How Not To Be A Groupie

"Just have them back by tomorrow," the roadie said, unlocking the trunks.

"I was thinkin' we might postpone the tour," Malcolm said. "We'll hide our guitars somewhere in the hotel an' you try to find 'em." He smiled proudly at his idea. 

"We could have some fans come in and find them," the roadie said. "They'd love that."

"Nah, can't do that," Angus said. "I'd like to have my guitar back if ya' don't mind." 

"You've got three or some here," Malcolm said, opening a trunk. "What's one missin'?" Stevie helped Malcolm pull his guitar out, pushing some cords out of the way. Angus grabbed a black guitar from a different trunk, along with a strap. I looked in the trunks, curious to know what was in them all. I knew some held microphones and a set of them held Phil's drum set in different pieces. Underneath a mic stand there was a round, white object sitting at the bottom of the trunk. Pushing the mic stand aside, I grabbed it and held it up. 

It was a man's sports cup.

"Hey, ya' found it," Malcolm said. He took it from me and I gave him a questioning and disgusted look. 

"What the hell was that doing in there?" I asked. 

"Sometimes the crew plays a round or two of footie while settin' up," Malcolm said. "We lost one of these a while ago."

"An' you were the lucky one," Stevie smiled. Yeah, lucky like finding a hair in your food...

"You're sure it's clean?" I asked. Malcolm looked it over, turning it over in his hand. 

"Hmm...no," he laughed and I groaned. "Can't be sure, no."

"We're not takin' the amps, are we?" Angus asked, still giggling. "Don't imagine that'd make the staff happy."

"Course we are, how the hell are we supposed to hear anything?" Malcolm said. "Still asleep or somethin', Ang?" Angus sniffed and rolled his eyes, knowing good and well his question was not an outrageous one. "We'll jus' turn 'em down a bit, now you lot help get 'em out..."

After transferring all the instruments and amplifiers inside the hotel with the roadie's help, I stopped to have a look around, my arms sore and shaking. I suppose when the boys said 'party room' they really meant a hotel ballroom meant for receptions and reserved parties. A large room composed of only a few stray chairs and an ugly patterned carpet, I was surprised this wasn't the room used for breakfast. It was certainly big enough. Perhaps it wasn't close enough to the kitchens. Stevie and Angus got the amplifiers hooked up to their guitars, fiddling around with the volume. Plucking a string ever so delicately then hurrying to turn the dials the other way as the blast filled every corner of the room. My whole body vibrated with the noise. "Don't the roadies turn these down before putting 'em away?" Angus asked. 

"No point," Malcolm said. "They'd be goin' back an' forth every night, we play pretty loud." He turned to me, leaving his brother and nephew to swear and adjust. "Not too loud for ya', is it?"

"I'm sure it won't be in a few minutes," I said, my ears still ringing. 

"Ya' don't have to stay with us," he said. At first I thought he meant in general. As in, I didn't have to be their 'groupie' anymore and he was sending me away. But then he said, "If ya' want to save your skin an' leave us no goods to get in trouble..."

"I'm staying," I insisted. "How often do I get my own private concert?"

"How often do ya' get to travel back in time?" Malcolm asked. He looked like he wanted to say more on the subject but Stevie came over and he changed his mind. Stevie handed Malcolm his guitar, still tuning one last string.