by Shayne Ford
Therefore, the music business morphed into a game of numbers, relentless work, and constant social media noise to keep ourselves relevant.
It’s also about delivering what people crave the most.
But Ron swears by the old formula. In all fairness, a good image probably doesn’t hurt. That’s how he picked Lucas and Jay too.
He hired Lucas, another looker, who’s barely twenty, straight from a prodigy contest, and then plucked Jay, who’s almost twenty-four, and three years younger than me, from another rock band.
Ron knew he was a handful, but then again, besides his shredding skills, he looks damn good on the stage, and that’s what tipped the scale.
What can I say? Ron is the shrewd man I never wanted to be. He had no problem with replacing the original lineup and hiring new people. That was his call, not mine.
He thinks it works for the best, and so far it does.
Not only that we put out a good show every night, but we also manage to clip attitude problems in the bud. At least there’s nothing big enough to weigh us down.
The place is clean as a whistle. No drugs, no bullshit. Women are our drug of choice, but even that hardly makes the rounds on the Internet.
Ron’s rule.
For the most part, we work well together, although up to this day, Jay and I can’t see eye to eye. We barely talk to each other. We communicate so we can work together, but other than that, we tolerate each other for the collective benefit.
Close to my height, and well-built, he has piercing eyes and dark hair. Aside from the fact that he rarely smiles, he’s not bad looking. A lot of women dig that darkness, but for some reason, he’s fixated on my women.
Up to this day, purposely or not, he rides my coattails, picking up some hottie just because I fucked her first.
To each his own. I can’t fix his head.
The door opens, and one of the bodyguards beckons Liam.
“Not now,” Ron chirps.
“There’s someone here for him.”
Liam tosses the headphones to the side.
“I said no groupies,” Ron mumbles, his eyes glued to the phone screen.
“It’s his sister.”
A pause follows.
“Make it short then,” he says, again not looking at anyone.
Two young women enter the room. Lucas gives them a passing look, his blue eyes, cold as ice. Jay doesn’t even bother.
They scurry into Liam’s corner.
Flashing a full mouth grin, Monique–– his sister, hugs him as the second woman quietly watches them from the side. I wonder if she has a pulse.
Once in a while, women freeze like that. I have to confess. I’m a sucker for this kind of mystified, sweet woman.
Her eyes glue to Liam. You have to be blind not to see the fascination in her gaze. She’s completely taken with him.
Monique says something to her brother while his eyes skim the face of the other girl. Fidgeting, the woman curves her lips into a beautiful smile. Her cheeks color red.
She runs a trembling hand through her long, wavy hair, her blue eyes touched by a faint smile. She wears a plain white T-shirt, and dark-blue, low-rise jeans, a couple of silver rings gracing her fingers.
They share a small chuckle before Liam walks them to me. He makes the introductions, the woman’s blue eyes connecting with mine, her hand held out for me.
She’s star-stricken, but not as much as she is Liam-smitten. Hard to say if he has the eyes to see it. Her hand quivers in mine as her eyes dart back and forth, between Liam and me. I give him a swift glance. He seems enlivened as well.
Perhaps I’m wrong. Maybe he does see her.
They make the rounds, the moment Ron gives them a glance and lifts eyebrow, Liam motions to the bodyguard. The girls walk out of the room.
“Nice catch, Liam,” Lucas mutters quizzically from the couch he’s sprawled on.
The kid is too young to be that cynical, that’s why I’m pretty sure he was born that way. He blows his long, blonde locks out of his eyes, a smug smile on his lips.
Despite his angelic looks drawing tons of attention from the teenage fans, he sure is the prodigy kid from hell. I can tell that much. Still, he sways an entire demographic our way.
I bet they have no fucking idea what kind of music he plays, what instrument or if he plays at all. He’s also singing backing vocals, their little panties getting wet as soon as he parts his sinful lips.
“Shut up Lucas,” Liam says with a gruff voice, throwing one of his sticks at Lucas.
They both laugh.
Gloomy, Jay turns his back to us ostensibly. He’s way too dark and serious for this kind of banter.
“There’s no fucking catch. Give me a fucking break,” Liam says. “She’s like a sister to me.”
“How long you know her?” I interject myself, and his eyes come to me, amused.
“Not you, River.”
“Not me what, baby? It’s so fucking obvious.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It fucking is,” Lucas says, his lips curved into a teasing smile.
“How do you fucking know? You’ve never seen her before?”
“You know he can write the fucking book,” I say pointing to Lucas. “You should give him some credit.”
“She’s in love with you, Liam,” Ron’s voice floats through the air, as a conclusion, his focus still on his phone.
“Whatever,” Liam says and plops on his chair.
He puts his headphones on, signaling the conversation is over.
“What’s his fucking problem? She’s fucking hot,” Lucas mutters. “I would fuck her in a fucking moment.”
“Lucas?”
That’s Ron. Fatherly.
“Shut up, jerk.”
That’s Liam, whose headphones seemingly don’t work.
“Enough,” Ron chimes in.
I hide my smile.
The place goes quiet again.
A few moments tick by before Ron starts making calls. Phone glued to his ear, he switches between lines, running the PR show like a magician.
The man is a fucking genius. He can turn a load of shit into gold. Combing his hand through his glossy, black hair, he curls his lips into a sly smile.
That’s a booty call if I’ve ever seen one.
I’ll hand it to him. At forty-seven, he looks more like a thirty-five who’s kept himself up. He could be my father, yet he prowls like a twenty-year-old. I can’t blame him. He looks the part, and women, especially the type he caters to, can’t get enough of him. They’re piled up everywhere we go.
His sway is remarkable.
He’s had his share of pleasers. It’s inevitable. Some even tried to put a ring on him, but that little trick never passed the smell test. I doubt he wants to trade his comfortable life for marital constraints.
Smooth and relentless, he can have pretty much any woman he wants. To his credit, he keeps his tail business separated from mine and never picks up something that I fucked.
It’s self-preservation after all. I don’t step into his territory, and he stays out of mine. He’s smarter than Jay. Not that he doesn’t drool, once in a while, over some sweet piece of ass that hits my bed.
To his relief, I’ve never taken an interest in his women. Not that they’re not gorgeous, ‘cause they are. Models, lawyers, business women, actresses. A photographer, lately. Anything easy on the eye makes the cut for him.
He also doesn’t mind a feature that hardly floats my boat. He likes them precious. Luckily for him, I’m not into princesses. Pun intended.
Clad in soft leather pants and a dark shirt that fits him smoothly, flattering his fit body, he beams with excitement. Shoving one hand into his pocket, he shuffles to the side, swept away by his phone conversation.
Moments later, he strolls back to the center of the room, his eyes electrified. I wonder who’s holding his fascination these days. A different expression glides over his face, and he’s all business, again.
He slides his finger over the phone screen.
“We’re sold out again.”
No surprise there. He looks up at me as if I’m the only adult in the room who gives’s a shit about the analytics.
The door cracks open, and Steve sticks his head in.
“Ron?”
“Yes?” Ron drawls, his eyes still on the phone.
“There’s a photographer in the back room, waiting for you.”
“We have enough of them. Who’s he?”
“It’s a she.”
We both swivel our heads to Steve.
“A she?” Ron asks.
Steve nods.
“Nora sent her.”
“Really? ”
He glances back at his phone, munching on the news.
A naughty smile tugs at his lips.
He’s hitting that sweet middle age spot when women get younger and younger. In the long line of vixens, Nora clearly carves a place of her own.
For one, she’s different than the rest of them. Natural, spunky, witty. Not the usual ‘fox in a box’ bombshell.
A slender, angelic looking blonde, with attractive features, and baby-blue eyes.
He swears she’s twenty-three. She doesn’t look a day over eighteen. I hope she is though, to spare him the embarrassment.
He vows she’s only a photographer. Yeah, and I’m a singing baboon. The place swarms with photographers.
Why would he need another one?
Nora also has something else. A different kind of spark in her eyes. He might have gotten himself a wild cat, one that he’d like to domesticate. Good luck with that. The man is bored and needs some stimulation in the form of a headache.
What can I say? It’s his business after all.
“What do I tell her?”
He cuts his eyes at Steve.
“How does she look?”
Here we go.
I watch Steve struggling to find the right words.
He’s a gentleman. Strong, loyal, discreet. A combination no money can buy. With him, I was simply lucky. He’s one of the few people I consider friends.
It’s the close age, but more importantly it’s his life experience. As a combat medic, he’s seen areas ravaged by war, and life and death situations that helped him gain a different perspective. His stories humble me and help me stay grounded, especially when my life spins out of control.
A small smile lights up his eyes. It’s interesting to see if he gives Ron the right answer, so the girl doesn’t go home sulking.
“She’s interesting,” Steve says.
“Uh-huh,” Ron mumbles, reading messages on his phone.
“And... scared.”
Ron glances at him, intrigued. I stop strumming.
A soft blush paints Steve’s cheeks, and that’s a first.
“She’s hot,” he says, and I can tell its takes some effort to spill those words out.
Despite having him around for years, we rarely, if ever, discuss women, and we’re not exactly campers in a nun's convent.
With his boyish looks and muscular physique, he’s got the women’s attention quite a few times. He’s bedded a few of them, but never for long. I suspect the dialogue went nowhere fast.
Admittedly, he couldn’t find common ground with them.
Still, I've never seen him blushing or calling anyone hot. He gets my full attention, and everybody else’s in the room.
Ron’s eyes almost drop out off their sockets.
“Really?”
Bingo.
Ron straightens and tucks his phone into his pocket. Depending on how accurate Steve’s assessment is, the girl might have gotten herself a job. For her own good, I hope it’s a photography job.
Nimble as a baby goat, Ron leaps to the door.
Fifteen minutes later he comes back, a wolfish smile splashed all over his face. I study his expression.
Seemingly, Steve’s blush is contagious.
Grinning like an idiot, he can’t stop bobbing his head. Unless she’s Nora’s twin sister, and his dirty mind spins images of threesomes, I can’t figure out what the thrill is.
“So?” I ask. He looks at me, his eyes filled with lust. “How is she?”
He inhales sharply.
“Smoking hot. And innocent to boot. Mmm... Perfection,” he says, smacking his lips, enthused like a teenager.
I can almost see the porn loop playing in his eyes. I take a not so wild guess he would’ve probably liked to meet this girl before Nora. Not that things can’t change.
Nothing had stopped him before from dropping one woman and hooking up with another.
Like a pack of hungry wolfs, Lucas and Liam push up to their feet and breathe down my neck.
What the hell?
I put the guitar down.
“Okay. Enough pussy talk. We have ten more minutes,” I say, heading for the door.
“You can see for yourself. She’s on the balcony. Right end, where Nora usually sits,” Ron throws behind my back.
“What happened to...?” I ask, twirling my finger and glancing over my shoulder.
“Jessie Taylor?”
“Yup.”
“Down into the photo pit.”
Of course, I reflect, that’s what you get if you don’t have the decency to grow a pair of tits. I push through the door and sneak into the narrow hallway that takes me to the stage, at the same time gulping down water to moisten my throat while trying to remove the image of breasts from my head.
One thing is for sure. I’d lie to say I’m not curious to see her.
With that last thought playing in my mind, I leave the world behind, and moments later, I walk on the stage, riding high on the energy of the crowd.
3
There’s nothing like the power of the cheering public.
Once I become one with the people, I embark on a magnificent journey, the crowd throbbing like a giant heart, their energy spilling into my blood.
Halfway through the show, I hit the brakes on high energy songs and pace myself for one of my favorite tunes. It’s a rock ballad about people with broken hearts. It always hits a chord with the audience and tonight would be no different.
“How many of you...?”
The audience gets the cue, roaring in anticipation.
“We all have,” someone shouts in the back of the theater.
I hold my arm up, and the noise fades out.
Smiling, I tell the backstory of the song as I’m smoothly taking a turn to the right, heading to the far end. A random thought about a particular photographer who, if she hadn’t bail out by now, studies me through her lens, nags me, spurring my curiosity.
If she’s truly as beautiful as they say, there’s nothing more enticing than being examined by a hot woman. As I reach the end of the stage, I throw a glance to the gallery.
And there she is.
Camera in her hand, her long hair draped over her shoulders, she leans against the railing, soaking me in. As soon as we lock eyes, she jerks back. I lose her for a moment, and that’s not what I wanted, but I can still see her in the shadows.
Without taking my eyes off her, I keep talking while I furtively study her reaction. Curiosity pushes her back to the railing.
People’s eyes follow my gaze, craning their necks to see her as well. I don’t mind, but she clearly does, so she starts to fidget.
She doesn’t give up and brings her camera to her eye, taking more pictures of me.
Without wasting time, I give her what she wants, posing for her as if there’s no one else in the room.
Narrowing my eyes, I flash my whole repertoire of panty dropping smiles, shooting smoldering gazes one after another, eye-fucking her camera so much so, we get lost in our little game for a few good moments.
She follows my lead and presses the shutter, taking one snapshot after another until I finally start to turn away from her, ready to go back to the center of the stage.
She lowers her camera and heads to the corner of the
balcony, and as she steps into a beam of light, I freeze.
Thunderstruck, I look at her, my smile peeling off my face. She comes into full view, her long, dark honey hair framing her beautiful face, setting off her sparkling eyes, and pouty lips.
She looks delicate like a flower. Unspoiled. Untouched. She has the face of a girl and the eyes of a budding woman, and she looks at me, truly at me, as if I’m not on a stage. She’s not star struck––I can tell that much, and she’s so alive and real, harboring genuine curiosity for me.
Startled, she steps back, yet not far enough to hide. She can’t break away from me, and I can’t pull away from her either. Her hair casts a shadow over her face, yet even so, I can still see the innocence welded in her features.
She looks at me, a bit frightened, and the memory of Ron’s smile comes back to me, and I turn cold. For reasons I can’t explain, I want her out of here, and for her own good. I’d hate to see her just another notch on Ron’s bedpost.
She snaps more pictures as I drink her in, and the crowd begins to roar, impatient, the moment quickly turning awkward.
Slipping back into the stage character, I shift my focus away from her, shoot my arm up, set off the music and rush through the introduction of the next song.
“This is for you out there who live on with broken hearts.”
I sneak a last glance at her as she steps back into the darkness, and that’s that.
I never raise my eyes again.
“Great show, man,” Liam says, patting my back before he peels the wet T-shirt off him.
Lucas balls up his damp top and tosses it on a table.
“Yeah, it was good. Great job, River,” Ron says, leaning against a chair, his eyes set on me.
I’m not in the mood for Ron’s congratulations.
In his defense, he hasn’t done anything wrong and has every reason to be happy. The show was quite a success.
Silent, I wipe sweat from my brow and bury my face into a towel. Everybody’s energy rose while mine took a nosedive.
The room fills with people, prompting Ron to pull away from me. He shakes hands and answers phone calls, running around like a prom queen.
I put on a different T-shirt.
“Everything okay?” Ron asks as I get ready to walk to the back door.