Big Girl Playing in Paris: Big Girl Series Bk4 (2 page)

For their first show,
Wilder Side
played to a packed house in Barcelona, and the show was great--screaming fans, a nearly perfect set, the works. Then Alex and Asher decided to take everybody out for paella after the show. Daniel left early for the hotel room, but Julian wanted to stay out a bit longer.
Fuck it,
he thought.
I’m in Europe
. At twenty-four and on his way to being a multimillionaire, Julian could handle staying out late.

“Shots!” A fan pushed a tray of shot glasses over in front of the band, yelling out with a heavy accent. “You were wonderful! C’etait parfait!”

Julian eyed the whiskey in front of him. The smell of it made his mind blur with a desire he thought he had erased for good. The amber liquid looked almost like honey, so sweet, so inviting. The rest of the band took their shots and Julian reached out too, aware without being aware that he was crossing through a door he wouldn’t be able to close. He paused for a moment as the fans around him cheered, the glass smooth and familiar in his hand. The dark, rich scent wafted just in front of him, teasing him with the promise of a good time and no tomorrow.

He put the glass down and stood up.

“Where you going, man?” Asher said.

“I gotta go,” Julian said, pushing away the fans who were clamoring to take photographs of him.

“Everything okay?” Alex looked concerned.

“Yeah, I just gotta get out of here.” Julian turned, his words lost in the clamor of the bar crowd.

“Okay,” he heard Alex say, but then he was shoving his way through the crowd. A few people talked to him as he went by, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying, and he needed to get out, to be alone.

Alone
. He burst out of the bar door and strode down the street amid the crowds on the sidewalk. The streetlights glowed above his head.
Alone, alone.
He turned into the nearest alleyway and got out of the street. The dumpster in the alley smelled like trash and piss, but at least there was nobody else there to bother him. He bent his head and took a breath. He needed Shannon. It wasn’t fair, but he needed her. He thought of pulling out his phone and calling her, but she would be in class. Jesus, though, that whiskey…

“Hey Julian?”

He looked up to see Asher’s silhouette.

“You okay man?” Asher came forward. He put his hand on Julian’s shoulder.

“Fine. Just needed some fresh air.” Julian straightened up.

Asher sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling.

“This air ain’t fresh, man. Hey, Trixie is going out with the girls. You want to walk back to the hotel?”

Julian looked up at Asher. He should be grateful to have such friends. The band had only gotten closer after their argument, and Asher couldn’t have been any cooler about the whole thing.

“Sure, man.” He set his shoulders back. If there was one thing he wasn’t going to get much of on this tour, it was alone time. He would just have to accept it.

The next two stops on the tour kicked copious amounts of ass, just as the first show had.
Cheap Trix
played well whenever they opened for
Wilder Side
, and occasionally the two bands broke apart to play separate shows, the girl rock band having fans in some areas
Wilder Side
didn’t. Smooth sailing all around, at least until they got to Paris.

“One week in,” Daniel said. “It’s always one week in something bad happens.”

“Nothing bad is going to happen,” Alex said. “Stop worrying.”

“You excited about the show tonight?” Asher asked Julian. Julian shrugged. Asher was bouncing on his heels, like he knew something the rest of the band didn’t. Julian normally didn’t care, but tonight he felt irritated by the nervous energy

Their huge gig at the Eiffel Tower was coming up soon, but first they had to play a show in downtown Paris, right underneath the Arc de Triomphe. The police had cordoned off the whole circular intersection, but tourists continued to walk under the tunnels to get to the Arc. The backstage area there was actually underground, but the crowd passed by just next to them in the tunnel that spanned the length of the street circle, opening up in the middle to where the stage was set up. The gaping hordes of people took their turns staring out at the Arc where the band was setting up, walking past them from one end of the tunnel to the other.

“I feel like I’m in a zoo,” Asher said.

Julian agreed. With people filing past them behind the railing, it seemed like nothing more than an exhibition, and they were the ones on exhibit. Julian’s breath came shallowly in his throat. The whole thing suffocated him. So many people, so many crowds. He just wanted to play music, but the band needed to show off. Every show they played seemed bigger than the last, and this one was no exception. Cheering fans filled the Champs Elysees to the brim, pushing down toward the Arc where
Wilder Side
was setting up..

“Gonna be a great show!” Alex exclaimed. The lead singer never seemed fazed by crowds—in fact, the energy of a large group of people always buoyed him up. Julian didn’t know how he managed it. Maybe there was a rock star gene that Alex had, one that Julian was missing.

The show started well but then things went to shit. During the first song Asher busted a stick, and he had forgotten to keep extras close at hand—their biggest song went on for half the time without a beat. Then somebody tripped over the amp cable connected to Daniel’s bass, and Daniel wigged out, his concentration broken for the next few songs in the set. He kept messing up, or maybe Asher played something different on the drums, but either way the both of them were off of their usual synchrony.

Alex ate up the crowd’s fervor, and some girl actually threw her bra onto his guitar in the middle of a song. A railing broke down and security had to throw ropes across the street to cordon off the screaming fans. Julian looked nervously out at the crowd. Jesus, there must have been a hundred thousand people teeming in the street, and all they had to hold them back were a few ropes and guards. Nobody played well, but the audience didn’t seem to care. Julian fucked up his main solo and they still cheered, and then he fucked up two more transitions, and they still cheered. It was infuriating. After the set was over, Julian retreated underground, where a bunch of fans screamed from behind the rails in the tunnel.

“Julian!
Julian
!” Alex’s voice barely made itself heard above the roar of the crowd. Underground, the walls seemed to shake with the noise.

“What?” Julian yelled.

“Encore!” Alex said, thumbing back out at the Arc. Julian shook his head. He could see Pat, their manager, making his way over, and he did not want to talk to the man.

“No way,” he said. “I’m done.”

Alex grabbed his arm, and Julian felt a surge of anger pulse through his body. He didn’t want to be touched, he didn’t want anyone close to him. He needed to be alone. The fans screamed Alex’s name from behind him.

“You gotta come back!” Alex shouted into his ear. Julian pulled away roughly, knocking Alex off balance. Throwing his guitar onto the pile of equipment, he turned away from Alex.

“Julian! What the hell?” Daniel stood at the entryway of the tunnel, camera flashes going off behind him. Julian squinted.

“I’m
done
,” he said, and strode off toward the tunnel, pulling a baseball cap onto his head. Grabbing a security guard jacket and throwing it over his shirt, he jumped the rail. The first few fans grabbed at him, but he pushed his way forward and soon he was past the group of people who had seen him come from the band. Amid the confusion he pushed his way outward and into the crowded street, his head bent over his cap.

“Julian! Wait!” He thought he heard Asher yelling his name, but he didn’t care. He needed to get out. Tonight had been everything he hated. The music, especially. Nothing mattered except the music, and they had fucked that up royally.

He hated it all, the crowds, the noise, the fame that wasn’t deserved. That set had been awful, and still the audience cheered. He wanted to curl up and die. He wanted to smash something. He wanted out.

Shoving his way through the dense mass of people, he found himself in the doorway of a bar. The lights inside were dimmed and he went in, closing the door behind him.

The ringing in his ears quieted down as he acclimated himself to the soft murmuring of bar conversation inside. The people here sipped wine and whiskey, smoking cigars in plush seats. Beautiful women milled around indifferently. A waiter came quickly over, eyeing Julian with disdain. Julian pulled off the security jacket and cap and tossed them aside, pulling a wad of cash from his pocket. He peeled off a 100 euro bill and flicked it out toward the waiter.

“Merci, monsieur,” the waiter said, his expression quickly turning hospitable.

“Where can I sit?” Julian asked, scanning the room.

“This way, please,” the waiter said, slipping effortlessly into English. He motioned Julian to come to the back of the bar and produced an empty booth out of thin air.

“What can I get for monsieur?” the waiter asked.

“Water, please,” Julian said, sliding into the booth. The waiter paused, and Julian flicked another bill his way. “Quick.”

“Yes, monsieur.” The waiter picked up the bill with expert fingers. A beautiful girl dressed in a skintight black cocktail dress returned with a glass of water, and Julian downed it, ignoring the stares of the patrons around him. He put his head in his hands, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. He had fucked up. He should never have joined
Wilder Side
. It wasn’t about the music anymore, if it ever had been. It was about the fame, and the crowds and… Jesus. A dull buzzing headache gripped the base of his skull.

“Monsieur?” The beautiful girl was back, and she pushed a glass of something toward him. He began to protest.

“A drink on the house for monsieur,” she said, ignoring his words. He thought maybe she didn’t speak English, because she left him the drink anyway and went to another table.

He stared down at the glass. Two perfectly clear ice cubes rested in the golden liquid. He leaned forward to smell it, and knew at once it was brandy, and not the cheap kind. He felt a twinge of desire pulse through his body. His head ached with it.

Just one drink. One drink would get rid of the horrible crushing pain in his head. Before he could convince himself otherwise, his hand reached out and tilted the glass up. The liquid burned his throat beautifully as it went down. A delicious warmth spread through his chest, and he forgot why it had been so important to him to stay away from alcohol. His phone buzzed in his pocket, so he turned it off without looking. He just wanted to be alone right now. Alone with a glass of brandy.

“More?” The girl stood in front of him, the front of her dress showing the smooth line of cleavage. He blinked at the bottle she held in her hand.

“Oui,” he said, testing out his French. Why shouldn’t he help himself to local hospitality? That should be part of the tour, after all.

She leaned over to pour him another drink and he picked up the glass, then put it back down and reached for the bottle she was holding instead. Yes, he would like to keep it with him. Yes, that would be fine. 

CHAPTER THREE

Shannon’s excitement bubbled up inside of her as she walked down the Champs-Elysees in the bright afternoon, the busy street crowded with tourists and shoppers.
Paris
. She was finally here.

The department chair had been thrilled for her when she told him about her idea for her senior thesis, and they had quickly arranged for a semester abroad. An entire semester in Europe, taking band pictures and finishing her photography assignments remotely—it was a dream come true for Shannon. The sun shone down on her face as she walked down the sidewalk under the wrought iron lamps, and all around her the casual chattering of French natives immersed her. She tried to understand some of it, but the French-English dictionary she picked up had been all but useless. As soon as she spoke one word in French, the person she was talking to would switch to English, knowing immediately that she was American.

She stopped in boutique after boutique, but while American stores were geared towards skinny girls, French stores pretended that curvy women didn’t even exist. She had all but given up on the idea of finding a dress above a size six after two hours of browsing, but then she came to a small chic dress shop at the end of the street. The sign said “Taille +” in frilly cursive font, and the mannequins’ hips stretched underneath the tight dresses in the show windows.
Perfect
.

Shannon had heard that French employees were rude, but the shopgirls in this store fawned over her, picking out dress after dress for her to try on. As soon as she looked at the price tag, Shannon knew why—the prices were outrageous, and they must have been working on commission. But Julian had left her some money for the plane ticket, and she had foregone first class in favor of keeping the extra. You never know when you’ll need a few extra hundred dollars, and now Shannon was glad she had put up with the screaming children in the coach section of the airplane.

One of the dresses the ladies chose for her fit perfectly—the fabric was a green and gold print, setting off her red hair beautifully. The hips hugged her tight but the hem flared out, and the ruching of the fabric in the front hid all of the bumps that would otherwise have been unseemly. She nearly fainted at the price when she glanced at the tag—over four hundred euros. She did the math in her head. That was over five hundred dollars. It wasn’t nearly as much as some of the other dresses in the shops she had visited, but most of her dresses came from the clearance rack at Sears. For four hundred euros, she could buy the whole damn rack!

Feeling pleased with her purchase, and a few bills lighter in her wallet, she stepped back out into the Paris sunshine. The day was perfect. Nothing could ruin her good mood.