My Heart Is The Worst Kind Of Weapon

“All passengers on Flight 307 from Odessa, Texas leaving to Belleville, New Jersey, please board now.”

I grabbed my two carry-on items and headed towards the flight attendants who were checking everyone’s passports.

Once I was comfortably seated on the plane and it had taken off into the air, I opened my laptop.

Demelsa had given me all the information I needed, just like she promised. I had tour locations and dates, venue and hotel addresses, information on the band and sound crew, all stored in my precious laptop.

I smiled as I logged into my email account, clicking on a new email from Dylan.

Lindsey love – don’t miss me too much! I love you so much & don’t forget it babe. I’ve got all the wedding arrangements taken care of, just have a blast and call me often!
Love you more, muah muah muah
Dylan

I silently thanked God that Dylan was so understanding. As soon as I got back from my brief trip to the office I told him about the new tour I agreed to do. Rather than getting angry at me, like I stupidly thought, he was happy for me and instantly assured me he could take care of the wedding issues while I was away.

Our wedding was now set for July the 4, four months after the tour ended.

Admittedly, I was slightly worried that without me there, Dylan would get lazy and not decide to plan the wedding, leaving me with a heck load to do when I got back from this tour.
I admitted this fear to Georgina, who told me she and Andy, Dylan’s best friend and best man, would help keep the stress from causing Dylan a nervous breakdown. I was eternally grateful for my loving friends.

I leaned back into the seat, loading up a profile on My Chemical Romance. The band had been pretty successful in it’s previous tours, which made me happy. It meant they would be used to the pressures of touring. They had released two CD’s prior to the one they were touring for now, as well as a DVD titled Life On The Murder Scene.

There were five members to the band, and I scanned over there names listlessly. Bob, Gerard, Frank, Ray and Mikey. Easy enough to remember.

I double-checked their pictures so I would recognize them on sight. This was one of the things Demelsa insisted we do, as she claimed it was professional to know the names of the band members before you even met them.

First impressions were everything in Demelsa’s book.

That’s why I was wearing a grey, knee length business skirt with a matching grey blouse. My hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and my makeup was minimal. Slight trace of black eyeliner, pale pink lipstick, and a bit of blush.

I sighed happily, closing my laptop and leaning back into my seat, enjoying the relaxing air of the airplane.

**

I stood in the Belleville Airport, feeling slightly stupid as I held up a sign in front of one of those taxi-vans. The sign had the words My Chemical Romance written on it.

I was standing in a secluded part of the taxi pickup/ drop off of the airport, having earlier been informed that these guys were pretty famous, and I should try and get them out of the airport in one piece.

Suddenly a clanging noise met my ears, and I turned to see five guys, hoods over their heads, walking quickly toward me. As they got closer, I recognized the one with the afro, realizing this was My Chemical Romance. Wordlessly, I slid open the door and stepped away, watching as they clambered into the van one by one.

Once they were all in, I shut the door and opened the passenger door. I hopped in, nodding to the driver, who promptly began to drive out of the airport.

“Do you have our bags?”

“Yes, they’re in the car behind us.” I told the one that had spoken, recognizing him as Mikey.
There was silence for a minute, then, “And where are your bags?”

“In the trunk.” I said coolly.

We drove for twenty minutes in an awkward silence. All the guys had pulled their hoods down, except for one. He was sitting in the way back, his slow rising chest telling me he was asleep.

The four guys I knew as Gerard, Ray, Mikey and Bob were all staring out the windows, obviously at a loss for what to say.

“Alright boys,” I said, deciding to break the silence by giving a run down of today’s schedule, “Right now we’re heading to the Sandman Hotel. Once we’re there I’ll go over the schedule for the week, as well as rules you must oblige too.”

“Are you our tour manager?” The man named Gerard asked, surprise etched in his tone.
“I am.” I replied shortly.

“Oh wow, you look so professional I thought you were just our chauffeur or something.” Gerard said sheepishly. Mikey, Ray and Bob chuckled.

“No.” I said again, leaving my answers short and sweet.

After that, the silence was broken as the four guys talked loudly, asking me questions about who I had toured with, what was the most embarrassing thing to have happened to me, etc.
Each time I responded with a short answer. This went on for another twenty minutes, until the guys, finally realizing I wasn’t in the mood for 20 questions, shut up.

“You don’t talk much do you?” A voice, unrecognizable, came from the back of the taxi-van.
I just shook my head, feeling slightly surprised that the fifth man, Frank, had been awake this whole time, listening to me.

We arrived at the Sandman Hotel, our taxi-van pulling to a stop. I got out of the car, throwing the driver two twenty-dollar bills.

The five guys jumped out of the van, ambling over to the identical one that had pulled in behind us carrying the men’s luggage.

I grabbed two of my own suitcases, instructing the taxi-van driver to grab the other one, as well as my laptop case, and walked into the lobby of the hotel.