The tour routine fell into place quickly. They'd play a concert, pack up, drive to the next location, crash at a cheap motel, and wake late in the day with a few hours to spare before another show or onward drive. Only Jerry got a private motel room; Emmett elected Gordon for his room-mate, and even Luke shared with Mark. In his free hours Emmett tried to keep up with laundry, work out with the weights he'd packed, maintain his instruments, or pick up postcards and trinkets for the boys.
A couple of weeks in, Emmett noticed Luke giving him an odd look after a show, as though he couldn't quite make up his mind whether to say something or not.
“What's up, man?” Emmett asked, trying to sound reassuring. When something awkward was in the air, his experience said it was best to get it out into the open as soon as possible.
“Yeah, hey, Mountain…I was just wonderin' if you might want to move up a little more for your solos. Y'know, we could put a spot on you, let you have a moment out there with the crowd. What do you think?”
Emmett thought that sounded – surprising. Lead singers weren't usually so eager to put spotlights on anyone besides themselves. But he shrugged and nodded agreeably. “Sure, if that's what you want. I can do that.”
“Cool, thanks.” Luke looked relieved. “I'll talk to José about the lighting.”
There it was again, that slight hint of deference Emmett kept picking up, as though Luke was worried about offending him. Emmett didn't quite know what to make of it.
Later, when he and Gordon stopped for a nightcap at the motel bar before crashing, as they often did, Emmett tried to sound him out a little.
“Hey Gordie, what's the deal with Luke anyway?”
Gordon was a hugely proficient young musician, and also a bit of a nerd, fastidious and precise, which made him a good room-mate. “What do you mean, what's the deal?” he asked.
“I mean…you've been working with him for a while now, right?”
“Five and a half years.”
“So what's he like to work with? In the long run?”
“Luke's a good guy.” Gord spoke definitively, with a little shrug. “Not the most educated.” He meant something specific by that. “What you see is what you get, really.”
“I mean, I know he's brilliant, musically at least. And he's kind of a control freak about that. But then he doesn't seem to care about anything else.”
“Well, he's been playing since he was very young. I believe I met him when he was 18, and he'd been around for a while by then. So, you know. It's his life.”
“Yeah, but…” Emmett frowned down at his beer bottle, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. “I mean, he acts like the boss when we're practising. Like, you play one note out of time and he's all over you! But then…he doesn't give a shit where you stand on the stage, or when you get to the venue, or whatever else.”
Gordon was smiling at Emmett, as though amused by his confusion. “He doesn't care about those things when you're doing them.”
Emmett stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…I think it's a bit different with you. Maybe he's kind of scared of you.”
“Scared? Of me?”
Gord laughed. “You're a big guy, 'Mountain'”.
“Oh, come on. He doesn't think I'm going to hurt him.”
“No.” Gord stopped laughing and grew serious again, which was kind of his natural state. “But you know, you're older than us and you've been around, you're married with kids and a job…I think he's afraid you won't take him seriously, or you'll decide he's just a kid and go find some other band.”
Emmett’s eyebrows lowered over narrow, disbelieving eyes.
“He likes you,” Gord said simply. “He doesn't want to lose you. So he doesn't tell you what to do.”
“Huh.” Emmett finished his beer and thought about that. He remembered being a kid back on the farm in Virginia and his grandfather telling him, those cows are more afraid of you than you are of them. Here he was worrying about making Luke happy, and it turned out Luke was worrying the same thing about him.
Whether because of his exchange with Luke or with Gordon, Emmett stopped trying to stay in the background after that. He took up more space on the stage, closer to the front, and enjoyed his moments in the limelight. Not only did he start getting a spotlight during his solos, but for the longer ones Luke seemed to deliberately recede into the darkness behind him or on the other side of the stage, as though to avoid being a distraction for the audience.
Before long Emmett found his customary high spirits taking over. Being naturally coordinated, he'd always had some solid dance moves despite his large size, and on good nights now he'd break them out, boogying across the stage as he played or limboing down to the ground during particularly dramatic trumpet breaks. The rest of the band looked on with amusement or indulgence, Pete scrambling out of his way; but Luke in particular seemed to relish his antics, often coming over to join in, or shouting “Moun-tain!” into the mic to egg him on, or just watching with a kind of awed delight. Emmett still paid close attention to Luke and could easily pick up his signals, so that the two of them were soon riffing in harmony, trading goofy back-and-forth moves that would leave them both laughing, exhausted and sweat-drenched by the end of the night.
Emmett couldn't remember when he'd had more fun. It was hard to believe that this was his job, that he was being paid for it, that his co-conspirator was his boss.
***
“So how old are you anyways, Em?”
“I'm thirty-one.”
Luke whistled. “Wow, wiser and older.”
“Older anyway.”
“How'd you come to get married so young?”
“I wasn't that young. It was just after college, I think I was twenty-three. You think that's young to get married?”
“I'm twenty-three now and I ain't married.”
Emmett smiled. “Well, you're hardly an example.”
“Whazzat supposed to mean?” Luke asked, mock indignant.
The bus lumbered through dark city streets on its way to the highway. Luke had swung himself in beside Emmett like it was the natural thing, while the others all dozed around them.
“You're not exactly what my mama would call an example of a good Christian young man.”
Luke laughed, like he always loved to laugh. “Ye-ah, well, I'd have to agree with her on that. So is that what you're supposed to do when you're…what are you, Pentecostal…?”
“I'm Baptist. My grandpa was a preacher. My family takes it pretty seriously.”
“My family's Catholic but not so serious. You, like, go to church regular?”
“Not so much now, but growing up, sure, mama wouldn't have it any other way.”
“And you're supposed to get married early, being Baptist?”
Emmett laughed. “It's not like that. More like it was just expected in my family. You know…go to college, get a good job, get married, have kids.” Get accepted by the white world, he added in his head.
Luke glanced at him quizzically, like he was checking things off mentally. “And…you did 'em all, right? Your mama must be proud of you. You did everything just like you're supposed to.”
“I guess so. It just seemed to, kind of, follow on, one thing after the other.”
“I mean, my momma woulda liked me to do all those things too. College, job, family. But, man, I just couldn't see it.”
“You never went to college?”
“I never even finished high school. I knew what I wanted, I was never gonna do nothing else, so why pretend?”
“I always wanted to play music too but my mama would never hear of that being a full-time thing. Just something to do on the side once I got all the real adult stuff taken care of.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Luke settled himself against Emmett's shoulder. “This still a side thing for you?”
That was the question, wasn't it? “So far,” Emmett said. He lifted an arm to make room for Luke. “I guess.”
***
Outside a motel near Columbia, Missouri, Luke tilted his chair back to lean against the wall and picked out notes on his acoustic guitar. The afternoon sun slanted into his eyes so he shut them and concentrated on the new melody he was working on to fit some lyrics he'd drafted the night before.
Today was an off day, no gig, and they wouldn't start driving till later in the evening. Luke had already met with Jerry, called Wanda, and walked into town with Ray and José to look for more t-shirts to wear on stage. Nothing left to do now but perfect his craft.
He opened his eyes and saw Emmett headed towards his own room, a laundry bag slung over his shoulder.
“Hey, Em!” The chair dropped onto the ground and Luke leaned forward to wave at him. “Finished your chores? Come sit with me.”
Emmett flashed his sunny smile and nodded. “I'll just drop this off.”
In a minute he was back, looking breezy and cool in sunglasses, sandals and a loose unbuttoned shirt. “Working on something new?” he asked, taking a chair on the other side of the table.
“Yeah.” Luke played a couple of idle notes and gave Emmett an admiring glance. “You get a haircut today?”
“Yeah, Ray recommended this place in town. What do you think?”
“Looks sharp. I been thinking it's time to ditch the long hair, get with the times. Leave the hippy stuff behind.”
Emmett reached over to muss up Luke's long thick curls. “Hard for you to go wrong with those locks.” He pulled a harp out of his shirt pocket and blew into it gently, adding a little harmony to Luke's tentative guitar lines.
They played together for a few minutes, Luke murmuring some of the words he'd written and trying different notes while Emmett instinctively adjusted his accompaniment to match. Then Luke dropped the guitar onto his lap and turned toward Emmett.
“Hey, man, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” Emmett lowered the harmonica and looked at him curiously.
“Last night when we got in and I asked if you wanted a drink, you said no, right? But then later…I happened to look in the bar and there you were with Gordie.”
They faced each other across the table. Emmett had a fixed neutral expression, and Luke tried to appear casual. “I mean, I got no problem with that but I just wondered. You change your mind?” He paused. “I thought we were pals too.”
Emmett laughed. “Sure we are.” He folded his arms on the table and gave Luke a sudden affectionate look. “It's not that. I guess I'm just not used to hanging out with the boss.”
“The boss?” Luke frowned and picked up the guitar again to help himself think. “I'm not ...”
“You are, though.”
They were silent for a moment, Luke strumming irritably and not sure where his sudden annoyance came from. Didn’t he want to be the boss of this band? Why did it feel like an affront for Emmett to think of him as one? “Listen. You remember that contract you signed before we left?”
“Sure.”
“It says we're splitting all the money from this tour equally, right? So how am I the boss? In the studio, sure, okay, that's another story. But on tour ain't we all the same? No one's boss here, 'cept for maybe Jerry.”
Emmett was looking at him with a funny mix of skepticism, amusement and a kind of sympathy. “Or José,” he suggested, smiling. “Sometimes I feel like he's in charge of everything.”
“All the important stuff,” Luke agreed, cooling down instantly. “Lights. Outfits. Hair.”
“Ray's in charge of hair.”
Luke resumed his nascent song, trying out the last arrangement again while Emmett added the harp. “Guess I'll have to ask him about cutting mine all off then.”
***
“Sandwich?” Luke held one out to Emmett, sliding into the seat beside him.
“No thanks, I ate well.” Emmett grinned and patted his jacket pocket. “And I have a few tucked away for later.”
The bus engine hummed, street lamps slipped away outside the window, and inside the other seats were shrouded in shadows.
Luke wolfed down his sandwich hungrily. “Didn't get time to eat. Great show tonight. Hey, thanks for covering for me back there.”
“No problem. Not my first time on stage with a guitarist with a broken string.”
“I liked that little bridge you did, the ‘Road Runner’ riff.”
“My brother taught me that years ago, he said it's always good when you need a filler.”
“You got a brother that plays too?” Luke finished the sandwich and pulled out a beer to wash it down.
“Everyone in my family plays something. We're all musical. I guess it's kind of a church thing.”
“Not in my church.”
“Maybe that's why y'all don't go.”
Luke laughed. “How many brothers n' sisters you got?”
“Two of each. What about you?”
“Just one sister, she's younger. Way smarter 'n me.”
“What does she do?”
“She's in college right now. Penn State – that where you went?”
“I started at Lincoln, then switched to PSU.”
“On a scholarship?”
“Athletic scholarships, yeah.”
“Julie's lucky, she got a full ride, otherwise she'd never afford it. My folks can't do much for her.”
“My parents would move heaven and earth to make sure we got to college. They think it's the way forward for us.”
Luke glanced at him and nodded thoughtfully. “What do they do?”
“Mama's a teacher. My father has a small food market. How about yours?”
“Well, they’re divorced now. My dad's a steelworker and my momma still works in a cafeteria at the plant. I guess your family all gets along?”
Emmett smiled. “We're pretty close, I guess.”
“Not us,” Luke said moodily. He tossed the empty bottle aside and made himself comfortable against Emmett. “You grow up in Philly?”
“No, in Virginia. My folks are still there.”
“So you came to Philly for school and then…” Luke's speech grew slower as the post-show adrenaline drained away. “…mmm…and then never left?”
“Pretty much.”
“Lucky us, I guess.”
“What about you? Did you grow up in Philadelphia?”
“Not exactly, in Hatboro PA – small town, about twenty miles away. Of course I went into the city whenever I could. Man, I couldn't wait to leave home.”
They laughed and the conversation went on, the two of them quietly exchanging personal histories and stories, Luke's head dropping slowly against Emmett's shoulder, until the rhythm of motion and the encompassing darkness lulled them both into sleep.
***
After Columbia, Emmett and Gordon often stopped by Luke's room to invite him along for a late-night drink. Luke would try to reciprocate by suggesting breakfast together the next morning, though most days he was too late.
“I'm still on that early morning kids and work schedule,” Emmett explained a bit sheepishly. “I'm up by eight every morning, no matter when we get in. My breakfast was hours ago.”
Luke tended to sleep till twelve and wander into the nearest restaurant in the early afternoon. Soon Emmett started sauntering in to join him, often with some of the others, saying he was ready for lunch by this time. Luke loved the group discussions where they'd hash over the events of the night before, the latest disasters and successes, the audience, the women, the drunks, the magical moments and near catastrophes.
Afterward the other guys would head off to their own activities, but Emmett usually stayed behind for one more beer with Luke. Jerry, who also slept late to ensure he was in good shape for the long night drives, sometimes joined them to go over logistics or contract issues with Luke. When the talk turned to business, Emmett would listen quietly without joining in, and sometimes ask Luke questions after Jerry left, as though curious and eager to learn.
“So that bar in Ann Arbor, it's part of a chain? And the contract was for five shows at the same chain?”
“Yeah, Jerry's been tryin' to settle on the fifth one but looks like we're good for Knoxville now.”
“I guess that means we'll go from Lexington to Greensboro through Knoxville then, right?”
Luke laughed. “I dunno, geography ain't my thing. If you say so.”
“Seems like we aren't going to make it back to Philly by June.”
“Don't know that was ever likely. I think the record company wants to keep us out as long as possible, now they've invested in all this.”
Emmett nodded soberly, and Luke knew he was thinking about his life back home.
“Listen, don't worry, we'll get you back to visit with your family soon. I think we have a break coming up after Jackson, you should be able to go home for a day or two.”
“That sounds good.”
“Hey, Mountain, something I been meaning to tell you.” Luke used the nickname when he was thinking about their onstage performances. “You don't need to worry about me when I'm out in the audience.”
It had taken Luke a while to bring this up because in truth he liked the way Emmett watched out for him – it made him feel safe and protected. But he didn't want to be shielded from his fans. His whole desire, his goal in life, was to build a kind of sacred bond between himself and his audience. That was why he put himself out there, night after night. And then, the incident with Art had shaken him, especially the parts he hadn't been aware of. Emmett's physical strength and power could be overwhelming. If some hapless fool provoked him into violence, that was one thing, but Luke didn't want to be responsible for it.
“I don't?” Emmett gave him a dubious, concerned look. “It seems like some of those people want to take you home with them.”
“I'm not saying I don't need to worry. I'm saying you don't. It's not your job.”
“Sure, maybe not, but I don't see anyone else looking out for you. Mark can't be out there in the crowd when he's managing the equipment backstage. And it's dangerous, man – you're going to break a leg on those cables or get hit by a beer bottle.”
“The venues are supposed to provide security.” Luke spoke more firmly. He’d steeled himself up for this conversation, and having his decision questioned rankled. “I was just workin' with Jerry on some revised contracts. From now on, if anyone gets hurt we get a bonus added to our fee.”
“More money isn't going to help when you're at the hospital in traction,” Emmett said sharply.
“Okay, it's not perfect, but I don't want you doing security, Em.” Luke tried not to let his voice rise. “You're not a bouncer or a stagehand. I want you up on the stage where you belong.”
“If you say so. So much for not being the boss, I guess.”
Luke was only too aware of his own hypocrisy. He couldn’t stop the sudden hot streak of misdirected anger that flooded him. “It's in your fucking contract! Trumpet, harp, backing vocals – that's your job.”
His frustration was instantly replaced with regret when he saw the flash of betrayal on Emmett's face. “I'm sorry,” Luke said, wincing. He took a breath, then reached for Emmett's heavy hand and held it in both of his own. “I didn't mean it like that. I just think you don't know how important you are to the band right now.”
Emmett didn't pull away but his face was closed off, and Luke had the sinking feeling of weeks of effort thrown away.
“I don't mean to tell you what to do. And I appreciate you lookin' out for me, I always have. But it's not fair to let you do two jobs – well, three actually, since we're all roadies as well.” Did that get him a hint of a smile? “The thing is, Em, you're not getting all that limelight on stage just because I'm a nice guy. I know what I got. Don't you see how the audience responds to you?”
Emmett turned his head slowly toward Luke, dark eyes narrowing in confusion behind his glasses. “What do you mean,” he said, a guarded statement more than a question.
“They can't take their eyes off you,” Luke said bluntly. “I see it all the time. They're following me until you start playing and then half the crowd is only focused on you.”
“Well, that's not my fault.” Emmett sounded a bit exasperated. “You're the one who told me…”
“I ain't complaining!” Luke almost laughed. “You can't help being the coolest guy in the room. You make the act more exciting; I got no problem with that. I'm just saying that's why you're here – you're a part of the show, not the support.”
Emmett didn't answer, his expression hard to read.
“I know what I got, man,” Luke repeated quietly. He was about to take his hand away when he felt it squeezed gently.
“So do I,” Emmett said.