Fury

by Tammy Coons

  She turned, and Steph watched her give him a grateful smile.

  “Fantastic. Thanks, Scot.” His smile was so perfect that Steph thought he could have been in a toothpaste ad. So much for the cliché that British people had bad teeth.

  After tea they continued to mingle. Goddess was taking a few pictures. Phillip sat at the bar smoking and not speaking to anyone. Thanks to Scot breaking the ice, Cheyenne had set up all the interviews and had a copy of the bands itinerary clutched in her hand. Steph sat with Nathan talking shop but kept stealing cautious glances at Phillip. Nathan leaned toward her.

  “Lovely, isn’t he?” Nathan whispered. Caught red-handed, Stephanie looked away. “Ah, now your cheeks match your hair.”

  “Actually, I’m waiting for him to go berserk and break everything in the room.” Steph’s retort was tart, but she knew it was hopeless. He wasn’t buying it, so there was no use denying she was admiring Phillip’s good looks.

  “He can actually be a lot of fun. You must bring out animalistic qualities in him.” Nathan held his cigarette case out to Steph.

  With reluctance, she took one and headed over to Phillip. No time like the present to apologize, she thought.

  “Got a light?” Steph asked, having no desire to smoke, but needing an “in”. She took the seat next to his. Phillip glanced around as if plotting his escape. He turned back to her and pulled a gold lighter from his pocket.

  “Amazingly enough it survived the pool.” Phillip flicked the lighter. Her hand steadied his as she leaned in to light her cigarette. She pulled away and they regarded one other. Momentarily entranced by his bulging arms, she took a second to choose her words.

  “Alright. I admit I have temper issues as well. I was thinking we should declare a truce.”

  “You mean like I tried to at the pool?” His eyes locked with hers. She stared him down.

  “Come on. You deserved it a little,” Steph replied, a playful smile on her face.

  “About as much as you deserved a broken camera.” Phillip looked away from her.

  “Nice.”

  “How long have you been out of school?” Phillip looked her up and down.

  Steph glared at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “How old are you?” he rephrased.

  “Twenty-five.” Steph took a drag off her cigarette. Her inexperience with inhaling caused her to have a coughing fit.

  Phillip threw his head back and laughed. He had the audacity to pat her on the back and Steph wanted to slap him.

  “What?” Steph gasped, feeling flushed.

  “Awfully young to be so successful, aren’t you? Don’t suppose Daddy had anything to do with it.” Phillip smiled broadly.

  Steph’s face went blank.

  “Yes, Nathan told me all about your little music dynasty. With a Mother like yours, I suppose nepotism is a given. It’s not surprising you’d behave like a pampered brat.”

  Rage overcame her and she would have knocked him off the barstool had Nathan not appeared and grabbed her by the wrist.

  “Hey who wants to play pool?” Nathan exclaimed, pulling her toward the table.

  “Since when do you play pool?” David asked. It was the first time he’d spoken in two hours.

  “I’ve been thinking of taking it up, actually.” Nathan threw his arm casually around her shoulders. “Here’s my partner.”

  “No, Nathan. I think I need to be taking pictures,” Steph replied.

  “We really should be leaving for sound checks,” Phillip interjected, looking at his Rolex.

  Ian nodded supportively.

  “Alright, Mummy and Daddy.” Nathan looked at the two of them, clearly frustrated. “Can we have a little fun occasionally?”

  “Oh, Alright,” Ian conceded. “One game. But I’m playing. I’m not too shabby if I do say so myself.”

  “It looks like it’s me and Davey Boy against you two.” Bret downed his drink.

  “I’m going to go check out the pictures I took.” Goddess trounced off. Cheyenne looked after Goddess and approached Steph.

  “She’s so odd. She went on and on about the band and now she has a chance to hang with them and she’s leaving,” Cheyenne murmured. Steph shrugged. She had no interest in Goddess and was still brooding over Phillip’s insults.

  “I’m going to lie down for a while and ready myself for another flight tomorrow.” Cheyenne yawned.

  “Ok, sounds good.” Stephanie readied her camera. She found a good vantage point to get some shots of the band playing pool. With any luck, she could escape to her room soon.

  “Are you going to the show tonight?” Scot asked, as Cheyenne gathered her equipment. She was surprised as he held the door for her.

  “Probably not. I have a ton of writing to do.”

  “All work and no play?” A provocative look crossed his face.

  Cheyenne turned to the door and almost dropped her laptop. Scot deftly caught it.

  “Maybe I should help you carry this.” He locked eyes with her. His chiseled face made the perfect frame for his kind, dark eyes. Cheyenne shivered a bit and she gave him a sheepish grin. Steph had helped her lug quite a bit of equipment to the conference room, and it would be a challenge to get it all back to the room.

  “Sure,” she conceded. Along the way, Scot engaged her in polite conversation. Arriving at her door, she turned to him.

  “Thanks for helping me out.”

  Scot smiled. Their eyes met for a moment and Cheyenne found herself feeling like a school girl on her first date. He was exceedingly handsome and his accent was undoing her business-like demeanor.

  “See you later; remember you are my first victim,” Cheyenne said, gaining control. She took her laptop from Scot and their hands brushed. She nearly dropped her laptop again.

  Scot chuckled. There wasn’t much space between them and their chemistry was magnetic. He smiled, not taking his eyes off of her.

  Cheyenne fled into her room and had to suppress the urge to lock the door. What the hell was that about?

  It had been surprisingly hard for Cheyenne to pack up and leave The Connaught. She’d fallen deeply in love with the hotel. After two more concerts in London, they embarked on a road trip to Liverpool. The Sound Wave crew rode in a separate vehicle from the band, and Cheyenne was frustrated by this distance from her subjects.

  Steph spent the first day in Liverpool with Nathan, who begged for a private photography lesson. She returned with some fantastic shots of the well-dressed keyboardist on a backdrop of the city’s urban decay. In turn, Nathan came back gushing about her the world class photographer’s advice.

  Cheyenne had spent the day playing cards with the rest of the band while they hung out at their hotel, The Radisson BLU. Phillip was a sore loser, which seemed in character, and bailed on the game early. Bret left after taking repeated calls from his wife regarding his son’s misbehavior. As Scot, David, and Cheyenne were about to start a game of Poker, David got a call and left hurriedly.

  “It’s his lady friend,” Scot remarked, watching David flee. Cheyenne shuffled the cards.

  “Would you like to play another hand?”

  “Nah. Would you care to go to the bar for a drink?’

  “Absolutely.” Cheyenne grabbed her purse.

  They sat at the bar for several hours discussing books they’d both read. She was impressed at his tastes and amused to find he loved John Irving as much as she did. They both had similar tastes in music and had a lengthy conversation about their first rock concert experiences and their first music purchases. His unassuming nature made it easy to forget he was a poster boy. Cheyenne found him to be a great drinking buddy, and they agreed to do it again soon before stumbling back to their rooms.

  A few days and a few shows later, Cheyenne had a meeting with Ian. They argued about the finer points of “all access” and with Scot and Nathan as allies, they were assured they’d get to ride with the band.

  Back in London, there had been a
mad rush to get through customs. Evidently, rock bands are scrutinized more harshly by security. So much for special treatment being a positive thing, Cheyenne mused. She made a mental note to mention this in her article.

  Once on Fury’s private jet Cheyenne seated herself beside Scot and settled in to interview him as previously arranged. Dressed casually, he wore a crisp white shirt and to Cheyenne’s amusement, skinny jeans. Europeans.

  “What kind of grades did you get in school?” Cheyenne held out a microphone toward him. She had been interviewing him for twenty minutes and had found her growing attraction to him dismaying. Her first impression of him in Liverpool seemed dead on, and he was as brilliant and charming as he was handsome, his answers witty and flirtatious.

  “Well, I must admit I was a bit of a nerd,” Scot began, and then took a sip of espresso. “I received excellent grades in Geography and Math, and I attended Cambridge. In fact, that’s where Fury originated, in a manner of speaking. I met Phillip there. We were both studying music. I played the string bass at the time, I know…very sexy.” He uttered a self-depreciating laugh.

  Cheyenne shot him a wry smile of agreement.

  “Phillip was much more into popular music than I. He was in a poetry class and was always writing lyrics. Honestly, it was rather annoying at first. At the time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue in music…for a while I’d been considering changing my major. It wasn’t long before I realized he was onto something, his lyrics were quite good. Soon I was listening to all sorts of rock, pop, funk. I traded in the string bass for an electric one. My father was mortified.”

  “So what do your parents think now that Fury is so successful?”

  “They’re pretty proud. My father is a history professor and my mother is a retired concert cellist. My father was leery enough when I was a classical music major, but he couldn’t say too much when my mother was in the same profession.”

  “What would you have studied if not music?’

  “Anything and everything. The world fascinates me. I probably would have studied cultures or anthropology. I believe my favorite thing about Fury is the traveling, I learn so much.”

  “Of all the places you’ve traveled, which was your favorite?”

  “There’s no contest, I love Brazil, Rio specifically. I think it has the most beautiful beaches in the world.” Scot looked transported back, his eyes gazing off as if remembering every detail.”

  “That’s an interesting choice. Isn’t that where you filmed your video Hopeful Man?” Cheyenne asked.

  “Yes. We had the best time. David starting dating a model he met on the video shoot. Her family welcomed us into their home and insisted on cooking for us. It was like that everywhere we went. The people are incredibly friendly. I remember one night Bret and I were going out for dinner and there must have been at least 30 fans outside the hotel. None of them rushed us; they were so polite and patient that Bret and I decided to give each of them an autograph. It was so nice; we hardly get to do things like that anymore.” His brown eyes danced. “Have you been to Brazil, Cheyenne?”

  “No,” Cheyenne, responded truthfully, after a brief pause. “This is my first time abroad.”

  “I was thinking of returning there after the tour in The States, maybe you could come along, like a follow-up interview,” Scot flirted.

  Cheyenne laughed aloud, but when Scot didn’t join in the laughter, she stopped abruptly.

  “Well that about wraps it up.” Cheyenne stopped recording. “You’re really brilliant Scot; you would make a great journalist.”

  “I missed my calling,” Scot mused, still eyeing her closely. Cheyenne could see the wheels turning behind his eyes as if he were plotting something.

  “Would you like to see The Eiffel Tower with me?” Scot leaned in close to her.

  “Excuse me?” Cheyenne’s response was innocent. His physical closeness made her a little tense, and she suddenly had a series of dirty thoughts about him. As she tucked her stray bangs behind her ear, she realized her hands were shaking and blamed it on slamming too many espresso shots at the airport.

  “Don’t tell me you have already made other plans?” Scot feigned jealousy.

  “I’ll probably fall asleep as soon as we get settled into the hotel. I’m not used to all this traveling, and jetlag.” She collected her equipment.” I have a busy workday ahead.”

  “Come on,” Scot replied with a raised eyebrow. “We could go after your little nap.”

  “Scot, I can’t.” She stood, needing to escape him. It had been a very long time since she’d had anything more than a passing interest in a man, and she felt betrayed by her own body. The timing was damned inconvenient, and the fact that Scot was her subject made the entire situation aggravating.

  “Please?” he asked blinking his gorgeous dark eyes. He pretended to pout.

  “Look, I’ve got to go meet with Steph about the pictures she took last night, and I have to make sure you get photographed.” Cheyenne moved into the aisle.

  “Alright then.” Scot seemed to be searching her face. “Cheyenne, did I say something to offend you?”

  Cheyenne turned to look at him. She weighed the options and decided to be frank. “Not exactly, though I think there is something I need to clear up. I’m here to do a job Scot; I don’t mix personal affairs with business. There’s no room in my life for anything like that right now.”

  To Cheyenne’s astonishment, Scot stared at her wide eyed, apparently wounded.

  She swiftly turned and moved down the aisle before he could respond. Waging a battle with herself, she couldn’t help but feel a bit ill at ease. He hadn’t deserved such harsh treatment, but she just wanted to be a straight shooter. She could see why he might be confused after drinks the other night, but drinking in a pub and frolicking through the streets of Paris were two separate situations entirely. She dismissed her concerns; it had been the right call…the professional way to go. Finding Steph, who was leaning over her laptop, Cheyenne sat and belted her seatbelt as they hit a bit of turbulence.

  “Done already?” Steph looked up at Cheyenne. “That didn’t take long.”

  “He’s very bright and very talkative.” Cheyenne relaxed back in her soft seat. “I got the information I needed.”

  “So it went well.” Steph clicked away at her computer.

  “Yep. Lots of great repartee.” Her reply sounded halfhearted to her own ears.

  Steph stopped and gave her full attention to Cheyenne,

  “Huh,” Steph vocalized, and seemed to suppress a question. “I got some fabulous shots last night at the concert.”

  “You’re not mad that I skipped it, are you? I just had to get some rest, get adjusted.”

  Steph dismissed her question with a little wave and continued to click the mouse with her other hand. She was in the zone; Cheyenne recognized her “work face”.

  “Let’s see.” Cheyenne leaned over as Steph placed the laptop between them.

  “These are great!” Cheyenne perked up a little. “Nathan’s quite photogenic.”

  “That’s the truth.” Steph’s blue eyes danced with excitement. Her wide smile projected her passion for her work. She pointed at a picture of Bret.

  “Bret’s a real ham. I didn’t think I would have any memory left… and this one is my personal favorite.” She was pointing to a picture of David in a dark corner lighting a cigarette. It was stunning. Steph had converted the photo to black and white. David’s immaculate good looks seemed to pull Cheyenne into the picture.

  “He reminds me of an old time movie star. It’s David a la James Dean.”

  “That picture’s definitely a keeper.” Cheyenne rubbed her eyes. She closed them for a second then opened them, blinking to focus. She wondered if aspirin would help her tension. “Did you call your dad?”

  “Not when I’m in such a good mood. Spill it! Something’s wrong.” Steph looked at her expectantly, as only a best friend can.

  “It’s Scot. He’s coming on t
o me.” Cheyenne took her hair out of the bun that was suddenly driving her crazy.

  “And that’s a problem because…?” Steph trailed off with a sassy tone.

  “Maybe I’m just tired… I don’t know… I basically told him off.” Cheyenne glanced at Scot. He was leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed.

  “What happened?”

  “I think I shocked the hell out of him. He just stared at me. I am probably the first woman in his life to turn him down.”

  Steph eyed her.

  “Maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt. He seems really nice—unlike Phillip the Barbarian.”

  Cheyenne laughed and Steph smirked. “I don’t want to do anything to get in the way of this story, Steph. That includes any unnecessary attachments.”

  “You shouldn’t think so much,” Steph replied. “Speaking of thinking, I was doing some of that earlier and came up with an idea.”

  “God help us,” Cheyenne joked.

  Steph ignored her. “Let’s get separate rooms for the rest of the trip. I need my bathroom for a dark room. After the death of my modern camera, the thought crossed my mind, that I should break out Mom’s camera and do some ‘old school’. You know, with actual film.”

  “That sounds logical. Do you think your dad will mind the extra cost?” Cheyenne closed her eyes.

  Steph shrugged and kept working. Cheyenne wasn’t sure she would ever get used to the casual way her friend approached money.

  Tons of fans lined up, all waiting for Fury’s arrival at the airport in Paris. Police and security guards bustled everywhere. People shoved and jostled; women cried and fainted. Steph snapped shot after shot of the crowd and seemed to enjoy the chaos. As Cheyenne made her the limo she was flanked by David and a security guard. A sudden sharp pain startled her—someone was yanking her hair.

  “Skinny bitch!” a girl yelled in her face. “David is way too hot for you!”

  David pulled her away from the woman.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, as if he had been somehow responsible.

  The experience overwhelmed Cheyenne; this was fame on a level she’d never been close too, and it was terrifying.