VSCO Girls

Author's Note: Dearly Departed is one of my very favorite songs. Not quite The Civil Wars for  haunting harmonies, but Shakey Graves and Esme Patterson have great chemistry and rhythm together.

Riley, Two Months Later, North Georgia Mountains

As we pull up the the dilapidated farm house, I cut a side eye at Rowan. I can't tell if she's staring at the peeling paint, weathered roof and and meager landscaping, or just wondering how in the hell all her clothes are going to fit into the tiny domicile.

But she doesn't complain. She just shakes her head and laughs. "Oh my god, Riley! This is such a dump! I mean, I don't mind roughing it, but how in hell did Kat survive here?"

I smother a smile. It's always amusing to me, how slightly askew Rowan's self-perception is. Row tends to think herself such a bad-ass and her Instagram sister-in-law as slightly more...spoiled in her personal preferences. In reality, I think Row has been much more petted by her parents than the tomboyish HellKat ever was. I know that Kat embraced her time with Trace at the clink like an adventure that hearkened back to their outdoorsy childhood. I wonder what Row is going to think when she realizes there is only one bathroom and it's roughly the size of our broom closet at home.

At least we still have a home in LA. For the moment. After Row settled with Girl Band, and we sold the house in New Zealand and three valuable sports cars—keeping only Row's vintage Mustang—we can probably front the cash for our musical endeavor and pay the mortgage for a year or so, but it's unlikely we'll spend much time there. I'm honestly not sure of the wisdom of keeping this place, since the hope is that our life and livelihood will revolve around the Southern Music cities—Nashville, Memphis, Muscle Shoals, Atlanta, Athens, New Orleans, Asheville—but Row has come to view our home with the reverence one might afford a house of worship.

"It's where we found our way back to one another. It's the birthplace of our sound. It's sacred ground, baby," she had pointed out at one of our recent weekly financial meetings.

And what could I say to that? She's right.

So we compromised. We kept the house in the hills, but that meant we absolutely couldn't afford to buy or even rent a nice place down South. It didn't take me long to come up with an alternate housing plan—because the Clink is only two hours from Muscle Shoals, not much farther to Nashville, and is equipped with a professional free recording studio, but it took me quite a few days to swallow my pride and approach Trace with the idea of us squatting here.

Trace, being Trace, was entirely gracious. "Actually, it would save my life if you and Row took over the place for a little while. The new house is being constructed, and I sure as hell can't be flying from LA every week to check on the progress—not with the boys not sleeping for shit and Kat exhausted. The construction is a real stressor to me right now, especially with my dad and Kat's mom still recovering from the transplant. Adam was going to drive down and check on things occasionally but it would be so much better if you put in a little sweat equity and kept on top of it. You would really be doing me one final management service, yeah?"

A week later, we've arrived at our home away from home. Ever the pragmatist, Row's first priority is to unload the guitars from the U-Haul. It's fine by me; having her view the barn before touring the tiny house will likely go over better anyway.

I help her pile them on the Gator, thoughtfully parked in the drive and we're off to the barn. Row immediately takes to jumping on the trampoline, but within minutes I've arrested her play by jumping her on the trampoline.

Unfortunately, we're not very far into foreplay before a honking horn thwarts my dreams of an afternoon of trampoline sex. The old me would have definitely attended to the unpacking before love-making, but hey. Life is short and Row is fucking hot. My spectacular heathen has my drive running at break-neck speeds these days.

"Who's that?" Row asks, pulling her t-shirt back over her head.

"The Welcome Wagon, I assume," I say with a grin.

Karma is a bitch. I have no idea how Soundcrush is managing to know where I am and what I'm doing at virtually all times, but they do. Despite leaving their employ, I can't shake them. They knew the moment we returned to the States, and they even seemed to know where we were as we drove across country in the U-haul. I'm beginning to wonder if Chili has more trackers on me. Or perhaps Varrick is providing them intel by pinging Row, which might explain why Bodie is currently hollering, "Y'all decent?" at the barn door.

"Hardly ever!" Row calls back cheerfully, tugging me to my feet, helping me slowly navigate off the in floor trampoline before scampering away to leap into Bodie's arms.

By the time I follow them back outside, Bodie's Sixmob Movers are unpacking the U-Haul and Bodie is laughing as box after box labeled "Row's Clothes," is unloaded.

"Imma have these boys run to Wal-Mart and get you some temporary wardrobes for the barn. Ain't no way all this shit is fitting in this house, baby," Bodie tells her as he throws boxes off the truck.

"Oooh, let's go ourselves!" She grabs a box from Bodie. "I've never been to Wal-Mart!" she tosses over her shoulder.

Bodie hops down off the truck and scratches his stomach as he looks at me with a grin. "You know we have a pool, right?"

I sigh. "You mean, how long Row's enthusiasm for living like the other half will last?"

"Well it's more specific than that. There's bets for how long she'll stay here before moving to the closest Four Seasons, bets for when she'll blow your budget and use her Black Amex, bets for when you'll roll over and let Matt to buy y'all a house in Nashville..."

"I'll take all those bets. Put me down for never. When she sets her mind to something, she's much stronger than anyone gives her credit for."

Bodie smiles. "You don't have to tell me that. She's as strong as they come, like Marley. But her daddy is also a billionaire, and she ain't ever been inside a Wal-mart, apparently."

"Shut yer cake-hole," I say. He shoves me lightly. Very lightly as not to push me off balance. I shove him back harder.

"Oh you wanna go?" He says shoving just the tiniest bit harder. I appreciate Bodie and Street. They don't pussy-foot around my deficits. They give me shit like we all give each other shit. Honestly, it took me a long damn time to forgive Bodie for the events that led to Row getting stabbed, but forgiveness seems to be my particular area of growth this year.

Row reappears on the porch. "Don't make me kick your ass, Butters!"

"You gon' let your woman fight your battles?" Bodie teases me.

I consider Row. "If and when appropriate? Yes. And she could definitely kick your ass. Have you ever seen her and Street scrap in earnest? She fights dirty, and you are far too good-hearted to level the playing field."

"That's probably true," he says, holding up his hands to Row in surrender. "Instead of rough-housing, how about you, me and Riley hit Wallyworld?"

"Let's go!"

Bodie is snickering already. "This I gotta see."

###

"Riley!" Row peaks around the endcap at me. "Fluorescent hair color for twelve cents a can. Twelve cents! The kind I usually get costs like...I don't even know. Probably forty dollars a can or something."

She piles twenty cans in the cart.

"Darlin', a bargain is only a bargain if you get a good deal on things you will actually need and use," I say. "The emo look is not our new brand..."

"Okay, but for like, Halloween."

"For the next twenty years," Bodie snarks.

"Do you really need twenty cans?" I pick one up, looking for an expiration date. Since there isn't one, I try googling shelf life of aerosol products.

"Are you telling me I can't afford to spend two dollars and forty cents on our sex life?" she announces to the entire Health and Beauty department. "I can coordinate my hair color and lingerie. I can pretend to be alien slave girls from all over the galaxy..."

I feel my own eyebrow raising in interest, then swipe the remaining dozen or so cans into the cart.

Bodie practically falls out in the aisle, laughter. The next thing I know, he's commandeered the cart and pushed us to the lingerie aisle, where Row is finding "deals" on fluorescent bras for $8.88 and matching panties for $2.44.

I finger the scratchy, stiff material. There's no way Row is going to keep that on her body for more than sixty seconds. Which isn't altogether the worst investment...

"I'll just buy one set for now," she tells me. "In case I don't like the way they wear."

I give Bodie a triumphant smirk. See, she is trying to be sensible. And if the day comes that I can't indulge her twenty bucks for a little fun shopping, well, I don't want to think about that day. Because there was a time I couldn't spare twenty bucks for my girl because we had to use it for drugs to keep from shaking. And that day will never come between Row and I. We will never be that desperate.

A phone flashes to our left. We don't react at first, but another flashes, so we all give each other the "time to go" look. But we haven't gotten what we come for, so by the time we make it back to the home goods section, we've got several teenage girls trailing us.

As I try to calculate how many items these rolling wardrobe racks might hold while trying to compare that with a ballpark estimate of the number of items Row brought, one teen-I believe she could properly be described as a VSCO girl-approaches us with her phone.

"Hey! Are you like, really talented and famous?"

I'm adding up Row's estimated Jeans with Row's estimated leather jackets, while Bodie deals with his fangirl when he says, "Riley..."

I turn to him and realize the girl is talking to me. I laugh a little. "Them? Yes. Me? Not at all, love."

She colors over. Row rolls her eyes and says to Bodie. "It's the accent."

"Yeah, I see that now," Bodie looks speculatively at the girl. She's not even looking at him.

"No, you are too, right?" She looks excitedly from me to Row. "You're from Girl Band, and he's like, your boyfriend, right? There's a clip of you guys on YouTube singing on Frey and it was sooooo good. Like intense, but sweet. What did he call you? Your band?"

"R&R," I supply at once. He didn't call us that, but it's become the obvious choice.

"You are so lucky," she tells Row. "To have a boyfriend that can sing to you like that!"

"He's not my boyfriend," Row says indignantly. She's looks annoyed, as if she doesn't like the rather light-weight label the girl applied to me, and doesn't care for the girl's shocking lack of awareness of the history of her celebrity, even though it was discussed on the show.

But the girl's maybe sixteen. Most likely she only knows Row from Girl Band. Certainly she isn't aware of our down-low marriage or demise that we worked so hard to keep out of the press. Our old photos together simply faded into internet oblivion, not even worthy of click-bait when we divorced.

"He's not?" The girl looks between us. "Ooooh, I get it. It's like a boundary thing? You can't cross that line, because you don't want to mess up your band? That's sooooo romantic. Like Romeo and Juliet."

Row opens her mouth, probably to tell this girl we are practically, pragmatically married but I cut her off. "She's figured us out, Rowan. Yeah, we have a solemn vow not to mess up our band with romantic stuff."

"Awwwwww," the girl beams and squeezes her shoulders up to her ears, then adjusts her messy bun. "Y'all are so adorable. I totally ship y'all! I hope you figure out your band and your other stuff!"

"Would you like a video, love?" I ask her.

"Oh my god, could we do a TikTok? Like with my friends? Y'all could sing something and we could pretend to back you up?"

"I could give you a beat," Bodie offers to us.

"No, can you just shoot the video?" the VSCO girl says, handing off her phone, completely unaware of who he is. Bodie grins, amused at his anonymity. He's fairly used to this, being the drummer is the least recognizable position in a band.

"Where should we do it? She asks her friend, an apparent expert in TikTok videography, who drags us through the store looking for a good backdrop. On the way I use my cane to snag a cowboy hat —$7.97— and Row hastily tugs on a black floral dress over her yoga pants—a shockingly good deal at $11.97. She rolls up her yoga pants and trades her uggs for a pair of faux leather cowboy boots for a rather overpriced $28.88. I luck upon a student guitar in the Christmas clearance toy section—$20 even—I'm definitely going to have to pay for that item since I took it out of the package.

Bodie plays around riding the cart, all the way to the outdoor living section where the girls stage our shoot in front a pallet of ficus trees, Everday Low Price $15.97. The pagoda in the background strung with lights is a big ticket item, $99.97, which Row fancies for the farm, until I remind her that it's March and still quite nippy and she's a California girl through and through.

"Are you sure about this?" Row whispers as I tune the guitar.

"Yes," I say. I turn to VSCO Girl #1 "Love, can you do us a favor and hashtag this #singersoftiktok but not #walmarttiktok?"

The girl gives me a conspiratorial head nod. "Oh, I gotshu. I only came in here for gum, I swear."

"Of course," I wink at her. Her friends have a cart piled high with cheap bathing suits, lake floats, squirt guns and beach balls.

We put the girls flanking us. Before I begin the song, I introduce it as an R&R original song, establishing our copyright—no more legal fuckups—the we launch into our zippy little song "Rattle My Chains." It's a funny tongue-in cheek song about Row and I being frustrated lovers who can't leave one another. Bodie can't resist himself. He stops the shoot after the first two lines and schools the girls in a handclap that I actually think we might keep in the song. They girls do a great job staying background, but Row and I get quite carried away, jumping around and projecting quite loudly. I can already tell, Row is going to come through the lens perfectly adorable.

We attract a crowd. Bodie declares it a wrap just before the store manager comes to break it up. He glares at the clothing stock he recognizes from his store, and I feel obliged to pay for it rather than ditch it behind the plants.

"That's R&R with an ampersand," I correct the girl who is spelling out the word "R and R" while we wait in the Garden Center checkout. Row pays while I quickly establish R&R a TikTok account so we can follow the girl and monitor our video. Then I text everyone in my contacts to follow us immediately because we will look pretty sad with no followers.

By the time the checker has bagged Row's fluorescent hair dyes, we have a respectable 1,128 followers.

"A what?" the girl says blankly.

"An ampersand, love. You know," I step beside her and make the symbol in the air in front of us.

"Ooooooh. He's so cute the way he talks." I guess she's talking to Row but she's staring up with me at alarmingly interested eyes. I step away, covering by loading by cowboy hat on the check-out counter.

"Yes, he is," Row says evenly. Rather too evenly as she squints her eyes at me.

Row only gets more irritated as the girl jabbers at me, asking for all my handles to follow me on every social media account I have. It does not escape Row's notice that she doesn't follow her. In the parking lot she asks us for a selfie with just her. I'm pretty sure she framed it with the intent of cropping Row out.

The girl's shoulders pitch toward her ears again as she smiles. "Y'all are so great! I love y'all. Don't forget to follow me back!" she says to me.

"'Bye now," Row waves, smiling sweetly and pitching her shoulders up in imitation of the girls. When the girls drive away, she begins throwing sacks violently into the back of Trace's F-150, hairspray cans flying everywhere. "That little bitch would totally have fucked you in that tent in the sporting goods section," she hisses. She stabs her finger at me. "I'm fucking pissed, Riley! You can't flirt with the fangirls like that."

Bodie pulls his phone and calls Marley. "Hey Jaz. Mark it down for the betting pool. They are having their first fight over a fangirl. I know, right? I thought it would at least take until their first official performance."

"Darlin', she was just a child, and it's just part of the job. You know that," I grab Row around the waist. She whirls away, but I catch her by the arm. "Look, at what a little fan engagement did for us. " I insist gently in her ear.

"Do not pull that fan engagement bullshit excuse on me! Do you know how many times I've heard my dad tell my mom some tabloid shot of him kissing a woman on stage is fan engagement that snuck up on him? We need to set some ground rules," her words fade as I thrust our refreshed video in her face. Our new friend is rather TikTok famous. Our clip already has more than 5000 hearts and over 700 shares.

"Holy shit," she whispers, all her irritation with me fading. She grabs my phone, watching, then my forearms. "Riley, we need more TikToks. For our channel."

"Too bloody right." I pull the receipt from the bag, adding up the boots, the hat, guitar, and Row's dress. "Our first video cost us sixty-eight dollars and eighty-two cents."

"How come you are always staging us some video that costs Soundcrush eighty grand?" Bodie tsks at me as we climb in the truck.

"I'm not staging you shit-all anymore," I say, reclining in the back seat and readjusting my cowboy hat. "I'm famous now. Somebody get me a latte."

Row laughs as Bodie dutifully pulls into the Starbucks.