by Gabrielle G
Me: I often want to, but I don’t do it. Though tonight, I did something I haven’t done in a very long time.
Anna Love: What’s that?
Me: Can’t tell you by text. Call me.
I’m ready to share my jerking off sessions dedicated to her mouth, but I can’t take the risk of our text conversation being leaked to the press. I’m a horny bastard but not a stupid moron.
My phone falls silent, and for the second time tonight, I’m left wondering if I went too far. I could call her, but I want her to make the move. I want her to want to talk to me. I want her to send the ball my way.
In the bathroom and getting ready for bed, I pass the bottles of pills my PA, Chad, packed. I take one of each and flush it in the toilet. I don’t need any. I haven’t for nine months or so. I haven’t followed my after-show rituals either, but I don’t feel I need to. I feel great, tired but delighted.
Throwing my clothes on the floor, I get into bed and get lost in my thoughts. I’m hungry. What will the weather be like tomorrow? Should I meditate like I always do? Oh, maybe I should learn how to play the harmonica.
When my phone finally rings, my heart jumps.
“Hey!” I answer too eagerly.
“Hey. Sorry it took me so long. Had to get ready for bed.”
“Are you phone sexing me now, Anna love?”
She giggles. “Hell no! Don’t get me wrong, you were something else on stage tonight. I don’t think I ever really appreciated it before. Maybe because now you’re attainable, kind of… I mean, I can talk to you, I have your phone number, and you’re not just a fantasy. I don’t know. But nothing is happening down there while we’re speaking. Sorry, honey.”
Seriously, who is this woman? I’m not sure if she’s lying to herself or to me, or maybe she’s really not attracted to me? I don’t believe that for one second, but again…
“So in that case,” I tell her, half-offended, “I should hang up because what I was about to tell you could be considered dirty phone sex. But if you want to, we can have some. Would you like me to talk dirty to you, Anna?”
I hear a suppressed moan that makes my cock harder. So she’s not as uninterested as she wants me to believe.
Adding a pillow under my neck and a hand to my shaft, I don’t let her overthink what she’s feeling. “Have breakfast with me, love.”
“I can’t. I have a management meeting at eight. “
“What do you do?”
“Architect.”
Her voice is sultry and captivating. This is the most erotic conversation I’ve ever had without it being about sex. I stroke myself, and I’m not sure what she’s doing, but I can hear her breaths getting shorter and little whimpers here and there. It drives me wild.
“Seriously? Beautiful and smart?” That’s going to make me blow. I stop my hand and place it on my stomach.
“Not a lot of beautiful and smart women in the groupie rows?”
“Oh, you’re mean. Don’t judge our fans based on their looks. I mostly don’t.” I try to picture the woman who was talking to Anna at the bar. She seemed like the typical Darling Devils fan. The average girl I would fuck to empty my balls.
Anna laughs playfully, and it makes me feel all mushy, tears welling up in my eyes. I haven’t made someone laugh in a while. I’m used to fake laughs to please me, conversations that people think I want to hear. Anna sounds genuine, and that’s not something I’m used to anymore.
“Come to our concert tomorrow night. I’ll have tickets set aside for you and your friends. It’s at the Metropolis. All unplugged. I need to know I’ll be singing for you.”
“Singing for me?” she teases. “Who’s presumptuous now?”
I’m dead serious. All of a sudden, I feel as if my world can’t go on without her. “That’s what I did tonight, and the show was great, wasn’t it?”
“We’ll see…” She lowers her voice. “Good night, Rock Star.”
“Night, love.”
I let her hang up, and I fall asleep smiling while holding my phone close to my heart, as if I was holding Anna.
5
Anna
It took me hours to fall asleep last night, and I have the proof of it all over my face. Looking in the mirror, I pull my skin toward my ears to try to hold my face a little tighter. Then I try to push down the puff under my baggy eyes. It’s not working. I still look like a Shar-Pei. Today will be a day of heavy makeup and liters of coffee.
To make matters worse, I have one of those boring management meetings Chéri is so keen on. I hate them. We always lose time on incomprehensible staff stupidity. Do we really need to show the staff we care about their feelings? Isn’t employing them enough?
My phone chimes with an incoming text. I run to the bedroom, hoping it’s my rock star. My heart flutters when I see his name.
Rock Star: Morning Beautiful, how did you sleep?
Me: Not enough. You?
Rock Star: Alone.
That shouldn’t make me happy, but it does. One of the reasons I couldn’t sleep was because I kept imagining him at a party, finding a girl, and bringing her to his room. I won’t lie, having the attention of a celebrity is fantastic, and hearing his voice last night made me all hot and bothered. I might have tried the T-shirt masturbation technique, but I won’t admit it even under torture.
Me: Good to know. Want me to give you a gold medal?
He’s known around the globe for his sexual prowess. Everywhere he has a show, a girl leaves his bed in the morning. We’ve all heard a story of a friend of a friend who fucked one of the bandmates of the Darling Devils. They’ve been giving concerts since they were fifteen, and even then, they were chasing anything with a skirt. So the fact that Dan Darling didn’t fuck anybody last night is a big deal.
Rock Star: Yes.
Me: I’m not sure what to answer to that…
Rock Star: There is nothing to say; I just wasn’t feeling like it.
I blink several times at his text, not sure I read it correctly.
Me: Are you sick?
Rock Star: Nope, I’m in love.
Me: Oh no, are you protesting the rights of your appendage and going on a pussy strike? You won’t touch one until they make a dildo out of your dick?
Rock Star: Funny.
Me: Oh, I’ve got a good one, a fan bit it off?
Rock Star: Ha. Ha.
Me: Better, one took it as a souvenir?
Rock Star: Anna…
Me: You couldn’t get it up?
Rock Star: Now I’m hurt, and my dick is as well. Want to come to the concert tonight?
Me: Not sure yet, depends on how my day goes.
Rock Star: I’ll give your name at the door. If you come, it’s cool, if you don’t, you’ll tear my heart apart, but I mean, that's cool too, I guess.
Me: You’re so dramatic.
Rock Star: I’m an artist.
Me: Talk later Rock Star.
Rock Star: Will do, love.
My stomach flips like a burger once more while I reread our text convo. He’s cute and exquisitely sweet. Hearing his voice, reading his words, I feel a comfort I haven’t felt in a long time. I forced myself to say good night last night because I knew I could have stayed up all night talking to him. I thought he would be full of innuendos and sexual banter, but he wasn’t. It’s nice… and fuck, I’m going to be late.
I hurry through the door without having the time for breakfast or coffee, wearing barely any makeup and un-ironed clothes. While I rush for the metro, I text Naomi, my assistant, that I’ll be a few minutes late and to prepare me a coffee. The train is packed, and all I can throw on my face is a little blush and some mascara before strolling to my office.
When I push through the door of the conference room, I’m ten minutes late. It’s not bad, but it’s just enough to derail my whole day. I didn’t have time to check my daily schedule or read the agenda Chéri changed once again. Apologizing, I take my seat, then listen to the amount of bullshit Chéri l
ikes to go through. I’m glad she’s a people person because I’m much better with measurement and design than with the staff’s problems.
My phone buzzes, and as a Pavlovian response, my heart flips then crumbles when I see Naomi is the one texting me. I frown, finding her eyes.
She jerks her head in Chéri’s direction. “Look there,” Naomi mouths.
I turn to see my associate looking at me expectantly.
“Anna, what do you think of the situation?”
“I’m sorry,” I was thinking about how I have no time being here. “Could you repeat the case we’re working on? “
My assistant laughs as my associate’s face turns bright red.
“Sam here”—Chéri points at our fifty-year-old receptionist—“would like to know if she could take some days off because her aging dog is sick. We have no policy about pets, so I want your opinion.”
“Of course, she can. Pets are like children, or children are like pets. Whatever…” Who cares? Why did I need to get consulted on that? Looking at Naomi, imploring her for help, I clear my throat. “Naomi, didn’t you tell me I had another meeting at nine?”
“Yes. He should be here any minute.”
“Thank you, dear staff. I have to get ready. I’m sure Chéri will take great care of you.”
Back in my office, I look at my Calendar. 9 a.m. DD.
“Naomi! Why is there a nine o’clock appointment?”
“Did you see the pastries?” She appears in my office, hands me a second coffee, and points at a white box on my coffee table.
It’s enormous and comes from my favorite bakery in town. Scrambling to think of the client who would have sent me my favorite breakfast, I come up blank. Naomi hands me a card where perfect rounded letters are scribbled.
“Thanks again for last night’s chat, love. Glad I could have an early appointment to discuss my plans. Don’t forget about tonight. DD.”
Puzzled, I look at Naomi. “Do you know who that is?”
Naomi pulls her head back slightly, looking confused. “Don’t you? He called to know if you were free for breakfast, and when I said no, he asked where he could get the best pastries in town. Then he insisted on meeting you at nine. I thought you had booked an appointment without telling me, so I scheduled him in.”
“Did you ask for his name?”
“Donald Dageworth, said he was a friend of Joel.”
Smart rock star…
“Please don’t be a groupie!” I smile, half amused and half annoyed by how Dan is hijacking my day.
Naomi apparently doesn’t get what’s happening and who Donald Dageworth is. “What do you mean don’t be a gr—”
She doesn’t finish her sentence because the doors of the elevator open and Dan Darling pours out of it in all his steaminess. Naomi blinks a couple of time as if his appearance is a dream, before her eyes fall on me, then on Dan, and on me again.
“Hey, love,” he says with a grin and his charming eyes.
“Close your mouth, Naomi, and don’t say a word.” I turn to Dan. “Mr. Dageworth, this way please.”
I push him into my office. He looks so pleased with himself that I’m torn between slapping him or kissing him.
“Long time no see, Anna love.”
“What are you doing here?”
He smiles. “Having breakfast with you.”
“I told you I didn’t want to.” I cross my arms.
“Your words were ‘you couldn’t because of a meeting’, not that you didn’t want to.” He walks toward me, but I seek shelter on the other side of my desk.
“How do you know where I work?”
He looks embarrassed and scratches the slight beard on his chin. Is he stalking me? Or maybe this is the way rock stars court women? Whatever this is, it’s coming on a little strong. You don’t send breakfast to someone you don’t know. You don’t dedicate a song during a concert to a girl you don’t know. You don’t talk on the phone for a little while with someone you don’t know. It’s been a long time since a man has pursued me, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t the way to do it. What if Dan Darling is a psychopath? It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since we kind of met, and he’s already stalked, charmed, annoyed, and freaked the shit out of me.
“Google. If you type in your phone number with Anna – Architect – Montreal, you find your office pretty fast.”
And that was why I hate having my cell number on our website. Chéri wants us to be reachable whenever we’re needed by a client. I just want privacy. She said I could have two phones. I should have.
Dan is studying me, his piercing blue eyes waiting for a reaction, smiling at my confusion. I break eye contact to look at his face, his neck, then his shoulders and those stupid tattooed biceps.
“Like what you're eyeing, love?” His smile is devilish; he got the band name right.
I rapidly compute all I know about him. Dan Darling, mother from Boston, dad from London. Parents separated. Lived until middle school in the UK, then in the States. Friends since grade nine or ten with Lars Trouble and Art Sweet. No steady relationship known except for one with a model, years ago. Lead singer and guitar player. Manwhore.
That’s it. That’s all I know. I’m not one to stalk celebrities.
“Seriously, what are you doing here?” As cautious as I want to be about him, I feel I’m being drawn to him. I’m trying to convince myself he’s an average guy, but I would be stupid to ignore the pull he has on people. You don’t become who he is and have the career he has without having a certain magnetism.
He smirks. “Well, I brought you the VIP tickets. I thought it would be harder to tell me no in person.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out three tickets that he pushes on my desk. His forearms are all I see.
Cautiously, not sure what my words will trigger, I say, “I’m pretty sure my friends can’t go out two nights in a row. One is a mother, and the other one started a new career. It’s not likely they can come with me.”
“So come alone.” His eyebrows rise.
My stomach flops, and my head is screaming “Mayday” to whoever wants to hear it. “No way.”
“Bring your assistant then. Come on, love. I just want to spend more time with you.” He looks all sexy and cute.
I need to stay calm and composed. “Dan, this is a little…”
He frowns as I search for words. It’s not that I don’t feel safe. The whole thing is a little creepy and fast and… I sigh. He’s a regular guy who met a girl and… stalked her? I wouldn’t accept this behavior from anybody. He would undoubtedly call the cops if I were doing the same to him. What would have happened if I’d sent him breakfast this morning and showed up in his hotel room to eat it with him?
“Imagine if the roles were reversed. If I texted you, dedicated a song to you, called you, found where you work, brought breakfast… it’s—”
“You called me. I didn’t call you.” He winks.
“Dan…”
“Tell me you didn’t feel anything when I held you at the bar, or when I sang for you during the concert. Tell me your heart didn’t jump with every text you received or when you dialed me. Tell me there’s nothing here and I’ll leave.” His gaze is like a lie detector and his voice speaks directly to my galloping heart. My brain freezes. “Okay, let’s say I felt something. So… I come tonight, we sleep together, and then what? I’m on the fuck list of a rock star? We go our separate ways?”
“What if I tell you I won’t sleep with you if you come tonight?”
“And you’ll sleep alone another night?”
He nods. He looks so genuine, but I’m not sure I should trust him or trust anything happening right now.
“Please say yes.” He falls on his knees, looking at me like an eight-year-old begging for a dog. “Please, Anna, please…”
I nod, rolling my eyes at his antics but smiling nonetheless. He stands abruptly, jumps over the desk, and smashes his lips into mine. It’s fast and electrifying, and I don’t ha
ve time to complain before it’s already over. He taps on the VIP passes on the desk and disappears through the door.
“See you tonight, love,” I hear him say.
“What about breakfast?”
“No time, Anna love, I need to go to sound check. But when you have time, I need you to build me a house in your city!”
I’m not done rolling my eyes at his craziness when Naomi rushes into my office. “What was that?”
“That was a very persuading man who decided he wants me to come to his unplugged showcase tonight. Will you come with me? I’ll text Jules to see if she’s free as well?”
Her eyes widen. “You mean, you have tickets to a small-venue, sold-out concert delivered by Dan Darling himself?”
I nod.
“Holy shit! I mean, Julie…” She scrunches her nose in disgust. “But the Darlings… we are leaving early tonight and getting ready before the concert, right, boss?”
I nod again, not hearing her anymore and trying not to grin up to my ears. I open my computer.
“I want the whole story. Let me make us some coffee.”
“I will give you one hour, then we need to work, especially if you want to leave early.”
She rushes out, fangirling the same way I do, leaving me wondering if what happened is real and how I ended up with a rock star for a stalker.
6
Dan
Tonight’s concert is different from the one we gave last night. We’re doing it unplugged, MTV style, meaning Lars, Art, and I will be sitting on stools for most of the night. I decided I’ll be playing “Once You Were Gone” again —for Anna— but only with piano and voice. No dancing, no screaming, just me with my voice and my instrument.
This is how we keep having fun. Singing in front of tens of thousands of fans is exhilarating at the beginning—and still pretty fun after twenty-five years—but when you can fill stadiums around the world, it’s easy to forget who you are and where you’re from. Singing in front of two thousand people gives you the opportunity to connect with your fans and the indispensable vulnerability you need to write a new album. So we do it from time to time, depending on where we’re playing. We always play one smaller show in New York or Los Angeles, another in London, and two others somewhere in the world. I’m not sure why we chose Montreal, but I’m glad we did.