lody
The day after the Phoenix gig was scheduled to be a travel day. We got on the road early and would be pulling into Albuquerque late. Instead of riding on my bus, I decided to spend the morning on the band bus to work on a few new song ideas with Vick and Rod. Train was happy because he had a full day of riding ahead of him. I suppose I should say they were happy, as Train’s rry band of riders now included Puddin’ and his guitar tech, Ant.
Puddin’ picked up his bike from his ex while we were in Arizona. The bike hadn’t been ridden in years and was in rough shape, but Train helped Puddin’ get it road worthy. Picked up parts while we were on the road, and the two of them worked on it on our first day off, which I thought was sweet. Train obviously loved and looked up to Puddin’ so it made perfect sense that he’d shell out a few bucks and so man hours to help him out, but suddenly there was a new bike. This one was for Ant, and once again Train has taken care of paynt. So, Train either stole this bike, spent a good chunk of his tour paycheck on it, or he had more up his sleeve than I was aware of.
We pulled up to the Starbright Diner around lunchti and I waited on the bus while the others went inside and found tables. I told them I needed so ti to put my disguise on, which was only partially true. I could slip in and out of just about any disguise faster than Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, but the truth was, I wanted to wait for Train. To make sure we sat together at lunch so I could ask him about Ant’s new bike, and other things. I noticed Train often ate alone, or simply wasn’t around during altis. I found this a bit odd considering how sociable he normally is. I figured if I didn’t ask him to sit with at lunch, he might go off on his own again. Jesus, I sounded like thirteen-year-old .
Train’s personal MC pulled up and parked their bikes in front of the diner as I exited the bus.
"Oh, I get it now," I said as Train removed his helt. "You ride these things in order to get the primo parking."
Train smiled ear-to-ear and I swear I could feel my heart sweat.
"You look good as a brunette, and that’s a very nice...beret, is it?"
"Ouï. Je m’appelle Sophie...and I am a French foreign exchange student," I said dropping what little French I rembered from my tutors and instead adopted a horrible French accent that was even worse than my British accent.
"French foreign exchange student, eh?" Train said.
"If you say anything about my age, I’ll jam a baguette up your—"
He raised his hands in surrender with a laugh. "No ma’am. Never."
"In that case, I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with ?"
Train’s smile turned to a twitchy smirk, and he turned visibly three shades paler. "Uh, here? Now? Uh, Now?"
"You said that twice, but yeah," I giggled nervously. "It’s not a date or anything, I’d just like to get to know my guitar player a little better."
"Um..." Train’s eyes darted back and forth nervously.
"Look, if you’ve got plans or sothing—"
"No, I’m sorry." He sighed. "Thank you, I’d love to join you for lunch. We should probably talk anyway."
"Uh, oh. That sounds ominous," I said, my pulse elevating. "Please don’t tell you’re quitting the tour."
"What? No," Train said, his hands going to mine, then pulling back. "I’m sorry, I—"
"It’s okay," I said. "Let’s go inside and get a table."
Train
"Please allow , mademoiselle Sophie," I said, leading the incognito pop star inside the diner. One side of which had been taken over by our band.
"Do you mind if we find a place that’s a little quieter?" I asked, motioning to the other side of the diner.
"S’il vous plaît," she said with a nod.
We were greeted by a sweet-faced hostess nad June who looked like soone who jumped right off the cover of the Saturday Evening Post.
"You two by yourselves or are y’all with them folks?" she asked, motioning to the band, who were already carrying on like a school cafeteria table filled with class clowns.
"Mon dieu!" lody gasped, her hand going to her chest.
"As if Sophie and I would ever associate with riffraff like that," I said, adopting a stuffy tone.
"Oh, excuse , I didn’t an..." June said.
"Où est la bibliothèque," lody said.
"Yes, quite right, Sophie my dear. Please take us to your finest table."
"Oh, I have a corner booth. That be alright for you?" June asked.
"Pouvez-vous nourrir mon âne? Il est fatigué d’avoir fait du vélo toute la journée."
My head snapped to lody, then to June. "She said, ’yes.’"
June led us to a classic, sticky, red vinyl, high-backed, booth and we took our seats.
"Here’s a couple of nus," she said, handing us the thick plastic booklets. "I’ll give you a few minutes to go over them and I’ll co back with the specials."
"Sounds good, June. My friend here did have one question about your nu, if you don’t mind?"
"Well, sure."
"Is your French toast locally sourced or do you fly it in fresh from France?"
June frowned. "Um, well, I’m not exactly .... I’d have to ask Earl. He’s the chef."
lody kicked under the table, and I could see her struggling not to laugh.
"I’m sure it’s delicious either way," I said. "Let’s not go dragging poor Earl into this. Last thing I want to do is start an international breakfast related incident. After all, isn’t that how the IHOP got started in the first place?"
June started to sputter out, "Well, I don’t know anything about that, you see."
"No, of course not," I said. "We’ll just start with two coffees."
June left us alone and lody imdiately punched square in the arm. "Oh, my God, I almost pissed myself."
"Ow. You gave a Charley horse in my strumming arm."
"I think you can only get a Charley horse in your leg," she said laughing.
"Well, then you gave a Fred Horse," I replied.
"I’m serious," she said, gasping for air. "I’m literally gonna pee my pants."
"Oh, wee wee!" I said, and with that, lody bolted for the restroom.
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