Read Online Courtship of the Cake by Jessica Topper - Free Book Online Page B

the evenly distributed paint job and my barely there thong. I marveled at how the natural camouflage of design and color presented itself in such a way that tricked the eye into believing you were covered. I felt fully clothed, although the air temperature told me different.
    As did my boss, who took one look at me and fired me on the spot.
    Apparently I had collected quite the crowd as I danced my way back to the artist compound.
    â€œI told you this position required a high level of respect andprofessionalism,” Maxine raged, making a holy production out of unclipping the laminate from my lanyard in front of all my colleagues. “Parading around in your altogether? Soliciting musicians, on their buses? That doesn’t fly with me, and it certainly won’t fly with the promoters. I told you this was a one-strike job. I won’t have you jeopardizing our entire team with your antics. This was your last show. Out you go.”
    â€œAntics? You can’t be serious?” Jade countered. “Who hasn’t gone into the crowd to blow off steam, on an off day? Come on. Dani is our best masseuse.”
    â€œCorrection. Dani is
my
best masseuse.”
    The crowd parted as Nash stepped forward. His bare chest was slick with sweat and heaving with an exhilaration that could only come from having sex, or having just played to a crowd of twenty thousand.
    It had been his music, pouring from the speakers and washing over me on the hill.
    Mind. Officially. Blown.
    â€œI wouldn’t have let her onto my bus if I had had any doubts as to her respect and professionalism.” He took his own Artist laminate that was threaded through the belt loop of his low-slung, tattered jeans and replaced my Working badge. “You’ve earned this.”
    Turning to Maxine, he added, “She stays on this tour. With me.”

Fool on the Hill

    Life didn’t change too much on the road as part of Nash’s entourage. The cities still blurred as we made our way back up north. Go Get Her continued to draw the faithful thousands each night, and Nash was in his element, holding court after each set like the king of the world. But I felt like a court jester, just along for the ride. I was grateful for the protective bubble my “I’m with the band” status provided, but once the embarrassment of the incident subsided, regret set in. The Artist pass gave me license to bypass Maxine, but I missed the rest of my tour family in hospitality. I was just biding my time as I skirted closer to home and the looming task of figuring out my next big move. Summer tour couldn’t last forever.
    I hated glossing over my predicament to my parents, whose phone calls always wound their way back to asking when I was going to come back home and to my senses. And to “put that education to good use.” Just because I wasn’t wearing a white lab coat and appearing on someone’s explanation of benefits didn’t mean I was working in some back-alley rub-and-tug establishment.
    But I wasn’t exactly earning a salary or a 401(k), either.
    â€œNash needs you for a one-off gig,” Riggs said one day in catering, fiddling with the creamers on the table. Up they went into a pyramid, before he shuffled them down into a line across the checked tablecloth like little white pawns in chess.
    Bands loved the chance to play a one-off. There was no need to carry production or backline, it’s all waiting for you there—lights, sound, the works. You just roll into town, bring the party, and get paid handsomely for it. But trying to sneak in a one-off gig while out on a contracted festival tour sounded a little like a guy trying to grab a quickie with another woman while on his honeymoon—way too much of a hassle and a risk.
    â€œWhen could he possibly fit in a one-off? This tour goes straight through Labor Day, and any show Go Get Her plays around here would break Minstrels’ radius clause,