When the Open Road is Closing In (Philipp Lahm, Bastian Schweinsteiger)
And here is my cornerflag fic for this round. Just as last round, it is a barely concealed stuffing of my own anxieties into footballers, except this time the footballer is Philipp Lahm and it's an AU.
Bastian Schweinsteiger is Germany's biggest pop star, recently successful in the UK, and is trying to break America with this tour. Philipp Lahm is his manager.
I've thought of a way lot more than actually got incorporated into this pretty short (and somewhat rushed) story- backstory for Philipp, Bastian and Philipp's childhood, label politics, entire characters who don't get a mention. I am not good enough at structuring "epics" to do it all justice, but hopefully I can at least come back and write some little stories in the world, at least to get at the stuff I missed. (I really like using Philipp as a character- he's priggish, overachieving, and arrogant, but with a heart of gold, basically.)
Anyway. Here it is. Title, yet again, from the Magnetic Fields. If they didn't exist I'd never be able to name anything.
The buzz of his Blackberry in his hand jolted Philipp awake, and he groaned and rubbed his other hand over his face before looking at it. The jetlag was killing him and he couldn’t afford to be tired. This was too much of a crucial period to be sleeping through. Philipp wished he was one of those people that could get by without sleep, but that had never been an ability of his. He needed a proper 8 hours at minimum.
Sighing, Philipp answered the email, brow creasing. He was still unconvinced by this tour. The numbers weren’t looking great and he sensed the venues weren’t right. He’d wanted to consolidate England, but the label insisted on America. It was a gamble. Philipp didn’t like gambles. But they were the ones paying for things.
“Sleeping again?” Bastian asked with a laugh, and Philipp jerked his head up.
“No. But you should be.” Phillipp smiled tightly at Bastian before looking back down at his Blackberry. Bastian and Mario were playing some card game Philipp didn’t recognize. The cards were a new thing this tour. Before it had always been Playstation, X-Box, movies. No one knew the card games but Bastian and Mario.
“I’m fine, mom.” Bastian winked at him, and Mario laughed.
“Well, I warned you,” Philipp replied, annoyed but too exhausted to say anything more. Bastian should be using the bus rides to rest. He had shows to do. Even if the venues weren’t full, the people who were there should get something good out of it. Reputation would give him something to build on.
“Go back to sleep, Fips.”
“I’m not sleeping.” Philipp grumbled. All he wanted to do was sleep, but now that he was up he had to answer these emails and check the invoices. He could sleep later. He could sleep when he was dead.
* * * * *
It’s a performance, in a different way than Bastian performs, but one nonetheless. Philipp adopted the disapproving face of his grade-school football coach and strode through the venue, pointing out all the things that needed to be fixed, that had to be changed before the fans came in, which lights weren’t quite the right color saturation. He’d learned, over the years, to be haughty when it came to these things. Nothing ever got changed when he was nice.
“How’d the martinet routine go?” Bastian asked when Philipp re-entered the dressing room.
“I still don’t like these lighting guys.” Philipp frowned at the drink selection. This wasn’t what they’d asked for at all. “Or catering.”
“Maybe they couldn’t find that tea?”
“Diet Coke isn’t a replacement.” Philipp huffed. “Tastes like chemicals.”
“You’re such a snob.”
“The least they could do is get the drinks right.” Philipp went to start the coffee machine. He needed some kind of stimulant, and he wasn’t about to drink the soda.
“You’ll give them hell about it, I’m sure.” Bastian laughed and clapped Philipp on the back.
Philipp bristled, then relaxed. He couldn’t get mad at Bastian just because Bastian wasn’t as upset about these things as he was. Bastian didn’t need to get irritated. Philipp got irritated for him. Bastian stayed calm, relaxed, untroubled. That was the correct way of going about things, the one that kept Bastian’s reputation intact, which was the important thing. “Of course.”
* * * * *
Bastian performed the hell out of the show. Four years now Philipp had spent watching, and he was still impressed each night. Bastian was born to do this, born to get up on a stage and sing and dance and be incredible. He had a magnetism that was rare, even in this business. He made it all look completely effortless.
It wasn’t, of course, and Philipp had the Gatorade bottle open the moment Bastian stepped offstage. He gulped it down in seconds as they walked back to the green room. “How’d it go?”
“You’re outstanding as always,” Philipp replied, taking the bottle from him and adding it to the recycling pile. “A little flat through “Olé,” but not too noticeable.”
Bastian grimaced. “Yeah, I thought so.”
“Just keep that in mind for tomorrow.” Philipp looked up as the rest of the band entered the room, Thomas bouncing up and down as usual. Philipp always wondered where he got the energy. He wasn’t like that at 21. “But otherwise, guys, great show.”
“Thanks, mom!” Thomas had picked that up from Bastian. Philipp had a feeling he would never get rid of it. If the Butts, a husband-and-wife duo of bassist and keyboardist who were nearly a decade older than Philipp picked it up, he’d probably have to jump in front of the tour bus.
“And on that note, in the bus by one, everyone. I’ll find you if you’re not.” Philipp looked pointedly at Mario before clapping Bastian on the back and heading out to see how the merchandise sales were going.
* * * * *
Tours settled quickly into routines, positions. Philipp woke up first, then Hans-Jörg and Katja, then the rest. Philipp made coffee that only Mario would drink, hours later, then set himself up on the couch with a table for his laptop. He never got a chance to move from there before they arrived. They at least had the nice bus Philipp had argued for, one of the only things he got his way about with the label. He wasn’t getting any help with media, and not nearly enough for promotion, but they had a pair of decent buses for themselves and the crew. Good enough to sleep the night on if there was a long drive, although Philipp preferred the nights where they got a hotel.
It was one of Philipp’s jobs to make sure everyone got on and off the bus, that everyone was fed, that everyone was kept if not happy, at least content. He was the mom, Bastian and Thomas were right. Or at least the babysitter. Mario always wanted to party somewhere after the show, or backstage if they didn’t have time to go anywhere else. Thomas tended more towards teenage pranks. Bastian himself was in the middle, and at least he’d started listening when Philipp told him where he needed to be and what he needed to do. He wasn’t like he used to be when Philipp had started managing him, those first solo days after “Schweini & Poldi” became untenable.
Philipp had always said Bastian had to grow up sometime. Bastian had always said Philipp was adult enough for both of them.
* * * * *
“I think that’s the loudest I’ve ever heard you swear.”
Philipp stopped glaring at his Blackberry to look embarrassedly at Bastian. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“You should be.”
“You’re always telling me that.” Bastian laughed and slid into the couch across from Philipp. “What are you upset about?”
“Nothing,” Philipp said automatically, putting the Blackberry on the table gingerly, then rubbing his neck.
“Bullshit.”
Philipp sighed. “Trying to deal with the Letterman people again.” He shut his eyes, trying not to think of his bunk in the back of the bus, or worse, his bed in Munich, barely even used. The thought of forgetting all this and hiding away at home was distressingly tempting.
“Again?” Bastian raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve been talking to them since before we left Germany.” Reluctantly, Philipp opened his eyes. “It’d be great if you could go on, and I’ve been chasing down every contact…but I can’t seem to convince anyone.”
“He’s the guy with the lists, yeah?” Bastian shrugged. “He’s okay.”
“It’d be a good appearance, here,” Philipp explained, trying to tamp down the anger again. “Get you better established. But there’s only so much I can do, they don’t know who I am, the label’s not helping…”
“Oh.” Bastian sat back, looking contemplative.
“Yeah.” Philipp rubbed his forehead. That was one of the things he’d always liked about Bastian. He never tried to tell Philipp things were all right when they weren’t. “But, I’ll figure out something.”
“You always do,” Bastian replied nonchalantly. “I’m not worried. Don’t kill yourself about this, okay?”
Philipp laughed. “I haven’t killed myself yet, I won’t start now.”
“It’s not like I can go digging up more childhood friends to manage me.” Bastian teased.
“Don’t worry, Basti. That’s my job.” As if on cue, Philipp’s Blackberry buzzed again and he grimaced at it. It never ended. It would do him well to think about something that wasn’t pompous American booking agents, though. “You go relax. You need it.”
Bastian frowned, but stood. “You probably do too.”
Philipp shrugged, reading the email that came in. Not Letterman. Good. “I don’t have to perform tonight.”
* * * * *
Philipp was reading The Economist and eating his oatmeal when Bastian sat down across from him, plate piled with eggs and crispy bacon and…waffles? Bastian would take any excuse for dessert. Philipp furrowed his brow at him. “What are you doing up? Checkout’s not until 11:30.”
“Can’t I have breakfast?” Bastian asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Of course.” Philipp had grown accustomed to the mornings being his time, but he didn’t particularly like having to forcibly pull a hungover Bastian into the tour bus. “I’m just surprised I’m not dragging you out at 11:25.”
“Mmm.” Bastian shrugged around a mouthful of eggs. “Well, you’re always telling me I should actually sleep at night.”
“I’ve been telling you that for four years.”
“I listen eventually.” Bastian grinned. “Besides, everything sounded lame. Columbus on a Wednesday? I doubt even Mario found something to do.”
“He always manages.”
“Yeah.” Bastian laughed and poked at Philipp’s magazine with his fork. “So, what’s going on in the world?”
“Chinese currency discussion. New elections in Switzerland.” Philipp eyed him curiously. “Do you really care?”
“Maybe.”
“Uh-huh.” Philipp rolled his eyes and went back to the article he’d been reading, on construction issues in Macedonia.
“I could be!” Bastian protested as he cut up his waffle. “Okay, maybe not on that currency stuff.”
“The currency stuff is interesting.”
“That’s because you’re a total nerd.” Bastian grinned at Philipp’s expression. “You are. You always were.”
“Well, someone has to pay attention to this stuff,” Philipp tried not to sound annoyed. He knew Bastian was right, but he’d always hated being the nerd. He wasn’t good at enough things to embrace it.
“Aww, it’s cute. Besides, being a nerd is cool now, right? Everyone in those glasses and shit.”
Philipp smiled despite himself. “I think that only works for people into Star Wars, not currency debates.”
“We could watch Star Wars.”
“I was never all that into Star Wars,” Philipp admitted. “I always felt like I should have liked it more.”
“Not enough punching for you?”
“Maybe that was it.”
Bastian laughed. “At least you’re consistent.”
“I have certain tastes, yes.”
“You should put a movie on in the bus sometime. If you’re ever not being a hotshot music mogul, that is.”
Philipp thought of the photo shoots and budgets he needed to approve, and thought about how nice it would be to watch The Transporter on the couch in the bus with Bastian, like the teenage-hood they’d never actually had. Bastian had partied while Philipp studied, and Philipp wondered if they were doomed to repeat those roles forever, their fates sealed long ago. “Okay. Next time I have time. Have Mario and Thomas ever seen Crank?”
* * * * *
Thomas Skyped his wife every day as soon as he woke up, lying across the couch with gangly legs askew, laptop perched on his stomach. They talked about nonsense most of the time, TV shows and jokes about people Philipp would never meet. Yesterday they had spent at least an hour just making faces at each other. Philipp was supposed to be reviewing possible directors for Bastian’s next music video, but he kept getting distracted by Thomas’ soft voice and the endless road outside the window.
Hans-Jörg and Katja took the back for themselves. Bastian and Mario huddled by one of the TVs, an increasingly impenetrable unit with gestures and inside jokes. They played cards with some nonsense DVD blaring. Philipp had his laptop and the work he had to do. There were calls to make, but never anyone he wanted to talk to. He looked down at the Skype icon and sighed.
Timo had always wanted to visit America. Philipp wasn’t sure how he would have been able to justify bringing Timo along, but he was sure Timo would have found a way, or Phiilpp would have paid out of pocket to have him around.
They’d met when Philipp was getting his degree. Timo worked at a café Philipp kept coming back to, hoping to catch a glimpse of the handsome blond with the swooping hair. It’d been months until Philipp got up the courage to talk to him outside of a drink order, at a bar on the Reeperbahn running an action-movie night. (Total Recall, one of Philipp’s favorites.) Timo wasn’t like anyone he knew, effortless and cool, clever and cutting. Winning him over had felt like the greatest accomplishment Philipp had ever made. He’d legitimately believed that it would be forever. It had been three years since the breakup now and Philipp had spent the time trying not to think about it. With the work on the English-language album, the UK success, that entire whirlwind, he’d succeeded, somewhat.
Stuck in this bus with nothing to keep him company but a sneaking sense of failure, he couldn’t help but think of the last thing he’d screwed up.
* * * * *
Kansas City. Chicago had been great, Minneapolis had been okay, but Kansas City was a disaster. Even Mario could tell, and Mario tended to have the perception and emotional range of a brick. He’d gone into the bus to start the drive to Texas without the normal groaning and argument, just a significant look at Bastian. Philipp would have appreciated the ease, as they did have a long drive, but Philipp hated that things were so bad that Mario acknowledged it. He didn’t even try to keep Bastian up with cards, just went to his bunk without a word of protest. They all did.
After a few hours Philipp got out of his bunk and went to the couch he spent most of his days on. He couldn’t sleep. He kept going over what he could have done better, what should have happened, the posters and promotion and media interviews that should have taken place. He was not a person who could deal with failing. He’d always been an overachiever, proud.
“Fips?”
“Hmm?” Philipp looked up, startled but unsurprised to see Bastian. Only Bastian still called him that. It had been a common nickname, when he was eight and Bastian moved to Munich from Kolbermoor. That was a long time ago now.
“What are you doing still up?”
“Uh.” Philipp winced, feeling even more like shit that he had been before, if that was possible. He didn’t want Bastian to worry about him. He hated having people worry about him, it made him feel inadequate. Like he couldn’t handle himself. He was an adult. A professional. “Waiting, uh, for a phone call.”
Even in the low light Philipp could see the skeptical look on Bastian’s face. “Uh-huh.”
“Time zones. You know.” Philipp managed a smile.
“Uh-huh.” Bastian didn’t sound convinced, but he took a bottle of water from the fridge and headed back to the bunks anyway.
Philipp sighed and thudded his head against the fake leather of the couch. He wished he had a phone call to make. A label guy to yell at. Anyone. Timo.
* * * * *
Philipp was groggier than usual the next day, and Bastian kept giving him looks as he and Mario played cards. Philipp ignored him, concentrating on the receipts, the concrete but depressing numbers, and an email argument with the label that continued as they were pulling up at the venue. Philipp’s head throbbed. He needed some coffee, or a soda, or a Paulaner. He herded the band to the soundcheck and headed backstage to continue the frantic emailing.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to upend the table next to him, could picture the satisfying rain of carrot sticks and ranch dressing. His nerves felt frayed on all edges. He’d always thought he was good at handling stress. He’d been stressed before. When he was writing his thesis Timo used to literally pick him up to tear him away from his computer. He’d worked like this for the first tour he’d done with Bastian, when no one took him seriously, and Timo used to say that he sounded like a parody of an 80’s business guy on the phone. He’d never felt like this before.
Still, he had a job to do. He left the vegetable tray alone and stood. Never let them see you sweat.
* * * * *
Philipp collapsed onto the bed, a real bed, big enough for three of him and without plastic walls all around. It was late, he was tired from the drive, and he had a headache, but he knew he wouldn’t be falling asleep. He rolled over and picked up the remote, turning on the television.
The knock on his door was surprising, but Philipp pushed himself up and opened it. “Bastian.”
“Hey.” Bastian walked inside without Philipp inviting him in, all charm and ease as always. “I’m bored, Mario’s sleeping.”
“You’re always welcome here,” Philipp said warily as Bastian draped himself across the foot of the bed. “I was just…watching TV.”
“Anything good on?”
“Hadn’t found anything.” Philipp sat back down on the bed and slid the remote over to Bastian. “You’re welcome to look, if you want.”
Bastian took the remote and clicked through the channels. “I always thought American TV would be full of great stuff they never brought over, but you know, it’s mostly crap.”
Philipp had to laugh at that. “Most of everything is crap, I guess.”
“Yeah.” Bastian grinned back at Philipp and continued flicking through the channels. “Oh hey! Total Recall. You like that one, don’t you?”
Philipp smiled sadly at that. “Yeah.”
“Cool. That’s something, at least.” Bastian sounded pleased with himself. “We’ll watch this.”
“Okay.” Philipp couldn’t say no to Bastian, he wasn’t sure anyone could, even though Total Recall was the last movie he wanted to watch in the mood he was in. He was already tired and stressed, he didn’t need to be maudlin too.
Halfway through, Bastian caught Philipp sighing and rubbing his eyes. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Philipp replied quickly, managing a smile. “I’m fine.”
“I know you’re not.” Bastian turned to face Philipp, leaning on his elbow. “Something’s wrong.”
Philipp huffed, not wanting to talk about anything, but Bastian was making his stubborn face. “I miss Timo,” he said finally. It was what he was most willing to say. The one that didn’t blame Bastian for anything.
“Timo was an asshole.”
“Yeah.” Philipp couldn’t disagree with that, and his relationship with Bastian had always been frosty. “But he was my asshole. It was nice to have someone there, you know? Someone to think about. Someone to call.”
“You just miss having a boyfriend, then.”
“No!” Philipp protested, then sighed. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just felt less stressed out. We fought, yeah, but it was better than this.” He spread his arms out over the pastel hotel bedspread, fingertips gliding across the coated fabric. “I get on the bus, or come back to the hotel, lie on the bed, and think about everything that’s going wrong. At least I used to be able to think of something else.”
Bastian was quiet for a moment. “You worry that much?”
“Of course I do.” Philipp thudded his head against the pillow. “What else would I do?”
“I don’t know.” Bastian flipped over onto his stomach, resting his head on his hands and looking at Philipp. “I was hoping you were at least doing something you liked.”
“I play the DS sometimes.” Philipp hadn’t picked it up since the flight over, but Bastian sounded so forlorn.
“You’re the worst liar, Fips.” Bastian didn’t break his gaze from Philipp. “But you’d tell me if you really hated this, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Philipp replied unconvincingly. He knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure what he would do, though. He never quit or walk away from anything. He had a contract.
“You’d still be my friend, even if you quit to go work in a fucking office somewhere. Even if you went to work for the label.”
“Basti.”
“I’m serious! You’ve always been there for me when things went to shit. I’m not that much of a dick that I wouldn’t be there for you.”
“Thanks,” Philipp said, and meant it, touched. Bastian had been part of his life since they were children, and they’d never been close like Bastian seemed to be with others. But then, Philipp had never been close with anyone but Timo. “But I’m okay. Really. Just tired, I guess.”
“Ahh, so that’s why you’re saying so much.” Bastian grinned and dropped his elbows, pillowing his head on his arms instead. “You aren’t flushed enough to be drunk.”
“Do I flush?” Philipp asked.
“Bright red.”
Philipp laughed, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m terrible.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m fucking up my job, I can’t keep a boyfriend, I’ve got a stomach that won’t go away, and I flush when I get drunk, apparently.” Philipp rubbed his hands over his eyes, pressing into his cheekbones. “I’m awful.”
“Hey. Hey.” Bastian slid up the bed, closer to Philipp, and poked his side. “Stop thinking like that.”
“It’s true.” Philipp moved his hands and looked down at Bastian mournfully. “You deserve a lot better.”
“Stop that.” Bastian frowned. “You do a great job. I asked you to manage me for a reason.”
“Why? There had to be plenty of real managers out there you could have worked with.” It was all coming out now, and Philipp wasn’t sure whether to be mortified or relieved.
“Because. You’re smart. You’re good with planning, and money, and all that, since we were kids. You’ve got a law degree, you can talk to the label. And…you’re a good person.” Bastian looked worried, his brow furrowed as he spoke.
“I am not,” Philipp protested weakly.
“You are. You’re legitimately a good person. You were the first person who’d talk to me when I moved to Munich. You’ve come and bailed me out of more situations than I want to remember, even though I was acting like a shit every time. I can trust you. Probably…probably more than anyone else,” Bastian admitted, worrying the polyester bedspread with the tips of his fingers. “You’re always there for me, you always have been, and I hate that you’re feeling like shit about everything. You don’t deserve it.”
Philipp was quiet for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, then Bastian. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, dick.” Bastian punched Philipp’s hip lightly. “And you do a great job, it’s not your fault this tour is fucked.”
“I just wish I could fix it.” Philipp sighed. He knew he sounded petulant, but he was never good at not succeeding.
“Fuck it. We learn. Next time it’ll be better. And soon we can go home.” Bastian shrugged. “And you’re going on vacation. Properly. I’ll steal your stupid phone and laptop and everything.”
Philipp started to protest, but Bastian glared at him and he closed his mouth. “Can I stay in Munich? I want to play the new Kirby game and drink beer.” The words sounded wonderful in Philipp’s ears as he said them.
“Sure,” Bastian said with a smile. “It’ll be easier to make sure you’re not working that way.”
“You going to check up on me?”
“Someone has to.”
“No one has to.” Philipp wrinkled his nose. “I’m a grown man.”
“Quit being a dick about this.” Bastian poked Philipp’s hip again. “You don’t always have to do everything in life by yourself.”
“I’m not-“ Philipp protested, then frowned, trying to compose his thoughts. “I don’t want to be a bother. You have stuff to do, I’m sure Sarah will want - “
“Philipp. Shut up. Honestly, man. You don’t need to do this martyr shit. You’re my friend, and I want you to be happy. That’s all.” Bastian finished with a mulish glare.
“Okay. Okay.” Philipp put his hands up in agreement. It was odd, but he already felt a bit lighter.
* * * * *
Denver went well. They had the West Coast coming up next and promising sales reports for California. Seattle was a long drive, but Bastian had somehow come up with DVDs of the entire Die Hard series and insisted that Philipp watch them with him and Mario. Philipp had a lot of work to do, but his laptop would still work by the TV instead of where he usually had it. He hadn’t watched Die Hard in far too long.
Bastian Schweinsteiger is Germany's biggest pop star, recently successful in the UK, and is trying to break America with this tour. Philipp Lahm is his manager.
I've thought of a way lot more than actually got incorporated into this pretty short (and somewhat rushed) story- backstory for Philipp, Bastian and Philipp's childhood, label politics, entire characters who don't get a mention. I am not good enough at structuring "epics" to do it all justice, but hopefully I can at least come back and write some little stories in the world, at least to get at the stuff I missed. (I really like using Philipp as a character- he's priggish, overachieving, and arrogant, but with a heart of gold, basically.)
Anyway. Here it is. Title, yet again, from the Magnetic Fields. If they didn't exist I'd never be able to name anything.
The buzz of his Blackberry in his hand jolted Philipp awake, and he groaned and rubbed his other hand over his face before looking at it. The jetlag was killing him and he couldn’t afford to be tired. This was too much of a crucial period to be sleeping through. Philipp wished he was one of those people that could get by without sleep, but that had never been an ability of his. He needed a proper 8 hours at minimum.
Sighing, Philipp answered the email, brow creasing. He was still unconvinced by this tour. The numbers weren’t looking great and he sensed the venues weren’t right. He’d wanted to consolidate England, but the label insisted on America. It was a gamble. Philipp didn’t like gambles. But they were the ones paying for things.
“Sleeping again?” Bastian asked with a laugh, and Philipp jerked his head up.
“No. But you should be.” Phillipp smiled tightly at Bastian before looking back down at his Blackberry. Bastian and Mario were playing some card game Philipp didn’t recognize. The cards were a new thing this tour. Before it had always been Playstation, X-Box, movies. No one knew the card games but Bastian and Mario.
“I’m fine, mom.” Bastian winked at him, and Mario laughed.
“Well, I warned you,” Philipp replied, annoyed but too exhausted to say anything more. Bastian should be using the bus rides to rest. He had shows to do. Even if the venues weren’t full, the people who were there should get something good out of it. Reputation would give him something to build on.
“Go back to sleep, Fips.”
“I’m not sleeping.” Philipp grumbled. All he wanted to do was sleep, but now that he was up he had to answer these emails and check the invoices. He could sleep later. He could sleep when he was dead.
* * * * *
It’s a performance, in a different way than Bastian performs, but one nonetheless. Philipp adopted the disapproving face of his grade-school football coach and strode through the venue, pointing out all the things that needed to be fixed, that had to be changed before the fans came in, which lights weren’t quite the right color saturation. He’d learned, over the years, to be haughty when it came to these things. Nothing ever got changed when he was nice.
“How’d the martinet routine go?” Bastian asked when Philipp re-entered the dressing room.
“I still don’t like these lighting guys.” Philipp frowned at the drink selection. This wasn’t what they’d asked for at all. “Or catering.”
“Maybe they couldn’t find that tea?”
“Diet Coke isn’t a replacement.” Philipp huffed. “Tastes like chemicals.”
“You’re such a snob.”
“The least they could do is get the drinks right.” Philipp went to start the coffee machine. He needed some kind of stimulant, and he wasn’t about to drink the soda.
“You’ll give them hell about it, I’m sure.” Bastian laughed and clapped Philipp on the back.
Philipp bristled, then relaxed. He couldn’t get mad at Bastian just because Bastian wasn’t as upset about these things as he was. Bastian didn’t need to get irritated. Philipp got irritated for him. Bastian stayed calm, relaxed, untroubled. That was the correct way of going about things, the one that kept Bastian’s reputation intact, which was the important thing. “Of course.”
* * * * *
Bastian performed the hell out of the show. Four years now Philipp had spent watching, and he was still impressed each night. Bastian was born to do this, born to get up on a stage and sing and dance and be incredible. He had a magnetism that was rare, even in this business. He made it all look completely effortless.
It wasn’t, of course, and Philipp had the Gatorade bottle open the moment Bastian stepped offstage. He gulped it down in seconds as they walked back to the green room. “How’d it go?”
“You’re outstanding as always,” Philipp replied, taking the bottle from him and adding it to the recycling pile. “A little flat through “Olé,” but not too noticeable.”
Bastian grimaced. “Yeah, I thought so.”
“Just keep that in mind for tomorrow.” Philipp looked up as the rest of the band entered the room, Thomas bouncing up and down as usual. Philipp always wondered where he got the energy. He wasn’t like that at 21. “But otherwise, guys, great show.”
“Thanks, mom!” Thomas had picked that up from Bastian. Philipp had a feeling he would never get rid of it. If the Butts, a husband-and-wife duo of bassist and keyboardist who were nearly a decade older than Philipp picked it up, he’d probably have to jump in front of the tour bus.
“And on that note, in the bus by one, everyone. I’ll find you if you’re not.” Philipp looked pointedly at Mario before clapping Bastian on the back and heading out to see how the merchandise sales were going.
* * * * *
Tours settled quickly into routines, positions. Philipp woke up first, then Hans-Jörg and Katja, then the rest. Philipp made coffee that only Mario would drink, hours later, then set himself up on the couch with a table for his laptop. He never got a chance to move from there before they arrived. They at least had the nice bus Philipp had argued for, one of the only things he got his way about with the label. He wasn’t getting any help with media, and not nearly enough for promotion, but they had a pair of decent buses for themselves and the crew. Good enough to sleep the night on if there was a long drive, although Philipp preferred the nights where they got a hotel.
It was one of Philipp’s jobs to make sure everyone got on and off the bus, that everyone was fed, that everyone was kept if not happy, at least content. He was the mom, Bastian and Thomas were right. Or at least the babysitter. Mario always wanted to party somewhere after the show, or backstage if they didn’t have time to go anywhere else. Thomas tended more towards teenage pranks. Bastian himself was in the middle, and at least he’d started listening when Philipp told him where he needed to be and what he needed to do. He wasn’t like he used to be when Philipp had started managing him, those first solo days after “Schweini & Poldi” became untenable.
Philipp had always said Bastian had to grow up sometime. Bastian had always said Philipp was adult enough for both of them.
* * * * *
“I think that’s the loudest I’ve ever heard you swear.”
Philipp stopped glaring at his Blackberry to look embarrassedly at Bastian. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“You should be.”
“You’re always telling me that.” Bastian laughed and slid into the couch across from Philipp. “What are you upset about?”
“Nothing,” Philipp said automatically, putting the Blackberry on the table gingerly, then rubbing his neck.
“Bullshit.”
Philipp sighed. “Trying to deal with the Letterman people again.” He shut his eyes, trying not to think of his bunk in the back of the bus, or worse, his bed in Munich, barely even used. The thought of forgetting all this and hiding away at home was distressingly tempting.
“Again?” Bastian raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve been talking to them since before we left Germany.” Reluctantly, Philipp opened his eyes. “It’d be great if you could go on, and I’ve been chasing down every contact…but I can’t seem to convince anyone.”
“He’s the guy with the lists, yeah?” Bastian shrugged. “He’s okay.”
“It’d be a good appearance, here,” Philipp explained, trying to tamp down the anger again. “Get you better established. But there’s only so much I can do, they don’t know who I am, the label’s not helping…”
“Oh.” Bastian sat back, looking contemplative.
“Yeah.” Philipp rubbed his forehead. That was one of the things he’d always liked about Bastian. He never tried to tell Philipp things were all right when they weren’t. “But, I’ll figure out something.”
“You always do,” Bastian replied nonchalantly. “I’m not worried. Don’t kill yourself about this, okay?”
Philipp laughed. “I haven’t killed myself yet, I won’t start now.”
“It’s not like I can go digging up more childhood friends to manage me.” Bastian teased.
“Don’t worry, Basti. That’s my job.” As if on cue, Philipp’s Blackberry buzzed again and he grimaced at it. It never ended. It would do him well to think about something that wasn’t pompous American booking agents, though. “You go relax. You need it.”
Bastian frowned, but stood. “You probably do too.”
Philipp shrugged, reading the email that came in. Not Letterman. Good. “I don’t have to perform tonight.”
* * * * *
Philipp was reading The Economist and eating his oatmeal when Bastian sat down across from him, plate piled with eggs and crispy bacon and…waffles? Bastian would take any excuse for dessert. Philipp furrowed his brow at him. “What are you doing up? Checkout’s not until 11:30.”
“Can’t I have breakfast?” Bastian asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Of course.” Philipp had grown accustomed to the mornings being his time, but he didn’t particularly like having to forcibly pull a hungover Bastian into the tour bus. “I’m just surprised I’m not dragging you out at 11:25.”
“Mmm.” Bastian shrugged around a mouthful of eggs. “Well, you’re always telling me I should actually sleep at night.”
“I’ve been telling you that for four years.”
“I listen eventually.” Bastian grinned. “Besides, everything sounded lame. Columbus on a Wednesday? I doubt even Mario found something to do.”
“He always manages.”
“Yeah.” Bastian laughed and poked at Philipp’s magazine with his fork. “So, what’s going on in the world?”
“Chinese currency discussion. New elections in Switzerland.” Philipp eyed him curiously. “Do you really care?”
“Maybe.”
“Uh-huh.” Philipp rolled his eyes and went back to the article he’d been reading, on construction issues in Macedonia.
“I could be!” Bastian protested as he cut up his waffle. “Okay, maybe not on that currency stuff.”
“The currency stuff is interesting.”
“That’s because you’re a total nerd.” Bastian grinned at Philipp’s expression. “You are. You always were.”
“Well, someone has to pay attention to this stuff,” Philipp tried not to sound annoyed. He knew Bastian was right, but he’d always hated being the nerd. He wasn’t good at enough things to embrace it.
“Aww, it’s cute. Besides, being a nerd is cool now, right? Everyone in those glasses and shit.”
Philipp smiled despite himself. “I think that only works for people into Star Wars, not currency debates.”
“We could watch Star Wars.”
“I was never all that into Star Wars,” Philipp admitted. “I always felt like I should have liked it more.”
“Not enough punching for you?”
“Maybe that was it.”
Bastian laughed. “At least you’re consistent.”
“I have certain tastes, yes.”
“You should put a movie on in the bus sometime. If you’re ever not being a hotshot music mogul, that is.”
Philipp thought of the photo shoots and budgets he needed to approve, and thought about how nice it would be to watch The Transporter on the couch in the bus with Bastian, like the teenage-hood they’d never actually had. Bastian had partied while Philipp studied, and Philipp wondered if they were doomed to repeat those roles forever, their fates sealed long ago. “Okay. Next time I have time. Have Mario and Thomas ever seen Crank?”
* * * * *
Thomas Skyped his wife every day as soon as he woke up, lying across the couch with gangly legs askew, laptop perched on his stomach. They talked about nonsense most of the time, TV shows and jokes about people Philipp would never meet. Yesterday they had spent at least an hour just making faces at each other. Philipp was supposed to be reviewing possible directors for Bastian’s next music video, but he kept getting distracted by Thomas’ soft voice and the endless road outside the window.
Hans-Jörg and Katja took the back for themselves. Bastian and Mario huddled by one of the TVs, an increasingly impenetrable unit with gestures and inside jokes. They played cards with some nonsense DVD blaring. Philipp had his laptop and the work he had to do. There were calls to make, but never anyone he wanted to talk to. He looked down at the Skype icon and sighed.
Timo had always wanted to visit America. Philipp wasn’t sure how he would have been able to justify bringing Timo along, but he was sure Timo would have found a way, or Phiilpp would have paid out of pocket to have him around.
They’d met when Philipp was getting his degree. Timo worked at a café Philipp kept coming back to, hoping to catch a glimpse of the handsome blond with the swooping hair. It’d been months until Philipp got up the courage to talk to him outside of a drink order, at a bar on the Reeperbahn running an action-movie night. (Total Recall, one of Philipp’s favorites.) Timo wasn’t like anyone he knew, effortless and cool, clever and cutting. Winning him over had felt like the greatest accomplishment Philipp had ever made. He’d legitimately believed that it would be forever. It had been three years since the breakup now and Philipp had spent the time trying not to think about it. With the work on the English-language album, the UK success, that entire whirlwind, he’d succeeded, somewhat.
Stuck in this bus with nothing to keep him company but a sneaking sense of failure, he couldn’t help but think of the last thing he’d screwed up.
* * * * *
Kansas City. Chicago had been great, Minneapolis had been okay, but Kansas City was a disaster. Even Mario could tell, and Mario tended to have the perception and emotional range of a brick. He’d gone into the bus to start the drive to Texas without the normal groaning and argument, just a significant look at Bastian. Philipp would have appreciated the ease, as they did have a long drive, but Philipp hated that things were so bad that Mario acknowledged it. He didn’t even try to keep Bastian up with cards, just went to his bunk without a word of protest. They all did.
After a few hours Philipp got out of his bunk and went to the couch he spent most of his days on. He couldn’t sleep. He kept going over what he could have done better, what should have happened, the posters and promotion and media interviews that should have taken place. He was not a person who could deal with failing. He’d always been an overachiever, proud.
“Fips?”
“Hmm?” Philipp looked up, startled but unsurprised to see Bastian. Only Bastian still called him that. It had been a common nickname, when he was eight and Bastian moved to Munich from Kolbermoor. That was a long time ago now.
“What are you doing still up?”
“Uh.” Philipp winced, feeling even more like shit that he had been before, if that was possible. He didn’t want Bastian to worry about him. He hated having people worry about him, it made him feel inadequate. Like he couldn’t handle himself. He was an adult. A professional. “Waiting, uh, for a phone call.”
Even in the low light Philipp could see the skeptical look on Bastian’s face. “Uh-huh.”
“Time zones. You know.” Philipp managed a smile.
“Uh-huh.” Bastian didn’t sound convinced, but he took a bottle of water from the fridge and headed back to the bunks anyway.
Philipp sighed and thudded his head against the fake leather of the couch. He wished he had a phone call to make. A label guy to yell at. Anyone. Timo.
* * * * *
Philipp was groggier than usual the next day, and Bastian kept giving him looks as he and Mario played cards. Philipp ignored him, concentrating on the receipts, the concrete but depressing numbers, and an email argument with the label that continued as they were pulling up at the venue. Philipp’s head throbbed. He needed some coffee, or a soda, or a Paulaner. He herded the band to the soundcheck and headed backstage to continue the frantic emailing.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to upend the table next to him, could picture the satisfying rain of carrot sticks and ranch dressing. His nerves felt frayed on all edges. He’d always thought he was good at handling stress. He’d been stressed before. When he was writing his thesis Timo used to literally pick him up to tear him away from his computer. He’d worked like this for the first tour he’d done with Bastian, when no one took him seriously, and Timo used to say that he sounded like a parody of an 80’s business guy on the phone. He’d never felt like this before.
Still, he had a job to do. He left the vegetable tray alone and stood. Never let them see you sweat.
* * * * *
Philipp collapsed onto the bed, a real bed, big enough for three of him and without plastic walls all around. It was late, he was tired from the drive, and he had a headache, but he knew he wouldn’t be falling asleep. He rolled over and picked up the remote, turning on the television.
The knock on his door was surprising, but Philipp pushed himself up and opened it. “Bastian.”
“Hey.” Bastian walked inside without Philipp inviting him in, all charm and ease as always. “I’m bored, Mario’s sleeping.”
“You’re always welcome here,” Philipp said warily as Bastian draped himself across the foot of the bed. “I was just…watching TV.”
“Anything good on?”
“Hadn’t found anything.” Philipp sat back down on the bed and slid the remote over to Bastian. “You’re welcome to look, if you want.”
Bastian took the remote and clicked through the channels. “I always thought American TV would be full of great stuff they never brought over, but you know, it’s mostly crap.”
Philipp had to laugh at that. “Most of everything is crap, I guess.”
“Yeah.” Bastian grinned back at Philipp and continued flicking through the channels. “Oh hey! Total Recall. You like that one, don’t you?”
Philipp smiled sadly at that. “Yeah.”
“Cool. That’s something, at least.” Bastian sounded pleased with himself. “We’ll watch this.”
“Okay.” Philipp couldn’t say no to Bastian, he wasn’t sure anyone could, even though Total Recall was the last movie he wanted to watch in the mood he was in. He was already tired and stressed, he didn’t need to be maudlin too.
Halfway through, Bastian caught Philipp sighing and rubbing his eyes. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Philipp replied quickly, managing a smile. “I’m fine.”
“I know you’re not.” Bastian turned to face Philipp, leaning on his elbow. “Something’s wrong.”
Philipp huffed, not wanting to talk about anything, but Bastian was making his stubborn face. “I miss Timo,” he said finally. It was what he was most willing to say. The one that didn’t blame Bastian for anything.
“Timo was an asshole.”
“Yeah.” Philipp couldn’t disagree with that, and his relationship with Bastian had always been frosty. “But he was my asshole. It was nice to have someone there, you know? Someone to think about. Someone to call.”
“You just miss having a boyfriend, then.”
“No!” Philipp protested, then sighed. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just felt less stressed out. We fought, yeah, but it was better than this.” He spread his arms out over the pastel hotel bedspread, fingertips gliding across the coated fabric. “I get on the bus, or come back to the hotel, lie on the bed, and think about everything that’s going wrong. At least I used to be able to think of something else.”
Bastian was quiet for a moment. “You worry that much?”
“Of course I do.” Philipp thudded his head against the pillow. “What else would I do?”
“I don’t know.” Bastian flipped over onto his stomach, resting his head on his hands and looking at Philipp. “I was hoping you were at least doing something you liked.”
“I play the DS sometimes.” Philipp hadn’t picked it up since the flight over, but Bastian sounded so forlorn.
“You’re the worst liar, Fips.” Bastian didn’t break his gaze from Philipp. “But you’d tell me if you really hated this, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Philipp replied unconvincingly. He knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure what he would do, though. He never quit or walk away from anything. He had a contract.
“You’d still be my friend, even if you quit to go work in a fucking office somewhere. Even if you went to work for the label.”
“Basti.”
“I’m serious! You’ve always been there for me when things went to shit. I’m not that much of a dick that I wouldn’t be there for you.”
“Thanks,” Philipp said, and meant it, touched. Bastian had been part of his life since they were children, and they’d never been close like Bastian seemed to be with others. But then, Philipp had never been close with anyone but Timo. “But I’m okay. Really. Just tired, I guess.”
“Ahh, so that’s why you’re saying so much.” Bastian grinned and dropped his elbows, pillowing his head on his arms instead. “You aren’t flushed enough to be drunk.”
“Do I flush?” Philipp asked.
“Bright red.”
Philipp laughed, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m terrible.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m fucking up my job, I can’t keep a boyfriend, I’ve got a stomach that won’t go away, and I flush when I get drunk, apparently.” Philipp rubbed his hands over his eyes, pressing into his cheekbones. “I’m awful.”
“Hey. Hey.” Bastian slid up the bed, closer to Philipp, and poked his side. “Stop thinking like that.”
“It’s true.” Philipp moved his hands and looked down at Bastian mournfully. “You deserve a lot better.”
“Stop that.” Bastian frowned. “You do a great job. I asked you to manage me for a reason.”
“Why? There had to be plenty of real managers out there you could have worked with.” It was all coming out now, and Philipp wasn’t sure whether to be mortified or relieved.
“Because. You’re smart. You’re good with planning, and money, and all that, since we were kids. You’ve got a law degree, you can talk to the label. And…you’re a good person.” Bastian looked worried, his brow furrowed as he spoke.
“I am not,” Philipp protested weakly.
“You are. You’re legitimately a good person. You were the first person who’d talk to me when I moved to Munich. You’ve come and bailed me out of more situations than I want to remember, even though I was acting like a shit every time. I can trust you. Probably…probably more than anyone else,” Bastian admitted, worrying the polyester bedspread with the tips of his fingers. “You’re always there for me, you always have been, and I hate that you’re feeling like shit about everything. You don’t deserve it.”
Philipp was quiet for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, then Bastian. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, dick.” Bastian punched Philipp’s hip lightly. “And you do a great job, it’s not your fault this tour is fucked.”
“I just wish I could fix it.” Philipp sighed. He knew he sounded petulant, but he was never good at not succeeding.
“Fuck it. We learn. Next time it’ll be better. And soon we can go home.” Bastian shrugged. “And you’re going on vacation. Properly. I’ll steal your stupid phone and laptop and everything.”
Philipp started to protest, but Bastian glared at him and he closed his mouth. “Can I stay in Munich? I want to play the new Kirby game and drink beer.” The words sounded wonderful in Philipp’s ears as he said them.
“Sure,” Bastian said with a smile. “It’ll be easier to make sure you’re not working that way.”
“You going to check up on me?”
“Someone has to.”
“No one has to.” Philipp wrinkled his nose. “I’m a grown man.”
“Quit being a dick about this.” Bastian poked Philipp’s hip again. “You don’t always have to do everything in life by yourself.”
“I’m not-“ Philipp protested, then frowned, trying to compose his thoughts. “I don’t want to be a bother. You have stuff to do, I’m sure Sarah will want - “
“Philipp. Shut up. Honestly, man. You don’t need to do this martyr shit. You’re my friend, and I want you to be happy. That’s all.” Bastian finished with a mulish glare.
“Okay. Okay.” Philipp put his hands up in agreement. It was odd, but he already felt a bit lighter.
* * * * *
Denver went well. They had the West Coast coming up next and promising sales reports for California. Seattle was a long drive, but Bastian had somehow come up with DVDs of the entire Die Hard series and insisted that Philipp watch them with him and Mario. Philipp had a lot of work to do, but his laptop would still work by the TV instead of where he usually had it. He hadn’t watched Die Hard in far too long.