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It had been another incredible KISS show. Paul knew he’d gone hard with this performance because his throat was feeling a bit raw and scratchy. And now the adrenaline of the show was wearing off, he was also starting to feel a bit woozy. Shivering, he tugged the top part of his sparkly jumpsuit back up and leaned limply against the wall, arms wrapped about himself.
Gene was coming along behind him and patted his back. “Good show . . .” Then, with concern, “Are you okay?”
Paul looked up at him with glazed eyes. “Yeah, just a bit tired.”
He was more than a bit tired. In the shower the water hitting his skin felt like needles. Having the water too warm made him feel like throwing up. Or passing out. Possibly both at the same time. But turning it down sent him into a spasm of shivering.
Weakly he slid down the wall to the floor.
He didn’t know how long he’d been there before he heard Gene call, “Paul? Are you done?”
Paul peered up at him through wet straggly curls. The pallor of his skin and the dark shadows under his eyes made him look like he hadn’t washed the makeup off. Gene stared at him in horror as he turned off the water.
“Fucking hell, Paul, you look terrible!” He pulled Paul to his feet and wrapped a towel around him, rubbing him dry. Now the warm water was gone, Paul was shivering even harder than before.
“The bus is already out back,” Gene said, as he helped him get dressed. “You get your butt in there and into your bunk. We’ll sort the shit out here.”
“I’m fine,” Paul mumbled. But he was too tired to protest. They were going to have to drive all night to get to the next city for the following night’s show, so he left them to it and crawled into bed. Gene’s bed to be exact, his arms and legs were aching, and he just didn’t have the energy to climb to his top bunk.
I’ll just lie down for a bit then I’ll climb up, was the last thing he thought before zonking out. And that was how his bandmates found him when they boarded the bus not too long afterwards.
“Paul,” Gene shook him gently. “Paul, you’re in my bed.”
He was answered with a snore.
“Paulie never snores,” said Ace. “He must be wasted.”
“Yeah.” The little knot of worry in Gene’s stomach was getting bigger.
“Well you’ll just have to suck it up and be on top tonight. The top bunk! Get it!” Ace cackled as he elbowed Gene like the bad joke would go over his head.
Gene did not like sleeping on the top bunk. Although he’d never admit it to the others, he was scared of heights. Even sleeping 5 feet off the ground seemed completely unnatural. He glanced at Peter, wondering if he should ask to swap.
“Don’t even think about it,” was the pre-emptive answer.
Paul started coughing around 3am, waking up the rest of the band.
“Get a fucking drink or hurry up and die! I don’t care which!” Peter spat.
Gene nearly fell out of bed. Shit! That’s right, he was on top! He climbed down and peered at Paul, who was sitting on the edge of the bunk, blanket wrapped about his shoulders, coughing and eyes streaming.
“Gede, I dod’t feel so good,” Paul finally confessed.
Gene placed his hand on Paul’s forehead.
“You’re burning up.”
“Thed why ab I so cold?” Paul shivered, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. He coughed again.
“His voice is kinda raspy,” Ace noticed.
“Oh, have his balls finally dropped?” Peter was cranky when woken up.
Gene handed Paul a bottle of water. “Try and get some sleep,” he said, tucking him back into bed. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
It was a long way until morning. Paul woke up coughing several more times, waking the others each time. Ace and Peter peered from their bunks with concern, as Gene sat next to Paul, rubbing his back. He coughed again. Every time it sent jolts of pain through his body. He’d had colds before, but never anything like this.
“I have never heard a non-smoker cough like that.” Peter was starting to worry now, too.
Paul did not feel better in the morning. His throat felt like he had swallowed a razor blade. He had more congestion than he thought his head was capable of holding. He kept the blanket wrapped around him as they made their way to their rooms.
Gene turned to wait for him. “You okay? Do you want me to carry you to your room?”
Paul gave him a small smile. “Yes, but dot id public.”
Gene stayed with him once they got to his room, tucking him gently into bed. The smooth clean sheets should have felt good after a night on the bus, but Paul could not stop shivering.
“I don’t know how to make you warmer.” Gene had laid the blanket from the bus over the covers as well.
“I want my mom.” Paul whimpered sadly. He wasn’t sure why, for a nurse his mother could be rather unsympathetic. But he was craving the comfort of home.
“Sorry, bud, you’ve just got me.” Gene kissed his hot forehead.
There was a tap on the door then. It was Bill, who had traveled ahead of them to deal with the organizational part of things. “Peter said Paul’s sick?”
“Yeah.” Gene let him in. “Coughing, snotted up. Sounds like he’s losing his voice. And he has a fever but can’t stop shivering. I don’t know whether to try and warm him up or cool him down.”
Bill sat by Paul and felt his forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“I’b okay.”
“Paul. Be honest.”
“Awful.”
“I’ll get a doctor here to look at you. And we’ll cancel tonight’s show.”
“Doh,” croaked Paul. “I’ll be alright, I just deed a dap.”
Bill laughed kindly. “Paul, you can barely talk, there’s no way you’d be able to sing. And we’d have to prop you up on stage.”
“But the fads . . .”
“I know you don’t want to disappoint them, but it can’t be helped. The only thing you need to think about right now is getting better.” Bill patted the blankets and stood up. “I’ll see if the hotel has a doctor on call.”
There was a doctor on call, and he was able to come and see Paul that morning, which was good news. But it gave Paul something new to worry about. The doctor would want to look at his throat, that was a given. But when doctors looked at his throat, they usually also wanted to look at his ears. And if that was something Paul had to deal with, he would rather do it alone.
“Ub, Gede, could you . . . I’b ad adult, it would look weird if you stayed while the doctor checks be out.”
So while the doctor was in with Paul, Gene wandered down to the restaurant. The chef was headed into the kitchen.
“Hey, man, what’s the soup of the day?”
“Seafood.”
Gene tried not to make a face as he reached into his wallet and pulled out a few notes. “My friend’s real sick, what would it take to get some chicken noodle?”
“Are you in KISS?”
Gene answered by sticking out his tongue.
“Gene!”
“Shhhhhh.”
“I’ve got tickets for tonight!”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, that won’t be happening now. But if you can get me some soup for Paul, I promise we will reschedule and I’ll throw in a backstage pass for you too.”
“I promise you, I’ll make the best chicken noodle soup you’ve ever had!”
The doctor took Paul’s temperature, which was 103 degrees, and looked into his throat. “There’s some infection there,” he said, then said the words Paul was dreading. “I’ll look in your ears.”
Paul dutifully turned his left side to the doctor, who looked inside. “Other side.”
Paul froze and shook his head. “I dod’t have ode.”
“Sorry?”
Paul shamefully turned his head and lifted his hair.
“Microtia?”
Of course a doctor knew what it was, but Paul was always surprised when they did. Most people had never heard of it. The doctor was unfazed though and just continued. “Lift your shirt so I can listen to your chest.”
After ordering the soup, Gene hung around the restaurant, drinking coffee, until he decided that the doctor must be done, and made his way back to the room. He passed Bill on the way, who confirmed the doctor had gone, and Paul had a very bad case of the flu, and Bill was now on his way to find a pharmacy to get some antibiotics.
Around lunch time a very pretty waitress brought two covered bowls of chicken noodle soup up to the room. Gene looked longingly at her as he tipped her. Under normal circumstances he’d invite her in and give her not just a tip, but the whole length. Ahh the sacrifices he made for his Paul.
But as well as sex, food was also very high on the list of Gene’s favourite things. And the soup smelled incredible. He removed one of the lids. Bright orange carrot slices and little green flecks of thyme floated among the shredded chicken and noodles.
Paul leaned against the headboard as Gene fed him the soup.
“I ab capable of feeding byself,” he croaked, but kept opening his mouth as Gene lifted the spoon. He hadn’t been feeling much like eating anything, but after the first mouthful he realized how hungry he was. And that soup was good.
After lunch Gene sat on the bed, watching tv while Paul curled up against his lap, sleeping. His breathing was harsh, but he’d stopped coughing.
Absently Gene played with Paul’s curls, trying not to wake him as he sniggered at the Three Stooges’ antics. He may not have been successful though, cause he heard a croak from next to him.
“Why do they have a horse id the hospital?”
“Cause it’s funny. It’s not like modern comedy where they use humour to make a point. The only purpose of this is to make people laugh. It’s not supposed to make sense.”
“Oh.”
Paul did giggle at Dr Graves and how the Stooges broke the glass in his door. “I dod’t dow if I could trust a doctor called that.”
“If I was a doctor I’d be called Dr Love.” Gene quoted the show. “Calling Dr Howard, Dr Fine, Dr Howard. Calling Dr Love.” Gene was feeling a song idea brewing.
Paul looked up at Gene. “You don’t have to stay with be you dow. I saw you looking at the waitress. You wadted to go add fuck her.”
“Yeah, I wanna fuck you too. But I can’t right now, so I gotta be your Dr Love so you get better and then I can fuck you.”
Paul’s curls flopped limply over his forehead, his face was pale and his nose was red. But as Gene looked at him, he still had to smile.
“What?” Paul snuffled. “Gede, what? Is my dose drippid?” Paul wiped at it self-consciously.
“No,” said Gene, still smiling. “You’re still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
“Geeeeede!” Paul wailed. “I feel like shit!”
“I know, sweetheart, I know. But the first step of the cure is.” Gene kissed the top of his head. “A kiss.”