A pair of friends would slowly circle up to a band member, who stayed fixed in one place, chatting, signing things, taking photos with fans, and then chatting some more. The pair of friends would awkwardly attempt to engage in conversation, but only a few people managed to get the band member into an interesting discussion. Most of the talk seemed kind of lame. The pair of friends would then move around to another band member.
Others, like me and Zion, stood off to the side like wallflowers, waiting for the action to come our way. But it clearly wouldn’t.
“I wonder if we’re allowed to feed the animals,” Zion whispered.
I chortled. “And on your right, you’ll see homo musica in his natural habitat.”
Zion laughed out loud. “Please keep your hands to yourself at all times.”
“I hope not at all times,” a voice said in my ear from behind me. I turned and discovered Micah had snuck up on me. He’d changed into a different T-shirt, but his hair glistened either from sweat or the world’s worst shower. His scent hit me a second later—musk, smoke, Tide, and something indefinable. Something that made me breathe in deep and tremble.
Before I could formulate a response, all the people in the room siphoned off whichever band member they’d been trying to approach and encircled Micah.
He completely ignored the press of people and kept his eyes on me, a true professional. He clearly knew how to handle a mob.
“No camera?” he asked, looking down at my pocketbook.
“Right here.” I sighed, swinging it out from behind my back.
“Oh, right. I loved the pictures you took of Eden’s show.” He touched my elbow. “Can you hang out here a little while? I’d love to look at them, but I’ve got some people to meet first.”
That was an understatement. I swallowed the disappointment at his obvious interest in my photos and agreed. Maybe I should have bared more cleavage. But I couldn’t say no to spending another ten minutes shoulder to shoulder with him. And while I waited, I shot a few more pictures of him talking with his fans. It made me happy when he signed autographs for a couple of girls, chatted with them, and then turned to the next waiting pair of fans without any hint of flirtation or interest in meeting later.
One of the girls we’d followed backstage approached me. “Are you with Micah?”
That was a tricky question. “With Micah?”
She lifted her hand to her hip. “Are you his girlfriend?”
“No. Just a friend.”
She took a step back and ran her eyes from my head to my feet and then half smiled, like she’d won some imaginary contest only she was aware of. “Then if you don’t mind, I’m going to try my luck with him.”
As if he was an overstuffed toy at a carnival. “Step right up! Win yourself a Micah Sinclair.”
I usually tucked my Georgian upbringing away, hiding it from New Yorkers who mistook it for rank ignorance. But the only thing I could think to say to this girl was, “Well, bless your heart.”
She relaxed as if I’d just given her my approval, but Zion had a wicked grin on his face.
Encouraged by our apparent bumpkin-ness, she went on. “I’ve hooked up with even bigger musicians.”
Zion said, “How nice for you!”
I thought I might burst out laughing. I feared she’d go into graphic detail, so I pointed out, “The line’s gotten shorter. Here’s your chance!”
She fluffed her hair and readjusted her bustline. Then she threw me the shittiest expression of superiority I’d seen since high school.
My dad had taught me to reserve displays of arrogance until after I’d achieved a victory, but this girl had obviously never gotten that lesson. In fact, I got the impression she was putting on a show for my benefit. I’d given her no reason to think I’d be jealous, and I wasn’t. Maybe she lived in a world with a different currency than mine.
Zion asked, “You got any popcorn?” and nudged me forward so we could hear the entire exchange.
As she moved closer, I checked my own smug arrogance. I’d forgotten that Micah’s last three girlfriends had been groupies. Maybe this was how it had started. The realization made me feel queasy. I laid my fingers on my wrist to check my pulse and make sure the queasiness wasn’t a sign of imminent danger. My pulse hammered. I slipped a cookie out of my pocketbook and handed another to Zion. Nibbling cookies while intent on the unfolding drama, we looked like we were watching a TV show.
At last, the girl had her moment. “Hi, Micah. My name’s Kendall. I’m a big fan of your music. Great show tonight.”
“Thank you, Kendall. It’s great to meet you.”
I had to hand it to Micah. He didn’t show any signs of exhaustion or boredom. Every smile seemed real. He engaged 100 percent with whomever he talked to. And each of them had to feel special. I knew how it made me feel when he focused that charm on me.
Kendall went on. “I’m only in town for the night and wondered if you’d like some company. Maybe you could give me a personal tour of the city?”
I nearly groaned out loud. I wondered if that had ever worked for her. She could have just as easily said, “I’m available for free sex, no strings attached.” Though I supposed it would have been more awkward to turn that down.
As it was, Micah put a hand on her shoulder. I’d noticed he did that frequently. A little tap on the arm or a handshake that lingered. He seemed to make a concerted effort to touch every single person he spoke to. And most of them weren’t even aware he was doing it. I tried to recall if he’d done the same with me, suppressing a chill as I pictured all those little moments when he’d touched my hair or tapped my shoulder. Or wrapped his arms around my waist.
I suddenly wished this meet and greet would end and I could find a way to get Micah alone. Maybe I could ask him for a personal tour of the city.
“That’s very generous of you, Kendall. Unfortunately, I’ve already got plans for the night.” He lifted his eyes in my direction and winked. Right at that moment, I empathized with Kendall, fervently wanting to tell him I was free for an evening of no strings sex. One night with him was all I was asking.
She flipped her hair. I supposed that was her signature move. “I don’t mind waiting.”
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t want you spending your only night in the city waiting around. But thank you. Would you like an autograph or a picture?”
And just like that, he’d reduced her from potential hookup to fawning admirer. She politely declined and turned toward another band member, perhaps hoping to have better luck. She never again glanced my way. I tried to muster up some sympathy, but the well had run dry.
Eventually, the band members began to leave the room. Micah successfully extricated himself from the last fan and made his way over to me and Zion. “Ready?”
“For?” I asked.
“Come on. I told someone I had plans with friends tonight. Don’t make me a liar.” He held out his hand. I stared at it unsure what he expected. I took a chance and placed my hand in his. He closed his fingers over mine and began moving toward the door. He led us down the hall to an exit. It hit me as I trotted along that he’d never stopped to see my photos—like he’d completely forgotten about them.
As the door opened to bursts of light, I had this horrible fear that Wally would be standing on the other side. I took advantage of the transition from inside the nearly deserted backstage and the eruption of sound and light outside to twist my hand free from Micah’s. The last thing I needed was to be featured in a news story pitting me as Micah’s next conquest.
As generous as Micah had been with his time in the visitor room, he barely acknowledged the fans waiting outside the venue. A handshake here and a flash of a smile there. But he didn’t stop moving until we reached an idling car. He opened the door and waited for Zion and me to climb in. He slid in next to me and shut the door on the clamoring horde.
There was no possible way I wouldn’t end up in tomorrow’s paper.
Chapter 14
The
car took us only a few blocks and pulled up in front of a trendy bar. I groaned. There was little I hated more than going out with people who would order round after round of drinks and proceed to get tanked while I remained on a different plane of sobriety. I resolved to hang out for the first round but abandon Zion if I had to when the party switched gears.
The doors opened onto a crush of people, fighting to get into the bar. Micah caught the eye of the hostess, and she motioned with her fingers. “Follow me.”
We pushed through packed bodies as the black-clad blonde wended her way toward the back. Moving through the crowd, I heard Micah’s name pop up in conversations nearby, but like a wave trailing always behind us. Micah moved too quickly for anyone to stop him. If he’d hesitated half a second, he would have been down there all night fending off requests for photos. Or knowing him, he’d be stuck down there granting everyone’s requests. It didn’t seem to make a difference to him either way.
At the bottom of a set of stairs, the hostess paused and pointed up the dark wooden steps. “Go on up. Martin will take care of you.”
Micah laid his hand across my back and waited until I’d taken the first steps before he climbed away from the curiosity seekers with Zion following. We sandwiched Micah like a pair of shadows nobody would ever take note of.
The upstairs room had its own door, further separation from prying eyes. It was a testament to New Yorkers that nobody had climbed the stairs after us, hoping to crash the party. And evidence nobody downstairs worked for Andy Dickson.
Micah’s bandmates had already made it to the bar and were engaged in an intense conversation. I scanned the room for Kendall, but she hadn’t made the cut. There were a couple of girls, but none of them looked as eager to please as Kendall had. For all I knew, these were their sisters or wives. Or groupies of long standing.
Micah planted himself at the end of a table, and I took a seat facing him. Zion sat beside me.
A waiter approached. “Can I bring you a drink, miss?”
The others were nursing beers or mixed drinks. I always felt like such a freak. “Could I get a club soda with lime?”
He nodded. “Sir?” he said to Zion.
“Uh.” Zion scratched his head. “Could I get a mojito?” When I rolled my eyes, he said, “What? It’s still technically summer.”
The waiter nodded and turned to Micah. “The usual, sir?”
Micah looked at me for a beat. “No, thanks, Martin. I’ll have a club soda with lime. And could you bring us an assortment of appetizers? Boneless wings? Chips and dip?”
“Certainly, sir. Right away.”
When the waiter left, I asked, “What’s the usual?”
Micah wrinkled his nose. “Would you believe seltzer water with lemon?”
“Not likely.”
“It’s not important.”
“You don’t have to forgo your appletini or whatever on my account.”
He smirked. “You think I drink appletinis? For your information, I drink nothing but boilermakers with a side of Jäger-meister.”
I snickered. “Is that so?”
“Seriously. I usually grab a beer or two after a show. That’s all. It’s Eden you want to watch out for. She and Adam have their fridge so full of beer, there’s no room left for actual food. Which is fine since they seem to live off pancakes.”
I laughed at that image. “They’re so lucky. I haven’t had pancakes with real maple syrup in fifteen years.” He lifted an eyebrow, and I realized I’d opened up a subject I didn’t want to pursue. And since I didn’t want to spoil his night, I waved my hand at the mugs of beer on the other table. “Again, don’t let me stop you.”
He raised his voice loud enough for the room to hear him say, “I only drink because this company here is intolerable without a pint or two.”
Instantly, the insults hurled back his way.
“Micah gets his talent from a bottle, you know.”
“Micah gets tanked off a pint of Ultra Lite.”
They all behaved like family, and I realized I had no idea who anyone was. “Micah, could you introduce your friends maybe?”
His eyes widened. “Oh, God. Sorry. Right.”
He stood and banged on the table until the room quieted, and everyone looked up to him. I wondered if I was getting a glimpse into how band practice went down. “Everyone, this is Josie Wilder, the photographer from the Daily Feed I told you all about.” This was met with a mix of shouted greetings and catcalls. I might have to reassess my earlier judgment. Maybe some drunk people were fun to hang out with.
“And I’d like you all to meet her friend, Zion, who I believe also works at the Daily Feed. So we have double the spies in our midst. Bear that in mind, folks.” His Cheshire grin disarmed the insult.
He pointed at the red-haired cutie facing me at the adjacent table. “This here is Shane. You’d best stay outside a four-foot perimeter from him because he has a long reach. By that I mean, he’s our drummer.” Shane nodded his head as though he were acknowledging a lady at a ball.
“That fat bastard is Rick, my bass player. He’s off-limits. Not because he’s married with two kids, but because as I just mentioned, he’s a bass player.” Micah pretended to shudder as though that were self-explanatory.
“Noah, our lead guitarist, is the only one of us with a lick of talent. The only reason he hasn’t abandoned us for another band is because he’s so damn ugly.” Noah was in fact quite pretty, but he laughed in a way that only someone with no issues of self-confidence could.
“And let’s see if I can get anyone else’s names right.” He then proceeded to mis-introduce the girls in the room, leading me to hope he hadn’t slept with either of them.
The door opened, and servers brought trays of food in. The conversations changed course like a flock of birds in flight, converging, diverging, chaotic, yet responsive. The room never fell silent. Shane lit into Zion with loud but hilarious complaints about tabloid coverage, and I turned my gaze back to Micah.
As gregarious as Micah had been with the introductions, he didn’t engage with the debates and reminiscences of his bandmates. He sat quietly across from me with his chin on his hand and an elbow on the table, eyes on me.
“What?” I asked. Self-consciously, I touched my face expecting to find something stuck to it.
“Nothing. I was just wondering why it took such an elaborate ruse to get you to come out with me.”
“This was a ruse?”
Splotches of red appeared on his cheeks. “I’m exaggerating a bit. But you have to admit, you make it tough on a guy.”
My own cheeks felt warm. “How do you mean?”
“You’re kind of hard to read.”
I shot him a pot-calling-the-kettle-black look. “And you’re not?”
He opened his mouth to say something more but then thought twice and turned his eyes away with a small smile playing across his lips.
Zion shoved a plate toward me, and I took my eyes off Micah. Zion had carefully chosen a variety of appetizers that would make a decent late night snack for me: a couple of boneless wings, celery, three corn chips and spinach dip, and more celery.
“Uh, thanks Zion.”
He nudged me. “Eat.”
Micah watched the exchange and asked, “Does he usually do that?” He started piling food on his own plate.
I took advantage of the situation and shoved a round ball of fried chicken in my mouth so I wouldn’t have to answer. Zion filled in the silence. “Girl’s high maintenance.” He knocked my shoulder with a laugh and twisted around to return fire with Shane.
Maybe I should have just explained it all to Micah right then. Why Zion was watching me like a hawk after last week. Why I refused to order a simple pint of beer. But it sucked. It sucked to be the one who couldn’t do everything everyone else wanted to do all the time. It sucked all through high school to have kids think I wouldn’t drink because I was uncool. It sucked to drink anyway and then spend the night in the hospital. A
nd it doubly sucked to get left out of everything when people learned why. I knew by now that a drink wouldn’t kill me, but I fought hard enough to eat right. I didn’t need to factor in the added complication.
And I didn’t need to complicate Micah’s view of me when he barely knew me.
But Micah didn’t let it go, and as we ate, he peppered me with questions about how Zion and I met. “So how long have you two known each other?”
“Almost ten years, now. There weren’t many students pursuing a BFA in photography, so we saw each other all the time and eventually started hanging out. We had almost nothing else in common, but when you’re away from home, the strangest people become family. Emergencies happen, and you fall back on each other. Bonds are forged.”
“Emergencies?” He glanced at my plate. “I get the feeling he took care of you.”
I blotted the corner of my lips with a napkin and took a drink before answering. “We watch out for each other. When school ended, he moved up here, while I found a job in Atlanta. It’s funny that neither of us appreciated how strong our friendship was until we were miles apart. We always knew we were friends, you know, but it always still seemed like we were from different worlds and we’d return to our respective corners when we were no longer forced together. But as it turned out, we have more in common than we realized. He’s been trying to get me up here for years.”
“Why’d you finally decide to come?”
I crunched on a celery for a bit. “It’s not that I think tabloid journalists are beneath other photographers. But there’s a difference between feeling good about what I do and feeling good about how other people perceive what I do. And I knew my dad wouldn’t approve.”
“And so?”
Did I want to lay out my whole history—how I’d watched my parents make choices in the face of their own parents’ disapproval? Micah’s expectant expression encouraged me to give him a piece of the truth, but this wasn’t the place for unburdening the past, so I gave him the short version. “And so, one day, I decided I could wait until my dad died to start making decisions for myself, or I could live down his disappointment.”
A Crazy Kind of Love Page 13