FicWad

“I’m going to a meeting with the label,” Brian said. “You all have to stay on the bus.”
Everyone protested loudly.
“But why?” Amanda asked.
Brian placed the bowl of sliced strawberries on the table. “Because it’d look three thousand kinds of wrong to see an obviously an under-age black girl to get off a bus in what the public thinks there are five—six if you include me—grown white men residing. Much less FIVE of you getting off and on. Then people’ll think there’s one girl for each of you and there goes our career. Not to mention social workers and CPS and the Feds. We have MJ and R. Kelly to thank for that.”
“I don’t think Michael touched that kid,” Milana said, spearing a strawberry and dunking it in pepper as Regina made a face at Milana’s taste preferences.
“I don’t either,” Brian said. “But it’s what the majority public thinks. We have to stay away from that. The NAACP would be all up my ass.”
“So we really have to stay on this bus?” Jill said. “All day?”
Brian swallowed a bite of pancake. “Yep,” he reached for the syrup. “Besides, that’s what you all do anyway when you’re not performing or making an appearance. There’s not much of a difference now.”
“But it’s stuffy on here!”
“I wanna go to the store!”
“What about my morning run?”
“Jill—open the windows. Regina—if there’s anything you need from the store let me or one of the roadies know. Amanda—the run is simply going to have to wait.” Brian put his butter knife firmly on the table as if the matter was settled.
Brian stood. “Now. Finish eating, and just clean the place up.” He wiped his face with a napkin. “I won’t be long, I promise.” Brian playfully tugged at Milana’s chestnut brown hair. “Milana, no tantrums while I’m out.”
“But what if—”
“Absolutely no tantrums. Someone hears you screaming, calls the cops, and then we’re toast.”
“I like toast.”
“Jill, eat your oatmeal.”
Brian grabbed his coat. He kissed everyone on the head. “Be good, okay?” Brian pleaded. “Pixie, go get back in bed.” Brian touched Gerard’s forehead. “You’re still really, really warm.”
“But I haven’t finished my cornpone yet.”
Brian looked at the bowl of barely-eaten of cornpone. “Don’t worry about it,” Brian said, lifting Pixie out of her seat and carrying her to his bed. “I’ll bring a comic book back for you.”
Pixie turned over. “Just not Speedball,” she said weakly.
Brian grinned. “I would never offend your eyes in such a manner.”
Pixie smiled feebly. “Thank you.”
Brian started towards the front of the bus. “Brian,” Pixie whispered. He turned around and sat on the bed. He put his hand on Pixie’s chest. “Yes?” Brian asked.
“I love you,” Pixie whispered.
A lump rose in Brian’s throat. His eyes misted. “I love you, too.”

******

“I’m not liking that much,” Brian said.
“It has nothing to do with what you like, Schechter,” Earl Glasgow said. “A contract is a contract. We have to hit that three million mark. Otherwise, you go under and MCR is released from Warner Brothers Records.”
“Released?” Brian said.
“As in ‘dismissed’,” Earl said.
“But the circumstances are—”
“Not my problem. See you next week, Schechter.”
“See you next week.”



They all sat at the table, not saying a single word.
“Please eat, girls,” Brian pleaded.
Amanda, Regina, Jill, Milana, and Pixie shook their heads, tight-lipped.
Brian sighed. “You know how Glasgow is. You really wanted to be dropped from the label?”
Silence.
“Fine. I’ll call him right now. I can always manage another band.” Brian reached for his cell phone.
“NO!!!”
Brian put his phone in his pocket. “That’s what I thought.”
“You’re being so manipulative,” Milana said.