Play For Me

by Tam DeRudder Jackson

  Next came a black leather skirt and white bustier that I nixed without trying on even though both Stacy and Annabelle booed me. Stacy handed me a short periwinkle blue sheath dress with a lace overlay, cap sleeves, and a sweetheart neckline that hinted at my cleavage. It was classy and right at the edge of being too dressy for a concert. With my strappy silver stiletto sandals, the outfit bypassed sexy and ventured into mysteriously elegant. Annabelle stepped behind me and gathered my hair up into a messy bun, but left a few tendrils loose along the back of my neck. Even I had to admit the effect was pretty stunning.

  “This is the one, Clio,” Annabelle announced.

  “You look so much better in that dress than I ever did. Consider it a gift,” Stacy said with a smile.

  “All right, Stace. You do Clio’s makeup while I get dressed. The concert starts at seven, so we need to boogie out of here in the next half hour if we want to beat rush hour traffic and make it to the other side of Denver on time.”

  The two of them exchanged a look I couldn’t follow before Stacy directed me to sit at my desk where the lighting was best. In all the clothes she carried, I hadn’t noticed she’d also come prepared with her makeup bag. When it came to fixing her face, Stacy was the champ of all my sorority sisters. She turned my face in the light the way she wanted me, and I relaxed and let her work her magic. When I finally saw myself in the mirror ten minutes later, I couldn’t believe the transformation. I looked like a kick-ass version of my real self.

  A slow smile spread across my face. “Wow. I kind of look like me, but then again not. It’s almost like I’m in disguise as my sexy alter ego.”

  “Yeah? Maybe you should spend the night being your sexy alter ego. Who knows what hot guy you might bring home?” Stacy winked at me in the mirror.

  I stuck my tongue out at her. “Like that’s gonna happen. I can already hear what Fern would have to say about me sneaking a guy into the house.”

  Our housemother, Fern, liked to play the part of sweet old lady with her soft-spoken Southern manners. But more than one of our sisters had found herself on the receiving end of a stern lecture whenever she tried to break a rule like sneak alcohol—or a man—into the house after hours or above the first floor. Having witnessed a couple of those lectures, I had no desire to experience one. Besides, I’d have to pick someone up and bring him all the way back to Fort Collins after the show. Not. Gonna. Happen.

  The knowing look on Stacy’s face said otherwise, and I huffed out a sigh.

  “All I’m going to do is enjoy the concert. I’ve heard Balefire’s pyrotechnics recreate the Fourth of July at every show.” I laughed. “Like their music isn’t enough. It’s going to be fun—if I survive Annabelle’s enthusiasm.”

  Stacy and I exchanged knowing grins.

  At that moment, the woman in question bounded into the room, rocking a black leather-skirted dress. Though knee-length, the slit up the outside of her thigh showed off plenty of leg. A sheer black bodice pretended innocence with long sleeves and a Peter Pan collar buttoned up to her throat, but the black bandeau bra beneath it barely held in her girls. Somehow, she managed to look sexy rather than slutty even with her stacked-heel black leather ankle boots. It must have been the unstructured way she curled her hair and the light touch she’d taken with her makeup. At any rate, the girl looked stunning.

  “You’d better pack an overnight bag quick, sister. We need to leave in ten minutes if we’re going to move on the interstate at all,” Annabelle said as she stepped in front of my mirror to check out her look.

  I grabbed my duffel bag from the floor of my closet and stuffed in a pair of skinny jeans, a white tank top and a plain white button-up shirt, a pair of casual sandals, my toiletries bag, a pair of panties, and my makeup bag. “Quick enough for you?” I asked with a cocky grin.

  “Don’t forget your purse. Please tell me you have some condoms in it.”

  Shooting her a look, I said, “I won’t need condoms, Annabelle.”

  “We’re going to a concert for one of the biggest bands in the country. Literally thousands of cute guys will be there. Even you should be able to find one who meets your exacting standards.” A smirk ruined her arch tone.

  “Annabelle, make sure I have a key to our hotel room before you ditch me for a man, okay?” I sighed before turning to give Stacy a quick hug. “See you tomorrow, girlfriend.”

  “Tell me all about it,” she said with a thumbs-up and a grin, but she was looking past me at Annabelle.

  Chapter Three

  Clio

  As we neared the city, Annabelle weaved her sweet blacked-out Mustang through the ever-intensifying traffic. Though I’d grown up in Denver, I never enjoyed driving there. Soon, three lanes became six, all of them filling up, the outside ones clogged and slow. The way the traffic moved, I wondered if we’d make it to the concert at all. Or maybe it was Annabelle’s driving as she swerved back and forth between the lanes, revving up then slamming the brakes when her tailgating threatened her bumper. She drove like she did everything—with so much energy. After nearly sucking in all the air in the car, I yelled, “Look out!” as she cut off yet another driver, this time by inches.

  Glancing over at me, she noticed my fists clenched in my lap. “You won’t enjoy yourself at all if you don’t relax. Check behind my seat. I might have brought along a little something to loosen you up.”

  “I don’t need loosening. Maybe a distraction from your wild driving.” I tried to soften my criticism with a smile, but she didn’t buy it.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the way I drive. Traffic makes you tense. You started going quiet back at Loveland, and if you clench your hands any tighter in your lap, you might break bones.” She bared her teeth. “Get over yourself and check out what I brought along for the ride.”

  Huffing out the rest of the air I was holding, I carefully unclenched my fists. The half-moons my nails left behind on my palms looked permanent. I twisted in my seat and reached behind hers to find a fifth of caramel vodka, one of my favorites.

  “Did you include glasses with this deliciousness, or shall I risk us being pulled over by tipping up the bottle?”

  “Solo cups are on the backseat, but you’re going to have to pace yourself since you’re getting a head start.”

  She looked away from the road and slid me a grin.

  “You honestly don’t think I’m sharing this with you while you’re driving, do you?”

  “Of course not,” she huffed and returned her attention to the road. “Only enjoy enough to anticipate the show, but make sure I don’t have to pour you into your seat when we reach Red Rocks.”

  I uncapped the bottle and poured a generous portion into a Solo cup, which I squeezed delicately between my knees as I recapped the bottle. Sipping my drink, I sat back in the silver-and-black leather bucket seat. The vodka went down sweet and smooth, warming my belly and relaxing my limbs in minutes. Soon, I joined Annabelle as she bopped along to the sounds of “Untraveled Road” by Thousand Foot Krutch cranking through her stereo and amping us up for the concert.

  When we arrived at Red Rocks, Annabelle drove right up to the front. “What are you doing? This is the valet parking area for VIPs. We can’t park here.”

  “Sure we can,” she said with a grin. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a VIP parking pass and placed it in the corner of her windshield.

  Out of nowhere, a valet hustled up to the car and opened her door for her. She shot me a wicked smile before exiting her car and handing the valet her keys with a flourish. While I sat there gaping at my friend, I didn’t notice someone had opened my door and patiently waited for me to exit the car. When I didn’t respond at first, the valet discreetly cleared his throat, and I hurried out of the car, nearly bumping into him in the process.

  Annabelle laughed at me. “Your dad is one of the richest, most influential men in Denver. Surely, you’ve experienced valet parking before.”

  “Of course I’ve experienced valet parking befor
e, but never with one of my friends at a sold-out concert,” I said as the first valet slid into the driver’s seat and pulled away in Annabelle’s Mustang.

  “That’s the first surprise. Come on, let’s go in.” Her grin hinted at all kinds of mischief as she linked her arm through mine and led me toward the front gates into Red Rocks Amphitheater.

  At her words, something like dread—or maybe anticipation—coiled in my stomach. My heart rate ratcheted up, and a flush warmed my face. The pieces started falling into place. The weird looks I’d noticed Annabelle giving me, the secret smiles I caught Stacy and her exchanging, her insistence that I was the only girl in the house she wanted to take to the concert—she was up to something. But no one knew about my past. I was sure of it. No one knew how I’d dated Jack Whitehorse for one beautiful spring my sophomore year of high school. No one knew that as quickly and easily as he’d made me feel like his world revolved around me, he’d just as quickly and easily erased me from it. No one knew because I’d told no one at college about us.

  Swallowing my dread, I concentrated on trying not to trip as Annabelle hustled me along.

  When we reached the gates, she flashed another pass, and an usher directed us to a separate area marked Band. My heart tried to escape my chest while I thought longingly of that bottle of vodka on the back seat of Annabelle’s Mustang. The way things were going, I should have finished at least half of it.

  “Annabelle, how did you get your hands on backstage passes?” I asked as we followed the usher.

  “Oh, I know someone on the crew,” she replied airily. “I met him at a party freshman year. His older brother graduated from high school with Dakota and Blu and Tron, the three original members of the band. Didn’t I tell you that before?” She batted her eyes innocently.

  Huh.

  “No, you didn’t mention that. Do the other girls in the house know?”

  “Maybe,” she drawled.

  The dread I experienced in front of the amphitheater ratcheted into heart-pounding fear. Or maybe excited anticipation. Thoughts of seeing Jack in person after five years made it hard to tell.

  “Any special reason I have the honor of accompanying you backstage for this particular show?”

  She glanced back at where I stopped, grabbed my hand, and tugged me along after her. “You mean other than your obsessive love for the band?”

  “Yeah.”

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying, “Nope. Like I said back at the house, I’ve seen your Spotify and your playlists on your phone, and Balefire is everywhere in your music choices. Out of everyone I know, you’re the one who would appreciate this chance to meet the band the most.”

  Meet the band? I wanted to run full speed back to the parking lot and escape in Annabelle’s fast car.

  I wanted to do a happy dance at the chance to see the beautiful boy from my memories.

  I kind of wanted to throw up.

  I did none of those things as I let my friend’s words roll through me.

  Annabelle stopped in her tracks and stared me in the eyes. “You don’t seem too happy about going backstage, Clio. What gives?”

  “Nothing. This is a massive surprise. I guess I’m nervous about meeting the band.” I shoved down my worry about seeing Jack again and shrugged. “Like you said, they’re my all-time favorite. Maybe you could have given me a heads-up to prepare or something.”

  She laughed. “Are you kidding? Did you even look at yourself in the mirror before we left home?” She tugged me after her to where the usher had stopped to wait for us. “Girl, we are going to wow those boys so hard. They’ll be begging us to attend their after-party.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Their after-party. All bands have them after they play big shows, but Balefire’s parties are legendary.” Her excitement radiated off her like a light show. “As much as I want to see them in concert, I think I’ve been more excited for the after-party ever since Bailey scored me the tickets.”

  “Now I see where this is going. You’re looking to hook up with one of the members of the band.” A picture of a hot drummer with wide shoulders, thick black hair, and seafoam-green eyes flitted through my head, and I tried not to see him with his strong arms wrapped around Annabelle’s gorgeous curves, currently on full display.

  “Exactly. Why do you think I insisted you have condoms in your purse? Now stop stalling. We’re watching the show from the front row, but there are other VIP pass holders too. I want to be front and center, so let’s get going.”

  Annabelle grabbed my now clammy hand again and dragged me along behind her.

  Backstage passes. Front row seats. Jack Whitehorse up close and personal after nearly five years. My heart raced like I tried to outrun the whole field of the Indy 500.

  I was so not ready for this.

  By the time we reached the front of the venue, my heart hammered so hard and fast I worried I’d embarrass myself and faint right there in the front row. Annabelle grinned at me and retrieved a flask from her purse. Another perk of backstage passes had been no security checks of our bags, which apparently, she knew.

  Songs from Seether, one of my other favorite bands, pounded through the speakers, and lights flashed around the amphitheater, amping up the crowd and forcing Annabelle to lean in close to my ear. “I might have put one of these in your purse when you didn’t notice. Check it out,” she shouted before she uncapped her flask and took a pull.

  My face must have revealed my surprise because she started laughing and nearly choked on her first drink. I flipped open the flap of my purse and reached inside it, discovering a pint-sized flask nestled in the bottom. I grinned at Annabelle, more in relief than anything else. At least I wouldn’t have to face seeing Jack sober. The buzz from the vodka I’d drunk in the car had evaporated the minute she informed me we’d be meeting the band. No doubt that flask was my lifeline to sanity.

  Not caring what I drank, I tipped my pint up for a big swallow. Happily, I discovered she’d filled it with more yummy vodka. Maybe if I drank the whole thing before the show started, I could survive seeing Jack again.

  As I swallowed that first drink, it occurred to me he probably wouldn’t see me at all from on top of his raised drum kit situated behind the rest of the band. Even if he did, he probably wouldn’t recognize me after all this time. I’d changed some in the last five years. Moving out of Harrison and Meredith’s house meant I could give up ballet and take up sports. After trying several, I discovered I could hold my own on a soccer field and joined the sorority’s intramural team. The running involved in playing soccer coupled with the weight training I’d also taken up had changed my look from kind of skinny to toned and a bit curvy. I liked it. But Jack had shown interest in a dancer.

  Shaking my head at my ridiculous thoughts, I took another long pull from my flask. Jack dumped a dancer, a nerd, a shy sophomore who was never in his league. That I’d done something stupid and fallen in love with him back then wouldn’t have meant anything to him, I’m sure, even if I’d told him. Mercifully, I hadn’t gone that far. Now I was a distant memory, if I rated that much. Who was I to think Jack Whitehorse would notice me in the mass of screaming fans let alone remember what I looked like way back when?

  As I struggled with my thoughts, the amphitheater filled up behind us, the noise of the venue nearly deafening between the excited crowd laughing and shouting and the pounding rhythms blasting from the speakers at the sides of the stage. Energy pulsed in waves over the thousands of people thronging into the venue. Between my trepidation at seeing Jack again, the alcoholic buzz now blessedly coursing through my body, and the palpable energy generated by the people around me, my blood sizzled in my veins, and I worried I might self-combust.

  The music suddenly stopped, the lights dropped, and the crowd held its breath for the opening riffs of the show. A flash of light, followed by the deep harsh punch of a drumstick on the surface of the tom-toms unleashed the collective breath of the crow
d in one ear-popping roar. The concert had begun.

  The show opened on Jack’s ripping drum solo accompanied by cascading showers of multicolored fireworks and laser lights ricocheting across the stage, over the crowd, across the giant red rocks behind the stage, and up into the sky as Jack’s massive drum kit rose from beneath the floor to tower over the stage. Like a master sorcerer, he struck each drumhead, cymbal, high hat, rim, tom-tom, and bass drum on exactly the right beat to command the emotions of the fans. No one in the amphitheater could resist responding to his masterful rhythms. The lights concentrated on the sorcerer, drawing every last vestige of the fans’ attention to the man, the speed of whose drumsticks blurred the eyes and ears of everyone in the arena.

  With the crowd’s attention on Jack, the rest of the band appeared at the edge of the stage as if by magic. Adam Tron added his bass and Dakota Perri’s monster guitar riffs joined Jack’s drums before Blu Connolly’s screaming vocals sent the crowd into a roaring frenzy.

  Annabelle linked her arm through mine and squeezed. Based on the way her mouth formed, she was screaming, but I couldn’t hear her over the rest of the crowd and the music. I smiled and squeezed her back before my eyes returned to the stage like magnets to true north. From where I stood, I could see between Dakota and Blu, a direct sight line to where Jack Whitehorse sat behind his massive drum set, the chrome scaffolding around it reflecting a rainbow of colors as the stage lights bounced off it.

  From all the Balefire videos I’d watched, I knew Jack had let his hair grow from the short buzz cut he’d worn in high school to something shoulder length, so I was surprised to see he’d cut it. Now his hair lay right above the collar of his cutoff T-shirt. It looked to have been styled into soft messy waves before he started playing, his head moving in sync with the rhythms he created with his hands and feet. My fingers itched to slide through the warm silk of those waves, and I balled my hands into fists at my sides.