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there like the dead for 12 hours. But we woke him up in time for the next show—still
     hungover as shit.” He looked over at AC. “What were those ladies’ names again?”
    AC looked sheepish. “Fuck knows, man. They exhausted me, what can I say?”
    Tristan smiled. “I hope they named their first borns after you.” He laughed. “After
     all, they’d all be related.”
    “Hey, I’m careful. Any accidents weren’t mine, man.” AC winked at him. “Don’t worry
     Lily. Shouldn’t be any mothers chasing us in Montreal.” He rolled over on his side,
     and looked up at Tristan. “So here we are, again. Are you glad to have me? I’ve missed
     it. Missed you.”
    Tristan looked over at me, his eyes still and wary.
    AC laughed. “She’s cool. We had a long chat in London.” Tristan frowned.
    I finally spoke up. “True enough. We did talk for quite a while. Not sure what we
     said though.”
    They both watched me for a moment. I didn’t say anything else. Tristan sighed and
     came to stand by my side. Then I felt Tristan’s warm lips on my cheek.
    “That’s what is so perfect about you Lils. You notice everything and say nothing.
     Well, except what you’re going to write for the magazine.”
    I kissed him back, gently. I looked Tristan in the eye, then walked over and gave
     AC a kiss on the cheek. Tristan let out a deep breath. I didn’t think he realized
     it. “Yeah, well, again, like I said before. What you want out there. With extra sparkly
     fan girl sprinkles.” I looked around. “Bathroom?”
    “Outside. No, kidding. One door is a closet, the other is a bathroom. Water only,
     doll. Unless you’re desperate.” Tristan grimaced. “Not to be crass, but…”
    “No, that’s cool. I’ve been camping. This is just like a mirrored tent.” I went out
     shutting the door gently behind me, but just in time to hear AC saying, “You trust
     her, Tristan? Are you sure?”
    Then Tristan’s voice, warning, “She never even told me you two talked. So she kept
     your secrets. She’s kept mine. Now she’ll have to keep ours.”
    I moved away from the door. Whatever their secrets were, I had a feeling that after
     a couple of weeks in this gilded tin can, I’d know them all.

chapter three
    New York to Montreal
    The bus had stopped for a break at the truck stop before the border, so we wouldn’t
     have to all wake up in the middle of the night for the passport check. As it was,
     5 a.m. seemed painfully early. But the Canadian border patrol apparently liked to
     put a face with the ID, especially for a rock band in a tour bus. The local promoter
     in Montreal had faxed them the paperwork. No emails for this. The officer in charge
     of our passage had already accused us of being incompetent, and Tristan had called
     James, who had woken up the promoter, who had given us the details. They had all the
     paperwork for the permits, it had been confirmed by an A. Antoine. That name was enough
     to get the guy to go back inside to hunt down the passenger manifest. So we all stood
     there in the early light of the morning, outside the bus, while the guards walked
     around the bus with a tired looking German Shepherd, who sniffed hopefully, while
     the one of them examined our passports, looking for errors. A third one, without dogs
     or passports, had asked for Tristan’s autograph.
    After he’d moved away, Tristan whispered in my ear. “Do you think it’s a technique?
     Or just poor social skills?” He laughed. The guards glared at us. I gave Tristan a
     sudden passionate kiss. Let them think we were giggling over sex. Better than thinking
     we were taking the piss.
    The driver looked bored. He’d mentioned briefly last night before we left that if
     anyone was carrying he’d leave them at the border, so anything better get used up.
     I saw Jack poke around his shower kit, and triumphantly pull out what looked like
     a Xanax, and swallow it down with a gulp of beer. Apart from him, I wasn’t sure