Ghost Tour (ch.12)

September 18, 1998

Roncho knocked on Reid’s room door at 10am.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” Reid asked, rubbing his eyes.

“I slept in my own bed last night for exactly 3.5 hours,” Roncho said, consulting his watch for effect.

His apartment in Wicker Park was a cab ride from the hotel. He knew the good cafes and held up his bargaining chip in a to-go bag.

“You missed breakfast, but I brought you a croissant and coffee.”

Reid noticed Roncho brandishing the laptop in his other hand.

“Do I really have to do that now?”

“Brandon’s gonna be at the show, you need to stay on this,” Roncho said. “I cleared your press schedule. Get it done and you’re free as a bird till soundcheck.”

The coffee did smell good. Reid took the care package along with the computer.

“One hour.”

“Bless you.”

Reid set the computer and breakfast on the desk. He spread open the curtains flooding daylight into the room, but Corey was so sacked out he didn’t stir.

Reid’d been thinking about the journal. He’d only done the one entry, but it’d already taken on a life of its own in his mind, so he had a vague idea of what the next entry would be. He sat himself down and began to type:

A few years back, there were rumors that our sound man generated pink noise during our set at Redding in 95, causing gastric distress to multiple concert goers.

Not confirming or denying the incident, but it’s true that he’s a wily individual, something of this nature is most definitely within his skill set. Our practice space in Clinton, sketchy area. Drug dealers hanging out in front. Subs installed a military-grade LRAD system. Now even the mailman crosses the street.

If there are malevolent spirits on our tour bus, Subs is most definitely our first line of defense. The challenge is doing so without causing undue discomfort to band and crew.

We can’t talk specifics because it involves proprietary technology, but we’re psyched about the upcoming test run. Lateral sonics is a rapidly developing field in which parallel vibrations pulsate selective inanimate frequencies without mutation.

We’re all looking forward to a good night’s sleep without further disturbances from the netherworld…

“Lateral sonics,” he said aloud to himself with satisfaction when he reread what he’d written.

Where did he think this stuff up?

# # #

The guy doing monitors at House of Blues was total Joe pro.

“Gimme a thumbs up when you like your mix,” he said, a bit more refined than Wave like you’re about to lose your shit if you can’t hear yourself.

Reid wasn’t a hard customer. Kick, snare, and vocals were plenty to orient him, plus his own guitar in the mix to keep him in the pocket.

Jordan was a little more demanding but was almost surprised how sweet it sounded on stage. Soundcheck went smooth as could be, he was glad this was the one Brandon was watching. Afterwards, he and Reid hopped offstage to front of house.

“Sounding really good up there,” Brandon said.

“McVenues do some things right,” Jordan said.

House of Blues was part of chain. Having cut their teeth playing skanky, independently-owned rock clubs, there was something very corporate about it, beginning with it’s location at the Marina complex.

“We’ve been doing that online journal,” Reid inserted, wanting to make sure his efforts weren’t going unnoticed.

“So I hear, thank you,” Brandon said.

“Have you…read it?”

“Not yet, but my intern tells me good things. He’s our demographic.”

“Okay then.”

Heading backstage, they had to pass a security guard already posted at the door. Usually, a guard sees you’ve got a laminate around your neck and you just breeze past. This was one of these guys who had to lean in close to inspect your pass before he’d let you go back.

Jordan rolled his eyes. Corporate rock venue bullshit. Then again, they’d played smaller clubs in Chicago where the bouncers had been more dicky than they had to be, might just be part of the local culture.

Oddly enough, the dressing room was tastefully cool, bordello chic. Like they’d hired actual artists to decorate, furnishings and everything. One piece in particular caught Reid’s attention, a low dresser with old knobs and trinkets affixed all over then coated in polyurethane. Kristina would love it.

Jordan popped a beer, Reid a fizzy grapefruit soda.

“Where were you last night?” Jordan asked him.

“Needed a little break.”

“Shoulda come out. Lila brought her friend from LA, she wants to meet you.”

“We in high school?”

“Just stick around for the afterparty tonight, it won’t kill you.”

Reid wasn’t as enamored with things Los Angeles as Jordan, but whatever. He watched Jordan casually drink his beer, like a penguin watching a duck to trying figure out how it could fly.

Liz and Corey came in just as dinner was being delivered. Like the dressing room, it defied expectations. Fried chicken like it’d been teleported from the deep south. Everyone had to admit was off-the-charts. Even Liz, who wouldn’t eat the actual chicken, raved about the Brussels sprouts and collards.

Considering how inspiring the soundcheck had been, their set felt neutral. Maybe because the sound was actually good on stage, it just felt a little clinical. Checking songs off the list until there were none left. Back in the dressing room, it was like they’d just installed an air conditioner instead of having played a rock show.

This was the night Owen Kaye decided to duck his head in.

“Nice set, I really enjoyed it,” he said.

“Oh hey, thanks Owen, that means a lot,” Jordan said, jumping up to greet him.

Owen scanned the dressing room as if looking for someone he couldn’t find.

“You know Cool It Down?”

It was a VU song off Loaded, they’d been doing it during their encore.

“Of course.”

“You wanna come onstage tonight, sing along on the chorus?”

“Fuck yeah,” Jordan said.

Benzedrine’s set seemed electric to Jordan as watched from the side with fresh appreciation now that Owen had tapped him. Lila, who’d been ducking back-and-forth between dressing room and VIP lounge, made sure she was alongside the stage for the encore.

“X-13, what a band, right?” Owen asked the crowd rhetorically.

The room totally gave it up for X-13, more than when they’d actually been playing.

“We got our friend Jordan here, Jordan Falk…”

Owen motioned for Jordan to come out, the crowd went crazy for him. Lila let out a real hoot and was beaming, but there was something about her slow, determined clap, somehow it reminded Reid of a believer at a shareholders’ meeting whose hot tip was paying off.

Reid stood next to Lila, watching his bandmate out there, leaning in to share Owen’s mic during the chorus, the two smiling like old buddies.

Of course it makes no difference to me…

You know you better…cool it down…

He’s just stepping right into that part, Reid thought. He felt intensely proud of his friend at that moment, seeing him rise to the occasion. And just a touch melancholy at being left in the shadows himself.

# # #

Well, score another one for McVenue, there were showers. Reid thought his chances of sleeping might improve if he snuck one in.

He locked the door, hung his pass on the hook, hung his jacket over top and started to undress further. There was a knock.

“Did I leave my bag in there?”

It was Liz. He unlocked the door so she could look for herself.

“Not seeing it,” he said.

“Shit,” she said.

“Stay calm, where else were you?”

“I was in the VIP lounge…I was at the board for a while during Benzedrine.”

“Okay, you check the lounge, I’ll check the board.”

He left his stuff, pulled his shoes back on, and headed out past security. Watching the headliner from the mixing board was a good trick if you wanted to see from front of house without being jostled by the crowd. He did it sometimes himself.

The big room wasn’t as packed as during the show, but it was still pumping, had turned into a night club vibe. A few people recognized Reid and called to him. His shirt half untucked, he wasn’t dressed for public interaction, he just nodded and kept wading through the crowd. He found Liz’s bag under the mixing board.

Heading backstage, he was stopped the security guard.

“Pass,” the guy said bluntly.

“I just came through two seconds ago.”

Crap, he’d left it in the bathroom.

“Pass,” the guy repeated.

“Look, man, I’ve been coming back and forth all night, you’re gonna tell me you don’t recognize me?”

“Lotsa people been comin back and forth, don’t matter. You don’t have a pass, can’t let you through.”

Reid could not believe this dickhead was going to do this.

A pretty girl breezed by, holding up her pass. As the guard was letting her through, she stopped.

“Reid?”

He looked at her like he didn’t know her, which he didn’t, though maybe he’d seen her among other unfamiliar faces backstage, it was a busy night.

“Evie,” she said, introducing herself, “Lila’s friend.”

Oh, this was the girl Jordan was talking about.

“He with you?” the guard asked her.

“He’s in the band, silly,” she said. The word silly seemed particularly incongruous with the guard’s size and demeanor, but something worked.

“Go on through.”

Reid shook his head and walked briskly to the dressing room. He might’ve been more gracious to Evie, but the security situation was just so wrong on so many levels, plus he’d left his own stuff in the bathroom unattended.

“You coming up to the afterparty?” Evie asked him, picking up the pace to keep up.

“I gotta give Liz something.”

“I can wait,” she said.

Liz was back in the dimly lit dressing room, looking under throw pillows since she’d had no success in the lounge.

Reid presented the recovered object.

“Thank God.” She took a quick look inside and found everything in order.

“Okay, so let’s go upstairs,” Evie said.

A continued explanation of how he was about to take a shower was way too much personal information, it was easier to just go along with it at this point.

“Gimme a sec,” he said, retrieving his stuff from the bathroom, and making sure his freaking laminate was back around his neck.

The VIP lounge, like the dressing room, was an attractive space, another surprising simulation within the cement casings of the Marina complex. Finding seats at the bar, Reid supposed he should buy Evie a drink for helping him out, it wasn’t her fault the security guard was being a dick.

She ordered a vodka martini, he ordered a club soda.

“Aren’t you going to have a cocktail or something?” she asked him.

“I don’t drink.”

“I’d heard that,” she said. “It’s going to make it harder to seduce you.”

Reid let that one ride like it was just a joke. Beyond staying true to Kristina, allowing it to derail him in the slightest would’ve given her power.

“So why’d you come to Chicago?”

“Oh, just tagging along with Lila.”

“What do you do in Los Angeles?”

“I’m an actress.”

Surprise.

As the conversation continued, Reid realized he did recognize Elsie from an indie film he and Kristina had seen together. A small part, but credible. She’d been quite good in it, actually, made him sorry he hadn’t given her the benefit of the doubt at first.

She waved across the room to Lila, who at that moment was part of an animated three-way conversation with Jordan and Owen Kaye.

It occurred to Reid that maybe this was why Owen had invited Jordan up to the stage, he wanted to make sure Jordan introduced him to Lila Parker. Weird, but weirder things had happened.

This made Reid think twice about the conversation he was beginning to find engaging. He’d been to LA before, it could be a very confusing place. People could be incredibly nice on the surface, but it seemed like everyone wanted something from you. What did Evie want from him?

He watched her as she spoke about an upcoming project. He tried to remain impassive, but he’d read in GQ or someplace that when a woman touches her neck while she’s talking to you, it means she’s into you. Evie could not stop touching her neck.

And it was quite a spectacular neck. Sculptural. The hollow at its base seemed to lead downward like a causeway. You could imagine this causeway extending gently beneath the buttons of her shirt, it hinted somehow at breasts that would be equally firm and well-defined.

“Give me your cellphone number,” she said, slipping her flip phone from an understated Dior bag.

“I don’t have a cell phone,” he said, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to give her his and Kristina’s home number.

“What country are you from?” she asked. “That’s adorable.”

Taking a matchbook off the bar, she scribbled her number inside.

“When you’re in LA next weekend, call me,” she said. “We’ll hook up.”

She stuck the matchbook in his shirt pocket, giving the pocket a pat like she was making sure it stayed there, but flashed a brief look that confirmed she was seeing how hard his chest was at the same time.

# # #

Back on the bus, Reid asked Roncho if he could use his phone again. Maybe it wasn’t just an LA thing, maybe getting a cellphone was a smart idea.

Still no answer at home. Reid was starting to worry about Kristina. He left Roncho’s number on the machine. Maybe she’d taken more hours, he’d call the restaurant tomorrow if he didn’t hear from her.

Subs boarded the bus.

“Nice job tonight,” Reid said to him, “lot of people said it sounded really good.”

“Bit sterile for my taste, but I’ll take it.”

“Hey, odd question…you know how certain frequencies can mess with people? Could you use subsonics to get rid of…ghosts?”

“Ghosts or aliens?”

“Ghosts. Maybe aliens, but in this case ghosts, I think.”

“Ghosts…”

Subs sat down next to Reid and thought a minute.

“Well, you know the ghost frequency is 18.98,” Subs said. “That’s the one that wiggles yer eyeballs, makes you think yer seeing things…as far as actual ghosts are concerned, I’d have to look into that a little more. You been experiencing some kind of haunting lately?”

“Just a little research for something I writing, no big deal, I can just make it up.”

“Get back to you if I find anything.”

Subs got up, took a joint from his pocket, and headed toward the back lounge.

Reid found it immensely reassuring that Subs had a ready and plausible explanation for seeing things. Still, he wasn’t quick to go climbing into his bunk just yet. He grabbed his blanket from it and nestled on the front couch, maybe just for a bit.

He thought about Kristina, wondered if she maybe she’d gone up to her sister’s in Burlington after all. Sinking deeper under the blanket, he felt something bunching in his shirt. Reaching into the pocket he found the book of matches Evie had stuck there. He opened it up, looked at it. Her handwriting had a lithe quality to it, sort of like her sculpted neck.

He put the matchbook back in his pocket. Tested himself, the fact that he hadn’t memorized the number was a good sign he wasn’t letting himself get obsessed.

But he recalled how when she’d patted his chest, she’d left her hand there for maybe one beat too long. It tingled at the time.

He could still feel it.

—

Click here to continue to next chapter

Click here for Table of Contents

Click here to order Kingston 76