around up there half blind.”
“Then there’s nothing left for you to do but pull up a lawn chair and join me,” he said, gesturing to the ones propped against the side of the bus.
“Works for me.”
I got situated under the awning with him and cracked open a water, then shot a quick text to Tony, reminding him to stay hydrated. Less than a minute later I received a photo back of all four guys, bottles of water in hand, grinning at the camera. I replied with a thumb’s up emoji, chuckling as I turned the phone so Pressley could see it.
“Good. We don’t need anyone passing out,” Pressley replied. “They’re due at the press tent tomorrow at one. The shred-off is at three, Bowie is playing again this year, Stoli didn’t give him a choice. Drummers are doing something this year too, on day three. My bet is that Claude won’t turn down the opportunity to show off.”
“I don’t know. I’m going to take that bet and put up twenty bucks saying he chickens out at the last minute and decides to watch.”
“You’re on.”
“The calm before the storm,” I said, getting comfortable.
It was still busy, with constant activity going on around us as other bands arrived and set up, but it faded into the background, for the most part, as I sipped my water and Pressley tapped away on his phone. At some point, I must have dozed off, because the sun was suddenly much lower on the horizon and the air around us cooler too when I blinked and looked around.
“What’s that I smell,” I asked, the aroma of sizzling meat making me perk up and pay attention.
“Pressley’s grilling supper,” Tony explained, leaning in his chair to rest his head on my shoulder. “You were sleeping when we got back so we tried not to wake you.”
“Thanks. Did you have a good time?”
“We met so many guys we listen to it was completely freaking unreal,” Tony admitted, “there’s gonna be a bonfire tonight, people are bringing instruments, it’s going to be all musicians and their crew hanging out and chilling, not members of the public. Just a big jam session. Will you come with me?”
“Of course,” I replied, “I’ll let the guys know too so they can all come enjoy it if they want.”
“Nice! Thanks Daddy, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to or not.”
“Come here,” I said, tugging him onto my lap, despite the weight limit for the chair. We’d be okay for a few minutes, I hoped. “Little Wren, any chance I get to spend time with you is something I’ll always jump all over. Daddy got his work done early and has tomorrow all mapped out. At events like these, things can go sideways in a heartbeat and get crazy. Guys deciding to get together and spend the night playing music seems like a beautiful plan to me. I’m all in. That’s exactly the kind of choice we hope you guys make. I’m proud of you.”
“You should have seen them when we came back,” Pressley chimed in. “They were as covered in bubbles as you were.”
“Jagger and Johnny found us, again,” Tony explained, giggling. “They told us to get bubble cannons before next year or they won’t be so merciful.”
“I’ll add them to my list,” Pressley said. “Can’t have my guys running around unarmed when the desert has turned into a battlefield.”
“In all fairness, we should have expected them to come back with bigger cannons after all the boasting and vows of retaliation that were flying around at the end of Rocktoberfest last year,” Bowie admitted. “I love their dogs. Beast and Beethoven are the coolest. They’ve got a portable cooling tent for them that sprays mist and giant gel mats for them to lay on that help keep them cool. They literally live on the road with them when they travel.”
“Bowie,” Pressley said, a note of warning in his voice, “we’ve talked about this. We will visit the shelter when the tour is over, so we have the chance to get to know our dog before he comes on the road with us.”
“You’re getting a dog?” Tony yelped, leaping off my lap so fast the chair almost tipped over with me in it.
“After the tour,” Pressley asserted, never losing that serious face of his, despite Bowie’s excitement.
Canine fever was real and honestly, I could see there being two dogs before the next tour started, because boys needed pets, whether they were a little like mine, or still struggling to work through trauma induced emotions, like Bowie.
“After the tour,” Bowie conceded, flushing at having earned such a stern look from Pressley.
As soon as Pressley smiled at him and nodded, Bowie’s face lit up. Our conversation, and impending meal were interrupted when two members of the festival’s security team pulled up.
“Hey guys, hate to bother you, but we’ve got a guy up at the gate, no ticket, no pass, no bracelet saying he’s part of the crew, not even a QR code to get into the festival. He says he’s your singer, Tony’s, father but without any way to verify that, we’ve got him detained. Think you can send Tony up to sort it out?”
“I’m T-tony,” my boy stammered. “B-but I didn’t invite him.”
“And you won’t have to deal with him,” I said as I stood from the poor, abused chair. I’d be upgrading those the first chance I got. “I’ve got this. Can I hop on with you guys?”
“Absolutely,” the driver said.
