I groaned noncommittally into the phone.
“Get dressed. I can be at your place in fifteen minutes.”
I took in my frayed jogging pants, tattered tank top and sighed yet again. True, I could change my clothes, but right now my hair was so knotted and out of control just the thought of combing it exhausted me. I simply didn’t have the energy to deal with trying to look good tonight. “Maybe tomorrow,” I suggested.
Ann was quiet for a moment as she considered this. “All right,” she agreed. “Tomorrow. I won’t take no for an answer.”
“I said maybe tomorrow.”
“Okay Stella, here’s the deal. Tomorrow night Jake’s lover’s band is playing at Hammerjacks. What do you think about us heading out to have a look at him?”
“Think that would make me look desperate, like I’m stalking Jake,” I whined.
“Hell no. We’re there to see a show, if we happen to run into Jake and his boy toy, oh well.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Fucking bastard,” Ann agreed.
“I hate men.”
“Me too.”
“Okay I’ll go. But no Katarina—”
“Yes Katarina. You’re dropping the class anyway so you’ll have to tell her why sooner or later.”
Damn. Hadn’t thought about that.
“Okay. Tomorrow.”
~*~
1/20/05 3:07 a.m.
Phone seems to be working. Maybe some bizarre phone company bug where only a certain number was unable to make calls to my house has occurred. Maybe Jake has been trying desperately to reach me for days to tell me of homosexual lover but has been prevented from doing so by the evil telephone company. Maybe I gave him the wrong number. Maybe I inverted the three and the nine. That must be it. I must track him down and fix my error.
~*~
8:09 a.m.
I’m not explaining any error to a bastard male who thinks with dick. I hate Jake! Jake is an idiot! Jake sucks! Jake the Jerk is no better than Paul the Prick. They’re all the same.
Must go, Katarina’s calling me.
Still haven’t told her about Jake. I’ll tell her tonight.
~*~
9:05 p.m.
I’ve decided that Ann was right. I’ve done nothing wrong. The fault rested with Jake the Jerk, not me.
I’ve put on my sexiest dress. It’s backless, comes to my thighs, and has a low-cut bodice. The slinky black number and my black stilettos are just what I need tonight. I’ve also managed to get my hair under control. No longer do I look like Lion-O from Thunder Cats.
This was progress.
~*~
10:37 p.m.
Katarina shrieked from beside me. When she had our attention she shrieked again. This time it was a name. “Trent Reznor! I love this song.” She began mimicking Trent singing “Closer”, trying to sound sexy and failing miserably. Somehow Katarina wasn’t convincing in her vow that she’d fuck anyone like an animal. At least not half as convincing as Trent Reznor.
She gave me a push. “Come on, I have to dance to this.” I gave Gerard a shove. I didn’t know whether or not she truly loved this song, but I was grateful for the diversion. So far the night out with the girls had fallen flat as a means to brighten my spirits. Everyone, including Katarina, was so busy trying to soothe me that I’d ended up feeling horribly sorry for myself. On top of that, Gerard kept insisting all night that if someone had told him sooner I was seeing Jake, he could have saved me the heartache. Still worse than this, I’d not seen any sign of Jake tonight.
I waited as Katarina pulled Ann and Meagan from the booth. None of us asked Gerard if he wanted to dance. As we jogged down the stairs to the main floor I realized I didn’t want to dance with a male anyway. Men were stupid. You’d never catch a group of guys dancing together. Especially to Nine Inch Nails. Women were so much more enlightened, we didn’t mind dancing with each other.
We were just hitting our stride on the dance floor when the lights in the club suddenly went dark, the stage filled with cloyingly sweet smelling fog, and screams erupted around us.
“Maverick’s about to go on,” Meagan said, grasping my hand. “Do you want to go back upstairs to the table or get closer?”
“Let’s go upstairs. People are starting to rush the stage.”
We had to push our way through the throngs of females heading down the stairs. Apparently Jake’s lover was popular among the ladies. Wonder if they knew their beloved rock star preferred to play in the boy’s room.
“He’ll probably appear onstage dressed in tights,” Ann scoffed.
“Or a miniskirt with combat boots on,” Meagan agreed.
We settled at our table. Though we were on the second floor, it was open and railed and looked down onto the first floor. From our vantage point beside the rails we could gaze down on the stage and see the members of the band far better than if we’d stayed on the main floor.
“Maverick! Maverick! Maverick!” the crowd began to chant.
I rolled my eyes. “What’s his name?” I asked Gerard.
“He calls himself Cinder but his real name is Devlin.”
“Cinder’s a stupid name,” I said petulantly.
Some idiot sauntered onstage and began talking up the band by way of introduction, as if that were necessary. Already the crowd was behaving like rabid beasts.
“Maverick!” the announcer finished, one fist held aloft as he gazed triumphantly into the audience.
A moment later everything went pitch black.
The crowd went wild. Females shrieked, males howled and hooted. It was all very embarrassing.
Quietly at first, gradually building in volume, a synthesizer began playing a dissonant melody that put me in the mind of a horror movie. A moment later a throbbing, syncopated, jungle beat started from the back of the stage where I presumed the drummer was. The combination of the two was oddly erotic. Without realizing, I’d begun rocking slowly in my chair. By the time the bass player began plucking notes on his guitar the entire crowd had begun to rock back and forth, gyrating against each other as though the music was some kind of sexual stimulant.
When the lead guitarist appeared a moment later, fingering arpeggios and moving slowly in time with the music, the dark stage began to pulse with soft blue light. I supposed we, the audience, should have been impressed that sometime after the lights had gone dark the band members—save Cinder of course—had tiptoed onstage.
Despite my annoyance I had to admit the music was strangely appealing. It invoked images of sex and made one want to writhe around on the floor with my legs spread wide in the manner of a cat in heat.
I jumped ten feet into the air when an explosion set the entire club ablaze in bright, orange light. Flames danced at the sides of the stage, blue lights burst into flashing strobes of white light.
A tall figure, garbed in black, seemed to materialize center stage. The figure didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the adoration of his fans, he stood still as a statue staring sullenly out at the audience. Just when I’d begun to think Cinder was a no show and the members of Maverick had set some dummy onstage to take his place, the figure spread his legs and arms wide and trilled some inhumanly high note into the microphone.
A group of frenzied Maverick fans rushed the stage.
The stage lights rolled across the stage and focused on Cinder, giving me my first true view of him.
I stared, transfixed. Where Jake was painfully beautiful, the man on the stage was indescribably sexy. He wore leather pants and a loose net shirt that hung low on his wrists. Where Jake was tan, this man was pale. His brown hair hung to his shoulders in unruly waves.
He was gorgeous. Jake’s lover was gorgeous.
When he lifted the mic to his mouth and began to sing, a thousand monkeys having sex on the floor at my feet couldn’t have torn my attention away from him.
I watched the show in a daze, wondering how I could condemn Jake for falling pray to this man when I would happily fall at
his feet and offer myself to him. In the manner of a cat in heat.
I couldn’t hear the conversations going on around me, couldn’t see anything save the man on the stage. I felt mesmerized, transfixed. Bamboozled.
When he sang the final notes of their last song and disappeared from the stage a pang of regret drew me to my feet to stare over the railing, hoping to catch another glimpse.
“Stella?” I felt someone tugging on the seam of my dress. “He’s gone. The bastard,” they added loyally. I didn’t have to look at the speaker to know it was Ann.
Quietly, I returned to my seat.
After I’d sufficiently collected myself, I studied my friends. “Did that man look gay to you?” I asked.
“Honestly?” Meagan wanted to know.
I nodded.
“That could be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. No way he’s gay.”
“He’s gay,” Gerard insisted.
“No way.”
“I’m telling you guys, he’s gay.”
“I don’t know, Gerard,” I said. “He didn’t look gay to me either.”
“Well he is.”
I wasn’t convinced Gerard knew what he was talking about. The entire time Maverick had been onstage, Cinder flirted shamelessly with every female in sight. There was no way he was gay.
“Someone wanna come with me to get a drink?” Katarina asked.
I didn’t answer because I was lost in my thoughts. Cinder not being gay brought up a more disturbing explanation for Jake’s defection. If Jake wasn’t gay and in love with Cinder that meant the reason why he hadn’t called had to do with me. He simply didn’t like me. Wasn’t interested in me. What we shared had been a one-night thing for him, nothing more.
I didn’t know which was worse, being dumped for a man or being dumped out of disinterest.
“Stella, come with me to get a drink.”
I looked up to see Katarina was staring at me. Absently, I nodded and rose.
As we descended the stairs Katarina chattered about how much she’d enjoyed the show and how surprised she was by this.
“That Cinder guy is sexy. I don’t know, Stella, if I was a guy I’d be tempted by Cinder too. That is if Jake is actually gay.”
As the bartender made her drink she informed me of the many fine attributes she’d spied on Cinder, namely the impressive bulge in his pants.
“They’re good,” she said, sipping her drink as I waited for my own drink. “I don’t know if I’d believe Gerard if I were you. Besides, if Cinder was Jake’s lover, wouldn’t Jake be here tonight?”
“He is,” I said.
And he was. I’d just spotted him standing in the hallway near the backstage door. There was a small crowd gathered beyond the hallway where he was standing. I hadn’t seen him at first, but he stood a full head taller than most people so it wasn’t too hard to find him.
Katarina twisted around and stared in the direction I indicated.
“Crap, I think you’re right,” she decided.
Suddenly an all encompassing rage seared me. Blind with fury, I shoved away from the bar and pushed my way through the crowd toward him. I could hear Katarina’s voice, almost as one hears background noise when watching a movie, calling for me to stop. I continued forward, shoving through the bodies that blocked me from my destination.
As I neared the backstage door, it opened and the beautiful man I’d just seen onstage twenty minutes earlier, stepped halfway out of the door. I figured it was lucky for him that most of the people in the club were too busy dancing and drinking to look this way. Had any of Cinder’s rabid fans realized how close he was, they would’ve charged him for sure.
As I watched, Jake moved to the door, leaned in and whispered something into Cinder’s ear.
Who knew Jake was such a funny man? Whatever he’d said had Cinder reeling back a step and throwing his head back with laughter.
In and of itself, this scene wouldn’t have meant anything. Least it wouldn’t have if Cinder hadn’t stepped further into the hall, looped a finger in the waistband of Jake’s pants, and pulled him close. The kiss was slow and hungry, so hot it scorched me from ten feet away.
It was true. Gerard hadn’t been telling stories. Jake was gay.
I closed the distance between us, murder on my mind. When I was scarcely a foot away from him Jake didn’t have a clue that I was standing there. It was Cinder who finally noticed me, Cinder who pulled away from Jake and focused his attention on me.
For a moment I forgot what I was there to say, stuck dumb with lust at being this close to the singer. Onstage the man had oozed sex, up close he was absolutely devastating.
He tilted his head to the side when he saw me, gave me a cocky sort of grin and raised a brow in question.
Jake, who suddenly realized he wasn’t alone with his lover, turned to see what had caught Cinder’s attention. He stiffened when he saw me, and then had the audacity to smile.
Powered by rage, given courage by my fury, I stepped closer to him, close enough to smell the apple-scented shampoo he used.
“Dev,” Jake began, “this is Stella—” was all he got out because at that precise moment I drew back and landed my knee as hard as I could into his crotch.
His eyes bulged; he stiffened, then slowly descended to the floor.
“Bastard!” I finished.
I’d half expected Devlin, the faithful lover, to retaliate. But he didn’t. When I twisted around to meet his gaze I was surprised to see he was smiling. Not laughing, but he did seem amused.
I turned then, common sense returning in a rush, grabbed Katarina—who seemed frozen with shock—and fled. I ran for the exit with Katarina close on my heels. I figured we could call the others from the car and let them know we were ready to leave. Jake was a large man, after all. There was no telling what he’d do once he found his feet again. I’d been on the receiving end of his punishment and figured I was a good judge. The best move I could make was getting the hell out of Dodge.
CHAPTER EIGHT
1/21/05 1:36 p.m.
Jake called again. I presume he believes that if he called me enough I’ll get tired of hearing his stupid messages and pick up. I won’t though.
The bastard.
~*~
1/23/05 8:07 p.m.
I simply can’t face Jake, not over the phone or in person. I haven’t been back to class since the night I saw him with Cinder. The entire Jake experience was simply too humiliating for words. I’m never, never, never, going to do anything that stupid again.
Next month will be better. As long as I can keep my distance from men.
Men suck!
Bio
Having grown up with a love of telling stories, it was only natural for Adrienne to begin writing books. Known for her steamy I/R fantasy romance series, “The Nephilim War”, Adrienne looks forward to having a long career ahead of her. This CAPA award nominee writes chick lit, fantasy, and paranormal stories with domineering heroes and adventurous heroines.
See more works by this author at,
www.venuspress.com
The Chronicles of Stella Rice: January Page 9