Backstage Pass
Page 68
“Yeah, you guys go on ahead,” she said, staring up into Eric’s pale blue eyes and running her tongue over her lips. “Eric and I are going to stay in the car and make out.”
His grip on her slackened as he lowered his head to“Psyche!” She shoved him away, before squirming out of his lap.
“Dude,” Eric complained. “That was so not cool.”
“Yeah,” Brian agreed. He helped her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her back. “No one says ‘psyche’ anymore.”
“Wel , I’m old,” Myrna said. “I can’t help my lack of cool.”
As soon as they entered the store, a thin, nervous-looking man started fol owing them through the aisles. Myrna supposed rock stars looked like shoplifters. She smiled reassuringly at the little man and he turned to fiddle with the stock on the shelves. Eric moved to stand next to the store clerk. He stroked his chin as he examined the condiments. “Brian’s woman thinks we need to eat better,” he said to the guy. “That attractive, normal-looking babe over there. See her?”
The manager glanced at Myrna. He nodded slightly and returned to his unnecessary shelf tidying.
“Anyway,” Eric continued. “I’m pretty sure she’s going to make us eat salad. Do you like salad?”
“I guess.”
Eric clapped him on the shoulder. The man flinched. “Great! I assume you’re a salad dressing expert, since you keep rearranging these bottles. So, what dressing would you recommend to a bunch of derelicts like us?” He grabbed the man’s nametag and leaned unnecessarily close to read it. “Kevin.”
“Eric,” Sed said. “Leave the guy alone.”
“Why? I assumed Kevin wanted to offer some customer service to his customers. That’s why you’re fol owing us around, right, Kevin?”
The man brushed Eric’s hand from his shoulder. “Raspberry Vinaigrette is good.”
“Do we look like the kind of guys who’d eat Raspberry Vinaigrette salad dressing?” Eric asked. Kevin glanced from one band member to the next. “Uh…”
Myrna grabbed Eric by the ear. “The answer to that question is: Shut up, Eric.”
“Ow!” Eric protested.
“I like Raspberry Vinaigrette,” Trey said. He put a bottle of dressing in the cart. “Do they make anything cherry-flavored?”
Kevin shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Trey took his sucker out of his mouth and pointed it at him. “Wel , they should.”
“Cherry salad dressing? Disgusting,” Brian said, his nose wrinkled. “Ranch is best.”
Jace selected several bottles of creamy dressing and put them in the cart without a word. Eric grabbed Myrna’s wrist to pul her pinching fingers from his ear. “My point is, Kevin,” he said, “we don’t need a babysitter. Thanks.”
Sed was at the end of the aisle looking at spices. “Hey, Myrna, do you know how to make lemon-pepper chicken?”
“Sure do,” she cal ed to him. She pul ed her arm from Eric’s grip and went to help Sed pick out spices. The other guys fol owed her with Jace pushing the cart. Apparently, Jace had been grocery shopping before. Without any prompting, he added things to the cart that Myrna would have chosen herself.
“Get some jalapeños,” Eric said to Jace, who’d just added a jar of dil pickles to the cart. “I’l make us some omelets.”
“You’l make yourself an omelet,” Brian said. “Your cooking is worse than Trey’s.”
“Is it my fault you don’t like cherries?” Trey said.
“No one likes cherries in stir fry.”
“I do.”
Myrna rubbed Trey’s head, messing up his hair. “I’l bake you a cherry pie, sweetie. Would you like that?”
He hugged her against his side and kissed her temple. “I love you. Brian, I love your woman.”
Brian smiled slightly, but didn’t look at Myrna when he said, “Don’t we al ?”
They didn’t lose their tail as they wound through the aisles, but Kevin was a little less obvious about fol owing them. He watched them from one aisle over.
The store had an excel ent butcher who produced choice cuts of fresh meat. “We’l have to clean out the freezer when we get back,” Myrna said. “I can’t pass up this meat.”
“The freezer is highly toxic,” Trey said. “Can’t we just throw out the whole refrigerator and get a new one?”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Jace agreed. He was tossing T-bones into the cart as if they were having a buy-one-get-ten-free steak sale.
“Sheesh, Jace, are you hungry?” Myrna asked.
“There are fourteen of us.”
“Good point. Get ground beef. I’l make chili.”
“Do you real y want to be trapped on a tour bus with a bunch of guys who’ve consumed large quantities of chili beans?” Brian asked.
Myrna laughed. “Another good point. Okay, I’l make lasagna instead. Tomorrow.”
“Now you’re talking.” Brian kissed her temple. “I love Italian food.”
“Make sure you get enough pork chops, Jace,” Sed insisted. “I’l eat like three or seven of them.”
They made a second trip through the store for things she’d need for lasagna. By the time they finished, two carts were ful to the top.
“I’m not sure al of this wil fit in my car,” Myrna said. For a smal car, the Thunderbird had a good-sized trunk, but their carts looked like they were stocking up to start their own mobile grocery store.
“We’l make it fit,” Brian said. “Or load Eric up like a pack mule.”
“Uh, no,” Eric said.
Jace started unloading the cart onto the conveyer belt. Myrna had a hard time accepting what the groupies said about him. A sadomasochist? He was always such a sweetheart. Quiet. Shy. Gentle. If she hadn’t seen what he kept in his suitcase with her own eyes, she’d never have believed it. He didn’t even attempt to look like a natural blond. Platinum hair, dark beard stubble, dark brows. It was cute though. Myrna couldn’t put her finger on why. With that baby face of his, he looked like the requisite tough guy of a boy band, not a member of a metal band.
Jace must have felt her stare, because he glanced up, his brown eyes inquisitive. “What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.” She handed him a package of Italian sausage. He placed it on the conveyer belt.
His grip on her slackened as he lowered his head to“Psyche!” She shoved him away, before squirming out of his lap.
“Dude,” Eric complained. “That was so not cool.”
“Yeah,” Brian agreed. He helped her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her back. “No one says ‘psyche’ anymore.”
“Wel , I’m old,” Myrna said. “I can’t help my lack of cool.”
As soon as they entered the store, a thin, nervous-looking man started fol owing them through the aisles. Myrna supposed rock stars looked like shoplifters. She smiled reassuringly at the little man and he turned to fiddle with the stock on the shelves. Eric moved to stand next to the store clerk. He stroked his chin as he examined the condiments. “Brian’s woman thinks we need to eat better,” he said to the guy. “That attractive, normal-looking babe over there. See her?”
The manager glanced at Myrna. He nodded slightly and returned to his unnecessary shelf tidying.
“Anyway,” Eric continued. “I’m pretty sure she’s going to make us eat salad. Do you like salad?”
“I guess.”
Eric clapped him on the shoulder. The man flinched. “Great! I assume you’re a salad dressing expert, since you keep rearranging these bottles. So, what dressing would you recommend to a bunch of derelicts like us?” He grabbed the man’s nametag and leaned unnecessarily close to read it. “Kevin.”
“Eric,” Sed said. “Leave the guy alone.”
“Why? I assumed Kevin wanted to offer some customer service to his customers. That’s why you’re fol owing us around, right, Kevin?”
The man brushed Eric’s hand from his shoulder. “Raspberry Vinaigrette is good.”
“Do we look like the kind of guys who’d eat Raspberry Vinaigrette salad dressing?” Eric asked. Kevin glanced from one band member to the next. “Uh…”
Myrna grabbed Eric by the ear. “The answer to that question is: Shut up, Eric.”
“Ow!” Eric protested.
“I like Raspberry Vinaigrette,” Trey said. He put a bottle of dressing in the cart. “Do they make anything cherry-flavored?”
Kevin shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Trey took his sucker out of his mouth and pointed it at him. “Wel , they should.”
“Cherry salad dressing? Disgusting,” Brian said, his nose wrinkled. “Ranch is best.”
Jace selected several bottles of creamy dressing and put them in the cart without a word. Eric grabbed Myrna’s wrist to pul her pinching fingers from his ear. “My point is, Kevin,” he said, “we don’t need a babysitter. Thanks.”
Sed was at the end of the aisle looking at spices. “Hey, Myrna, do you know how to make lemon-pepper chicken?”
“Sure do,” she cal ed to him. She pul ed her arm from Eric’s grip and went to help Sed pick out spices. The other guys fol owed her with Jace pushing the cart. Apparently, Jace had been grocery shopping before. Without any prompting, he added things to the cart that Myrna would have chosen herself.
“Get some jalapeños,” Eric said to Jace, who’d just added a jar of dil pickles to the cart. “I’l make us some omelets.”
“You’l make yourself an omelet,” Brian said. “Your cooking is worse than Trey’s.”
“Is it my fault you don’t like cherries?” Trey said.
“No one likes cherries in stir fry.”
“I do.”
Myrna rubbed Trey’s head, messing up his hair. “I’l bake you a cherry pie, sweetie. Would you like that?”
He hugged her against his side and kissed her temple. “I love you. Brian, I love your woman.”
Brian smiled slightly, but didn’t look at Myrna when he said, “Don’t we al ?”
They didn’t lose their tail as they wound through the aisles, but Kevin was a little less obvious about fol owing them. He watched them from one aisle over.
The store had an excel ent butcher who produced choice cuts of fresh meat. “We’l have to clean out the freezer when we get back,” Myrna said. “I can’t pass up this meat.”
“The freezer is highly toxic,” Trey said. “Can’t we just throw out the whole refrigerator and get a new one?”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Jace agreed. He was tossing T-bones into the cart as if they were having a buy-one-get-ten-free steak sale.
“Sheesh, Jace, are you hungry?” Myrna asked.
“There are fourteen of us.”
“Good point. Get ground beef. I’l make chili.”
“Do you real y want to be trapped on a tour bus with a bunch of guys who’ve consumed large quantities of chili beans?” Brian asked.
Myrna laughed. “Another good point. Okay, I’l make lasagna instead. Tomorrow.”
“Now you’re talking.” Brian kissed her temple. “I love Italian food.”
“Make sure you get enough pork chops, Jace,” Sed insisted. “I’l eat like three or seven of them.”
They made a second trip through the store for things she’d need for lasagna. By the time they finished, two carts were ful to the top.
“I’m not sure al of this wil fit in my car,” Myrna said. For a smal car, the Thunderbird had a good-sized trunk, but their carts looked like they were stocking up to start their own mobile grocery store.
“We’l make it fit,” Brian said. “Or load Eric up like a pack mule.”
“Uh, no,” Eric said.
Jace started unloading the cart onto the conveyer belt. Myrna had a hard time accepting what the groupies said about him. A sadomasochist? He was always such a sweetheart. Quiet. Shy. Gentle. If she hadn’t seen what he kept in his suitcase with her own eyes, she’d never have believed it. He didn’t even attempt to look like a natural blond. Platinum hair, dark beard stubble, dark brows. It was cute though. Myrna couldn’t put her finger on why. With that baby face of his, he looked like the requisite tough guy of a boy band, not a member of a metal band.
Jace must have felt her stare, because he glanced up, his brown eyes inquisitive. “What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.” She handed him a package of Italian sausage. He placed it on the conveyer belt.
