“Why?” I ask as I receive mine.

“We’ll be shipping them to radio stations and doing online giveaways through Dean’s website. People who purchase a VIP ticket to the show will also get one.”

I look over the picture again. Cool. I get to autograph something.

When Roxanne’s hands are empty she reaches into the over-sized canvas tote she always carries and pulls out two packages of Sharpies. She hands them to Dean. “I’m giving the swag to you now because I have a dinner meeting with Ariel’s manager. We need the posters signed by tomorrow and there’s five hundred here.”

“Okay.” Dean juggles the items in his hands. “I say we set this stuff down and –”

“PA-SSSSSSHHH!”

A pop followed by loud hissing noise makes us all jump and duck. I turn around and see plumes of white smoke being shot into the air at the back of the stage. There must be twenty air-pressured jets shooting the mist sky high. It’s so loud we can’t do anything but stare until the test is over. When the jets stop, a damp fog drifts over us.

“All these effects can’t be safe for the dancers,” I think out loud. “Someone is going to fall and kill themselves.”

“That’s why they make more money than you,” Roxanne says matter-of-factly. “They’re trained for this.”

I meet her eyes and frown. The woman doesn’t have a filter.

“Let me explain why.” She holds both hands in front of her, palms up, and shifts them like a scale. “Headliner, opening act. Established musician, former guitarist starting over. Practices that have taken place since the tour was established, one week of rehearsals. Do you see a theme here?”

Way to make me feel small, Rox. “Thanks for clearing that up,” I say sarcastically.

She doesn’t react to my tone. “Well,” she claps her hands together, “I’m off. I need to meet Mason and discuss uploading your merchandise to the tour store. I also want to add a link on Ariel’s webpage. I swear, you’d think these things would be easy, but ...” She drifts off. “Anyway, I’ll see you all bright and early. Remember you have a radio interview at ten. I need you alert and happy, so turn in early, okay?  This could be the last decent night of sleep you get for a while. Call me if you need me.”

She walks away and our collective group of eyes follows her. Once she’s out of sight, tense voices can be heard from the opposite direction. Our attention shifts to the left, and we see some arguing crew. Drew clears his throat.

“I say we ditch this joint. Let’s find some drinks, sign this shit, and celebrate. The tour starts in twenty-four hours.” He looks around the group. “Who’s with me?”

Paul’s hand shoots up first and mine follows. Dean gives us an exasperated look. “Guys. I think we should run through the set at least one more time.”

I walk over and nudge his arm with my elbow. “We got this.” I sound more confident than I am, but I think a break is in order.  I can tell we’re starting to stress, Dean more so than the rest of us. We’ve been going non-stop since we flew into L.A. “Let’s relax,” I say. “All of these stage surprises have us on edge.”

Dean remains silent.

“C’mon.” I give him an exaggerated pouty face before Drew and Paul do the same.

“Fine,” Dean concedes. “I could use some Jager.”

“Hell yeah!” Drew throws his fist in the air. “I dub this the first official party of the Renegade tour. Let’s go.”

It doesn’t take us long to leave our instruments and find the exit. As we step out into the summer night Drew says, “There’s a restaurant Mona told me about near L.A. Live. The Yard House. She said they have good food and it’s in walking distance.”

Paul looks doubtful. “You want to go somewhere our stylist recommended?”

“Would you rather pay for beer or cab fare?”

“Beer,” Paul says.

“That’s what I thought.”

Drew and Paul lead the way as we walk up some stairs and round the side of the Staples Center. Across the street is the Nokia Plaza. It’s lit up like Times Square by a huge LED screen and multiple smaller screens attached to six tall pillars. Latin music spills into the air from the open doors of a bar named The Conga Room and, after we walk across the space, we pass a Starbucks. My stomach growls for a Frappuccino, but I keep moving. Soon, I spot awnings printed with the Yard House name.

Glancing at Dean, I ask, “Is it weird we’re carrying our own promo material through downtown L.A.?”

He laughs. “If we were smart we’d start handing it out.” He looks at the people milling around. “Roxanne might kill us if we returned less than five hundred posters, though.”

“She’s …” My voice fades. “Are all managers like her?”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You mean direct and to the point?”

“I would have said crass and bossy, but yeah.”

He smiles. “I wouldn’t know. My only other manager was Audrey, and she was family.”

We arrive at the restaurant doors where the logo boasts “Great Food, Classic Rock, and the World’s Largest Selection of Draft Beer.” We follow Paul and Drew inside. After Paul flirts with the hostess, we end up seated at two small tables side by side. Dean and I are at one, and Drew and Paul are at the other. A waiter arrives to take our drink order, and I opt for a Gin and Ginger. Drew high-fives me over the back of my chair. “First official party.” He winks.

“Is this you guys?” The waiter eyes our posters.

“Yep,” Dean says. “You coming to Ariel’s show?”

“As a matter of fact I am. I got my girlfriend tickets for her birthday.”

“Great. What are your names?  I’ll give you a shout out tomorrow night.”

“You will?” The waiter looks surprised. “That would be awesome. I’m Chris and my girlfriend’s name is Whitney.”

Dean smiles. “I’m Dean. Nice to meet you.” He shakes Chris’ hand, then looks back at the menu. “I’ll take a Surly Furious, please.”

“Got it,” Chris says as my eyes dart to an ad on the table for the hoppy beer.

“What?  No Jager?” I tease, remembering the liqueur Dean said he needed.

“Not when there’s decent ale around.”

The waiter leaves to get Paul and Drew’s order, and Dean reaches for a package of markers and rips it open. “Better get started,” he says and flips me a pen. We spread out the posters and start signing them. I follow Dean’s lead and scrawl my name above my head. After signing a few, I find my cell and take a picture. I caption it #signingswag and send it to Latson. Then I post it to Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, and Twitter. I have to remember to do all four, since Snapchat and Twitter are new to me. Roxanne made me get the apps, so I was available to potential fans.

When Chris brings our drinks, he tells us they’re on the house. I surprised the drinks are free and accept mine with a grateful “thanks.” Dean thanks him as well before answering his vibrating phone. “Hey.” He takes a drink of his beer. “Yeah. Where are you?” He waits for their answer. “The Marriott by L.A. Live?  We’re across the street, at the Yard House.” He sets his glass down and picks up a pen. “Sure. We just got here.” He signs his name. “Okay. See you in a few.” He hangs up.

“Expecting someone?” I take a sip of my drink.

“Just Heidi.”

I nearly choke. “Heidi?  As in red-haired, bitch-face Heidi?”

Dean smirks. “Gunnar told me about your confrontation in his hallway. Did you not expect to see her on tour?”

I’d forgotten about that part of the conversation. “Does she know I’m here?”

“I didn’t tell her.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s none of her business who’s in my band.”

This ought to be interesting. “She’s going to be pissed when she finds out. You might lose a groupie.”

Dean shrugs. “It’s nice to have the girls around, but they’re not necessary. I let Heidi and her friends tag along because their reaction to the band stirs up interest. If she wants to play dirty, however, she can go. It makes no difference to me.”