London Calling

Adam After Eve decided to break all rules and have a ten song set. Not only was that unfair to both us and The Tower Falling, it was just plain rude. Techies have places to be. Venues need to close. I like to meet my fans without feeling like I'm going to fall over from sleep deprivation.

When they finally ended their set I was ready to go out on stage and end it for them.

James walked into the back room acting as if God himself had shat him out of his all holy ass and then sent him on his way to make musical genius. He grabbed the first bottle of water handed to him and poured it over his head, making an over all huge mess on the floor. The others stepped over the puddle on the floor and congratulated everyone else on a good show as James made his way out of the room and towards the merch tables. Mike apologized to the techies and laid out a whole roll of paper towel to soak up the mess before following James out. I just stared.

“He's such a douche,” I muttered when Chris nudged me, his cue to tell me that we were going out to greet fans. I jumped up and followed Rowan and Levi out to the crowd.

I was passed around like like a tightly rolled joint, taking pictures and signing things and giving hugs and thanking everyone for coming out to see us. A few guys who were probably just a bit drunk tried to make a pass but I politely jabbed them in the gut and walked away.

It was all so big and great and wonderful. I couldn't stop smiling. But as soon as it started it had to end, and we were piling back into the van to go back to the hotel.

I must've fallen asleep in the van because the next thing I knew I was waking up in my hotel room to the sound of someone knocking on my door.

“Hey, Alison? Ali-Bear? Wake uuuuup! Wake up.”

I let a low groan escape my throat before something that sounded like “Fifmorminuts” passed through my lips and fell into my pillow.

“I think she's alive guys, I just can't tell-Alison, wake up. We're gonna go be pretentious and write songs on Rowan's lap top at a coffee shop we found down the street. You know you like being pretentious at coffee shops, it's the hipster inside of you screaming to get out. Come ooooon, let's goooooooooooo.”

Fucking Chris. He knows exactly what I like. Damn him. Damn him to hell and back.

“Fine, Jesus, just-”

I caught a glance of the clock.

“Did you wake me up at six in the morning to get coffee? It's one in the morning at home guys what is wrong with you.”

The more authoritative knock of Rowan's fist now brought it's heavy doom on my door.

“Alison Costello, you will wake up now and go be pretentious with us at the mother fucking coffee shop we found down the street.”

“Fine, God, I hate you all.”

I rolled out of bed, did a quick pants change, grabbed a couple of whatever they call money here (quid? Pounds? Is that it? Jesus Christ, how do people live in this country) and my room key, then sluggishly left my room.

“Ali, you need shoes.”

“Yes, thank you Levi.”

I turned around and entered my room again and slipped on my old as hell pair of knock off Birkenstocks then followed them out of the hotel.

“Dude, you're more hipster than all of us without even trying.”

“Rowan actually is a hipster, don't you give me shit.”

“Hey.”

“You are Rowan, get over it.”

We laughed at Rowan all the way to the coffee shop, and he just got redder and redder until he was the color of a ripe tomato and let slip this jewel of a line.

“No, I was doing that before hipsters were doing that!”

We all looked at him. He stared back. Then he realized what he said and all the color drained from his face.

“No, wait, I mean-”

“HIPSTERCEPTION!”

He was our bitch now, no way he was ever living this down. I would personally make sure that on his grave would read, “Rowan Castrova. He died before dying was cool.”

We took our orders and spent about three hours at the coffee shop doing pretty much nothing but ordering more drinks and laughing at hipsters behind Rowan's lap top.

Sure, we're mean, but we're fun.

But then of course my fun had to be ruined.

He walked in.

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

James sauntered in like a zombie barely hanging on to both of his legs. His hair was pulled up out of his eyes and pajama pants clung to his boney hips. Sunglasses hid most of his face, but also made him look like a Drag Queen on her day off.

I went to take a sip of tea, not taking my eyes off his stupid little pony tail, but all I sucked up was cold air.

“Augh. No. Someone get me another cup of tea.”

“No, get it yourself.”

“But he's there!”

“Suck it up. You're both singers, you're both on tour together.”

“But Rowan-”

“For the love of God, make nice. I don't want you two fighting like feral cats all summer.”

I groaned and slugged my way up behind him, praying to god he wouldn't notice me.

Please god, don't notice me. Buy your coffee and leave. Please, please, please.

I heard him mumble out his order in whatever accent that was and I thought I was home free. But then he turned around and practically jumped out of his skin.

“Oi, whot 're yeh doin' 'ere? Followin' meh?”

“No. I'm ordering tea. Mind your own business.”

“It is mah business when yeh come up behind meh like ah shadow in the nigh'.”

“Well, aren't we all descriptive – Medium chai please, thanks.”

“Now yer orderin' whot I order?”

“Dude, calm down. This is my regular order. Get off my case.”

James glared at me suspiciously from behind his Aviators. He continued to do so while we were forced to wait together.

“You look like a hung over drag queen.”

“Whot-Noh, I do no'!”

“Yes you do, look at yourself.”

“Noh.”

“'No?' No you won't look at yourself, or no you don't look like a hung over drag queen?”

Was that a flash of a grin I just saw or-

“Excuse me, miss?”

I turned. The barista was holding two jugs of milk and looking confused.

“Yeah?”

“Did you say whole or skim milk?”

“Oh, sorry, did I forget milk? That always happens. Whole, thanks.”

“Yeh really ahre followin' meh.”

“What?”

“Yeh ordered mah exact drink.”

“Well, I'm sorry that I drink chai to wake up, your majesty.”

He pulled his trade mark scowl before snatching his cup from the counter and stalking off. Well then. That was an adventure. I took my own cup from that barista with a smile, then went back to the boys.

“I hate all of you.”

“You talked.”

“About how he thinks I'm STALKING HIM. I was here first! He's stalking me!”

“Dude, he smiled at you.”

“Yeah, Levs, it was like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs and go to the store, can we go now?”

“Yes, Ali, we can go, but only after you hear this thing Levi wrote on a napkin while we were stalking hipsters.”

So I listened. And it was fucking delicious. Maybe we should just let Levi write all the songs and leave it at that.

We ended up trolling through London for most of the day. Shopping, running around, eating, getting lost on the Underground. We even did obnoxious touristy things, like bothering the Palace Guard and going on the London Eye.

Touristy, but fucking breath taking.

When we finally got off the Eye we had to practically sprint all the way back to the venue to even be here in time to see the opening band. It was totally worth it though.

After the show I met so many cool people. Everyone wanted hugs and pictures with the guys. Somebody even wanted me to sign their guitar case.

Who the hell carries a whole GUITAR CASE to a show? Mad props to that bastard.

Eventually we had to pack everything up into the van so we could get to Colchester. It was about two in the morning and Levi was pretty much dead, but he still managed to be a crazy little shit.

“Levs, what are you doing?”

“Making a fort to sleep in.”

In the back of the van, Levi had made a fortress of sorts. Drum and guitar cases surrounded a mass of blankets and pillows that you had to assume had somehow been stolen from the hotel.

“Well, we can see that.”

“Levi,” Rowan warned in his serious voice, “We will not be paying for stolen goods from the hotel for you.”

“What? This blanket is mine! And this one! I brought them from home!”

“Yeah, okay.”

I took a more thorough look over the structure. There were many issues with the foundation and no way to actually keep the walls up.

“Levi, you're going to be crushed when the bus turns.”

“Am not.”

I gave him a look that everyone knew well. It was the “Levi if you die from this you can't say I didn't tell you so” look. He shrugged in his classic “I'll risk it” response.

At 2:30 we finally left, following Adam After Eve's bus. I didn't know how long it would take to get to Colchester, but we didn't book a hotel for the night.

Van sleep over time.

Because Levi decided to risk his life in the back with the Leaning Tower of Equipment, Chris and I got the middle seat to ourselves. Which really mean that Chris fell asleep almost right away, sitting up, with his face pressed awkwardly to the window and my head in his lap.

“Hey, Rowan? You awake?”

“Yeah, barely.”

“This is awesome right? You're having fun with the guys? And me?”

“Of course. Why?”

“I dunno. You're just...older, and in college, and the rest of us haven't even graduated yet, and we must seem really lame to you sometimes.”

“Lame in a good way.”

“How is that even possible?”

“It just is.”

“Don't you ever wish you just went to a normal college instead of traversing around foreign countries with high schoolers?”

“Don't be stupid. Playing with you guys is the best experience ever. Go to sleep, you're speaking nonsense.”

“Mmk.”

I had a pretty nice night's sleep. Other than when Levi grabbed my boob and kicked me in the face on his way to the middle floor area at three in the morning.

“Oi! Ow! Jesus, what're you doing!?”

“Sorry...the cases collapsed on me.”

I gave him an overly tired version of the “fucking told you” look before rolling over and shoving my face into Chris' stomach.

In the morning I was shook away, handed a cup of chai, then left alone to get dressed with a reminder that we had a radio interview today. Why should I get dressed for a radio interview? Not like anyone could see me besides the guys and the DJ. It just seems unnecessary. So I pulled on a pair of shorts over my tights and tied my dress up into a more shirt-like garment, then pulled on my boots.

Don't give me shit, I'm a rock star.

“Alright. Radio. Let's go.”

Chris shoved a finger in Levi's face.

“I see that twinkle in your eye. Don't you dare turn this into a Ramones song!”

“You know it'll happen,” Levi grinned, “It doesn't have to be now.”

“Oh, I hope you die some horrible, drum related death.”

“That'd be wicked. Cursed sticks and everything?”

“Damn skippy.”

They continued to discuss the outlines of Levi's death as we walked to the radio station. We had decided yesterday that since we would be sleeping in the van we would want to walk to the station with Matt leading us. Cabin fever and all.

The thing is that the radio station was farther than we thought. Half way there I demanded that Rowan give me a piggy back ride. Shortly after, Levi did the same thing with Chris. Then Matt. Then complained until Chris gave in.

We got to the station five minutes before our interview started, got lost in the building, then tumbled in just before they announced us.

“Well, speak of the devil, here's Casanova on Call now.”

We all piled into chairs and I leaned into the mic.

“Sorry we're late. We walked here then got lost in the building.”

“Don' worry 'bout it. So this is your first radio interview?”

“Yeah. Well, at least in the UK-”

“First interview on-”

“Levi, NO-”

“ROCK, ROCK, ROCK 'N ROLL RADIO.”

What happened next happened really fast. Chris tackled Levi to the floor. And Chris was swearing up a storm, so I sort've jumped in as the censor.

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU, YOU-”

“BLEEP.”

“MAY YOU PLAY WITH-”

“BEEP.”

“-ING CURSED DRUM STICKS AND SUMMON CUTHULU, DARK LORD OF ALL, AND LET HIM TAKE YOUR MOTHER-”

“BLEEEP.”

“-ING SOULD, YOU MOTHER-”

“BLEEP.”

“-ER.”

The whole room fell silent. Chris and Levi were on the floor in a tangled mess. Rowan was pressed to the back of his chair in utter shock and horror. I didn't realize I was on my feet until I turned to apologize to the DJ and hit the microphone with my face. The DJ –Jesus Christ, I didn't even know his name—looked outright scared.

“Well...that was exciting. We'll cut to commercial and be right back with Casanova on Call.”

Rowan exploded as soon as we were clear.

“What is WRONG with you two? This is LIVE RADIO.”

“Sorry, Rowan.”

“You guys are in so. Much. Trouble.”

The DJ laughed.

“Not really. Alison there managed to 'bleep' all of it and I didn't get a call from the station manager, so you're good. It was quite funny, actually.”

“See, Ro? We're funny!”

Rowan just smacked Levi upside the head.

We all got settled in our seats, with Rowan in between Chris and Levi so he could start any fights before they happened.

“Alright, we're back! It's me, Patrick, on your hit station with your favorite band, Casanova on Call. Hey, so what was that about, before we cut to commercial?”

I laughed nervously. This was a bit of a tense subject for the band.

“Well, uh, Levi is a big fan of classic punk. Like, American, British, you name it, he knows it. And, well-”

“Chris hates good, rebellious music,” Levi interjected.

“Levi, for the love of God, the Romones is not music. They are four chords put together with the same melody. It's not 'rebellious,' it's LAZY.”

Rowan had to stop Levi from killing Chris.

“I think we may have almost lost Levi once to this discussion, and that would've killed the whole band. Levi's the best drummer we could have.”

“Oh, alright, then we'll move away from this topic and onto this breaking story. Alison, you were spotted with James Alexander, lead vocals for your tour mates, Adam After Eve, in a coffee shop yesterday in London.”

“What?”

“Got this picture right here. For you listeners at home, James seems to be in his pajamas and grinning at a right joke from this blonde bomb shell on my own show. Care to explain?”

I looked at the picture. Oh dear lord, who was taking a picture of that? It looked horrible. And also really self explanatory without actually explaining the right story.

“Um, what would you want me to explain?”

“Is there any sort of...you know?”

“What? Ew! No. No. Jesus God, no. James and I are really not on speaking terms out of mutual dislike. Actually in this picture I was telling him he looked like a hung over drag queen. Where that idiot, cocky grin came from, I couldn't tell you.”

“Well, you've heard it here, everyone! James and Alison is definitely not a thing! So, let's move on to the tour, how's it going?”

The guys took over the interview from there. I would interject when I needed to, but my mind was focused on other things.

Why in all hell did James crack that stupid grin?

And why did I not hate him as I looked at it?