Not This Time

Nina: June 15, 1987

     It was getting harder to keep our relationship a secret. Matt was getting more persistent in his attempts to take me back to my time. I'd seen him four more times since that incident outside Jon's hotel room last month. Matt just couldn't seem to take a hint. The crew was even starting to become uncomfortable with his unpredictable visits. He'd startled them outside the bus a couple times. Reg was starting to get annoyed with me.
     It was the last straw for Jon, though, when Matt followed me into the hotel last night after following us there from the venue. I hadn't gotten security on him quick enough at the venue. He'd learned from a previous attempt that I wouldn't hesitate to have him thrown out of the concert. Reg didn't like making a scene at the hotel though.
     After Jon and his band stumbled upon Matt and me arguing in the hall, Jon just couldn't stand it anymore. He'd all but tossed Matt into an elevator and sent him down to the lobby. Tico and I had to talk him down from waking up The Bozz to deal with the matter right then.
     That's where they were now, though. The whole band had gone to talk to the tour manager about beefing up security. It didn't make sense to me that they'd all gone. Something about strength in numbers. It didn't really matter.
     Jon's insistence that I stay in his room and out of the hall while they were gone didn't really comfort me either. Matt's Triple T could get in almost anywhere and Matt always seemed to have that uncanny ability to know where I would be. I didn't feel particularly safe anywhere, and no amount of added security was going to change that.
     It was for that reason that sitting there, alone, in Jon's room made me a little anxious. I could defend myself if Matt were to show up, but that didn't mean that I wanted to have to. I didn't want to fight Matt. I would, though, if he dropped in unexpectedly before Jon got back.
     I leaned my head against the back of the chair and stared out the window. Cars rolled past in both directions on the street that ran in front of the hotel. My gaze drifted up to the magnificent view from Jon's window. The Rocky Mountains loomed majestically a few miles off, snow-capped even now in summer. The mountains were one of my favorite things about being in Denver.
     I would have loved to go hiking, but even if we weren't on tour, I knew I'd never be able to convince Jon to hike up the mountain with me. He was a beach boy at heart. He'd take one look at that snow and shut the idea down faster than you could say snowflake.
     The door opened without warning, causing me to jump just a little. I guess I'd been so lost in my own imaginings that I'd missed the sound of the keycard unlocking the door. Jon was the first one through, followed by Tico, David, Alec, and then Richie. I didn't say anything as they piled into the room and got comfortable.
     "The Bozz wants to talk to you," Jon mumbled as he leaned down to kiss the top of my head.
     "What did you tell him?" I asked, looking first up at him and then around the room at anyone else who would answer.
     Jon shrugged. "Said a fan got up to my room and that it wasn't okay," he said nonchalantly.
     "So you lied," I mused. Jon smiled a little and shrugged again with a simple nod.
     "Scoot over," he mumbled, making a 'shoo' gesture with his hands. I hadn't really gotten to move much before he sat down half across my lap. He smiled childishly at my annoyed expression but only shifted a little so that we could both fit in the chair, though we were still squished.
     I looked around him and scoffed, "There's a perfectly good chair over there."
     As soon as the words were out of my mouth, David agreed and zipped across the room to plop down in the chair. He, too, smiled childishly at me when I frowned at him. Jon just gave me that same grin.
     "Looks like you're stuck with me," he teased.
     I raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Fine then," I retorted, pulling my feet up into the seat and snuggling up against him. He chuckled a little but didn't seem to mind. In fact, he put his arm around me and hugged me closer.
     "Anyway," Richie declared, reverting back to the previous subject as he looked over at us from where he'd sprawled across the foot of the bed, "We left you out of it. I can't imagine what he'd want to talk to you about."
     I shrugged, but I had a few ideas. It wasn't impossible that someone on the crew had told him about Matt's repeat visits. Could be that The Bozz was going to demand that I stop letting Matt come by, as if I had any say in the matter. Far less likely, but still not impossible, was that The Bozz had somehow found out about Jon and me. I was, surprisingly, not as concerned about that possibility as I thought I'd be. It wasn't like I wanted to tell The Bozz about us, but since I'd decided to stay with Jon, the prospect of him knowing didn't worry me quite as much.
     Nobody spoke for a minute. There was another show in a couple hours and none of us wanted to move or do anything. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against Jon's shoulder. He was so comfortable to cuddle with, even if I didn't have a choice in the matter because he was crammed into the chair with me. Maybe especially so in that case.
     I don't know how much time passed before Tico's voice sounded.
     "You'd better go, Madame Sound Tech," he suggested, "The Bozz is gonna start wondering where you are."
     I looked over at the drummer, but I was way too comfortable to untangle myself from Jon's arms. With a disapproving grumble, I shook my head and buried my face in the crook of Jon's neck. At first he just brushed his fingertips absently through my hair. Then he looked down at me.
     He mumbled into my hair, "You know he's right. You gotta go." I frowned at him and he smiled back. "Besides," he added, "This chair isn't big enough for the both of us." I started to gape at him in disbelief, but he just snickered, and wiggled me out of my seat.
     Once I was on my feet, I pouted over my shoulder at him, but he just smirked and shook his head. As I started to leave, Jon pushed me away with a foot on my butt. I gave him another disbelieving scoff and he stuck his tongue out at me playfully. He smiled after that and I couldn't help but do the same. With a giggle, I stuck my tongue out in return and made my way to the door.
     There was nobody out in the hall when I stepped out. The Bozz's room was just up the hall. I know I said that I wasn't that concerned with the idea of the tour manager knowing about Jon's relationship with me, but as soon as I was by myself in the hall, I was reminded of one small detail. The Bozz thought that kid in Texas was my boyfriend and he could still fire me over my relationship with Jon. It would be a conflict of interest. Favoritism in the band, as if I would actually let that happen onstage. With this in mind, nerves swept over me once more. With every step I took toward his door, I grew a little more apprehensive. As a result, my knock on his door was unintentionally quiet.
     Still, a minute or two later, The Bozz opened his door. He barely glanced up at me before motioning me in and retreating back into his room, leaving the door for me to catch. I held the door open and followed into the hotel room silently. There were all sorts of papers strewn across his bed, mostly things I couldn't identify from where I was standing near the door.
     "Rockstar said you wanted to talk to me," I prompted. I leaned on the wall casually, watching him work and waiting patiently for him to respond. He picked up one of the papers on the bed, examined it for a minute, and then put it down on top of another paper. The Bozz put his hands on his hips and glanced over at me for a second before sighing and looking back at his papers.
     He spoke without looking at me. "Are those naps after sound check helping at all?"
     I had to admit that I was a little surprised that he was bringing that up. Not that I let that show on my face. How he felt about my napping was of little consequence to me; I had to sleep at some point. All I could do was shrug. I had no regrets and no apologies.
     "They keep me on my feet," I sighed, "I wouldn't be able to work if not for those power naps."
     "It's not the guys, right?" The Bozz asked, looking over at me with his hands still on his hips, "I mean, they're not making any comments they shouldn't, are they?"
     I shook my head, waving my arms in front of me to stop his assumptions. "No! No, the guys are great," I assured him, "They've never done or said anything that might make me uncomfortable. It's not their fault. It's nothing about any of them personally. They're awesome people!"
     It frustrated me that he was bringing up my sleeping situation. He knew the problem. He'd known it since the very first tour. I'd made sure that the managers, Doc and The Bozz, understood my limitations and boundaries before I'd agreed to tour that first time. There was no reason for The Bozz to be questioning it now.
     "Is there something wrong with me napping?" I grumbled, crossing my arms, "Cause if that's what this is about..."
     The Bozz cut me off before I could finish that thought. "No, no!" The Bozz countered, holding his hands out in front of him in a 'stop' gesture, "I've got no problem with you napping as long as tasks are delegated and you're up in time for show, which you always are." He dropped his hands and shrugged, shaking his head. "My problem is that you're not sleeping in the hotel when we stop."
     "I can't sleep in that room while they're there, Rich," I said seriously. I shook my head too. "It's not like I haven't tried," I mumbled, "it's just not possible."
     The Bozz brought his hands up and rubbed his face for a second. "Well here's the thing," he groaned, looking back at me, "I just spoke to the boys about tightening security a bit. The thing is, you're part of tour and in order to keep security tight, I can't have you sleeping on the bus at night," he explained, "There are only so many people on our security team, and in order to keep the tour and the band safe, Reg and his guys have to be able to keep an eye on everyone in the tour."
     "So you want me to be in the hotel at night whenever we stop.." I deduced with a knowing nod. Made sense, but that didn't mean I had to like it. I frowned, already knowing his answer.
     "I need you to be in the hotel."
     All I could do was scoff and shake my head. I was speechless for a minute. Just a minute, though. "You're asking me to give up the only place I can have even a couple consecutive hours of sleep," I reminded him, "I'm not gonna be able to do my job if I can't sleep. You might as well fire me."
     The Bozz crossed his arms too and turned to face me. "I can't fire you," he retorted with a frown and a shrug, "The band would throw a fit. They'd refuse to play."
     Was he serious? Did he not know the band at all? Jon was way too committed to the fans to give up even one show just because I wasn't there. And even if Jon wasn't all in on the shows, the band wouldn't let him give up on the fans over a girl. They were better friends than that. On top of all that, Jon knew the band was too important to even me for him to sacrifice a show for us.
     "No they wouldn't," I scoffed incredulously.
     "Do you want to be fired?" The Bozz challenged with a slight laugh.
     I chuckled a little too and shook my head with a shrug. "Of course not! I love this job. I wouldn't still be running myself ragged if I didn't," I said, still shaking my head. I paused and took a deep breath before continuing, "But Rich, I cannot sleep in that room and I'll be useless if I can't sleep." I shrugged again. "What else is there?"
     He tilted his head. "Well, I was going to suggest you get yourself a room," he replied.
     "I'm allowed to do that?" I asked in surprise, perking up a little. The idea of a room to myself sounded like heaven, even though I knew in the back of my mind that Jon would probably be in there all the time. Still, though. Heaven.
     "You are if I give you permission," The Bozz confirmed. He turned back to his papers again, looking around the spread like for something apparently specific, "I've given you permission before, remember? In San Juan?"
     Right..
     Staring down at the carpet, I smiled a little at the memory of San Juan. Jon and I in that hotel room all by ourselves. Jon sliding across the room in his socks. Part of me wished I could go back. Part of me just wanted to get through with tour so that it could be like that at home all the time. My smile grew at the thought and then I blinked back up at The Bozz.
     "But why would-?" I started.
     "You're a stellar engineer, Nina," The Bozz complimented without even letting me finish my question, "The band loves you, the crew loves you even despite your sleeping aversion. You're organized, you take care of your business, and you know the shows." He looked over at me and shrugged. "You know the band. We're over halfway through with tour, but we've still got a ways to go. It would cause a lot of problems to lose you right now."
     Well that was sweet of him to say, but it felt so weird coming from him. The Bozz never complimented any of the crew very far beyond 'good job'. I didn't know how to respond for a second. I kind of wanted to be sarcastic, but I also didn't want to spoil it. After a minute, I just chuckled a little.
     "Thank you..?" I snickered, shaking my head. He nodded, but returned his attention to his papers once more, seeming unconcerned with my reaction. I smiled to myself. This conversation was nothing like I'd anticipated. I bobbed my head in a pleased manner and shrugged again. "Well, if I'm allowed to get a room, I'm all for that," I said.
     The Bozz didn't even look over. "We're driving out to Salt Lake City after the show tonight, but we're going to get a hotel when we get there because we'll be there a day early for the first show on the seventeenth and then there's another show on the eighteenth," he told me, stepping around his bed to grab a piece of paper that was near the pillow. He looked at it for a second and then up at me. "Do you want me to just book an extra room when I book ahead and take note so that it comes out of your paycheck, or do you want to book it yourself?"
     "Just take it out of my paycheck. That way it's easier on Reg," I decided without much thought, "If I get the room myself when we got there, I might not be able to get a room near the rest of the tour. That's what happened in San Juan."
     This was great. The Bozz didn't seem to have a clue about Jon and me. If he did, he was doing very well at keeping it hidden. I had the feeling, though, that if he did know, the very last thing he would do would be to offer me my own room. It was immensely reassuring.
     "Sounds like a plan, then. I've got some reservations to organize." The Bozz said with a smile as he crossed to the telephone on his desk.
     I smiled too. "Thank you, Rich."
     He looked over at me and held the phone up to his ear as he finished dialing the number. "You got the setlist started with Jon yet?" he asked. I smirked and offered a knowing nod as I backed away toward the door.
     "I'm on it," I chuckled.