AISHE

I’ve found my role with the band! During the day, I’m Troll’s assistant, someone the band listens to (for the most part) when I call out orders about grabbing their shit and getting in the van. Troll spends a lot of time on the phone, advancing concerts, radio- and TV events. That’s how I slowly picked up his slack where I saw it needed.

I try to stay away from Hailey as much as possible, but the schedules of the crew are similar. Breakfast, lunch, dinner together. Traveling to and from venues and stores. To me, it’s pretty blatant the way she picks up more and more of my idiosyncrasies. For instance, Tokyo is a great place to find strong-colored, shiny Gypsy skirts, it appears—who knew?

We’re nine days into the tour, and this morning, Troll called her by my name. She turned too, looking straight at him as if she were me, and I only got his attention by waving him down from my table.

“I found this amazing self-bronzer,” Hailey confides to Irene at the luncheon being offered by a wealthy Japanese businessman here in Yokohama. All he wants is to hear a couple of songs played live at his home, and he’ll name his new beer after the band. Of course, there’s a deeper sponsorship in the making around it; Janet has already called in the details from San Francisco, and they’re signing the contract today.

“You just get so sick and tired of being pale forever. You know what I mean?” Hailey leans her baby cheeks into her hands and stares up at Irene, who’s been there and done that, is forty-five years old, and doesn’t have a vain bone in her body.

“Sure,” Irene lies and deposits another piece of California roll in her mouth. According to legend, Mr. Watanabe has been in the U.S. enough times to know most Americans prefer the watered-down version of sushi, hence Irene’s delicacy. I can attest to it still having more flavor than the original at home.

Hailey quiets as I pass by. I have no idea why she does that when she’s unable to keep her voice low enough to go unnoticed anyway. She makes me want to laugh and smack her at the same time.

At the buffet table, I cup my hand and drop one grape after the other into my palm until I have a heap without those annoying branches tying them together. As I eat, I scan the ballroom-sized space. The endless ceilings.

Mr. Watanabe’s home is enormous. White. Simplistic. Oh and modern. A whole wall of the first floor opens toward a backyard with an Olympic-sized pool, and that’s where Troy and the guys now appear from an adjacent house. Troy sees me immediately and waves me out.

“When we’re back at the hotel, I’m totally trying it. It says you get a reddish brown, super-pretty skin tone,” Hailey giggles out behind me while I walk toward the freedom of the outdoors.

“Hmm,” Irene starts, the way she does when she’s about to insinuate that something is bullshit. “So like Aishe’s?”

“What? Oh no, she’s got more of a…” Hailey lowers her voice again, and I stride outside and close the door before I can hear her opinion of my coloring.

Okay, so it’s making me paranoid to be around her. I can’t talk with Troll about it. Won’t talk with Troy about it. Heck, Hailey’s been doing her job and stayed off my case since we got to Japan. Basically, I have nothing to complain about besides the bizarre feeling I have that she’s taking over my looks.

For instance, I wear turquoise nail polish. She just bought turquoise nail polish. I left my shoes at the exit to the pool, and in this very moment, Hailey saunters by the door and slows down by my shoes. She studies them, and it annoys me!

Well, good luck, Hailey. If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking: don’t bother. No way you’ll find flamenco shoes in Japan.

“You wanna swim?” Troy asks me, all smiles and boyish flirt. His fingers tap a rhythm along his thigh.

“Yep! When are you playing?”

“We just did. The guy has a state-of-the-art recording studio, and he wanted to sing with Emil on ‘Deep in You.’ He also thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and he wishes me luck in pursuing you.”

He tugs on my wraparound, and I unhook the ribbon while he does. Troy lets out a pained groan at the sudden reveal of my body in a black bikini. He makes me light up on the inside.

“I hate what you do to me,” he purrs from a foot away, our unspoken agreement. It’s the closest we should be in public.

“You do?” I hum back. “I guess I won’t take it any further then.”

“That’s what I’m talking about, the not-taking-it-further thing,” he says.

Mischievous, I ignore him, lift my face to toward the sky, and fake-sunbathe.

“Oh you devil woman.”

“Didn’t I warn you about that?” I add a sway to my hips as I turn and walk to the pool. “Also, I believe you’ve seen the writing on the wall firsthand.”

Troy dives in before me. Meets me when I hop in. He swims with me. We chatter with our heads close, chins resting on the surface. His hands find me, glide over remnants of lotion. Giggling, I slip away, sputter water when he catches me by the waist anyway and tickles me until I let out a strangled howl.

He apologizes. Laughs with me. It’s the most fun I’ve had in weeks… until Hailey’s gun-metal greys pepper me with resentment from the side of the pool.

I see it in Troy’s eyes. He doesn’t understand why my smile drains, and I make an excuse about being cold. I get out of the pool quickly. I’m not doing it to spare Hailey’s feelings. No, her hostility is a reminder of how far I’ve allowed this flirting to go. I’ve let it go so far that at the heart of a large, middle-of-the-day party, I’m looking into this man’s eyes. I’m smiling to him. I’m letting him touch me in front of everyone who wants to see. And it cannot continue.

TROY

“I’ve never been happier about Japan. This place, man. What fucking luck that we had it scheduled at the beginning of the tour. We literally got to escape only days after the video broke. You realize that, right?” Troll sighs with contentment as he bites down on a straw from a Big Gulp, which is one of his go-to vices. He can stay off alcohol for weeks, like he’s done since we came to Japan, but his Big Gulps, he can’t be without. Thank goodness for 7-Eleven.

“I’m with you, man. Imagine doing the West Coast—not to mention the South with the rumor mill going apeshit,” Bo says. He tosses his baby over a shoulder and pats her butt with the hand holding the remainder of his hot dog. That little girl gets to taste everything. She still has ketchup around her mouth, which Nadia is drying off behind Bo’s back. Selena doesn’t like being cleaned up and complains with undistinguishable baby-cussing.

Fifteen days in Japan, and we’ve played six of the major cities. Travel day, show day. Travel day, show day. We’ve been in a solid routine, every morning waking up to a tight schedule, and always to more outrageous news from American gossip magazines.

Online spoofs of the uncensored video have appeared, mostly with “Deep in You” playing in the background. Our lawyers are on it, but as soon as one is taken down, a new one appears, and people are eating it up like crazy.

Hell, I just saw a meme based on a still picture of Aishe and me. I look wild-eyed—like I did, I know—and she’s enjoying what we’re doing too. It was easy to suppress the text from memory. You also get used to shit, it appears, because my next step was to simply send the link to Troll, who sent it to Janet, who got the lawyers on yet another goose chase. Here’s to hoping my priestess never sees it.

The UK mags are mixing it up for us. As of late, they’ve been speculating about Waris and Elias. There’s a rumor she’s on tour with him—people have seen her, one of the few truths out there at the moment—and the reason why she’s with him is that she’s having his twins.

Elias wouldn’t have looked at her twice if it wasn’t for the twins, they say, but hell, he’s a standup guy. Of course, this particular rumor has spurred the creativity of visual artists, posting could-be pictures of what their babies will look like, between Waris’ generous features and Elias’ sharp angles. They also offer a variety of options skin-wise, ranging from full-on albino to the purest coffee.

But being in Japan, we only get part of the impact. The major Japanese entertainment websites have been forgiving of us… even as they’ve inadvertently fed the American press with a new strain of gossip. Only yesterday, Emil burst out laughing at the modified version he found on the twin story.

In some’s belief, Waris isn’t having twins after all. No, Elias and her love is the real deal. But what you see of Aishe in the video is actually two women. They’re twins, and identical at that. Only they’re also slightly different. See, if you go back to such-and-such place in the video and sharpen the contrast and brighten the background, you’ll see that the woman’s features are different from one angle to the other.

The Japanese concertgoers get to see Aishe at the meet-n-greets. They sometimes see her next to Hailey at dinners and at bigger TV shows where we’re allowed to offer merch too. Hailey they see all the time behind the merch table. Which brings me to a crazy turn of events.

In the short time since Hailey met Aishe, she’s turned into quite the copy of her. There’s no two ways about it with those clothes, the jewelry, her hair, and that makeup.

They are the same height, about the same size, and Hailey must have done something to her skin, because she used to be fair. Maybe she’s hitting tanning beds in her spare time? Either way, the result is a less natural version of Aishe’s mouthwatering tint.

“Tro-o-y?”

I’m still browsing the 7-Eleven shelves for snacks when I turn and find Hailey. She’s offering me an orange marshmallow snowman.

“Irene told me how much you like weird candy, so I bought you this one. It’s salty licorice-flavored with blackcurrant gummy bear stuffing on the inside. Pretty cool, right?”

She blinks at me, keeping her smile lower than usual. Setting her hip out to the side, she looks affected, but something about it reminds me of Aishe. It’s the strangest thing.

“Oh yeah, that’s really weird. I’ll grab a few to take home to my nieces and nephews. They love that shit,” I say.

“I already bought this one for you. Let me.” She scratches it open with turquoise nails and holds it up in front of me.

“Like, now?” I say, shooting my brows up.

“Why not? You only live once, right?” She lets out a giggle that’s huskier than her own laughter. Sort of like Aishe’s.

“I’ll save it for later,” I say, reaching for it.

“Aww, come on? I wanted to see your face when you try it. Bet it’ll be priceless.” She bites down on her lip, while puckering it. A bite-pout. Wow. At least it’s not an Aishe thing.

The laughter falling from me is politely impatient. I’ve got my hands full of stuff I want to take back to the hotel. I found some marshmallow stuff myself, a couple of hearts, as a matter of fact. They’re so big and red they’re probably chock-full of preservatives, but I know Aishe will like them. She’ll blush too. I’ve been banned from talking about feelings, so I’ve been creative in ways of showing them to her. She blushes every time, and the anger in her eyes is absolutely stunning.

“Let it go, Hailey, okay? I’m not hungry.”

“Aww, Tro-o-y. You don’t have to be hungry to eat marshmallows? Look at this. It’s so small too. Let me feed you it, okay? It’ll be fun. I bet you’ll be all, ‘Whoa, that’s nuts!’” Eyes wide and pale, the color of soft concrete now that she pleads with me. I’ve seen them dark too, but that’s usually when Aishe is around.

I roll my eyes, letting them half disappear under my eyelids. “One bite.”

“Yep!” Her concrete sparkles triumphantly. God, I’m not sure what’s weirder, she or her candy. She leans forward on the tip of her toes—in shoes Aishe says are for flamenco dancing.

I reach for the orange marshmallow snowman with my free hand, and she pulls it back the way she did the last time.

“Seriously, Hailey? I’m not going to keep playing games with you.”

“Open wide.” She gapes with me while she drives the candy toward my face like it’s veggies for a child.

Goddammit, but at least I’ll get her off my back.

I open my mouth. Hailey steps a whole lot closer. Lifts higher on her toes. She stumbles a little, lets out an oops, and leans on me, lips puckered in an “o.” As the candy goes into my mouth and I bite down, at least three camera shutters go off around us from different angles, and she’s in my face, so damn close, like she’s the one eating and not me. Or like she’s about to kiss me.

She fucking kisses me?

“What the hell?” I bat her off. “Hey, you.” I point at one of the photographers. He doesn’t look Japanese. Grinning, he bolts out the door before I can catch him. I swing around, in the direction of the other shutters. I see the back of another photographer running out the back door, while the third, definitely not Japanese, saunters up to the cash register with all the time in the world.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” I bark.

Troll’s by my side immediately. “What’s going on?”

“I’m handling it,” I say. “Give me that. You took pictures I don’t approve of, and you’re going to erase them right now.”

The guy looks me over, smile growing in the middle of red stubble. He does it over his shoulder, because he’s busy paying for a handful of orange snowmen. “Nah” is all he says. “We’re in a public place, we’re in Japan, and you, Troy Armstrong, are a public figure.”

“The fuck? That doesn’t mean I’m okay with this!”

“Oh there’s something wrong with taking a picture of you kissing your girlfriend?” He juts his lower lip out in a gross version of Hailey’s expression a minute ago.

“I wasn’t kissing her, and she’s not my fucking girlfriend! Give me that.” I try to get his camera by force, but Troll holds me back, telling me to chill, that it’s only going to blow up in our faces.

“Hey, asshole, what’s it gonna take? I’ll get you a good chunk up front if you let me delete the pictures right now,” Troll says, pressing in front of me with calm experience. “Hard cash, man.”

“Oh you’re ready to bargain for my money shot? I don’t think so. No way you’ll do better than Star Report or Hollywood Fancies.” He shoves his wallet back into his pocket and grabs the bag of candy. “Pretty sure I can get six digits out of this one.”

I don’t even think. I forge past Troll and slam my elbow into the side of the guy’s face. There’s a whac in the air. Troll groans, and the guy’s still standing there, eyes wide with incredulity. He touches his face. Which doesn’t have a mark on it. Troll’s bent over, holding his arm.

“What’s going on here?” Bo shouts. “Who’s this?”

Hailey is behind me, and I suddenly realize she’s linked herself onto my arm. Letting out scared little sniffles, she pretends to be crying. I jerk free of her and help Troll to his feet.

“Aww, damn, that was close,” the guy says. “Those headlines would’ve kicked ass: Troy Armstrong knocking out poor, hard-working photographer while trying to steal his camera. And the settlement would’ve been fucking a-awesome.” He play-groans. “Well, I guess I’ll have to stick with just my money shot. Bye, sugar. Thanks for everything.” He winks to Hailey and takes off with a sloppy air kiss.

Tonight, I wanted to take Aishe to the rooftop gardens of the Regent Ritz Hotel. The small tables, the paper lanterns winding in and out between bonsai topiaries, and the unobstructed view of the moon was going to soften her resolve against me. But instead, I’m taking Troll to the E.R. He used his arm to block me from hitting the paparazzo.