by M. S. Parker
She wasn't trying to be cruel. I knew that. I could tell from the kind expression on her face her intentions were pure. She just had a fucked up way of showing it.
“Alright, if we're coming out with it.” I took a breath. “Yeah. I fell in love with him. Or I think I did, at least. He was...” I glanced down at the forgotten beer in my hands, feeling suddenly shy. “He was my first.”
Jasmine's eyebrows hit the roof. “No shit? Wow.”
“Yeah, and then he left. So it's all a bit of a moot point.”
“I disagree.” Jasmine took one final puff of her joint and put it out in the empty ashtray on the table. “When he wants to, Sean can make you feel like you're the most important thing in the world, so I get you falling for him. And what a feeling to have, am I right? It's the best and worst feeling in the world.”
“You've got that right,” I muttered.
Jasmine chuckled. “Listen, Hazel. There are tons of guys in the world. Lots of them are literal sacks of shit. But there are lots who have the potential to make you feel like the pinnacle of their universe. Let this experience be a lesson. Now that you know where the bar rests, don't let yourself settle for any man who doesn't make you feel that way.”
“You're right,” I said finally. “It was a learning experience. That's for damn sure.”
Jasmine laughed, delighted. “Cheers to that.”
We clinked bottles and drank. Even though I agreed with Jasmine about some things, I would never agree with her that Sean couldn't love. Maybe he hadn't loved me, but he was a good guy underneath it all. And as much as I wanted to take what she said into consideration, I still couldn't stop wondering where he was and how he was doing.
Fifty-Two
Sean
The front door slammed closed, and Dave's footfalls bounded up the stairs. I was sitting in the upstairs kitchen, having some breakfast, and planning my next move in the hunt to find Hazel. He emerged a few seconds later, a rolled up magazine in his fist. I inspected his face for signs that he'd been using while he was out, since I'd only recently begun letting him out of my sight, but he was sober as a judge.
“Check this out.” Dave unrolled the magazine on the breakfast bar in front of me. “Didn't you date this chick?”
My heart jumped, thinking at first he was talking about Hazel. But why would Hazel be on the front of a magazine? No, the woman singing her lungs out on the cover of this week's Rolling Stone was none other than Jasmine Fox.
“Yeah,” I said, remembering my brother's question. “Sort of.”
“Awesome.” He grinned and sat on the stool next to mine. “She's hotter than hell. I can't even imagine what Hazel looks like.”
I smacked him on the back of the head. “I'd rather you didn't.”
He laughed, then got up and poured a cup of coffee from the machine. I looked down at the photo, smiling wistfully. She really was making it big, wasn't she? I shouldn't have been surprised. Jasmine was talented and tenacious. She would climb over whatever obstacles the world threw in her way. Even me.
The photo was perfect. Jasmine was crouched by the front of the stage, reaching out toward the fans. A female fan was reaching back, and it looked like Jasmine and this girl were having some sort of profound connection, right there on stage.
There was something familiar about the picture, but I couldn't place my finger on it. It wasn't that I'd seen it before because that was impossible. So, what was it?
I pulled the picture closer and scoured for the photographer's name. Lo and behold, it was Hazel Hunter.
I dropped the magazine and reached for my phone, more grateful than ever that I still had Jasmine's number.
“Well, hello, stranger,” she answered in that beautiful, rasping voice of hers. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I'm looking at a photo of you on the front page of the Rolling Stone right now,” I said. “You look great, by the way.”
“I'm getting the feeling you didn't call just to congratulate me,” she said. “That would be very unlike you.”
“Admittedly, I did also have a favor to ask.”
Jasmine snorted. “Of course you did. And does this favor have anything to do with a certain adorable brunette credited for that Rolling Stone photo?”
“It might. Did you take her on tour with you?”
Dave had floated over to me by this point and held his ear close to my phone so he could hear too. I tried to shove him away, but he just cursed me for spilling his coffee and came right back.
“I did,” Jasmine replied. “Her schedule cleared up fortuitously last month, so I was quick to snag her before anyone else could.”
“You were smart to do so,” I replied.
Jasmine laughed. “Almost as smart as you were stupid for letting her go.”
“Snap,” Dave whispered.
I gave him another shove.
“I assume you're calling me because you're looking for a way to get in touch with her,” Jasmine continued a second later.
“I am.”
“Don't you think you've done enough to the poor girl? Maybe it's better just to leave her alone.”
The words sank into my skin like shards of ice. I thought Jasmine would help me, but I was beginning to see a pattern. The people who cared about Hazel were crowding around her to protect her from me. So, what did that say about me? Was she truly better off without me?
No, I decided. Dave was right. I believed I could make Hazel happy, and I'd do whatever it took to do so.
“Shouldn't it be up to Hazel to decide whether she's finished with me or not?” I asked.
“One would think so, but in your case, I'm not sure Hazel knows what she's getting into.”
I frowned. “Listen, I know I fucked up. I don't deserve Hazel at all, but I can't help it. I need her, and I'll do whatever it takes to get her back.” I took a breath. “I’ll be a better man for her.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. I exchanged a questioning look with Dave, who looked as engrossed in our conversation as he would be to some high-octane action flick. Had I said something wrong? I didn’t think there was any bad blood between Jasmine and me about our former relationship, but maybe I was wrong.
Finally, Jasmine sighed. “I would love to tell you to fuck off on her behalf, but that's – as you said – for her to decide,” she conceded. “What I can tell you is you hurt her bad. If you really want that girl's heart, you're going to have to move mountains. Mountains I'm not sure you'll be able to move.”
“I'm Sean Morris,” I replied. “I'll move Everest if that's what it takes – and look good doing it.”
Dave rolled his eyes. I pictured Jasmine rolling hers too.
“Which brings me to my next point,” Jasmine drawled. “If you want Hazel back, you have to choose who you are once and for all. Sean or the Rock Star?”
I considered this for a moment while Dave and Jasmine waited for my reply with rapt attention. Or at least Dave did. Jasmine could have been painting her fingernails on the other end of the line for all I knew.
“I know who I want to be, Jasmine,” I said finally. “And I think I have a plan. If you're willing to help me, that is.”
She laughed. “I do love a good plan, but I don't see how there's anything I could do that could help you mend the tear in that girl's heart. I won't act as your hype man. I like her too much to betray her like that.”
This surprised me, since Jasmine wasn't an overly friendly girl. She didn't actively push people away like I'd grown accustomed to doing, but she didn't make any overt attempts at establishing friendships either.
“I don't need you to betray her,” I replied.
“Then what do you want me to do?”
I grinned. “Wanna host my comeback?”
Fifty-Three
Hazel
Where the hell was Jasmine?
At least when I was taking photos for Flagship Inferno, I always knew where I could find them at any one part of the day.
Before the show, they'd usually be in the green room entertaining groupies and smoking a joint or two. After the show, all I had to do was follow the sound of raucous partying and the smell of bad decisions.
Jasmine, on the other hand, was a loose cannon. It was only our third show of the tour, but I'd hoped to establish some sort of pattern to her movements by now. I checked the green room, where I'd found her doing yoga before the last show. Nada. I checked her tour bus, where she'd been smoking a joint and chatting to her openers the show before that. Nada. I ran around the whole stadium looking for her, finally deciding if she wanted her bloody photos taken before the show, it was her responsibility to make herself available.
I took a seat in the green room and grabbed a bottle of water, parched from my lengthy hunt for my rock star patroness. The water was like a gift from the gods, and I drank down nearly the whole thing in one go. It was hot in San Francisco, and it was only going to get hotter as we moved deeper into the south.
I wondered if Jasmine's absence had anything to do with the special guest star appearing at tonight's show. She'd been super cagey about the whole thing, only telling me it was a last-minute addition. That was the last time I saw her.
Nobody else knew who this guest star was, either, which was frustrating as hell. Why did Jasmine have to make my job so damn hard? Couldn’t she just party on a schedule like Flagship Inferno?
I had a feeling Brad wasn't going to be happy that I'd missed the opportunity to get a few shots of Jasmine and her guest star before they went on stage, but that was too fucking bad. I was tired, thirsty, and had a long night of chasing Jasmine around after me.
While I sat and rested a little, I thought about the kinds of excuses I could use to appease Jasmine's crotchety manager. Brad would consider all this to be my fault for not keeping a better eye on her. That girl needed a bell. Or, better yet, a GPS tracker, like the kind you attach to your bike in case it got stolen. She wouldn't even have to know...I bet Brad would be all for it too. Hell, maybe he already had a tracker on her and finding her would be as easy as getting him to pinpoint her location on a map. I could imagine it too.
But then I'd have to go explain to Brad that I lost the talent. Not something I was interested in doing.
At least I knew she wouldn't be AWOL for too much longer. The show was only a couple hours away, and there was no way in hell she'd be missing that. Maybe I could get enough good photos of her up on stage that Brad would forget all about not having the ones from earlier.
Feeling better both physically and mentally, I decided to go hang out with the crowd for a bit. After all, part of the reason I loved photography was because I loved people watching. And these shows were always the best place for it.
It wasn't packed in the stadium. Jasmine wasn't as big of an act yet, and so far, only a couple of her shows had sold out. Nonetheless, this crowd was a rowdy bunch. They were a lot like the crowd at the Flagship Inferno shows, minus the hordes of devoted groupies vying for a chance to get backstage. I supposed it made sense, considering Vixen Vendetta was a similar style of music. I saw lots of ripped denim, leather miniskirts, and colorful hair.
Rock fans were the best, in my opinion, because they always seemed to be in a great mood. There was no prissiness with these folks. They were here for the music and the experience and weren’t opposed to getting a little dirty while they were at it. Perhaps this wasn’t a fair statement to make, being that I hadn’t encountered many other kinds of fans from which to draw a comparison, but when this tour was over, and I had two famous rock stars on my professional resume, I’d have a whole world of people watching opportunities ahead of me. Who knew who’d snap me up next? It was exciting and terrifying all at once.
I found a spot near the sound booth, where I was standing a little bit above the crowd, and started snapping photos.
The time went by faster than I expected. There were so many interesting people to see and capture, and there was a palpable excitement in the air that made my hair stand on end. I overheard lots of fans’ theories about who tonight's special guest might be, everything from Flagship Inferno to Oprah. I wanted to tell them that Oprah was more likely, given that Flagship Inferno had splintered and their lead singer had disappeared into the void. But hey, it was fun to speculate.
Personally, I figured it was just another up and comer that Brad wanted to get some stage time. It would be just like him to build up this amount of buzz for somebody who nobody else knew. Knowing Brad, there was a strategy in there somewhere.
Finally, the lights dimmed.
I raised my camera, snapping photos of the smoke pooling on stage. I'd chosen a good spot and decided to stay there until at least the end of the first set. That way I could get some good long shots, then maybe afterward I could head backstage and give Jasmine a piece of my mind for disappearing on me like that.
Jasmine ran out on stage to the exuberant cries of hundreds of people. She smiled and waved, taking a guitar from one of the roadies and strumming out a chord. The rest of the band took the stage behind her, and I scoured their faces to see if one of them was the mystery newcomer. Nada.
I thought this person, whoever they were, was going to be opening for Vixen Vendetta. Maybe they pulled out at the last minute or something.
I abandoned thoughts of the special guest as the space filled with sound. Jasmine was impossible to ignore when she was on stage. She had a vivacity that demanded your attention and rewarded you for giving it. I loved watching her perform, almost as much as I'd loved watching Sean perform. But there was something more genuine about Jasmine's stage presence. She wasn't putting on an act. I wondered what it would be like to see Sean performing without putting on an act. Would it be better? Worse? Maybe it wouldn't make a difference.
Anyway, it didn't matter. I'd never see him perform again, and thinking about him only made my heart ache.
Jasmine finished her set, and I hopped down from the sound booth and started making my way toward the backstage entrance, figuring I'd find my target in the green room.
Except, apparently, Jasmine hadn't left the stage yet. The lights flared back to life unexpectedly as I navigated the small walkway around the pit. I stopped and pulled out my camera, wondering what the hell she had up her sleeve.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jasmine said, walking out to the front of the stage. She no longer had her guitar, and the band wasn't with her. “I have an exciting announcement to make.”
The crowd cheered, hands coming up to reach for her. Jasmine giggled and swatted them away playfully.
“Come on, guys, if you don't quiet down, how am I supposed to make my exciting announcement?”
The crowd hushed immediately, almost alarmingly. I frowned as I stared hard at Jasmine. I had a feeling I was about to find out who the guest performer was.
“I have a dear friend with me tonight, one you may have heard of,” Jasmine continued. “Please help me welcome him to the stage. Put your hands together for Sean Morris!”
The crowd went wild, screaming, clapping, shouldering each other so they could get closer to the stage. I, on the other hand, was frozen in place. The cacophony around me sounded like it was coming through a tunnel, and I was only vaguely aware I hadn't blinked for at least a minute.
The cheers of the crowd swelled, but I was far away.
And then he appeared, and the world blasted back into focus in violent technicolor.
Fifty-Four
Sean
No matter what I did, I couldn't stop my knee from jiggling in place. I put a hand on it and pressed down to stop it. That only helped while my hand was there, which looked dumb as shit. So I let it be and kept on jiggling.
“Nerves?” the stage manager, a polite woman named Karen asked.
“Something like that,” I murmured in response.
The roar of the crowd when Jasmine came back on stage was almost deafening, even from back here. I missed that sound. I missed performing and sharing my passion with the world. Bu
t above everything else, I missed Hazel. I never got this nervous before a show, but what I was about to do was another thing entirely. It wasn't a show. It was a redemption.
Hopefully, at least.
I heard Jasmine announcing me. I wondered where Hazel was in the crowd, if she was excited to hear my name. Even if at the end of the day she told me to get lost, at least I could say I tried.
Karen held her headset closer to her ear, listening. Then she turned to me with a friendly smile. “You're up.”
I rose from the couch, grabbing my guitar with shaky hands on my way out. The collective shrieks and excited cries from the audience made my ears ring and nearly knocked me on my ass. I couldn't remember the last time I'd come out to a crowd this insane. Then again, I'd never disappeared for a month, hounded by rumors of everything from an overdose to a political sex scandal. I knew the crowd expected some sort of explanation or at least an acknowledgment of my absence, but that wasn't why I was here. The only thing I was here for wasn't a thing at all, she was a person. A beautiful, wonderful person.
I took center stage, stopping in front of the microphone stand. Jasmine squeezed my arm in passing and drifted to the back of the stage, where the rest of her band was quietly assembling.
“Hello, San Francisco!” I greeted. “How's everyone doing tonight?”
I couldn't resist. Old habits die hard and all that jazz.
As the crowd screamed to let me know they were doing just fine, thank you very much, I scanned the fringes of the mob for a sign of raven black hair. Panicked adrenaline spiked in my chest as I had the worrying thought that maybe Hazel wasn’t out there, after all. Then what was I supposed to do?
But, sure enough, I found her wide-eyed face just to the side of the stage, hands holding the top of the railing she stood behind in a white-knuckled grip. She was staring up at me, an expression of shock and confusion distorting her features. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? A bead of sweat dripped down my brow. Fuck, I'd forgotten how hot these lights could get.