September Rain Bk 2, Savor The Days Series (30 page)

An older looking man crossed the stage
and spoke into Jakes ear. Jake nodded. The man walked off-stage and
reappeared a minute later with a plain white electric guitar and
plugged it into a large amp stack. When the guitar sounds picked up
the next verse of the song, I made the connection.

“That’s him?” Avery asked. “He’s like
. . . older than dirt.”

I shook my head. “Don’t be
an age-ist. It might just be his clothes.” I examined the baggy
khaki pants and black
Velcro
sneakers. Good-god, what was he thinking when he
bought those? His shirt was alright, though. An old Zeppelin tour
tee.

“He probably bought that at the show.”
Avery pointed at the vintage shirt.

“He’s not so bad.”

“I bet his parents made him shovel
dinosaur shit from the yard after school.” She giggled.

“He’s not that old. It’s the hair,
that’s all.” The front looked fine—follicle troops nicely assembled
in an orderly, clean line. It was the shiny patch on the crown that
aged him—a fray had erupted within the ranks and the hair soldiers
were scattering, seeking shelter in the ears. “Don’t judge. I’m
pulling for this guy.”

Avery rolled her eyes. “So am I. I
just wish old Long Tooth didn’t make it so tough.”

“Who let you in?” The sudden boom of
the clubs’ bouncer sounded behind me.

“Chill,” Avery commanded, sounding so
sure of herself. I kept quiet, staring at the very heavy, super
sweaty, tattoo-laden hired muscle. “We’re with the
band.”

“Which one? Anemic Psychos?
Proselytes? Analog Controller or Playing Doctor?”

Avery pointed at Jake. “Ask him, he’ll
tell you.”

In the same moment, Jake moved stage
left and spotted us. His eyes lingered on me. He winked and waved
before turning to direct a very thin, short man with overgrown,
filthy hair not to tape the cords down yet.

The bouncer rolled his eyes and
stalked off, yelling for someone to keep the damned doors
closed.

The music changed and Jake began to
chant, “My infectious disgrace,” but his heart was not in it.
Still, I listened to the melody, leaned into the pull, and let it
carry me.

Souls entwined, binding
you, reminding you.

I’m in your head,
patiently churning, secretly burning.

Dear sick love, your berry
lips are sweet decay.

You are my infectious
disgrace.

Souls entwined, binding
you, reminding you

Write your letters and say
goodbye.

I’ll tape your mouth and
watch you cry.

Dear sick love, we’re
sinking souls. Anchored.

Going down.

We are infected with
disgrace.

“Is that?” Avery asked, recognizing
the tune.

I’d been singing it to
myself since Jake played it for me. The new song—well, the tune
that used to belong to
my
song. But that was different now, too.

“Yeah, it sounds really
different.”

“Old-timer plays it well.” She pressed
her lips together as if surprised. “The arthritis can’t be too
bad.”

They didn’t play the whole song, and
though I loved it, I was glad. It felt a little like a stranger
peeking into my diary.

“I have to go to the
bathroom.” Avery shrank back. “They
better
be clean.”

Jake approached, sitting on the stage,
letting his legs dangle in front of me. “I thought I might see you
soon.” He opened his arms, inviting me in. He felt so soft and
safe. I melted into him.

“You’re really hot. You come here
often? What are you doing after the show?”

I played along. “Nope, never been
here. I was just gonna watch a few bands, maybe pick up a cute
guy.”

“My girlfriend says I’m
cute.”

Jakes’ shy smile made me want to lick
his delicious face—“She’s right.”—just lap up all his sexy
goodness.

“I could ditch her after the show
tonight. That is, if you’re a sure thing. Are you opposed to random
sex with strangers?” His eyebrows shot up and I could tell he was
trying to look serious.

“Yes, filthy boy.”

“Filthy is right.” Jakes sweet smile,
the one he saved for me broke through, growing wide with an
uncontainable energy. “We’re doin’ it, baby! There’s a local TV
station in the back, filming.”

“Jake, that’s great!” I set my nose to
his chest and inhaled, letting his scent wash through
me.

“You want to talk to them?”

My stomach balled up. Tight. “Hell no!
Me? Why?” I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

The contours of his smooth face . . .
his perfect lips, sharp jaw, silken eyes . . . they smiled at me,
stealing my breath. He was beautiful even without the
uncontrollable hair that I loved. Its’ absence made him look older.
I touched the thick silky stubble on the back of his head. He felt
like a velvet teddy bear.

“No reason. Just thought I’d ask.
Pierce got them here.”

“He’s been very busy. Is he here,
now?” I looked around the dim club. “I don’t see any triangular
fins.”

Jake swung his legs unconsciously at
the excitement. “Not yet, but he should be here, soon. So, Lou—the
guy with the camera—” he hooked my neck and turned my body as he
pointed at a short guy near the bar that appeared to be flirting
with a lady bartender. “That’s him. You avoid him and you’ll be
fine.”

“How ‘bout you interview me? One on
one?” I teased, “We could talk in my room. It’s really easy to
find. It’s the one you’ll be sleeping in tonight. Three doors down
from the rest of your band of lunatics.”

Jake laughed. “You pickin’ me up,
Stalker?”

“How do you know I wasn’t there first?
Maybe you’re the one stalking me.”

He jumped from the stage and pulled me
against him, wrapping his long arms around my head and shoulders.
“Yeah, I can see myself stalking you.” Every word, every syllable
flittered in my chest.

Beneath the edge of his embrace, I saw
Avery’s feet. She said something—I couldn’t understand because my
ears were buried in biceps—and Jake’s chest rumbled with laughter.
Then he was staring me straight in the face, our noses touching. “I
should get back to work.” He feigned a grimace before resting his
lips on mine.

My body burst into flames at his
subtle, sweet touch that never lasted long enough. I threaded my
fingers behind his neck, but he pulled away, looking back to the
stage where a whining guitar riff plumed.

“What’s his name, again?” I asked,
leaning in so he could hear me.

The electric pulse of him thrummed
beside me and I fought the urge to wrap myself around him, to bury
my nose in his neck and draw in his scent again. There’d be time
for that, later.

“Gary,” he scowled.

“Not very rock and roll. How old is
he?”

Jake took out the mic he’d stuffed in
his back pocket. Staring at it, he answered. “We could call him
‘G’? And it doesn’t matter how old he is, he just needs to kill it
tonight.” He merely winked before walking back to the sound
board.

I watched him talk to the guys back
there for a few minutes before making his way back to me on his
return to the stage. He smacked my butt as he passed but didn’t
meet my eyes, not until he was back on stage, back in the persona
of the lead singer.

Looking at him, raised up the way he
was, my chest swelled. “I’m your biggest fan.”

Jake’s sexy face cracked into a goofy
grin. The hand that wasn’t holding the microphone rested over his
heart. “You better be.” He wiped his hand on his jeans and stalked
stage right to talk to Andrew.

34

—Angel

Analog Controller was playing
third—second to last in a line-up of four bands. Huge improvement
from the last time they played at The Mystic Muse. I wondered if
that guy, Pierce, had anything to do with it, or if Analog was
bumped up because he got a local TV and radio station to mention
the show. Either way it was his doing. He wanted them
bad.

Once the sound checks were all done,
the loitering band members began to disappear. Night rolled in as
the club filled up. Noise and body heat increased, wrapping me in
anticipation. Avery and I stood in the back, watching the first
band come and go. They were pretty good, but lingered a little too
long in between songs. They’d have to work on that or the bands
they played with would get ticked off. No one wants to cut their
set short to keep the show running on time.

The next group was the Proselytes.
They were a five man band I’d heard of, but never heard their
stuff. When it came time for them to take the stage, the crowd
pressed forward. I was pleasantly surprised when they started to
play. They were pretty good. Gritty guitar and catchy hooks, but
the drummer was definitely the star of that band. I didn’t know
anyone’s names or the style they usually played, but when the sixth
or seventh song started, it had a familiar guitar riff. The notes
lingered clear and long, rippling through the joint. I was
surprised that a hardcore punk band would cover an Aerosmith
song—especially a slower one. They added a nice twist to it, sped
it up a little, too.

The singer, a skinny and shirtless
twenty-something dude sporting a black and white Mohawk and an
anarchy symbol tattooed on his left pectoral, addressed the crowd.
“Thank you all for coming out tonight. Give it up for Anemic
Psychos!” The crowd cheered for the headlining band. “This is our
last song. One we’re playing by special request for a friend.
Everybody, give a shout for the next band, Analog Controller!
Here’s Jake Haddon!”

I stopped breathing.

People cackled and clapped while
others screamed. Cheesy smiles and lighters littered the crowd as
the punk-infused ballad played. Small flames waved in the smoky
club, as Jake took center stage. Clad in my favorite black leather
pants and grey wife-beater tank top, Jake was without the usual
guitar when he put a microphone to his lips and belted out the
first three words of a song that bore my name.

My heart stopped.
What the hell is he doing?

He kept singing—brilliantly, giving
Steven Tyler a run for his money—as his eyes searched for
something.

I glanced at Avery, whose mouth was
hanging open. She shoved me forward. “Go, go, go!” We were still in
the back, leaning against a pillar.

“What?”

She didn’t answer.

Since I was always front and center
when Jake played, I figured that was where I should be right now
and began wading into the cramped crowd. Voices sang along to every
word of the sweet, sad, love song, encircling me. I moved forward,
looking through a parade of raised hands and small licking flames,
swaying to the song.

It was all so surreal. My feet were
stumbling, eyes glued to the crooning figure commanding
center-stage. Then Jake found me. His face outshined the spotlight
he was in. He pointed at me, mischievously grinning. A very cat
meets canary type of smirk. The crowd held together in compacted
layers. We were all caught in Jakes spell and as he locked his
hazel eyes on me, beckoning me forward with a curling finger, the
entire audience answered, forging toward the stage. Stances
tightened as I snaked my way between shoulders, around pushy
females and irritated guys. No one wanted to give an inch to let me
by fearing they may not get it back.

Then, there was a hulking body beside
me. It moved in between me and the bodies that blocked my path. The
bouncer cleared the way, dividing the restless natives to the right
and left. Once he reached the edge of the stage, he stepped aside
and waved me forward.

Jake stood at the edge of his
platform, just behind the bouncers shoulder. He leaned down,
extending a hand from his high pedestal. There were anxious grabs
from women and men waving for him, trying to wriggle into his
grasp, but he shoved them back and took my hand. In between the
monitors on either side of the narrow space, I had no idea how to
navigate my way up with only one free hand and no steps.

“Without your love—” Jake sang and
gestured to the crowd, cupping one ear as if he were hard of
hearing.

Then the sounds around me changed. The
strength of the melody flew out from the stage, lassoing the
audience, possessing them. They were caught up in an anthem, evoked
to chanting. There were shouts and whistles mingled with the
sing-along. I caught people that looked too cool to know the words
singing at the tops of their lungs. At one point, the music stopped
and the crowd kept going.

Jake synchronized a room full of
strangers with a wave of his hand. Amazing.

Two big palms grabbed me and my feet
lost the floor. Suddenly, I was on the stage, standing in front of
Jake. I wanted to turn and catch his view, to face the crowd I had
just waded through and see what he did, but couldn’t bring myself
to move. I was planted in place by the feel of all knowing eyes
burning into my back.