Come Dancing (28 page)

Jack slipped out of his clothes and into the shirt, his ass bare. “I might cause a sensation if I came out like this,” he said, nudging me.

“You could do the first-ever X-rated rock concert. How about these pants?” I showed him a pair with vertical stripes.

“I like ‘em, but I’ve worn them a million times. Maybe I’ll just wear jeans.” He removed the shirt, his chain catching on a button.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you where that necklace comes from.” I assumed it was special, since he never took it off.

“When our first album came out, this big-shot critic said we were just a flash in the pan,” Jack replied, fingering the lightning bolt. “Mum had this made for me. She told me, ‘Ignore that wanker. You’re going to be a flash of lightning across the music world.’ I’ve worn it ever since; it’s me good luck charm,” he concluded in his adorable accent. “Let’s get in the shower, I’m sweaty again. They interviewed us on Patrick’s patio.”

We went into the bathroom and I started stripping off my clothes. All at once, a memory came to me. “When I was a kid, I used to love Saturday nights,” I said, unhooking my bra. “Dot took a job as a cocktail waitress, so Dad and I were home alone together. I’d get into my pajamas and he’d put me on a stool and wash my hair in the sink. It’s one of the nicest memories I have of growing up.”

“Why don’t I wash your hair?” Jack offered.

“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t know why I thought of it.”

“C’mon, it’ll be relaxing.” He wound a towel around his hips and left the room, returning with a bottle of champagne and two flutes. I wrapped a towel around my waist as he popped the cork.

“I guess we have to get you wet first.” He motioned me over to the sink and ran a stream over my head. I sat in a chair facing the mirror, water dripping down my back, amused by how much he was getting into it. “The front desk sent up all this goop,” he said, rummaging in a basket filled with various vials and soaps. I sipped my champagne as he poured a puddle of shampoo and massaged it into my hair.

“That’s a lot of bubbles,” I said, laughing.

“You want to get a good lather going.” He looked at the suds foaming down my shoulders. “Maybe I did use a little too much.”

“Is that bubble bath or shampoo?”

Jack squinted at the label. “Whoops. Oh well, we can start over in the shower. Wait a minute though.” He regarded me in the mirror. “Let’s see.” He took two big batons of bubbles and shaped them in a bouffant. “Marilyn.”

I stood and tried to strike a
Seven Year Itch
pose. “How’s this?”

“Very nice with your bare tits.”

“Now your turn. What do you remind me of …” I pushed him down in the chair, took handfuls of suds and shaped them into points on either side of his head. “Devil.”

Jack looked in the mirror and grinned. “That fits. I’ve got one for you.” He carefully dabbed at my nipples, then leaned back in his seat. “Stripper.”

I took a scoop and modeled it on his forehead. “Unicorn.”

“Bunny.” He tried to shape tall ears on me, but they flopped. We giggled as I filled our glasses again.

“All right, I have one.” I cupped my hands in the lather and fashioned it on his chin. “Santa.”

“You can be Santa’s helper,” Jack said, reaching for me. “Santa needs some help with this.” He tugged my towel off, yanked his open and pulled me onto his lap facing him.

“Ohh, you feel good,” I whispered. “Ohhh …”

After we finally made it out of the shower, we lay in bed and passed the bottle of champagne between us.

“God, Julia. You really make my water boil.”

“You do the same to me. Especially when you had those horns on your head.”

“I’m sure you think I’m just a sex fiend,” he said.

“The thought may have crossed my mind.”

“Well, I do have a reputation to uphold. Hang on, I’ve got an idea.”

Jack went to get the garters out of my bag, drew the stockings up my legs and expertly hooked them to the belt. He settled in between and lifted a thigh over each of his shoulders. “Now that’s a beautiful view. Deserves a little special something.” He pulled a garter back and released it, snapping it against my backside. I gave a sharp intake of breath.

“You like that? I’m going to do that again, but you won’t know when it’s coming.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Kind of adds an element of suspense, if you know what I mean. Now hand me the bottle. Hold still, this might tickle a bit.” He held me open and poured a small trickle. “Stop laughing, you’re gonna make it spill. Lemme see how this tastes.” He put his lips on me and slurped. “Mmm, nice … a top note of fruit with an undertone of funky,” he said in a plummy voice. “Okay, stop wiggling. I’m gonna get down to business.”

Fame

By the time we got to the arena, I was groggy from all the sex and champagne.
He doesn’t seem bored with me yet,
I thought defiantly of his manager’s warning. We were directed down a long hall to a dressing room, where Jack put on the shimmery red shirt over his jeans. We emerged into a brightly lit room lined with mirrors, sundry people milling around, Mary Jo patrolling the flow. A hard-looking woman grasped Jack’s arm. “There’s a pile of toot in Patrick’s dressing room. It’s going fast.”

Jack glanced at me. “Want some?”

I shook my head. If pot made me out of it, I could just imagine what coke would do.

“I’ll pass,” Jack said.

The woman gave him a skeptical look. “You’re kidding. You never turn down blow.”

“I’ll nab some before we go on.”

A thin man in a tight lavender tee-shirt motioned Jack over to the makeup chair. “Now I’ve got to get pretty,” Jack said to me. “How’s it going, Gary? This is my friend Julia.”

“What incredible forget-me-not blues,” Gary said to me. “I’m going to give your hair a little trim,” he added to Jack, brandishing scissors.

“Needs it,” Jack said. He shut his eyes as Gary clipped, then pinned curlers on top and sprayed liberally.

“I bet you didn’t know you’re really going out with a woman,” Jack said to me as Gary dabbed on eye shadow and blush.

“All in the name of show biz,” I said. “You do look luscious.” His face had an exotic quality with the makeup, lending a trace of femininity that was extremely erotic.

“You still have to come out dancing with me sometime, Jack,” Gary said flirtatiously as he undid the rollers.

“Sure, if it’s not too much of a Crisco disco. Can I bring Julia, or is it guys only?”

“Oh, there are lots of ladies. I think you’re all set now. With those eyelashes, he never needs mascara,” he said to me.

Suzanne came into the room in a bright green jacket and capris, as dramatically made up as if she herself was going onstage.

“We need to take Julia shopping at some point,” she said, smiling at me. I was wearing one of his silk shirts, which I’d thought looked nice except for being long.

“Yeah, good luck getting her to go.” Jack got out of the chair. “Your turn,” he said to me, and went to talk to Mark.

“Go on,” Suzanne said, seeing me hesitate. “Let Gary do his magic. We can’t let the guys outshine us.”

“First time? Don’t worry, I won’t do anything that doesn’t come off in the wash,” Gary reassured me. As Suzanne watched, offering suggestions, Gary put large rollers in my hair and began dabbing on various creams and powders. When he was done, I felt like I had two pounds of paint dragging my face down. He spun the chair around so I could see in the mirror; a wild biker chick with high cheekbones and bee-stung lips stared back at me.

“Hey, I kind of like this look,” Jack observed as Gary teased my hair. He examined me as they went to touch up Mark. “He’s done you like a loose woman,” Jack said with raised eyebrow. “We’ll have to explore that concept later.”

Just then Patrick made his entrance in a long velvet robe, a miniskirted model on each arm. The trio surrounded Jack.

“I brought one along for you,” Patrick said with a grin. “Oh, I forgot she got in last night,” he added, seeming only then to notice me.

I felt like sinking into the floor at his withering gaze. I would have to let these suggestive remarks by Patrick, Mary Jo, and women who seemed to know Jack from before, slide off me for now or the trip would be ruined. I’d have plenty of time to mull things over later.

The room cleared out as the booming drums of the opening act resounded. “We’d better take our seats,” Mary Jo said.

Jack gave my waist a squeeze. “See you out there.”

“I can’t wait.”

Suzanne, Mary Jo and I followed a guard down the hall. We passed the open door of a large dressing room. Patrick was lying on his back on the floor, eyes closed, as a woman pranced circles around him, ringing little bells on her fingers. “Deep cleansing breaths,” she crooned.

“That’s the astrologer Patrick hired to get his stars aligned,” Mary Jo said as we continued down the corridor. “To the tune of three thousand dollars.”

“That little eejit. Did you hear about their experience with the henna?” Suzanne asked me.

“Jack mentioned something about the pool turning orange.”

We reached the arena, and a guard led us to the middle of the very first row as the funk band wound up. Everyone in the adjoining seats turned to stare at us, which was an uncomfortable sensation. Mary Jo plunked down beside Patrick’s ladies. I took my place between her and Suzanne, feeling a slight sting as I sat. My rear was still tender from Jack’s garter-snapping, but at the time the effect was outstanding. Suzanne spoke to a man with a notepad sitting behind her. “The music critic from the
L.A. Times
,” she explained to me.

The opening act left and the stage went dark. “Are you ready for … Four to the Floor!” the announcer said, and the audience began to scream. Sammy and Mark came out, and the noise behind us avalanched. “You’ll get used to it in a minute,” Suzanne shouted. “I have earplugs if it bothers you.” The spotlight caught a glitter of red; Jack walked on, followed by Patrick. The screams and shouts became a savage roar. Jack’s guitar twanged, and the beam hit Patrick’s face.

“Good to be back in L.A.,” Patrick said, and the crowd went berserk.

The lights flared as Jack hit the opening notes. Patrick’s bass entwined with Jack’s guitar was so loud, I could feel the vibrations deep in my belly. Patrick sang and gyrated spellbindingly, but my eyes remained on Jack as he moved sinuously across the stage, nimble fingers eliciting ecstatic moans from his Telecaster. Sammy kept up a jangling keyboard, and Mark flogged his drums like a madman. The girls next to Mary Jo were bouncing in their seats, boobs flopping in their casings. An acrid joint, rapidly followed by another, made its way down our row. The men flew into a second number and then slowed it down with the third, when the spotlights went scarlet against the pitch-black stage. Another bluesy tune ensued, ending with Patrick lying in a fetal curl. Then he leaped up and Jack came forward.

The audience began to stomp and shout Jack’s name. Chills prickled my entire body as he looked right at me and hit the four jagged chords. He belted out the song, his voice rasping on the higher notes. Watching him perform was the most electrifying experience of my entire life. When he finished, he hung his head briefly, acknowledging the mass adoration. Then Patrick came forward and they did several of their biggest hits, faces close together at the mic, Patrick occasionally mouthing lyrics to Jack between verses.

A large plastic cup was being handed down our row. I saw that the thin straw was sunk into a well of white powder. I gave it to Suzanne, who inhaled a big snort and passed it along. One of Patrick’s girls popped something open under her nose and fell back in her seat, flaked out cold. Mary Jo calmly poured a splash of her soda down the woman’s low-cut top, and she shuddered awake. Mary Jo’s bored expression made it clear she’d seen it all before.

The rest of the concert flew by too quickly. People extinguished their lighters and filed out of the stadium. We went backstage to where the men, drenched in sweat, were stripping off their shirts and gulping cold beer. I hung back as Suzanne and Mary Jo approached them. Seeing Jack onstage was like watching a different person than the one I’d been spending time with; it made him seem larger than life, and again brought home to me that he really was this huge rock star. Who was I to be with someone like him?

A bunch of people burst in and flocked to the men. Several women approached Jack, eyeing him voraciously. Jack listened to them and nodded, then looked around and crossed the room bare-chested. “What are you doing over here?”

“Just taking it all in. That was amazing.” I kissed his cheek, tasting salt. “It was the best concert I’ve ever seen. Your song was fantastic; it was such a thrill to see you play. I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven.”

Jack smiled. “Glad you liked it. Let’s go relax for a while before the next one.”

We went to his dressing room, where he reclined on a couch and I massaged his shoulders. I couldn’t believe they had to go back onstage in less than an hour.

“Room service!” Sammy cried, pushing a delivery cart down the hall toward Patrick’s poolside bungalow. Perched on top were two busty blondes, giggling as the trolley tipped precariously. Jack held the door, and we followed them in. Patrick was holding court in the middle of the lavish suite. “I guess your room isn’t the party room anymore,” he said to Jack, eyeing me. “The good whiskey’s hidden in back of the cabinet.”

As Jack went to get our drinks, two dolled-up women in their thirties approached and fawned over Patrick. He managed to respond, yet look supremely bored at the same time.

“Mutton dressed as lamb,” he commented when they left. “What did you think of the show?”

I decided to play nice. “I liked the way you switched the tempos around in the blues numbers. I’m so glad I’m getting to see you guys perform.”

“Me too.” He scrutinized me for a moment. “You don’t look like such a demure little book editor tonight.”

I blushed. “Gary did my makeup.”

“Quite delicious.” Patrick glanced at Jack as he handed me a beer. “Marissa’s here; you should say hi to her. Remember when she stripped in the hotel elevator?”