Page 1 of The Sounds of Her
Chapter One
“If I see your dick in my face one more time, I’m gonna rip out my eyeballs,” I say to Nick in disgust.
He’s lounging on a couch in the green room backstage. We are going on a live talk show to talk about our tour, new music and life in BreakNeck.
Nick sits up and looks through the window. He rolls his eyes and leans back, taking out his phone as if he doesn’t care directly opposite the building, is a monster sized billboard advertisement for the underwear campaign he did last year. If the nonsense in the press is to be believed, fans were fainting in the streets at the size of his package, although I don’t believe that shit. It’s not that big. Fucker.
Our popularity is at an all-time high as we reach the end of the North America and Canada leg of our world tour. We finished three months of shows across Europe, and after a brief break, the last two months have been working our way across the States.
We performed our twentieth show in Vancouver tonight, before we head off to Seattle and the last three shows in the US. Then we fly out to South Asia and Australia.
There is a break planned in between. It won’t all be fun though, we’re filming a music video and will still do press. We have a big event planned that includes five full days of relaxation. And the secret we’ve been keeping for a long time, Adam and Jenna’s wedding.
“It could be worse, Archer. You could have his bare scrotum on your cheek.” Adam gives me a dirty look, then shudders.
He’s at the water cooler filling up a paper cup. Our lead singer is antsy, and when he gets like this, he can’t sit still.
Adam hates doing talk shows, especially live ones. You never know what they’re going to ask you, and he doesn’t like surprises. Bianca, our manager, drills into every person who interviews us, ask one wrong question and we walk. It’s never happened before. We’re deft at deflection now, after eleven years of doing this.
Bianca isn’t with us right now. Her assistant, Dale, is travelling with us. He’s a hell of a lot easier going than our dragon bitch manager.
People may find her abrasive and unlikeable, but I appreciate everything she has done for us. You need to be tough in this industry and she pulls no punches. It pisses the guys off when she is tough on them. The things she books us for, keeps us relevant. Not that our music doesn’t speak for itself, but without B pushing us, we could have faded, given we’ve been doing this for over a decade.
Following the chat, we’re playing a couple of songs in an unplugged performance.
But the music won’t be the centre of attention today.
The gigantic cock on display outside will be the topic of conversation. Like it is at every interview since Nick did that underwear campaign.
“Why do you say it like it’s something that happened?” Elsa asks after Adam’s comment.
For the past three months, Elsa has worked exclusively with us on any photoshoot, music video, or television appearance as our official make-up artist. Sometimes she is away with Instinct, the underwear designers that catapulted Nick’s manhood into the stratosphere. Not that I’m jealous or anything.
No one answers Elsa.
“Ew, that happened?” She stops and turns to her boyfriend when the room goes quiet.
Nick holds up his hands. “Nothing to do with me.” He grins at Adam.
“They’re best friends for a reason,” Jordan, our drummer, pipes up.
That fucker has been uncharacteristically quiet. He has to pop up with a stupid comment. Of course, both of them were there to witness that whole fucking mess.
“It was about eight years ago, a faulty door on the bus,” Nick explains.
Adam finishes his water and sits back down, with a good distance between us this time, like I might whip my dick out and hit him with it. I’m lucky he didn’t kill me that day.
“This asshole,” Adam points at me. “Fell out of the damn bathroom on an old tour bus as it went over a pothole and knocked me on my ass as I was innocently passing by. His balls touched my face.”
Elsa bursts out laughing. I’m surprised he told the story. We’d been sworn to secrecy all those years ago. It never passed the walls of the tour bus, or our lips.
“How you got a billboard sized photo of my artfully photographed dick and being tea-bagged by your best friend to sound similar is truly remarkable.”
Jordan busts up as he gets out of the make-up chair. I can’t help but laugh too. Shit, it wasn’t me with a ball sack in my face.
“That isn’t the worst of what happened in the old days,” Jordan says wistfully.
Elsa side-eyes him. She’s good friends with Jordan’s girlfriend, Alessa.