Seven Minutes 'til Midnight

by Sunniva Dee

  A low murmur goes through the crowd.

  I watch her walk toward the stage in a pace that’s slow enough for people to study her. In beige yoga pants and a pink top that reaches her mid-thigh, she’s an everyday Calabasas mom on her way home from yoga class.

  “I did, Cookie.” With her hair in a messy bun and her face completely free of makeup, it’s not the first time I see what Emil sees, this weak-colored natural, girl-next-door prettiness wrapped in an explosion of character.

  Interesting how the women in the group scan her clothing down to her Uggs, clearly making up their minds. Maybe they’ve only seen her red-carpet-ready.

  Emil beams as he watches her stride toward the podium.

  “Guess what sucks so much more than explicit love,” he says, drawing the attention back where he wants it—to himself. “Violence. War. Make love, not war, right? I’ve always thought the flower-power-peeps back in the day knew what they were talking about.

  “So here’s the funny part.” Emil drags the tape off the mic stand and pulls the microphone with him as he scoots back on his chair. He slaps his knees for Zoe to join him. The familiarity between them is so profound they don’t have to look where their touch lands as she sinks against him. “Television is full of violence. People torture and kill each other in horrible ways all the time, but a fucking nipple can’t be shown on TV.”

  “They show nipples, Cookie,” Zoe murmurs into the microphone, staring into the flashes of the cameras.

  “My Zoay is right, but they’re dude nipples, and who cares about those?”

  “I do, maybe, a little bit?” she says, nudging his nose with her own. “Good-looking dude nipples are cool. Like yours. Did you see them in the video, guys? So-o-o nice. And didn’t I do you a solid by giving you a peek at his— What’s a word you don’t have to censor in your articles again… man meat?”

  Elias snorts soda from his nostrils, and Bo shifts marginally away from them. I wonder if the press notices and writes about it tomorrow.

  “But the girl nipples. They’re so much less scary than torturing pregnant women to death in films.”

  “Who does that?” Zoe gasps, horrified.

  “What are those crime shows again? Remember the one I was watching when you went to sleep last night? I had to turn off the sound.”

  “Oh my God, I was about to go to Nadia and Bo’s, because—what were you watching? Some seriously twisted stuff, there.”

  Emil just smiles like he’s won points. “See what I mean?” His stare flows straight to the mad press-lady who’d slashed through the band with her need for answers. Janet isn’t offering her the microphone, but she’s shaking her head adamantly.

  “’Kay, I’mma explain it to you: from our standpoint, it’s more twisted to watch uncensored torture, murder, blood, and gore—hell, violence in general on film. I believe we were showing the world how good we can be to each other instead of how bad we can be.”

  “You were fucking!” someone shouts. “That’s not love, dude!”

  “It’s called lovemaking,” Zoe says. “Did you see Nadia and Bo? Love, man.”

  “They’re synonyms. What is lovemaking without fucking?” Elias chimes in, and that makes Emil laugh out loud.

  “Exactly.”

  An older woman with blonde hair, stripes of purple snaking down a few locks in the front, raises her hand. She doesn’t stop shaking it in the air until Janet hesitantly walks down the aisle and points the microphone at her. “If fucking is the same as lovemaking, does that mean the drummer of Clown Irruption is in love with the former merch girl?”

  A lot happened during the two-hour press conference. Like Isaias standing up with a five-minute apology on behalf of his company, explaining the investigation he’s conducting into his staff and suspensions while he waits for answers.

  He quoted the official mission statement of Lucid Entertainment, his objective when he negotiated the cross-promo with Clown Irruption in the first place—music and seduction, two sides of the same coin—connecting their markets and how to make them overlap.

  But it was hard to focus on much else after purple-stripe lady’s love question to Troy. Janet had instantly directed the microphone to a different journalist, who wondered about Waris and how he’d seen her in other videos. Him watching porn had been for research only, of course, he specified, making people snicker.

  He wanted to know if Elias and she were a couple, and no one seemed to remember Purple Lady’s question when Waris walked down the aisle like a runway model, sending air kisses over the audience.

  The Red Ruby, a Gargoyle hotel bar named for its scarlet interior, has been blocked off for the general audience. It’s been a long day, and despite how I need to get on with my life, get the hell out of The Gargoyle and my forced coexistence with Clown Irruption, there’s something about sitting here, commiserating.

  A few other celebrities have been over and given the band their condolences, Kygo being one of them. Apart from that, it’s just the group of us downing weird cocktails to suppress the thought of the articles being written as we speak.

  “Fuck,” Bo says, sending a hooded look at Emil, the only one completely carefree of the guys. “You took it too far, man.”

  “He did not,” Janet says. She holds up her hand to the Sapphire being poured into her to-be martini. “No more. I need to work after. What was too far was the video being leaked.”

  “I agree ferociously.” Isaias gains most of our attention. “Emil’s approach was the only way to repair the damage. When the damage is big, the repair needs to match it and you needed to go all out. It was a good call.” Isaias takes a measured sip of his whiskey.

  Most of us are seated at the bar, Waris and Elias in murmured conversation next to me. The Red Ruby is small and intimate. It has a handful of tables, a few of which line the front windows that give to the hotel lobby. Kygo’s two bodyguards have joined Clown Irruption’s in the front, but I think the ropes alone would have stopped most people from entering anyway.

  Nadia leans her head against Bo’s shoulder. He kisses the top of it, like he did his daughter’s before their nanny took her upstairs for the night. A longing prickles my neck. It’s of a familiar kind. It was stronger back when I believed in the love fire, though. This is an inkling of what I used to feel. My stare goes to Troy, and there he is, the dim lighting making his eyes shine.

  He’s at the front corner table, sharing a pitcher of beer with Troll and the new sound person, a guy whose name I forget. They called him in to set up the sound system for the press conference, and he hasn’t left since. By now, he’s pretty sloshed.

  Troy must feel my eyes on him, because he dips up from his conversation to meet my gaze. I don’t pull away now that I’m inside my second banana-and-rum beverage. There’s something calming about sharing a look with this man. I sigh. His stare runs to my shoulders, and I realize they probably fell with my sigh. He does a small shift of his head indicating the empty chair next to him.

  I break our connection and pick up my water glass. It’s empty, but a few ice cubes keep me chewing and occupied. Just a few handfuls of steps separate us. In the end, I get up after all, give Waris a light girl-slap on the shoulder, and walk over.

  So what if there’s attraction? Troy and I, we have nothing to hide from each other. We’re not the only ones pulled toward people we shouldn’t spend time on.

  A small, red candle simmers at the center of the table. He shifts to the side, offering a fleeting smile as I sit down.

  “Aishe.” Troll bobs his head at me in greeting. “Want a glass?”

  “No, thanks. I brought my own goodies.” I show him my banana thingy, even jingle my empty water glass. Troy’s eyes go to the lone ice cube inside of it. Glancing up, he lifts a finger and immediately catches the attention of a server.

  “Can we have a refill over here?” he asks.


  “Sure! What are you having, dear?” The server’s attention never leaves Troy’s beautiful face. I don’t blame her.

  “It’s just water. Whenever you have time,” I say, and she’s back like Superwoman. In a flash, my lone ice cube swims with new buddies, the water level high against the could-be crystal.

  “Wow,” I say once she leaves—after making sure there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, she can do for Troy. “You’ve got quite the pull with the staff, don’t you?”

  His amusement sieves out in a staccato breath. “Meh, she’s just dedicated to quenching our thirst.”

  “So it seems.” My smile always sat loose around him.

  Troy leans closer, his shoulder touching mine. The way he looks at me reminds me of before. He still feels like comfort.

  He’s amber in its warmest, most compassionate form.

  “Did you get a hold of Shandor?”

  When I turn to him, Troy is focused on his beer. Tentatively, he flicks a glance my way, and I move my chair back so his body shields me from view of the others.

  “He was pissed. But he’s in China and can’t come here to beat you up.”

  Gently, he bumps his shoulder against me. “You wish he was here, don’t you?”

  My smirk trembles. “Yeah. Not to beat you up, though.”

  I’m staring into my glass when his head touches the side of mine in a not-quite hug. A long, thick dreadlock slides between my drink and me. It’s one of those things when I reach for it and pull down its length, from the dark root through the red middle to the blond end, until the feel of him disappears from my fingertips.

  His arms form around me, strong, as comforting as they always were.

  I let myself suck in the relief he gives. Troy lowers his head, anchoring my face against his throat. I shut my eyes, overwhelmed by the safety I feel in a moment that’s not safe.

  “I promise it’ll blow over,” he murmurs into my hair. “You’ll be better off in the end, after all is said and done. We’ll weather this storm, Aishe.”

  “Yeah? Well, I lost my job. I’ve got nowhere to go, except to pick up my luggage from the Bohemian.” I let out half a laugh and peek up at him. The safari of his irises has never held more tenderness.

  “Anyway. I might take my savings and head to Sweden. Hang with the caravan again.”

  “With your family? No. You broke out for a reason. We’ll figure something out.”

  “Or I can go beg on Mariana’s door,” I joke.

  I feel his body sway with humor against me. He arches his brows, their inner edges causing a peak of mock certainty over his eyes. “Best idea so far.”

  My giggle is genuine this time.

  “Get on your knees, I think. Pretty sure that’s what it’ll take.” He nods in his sexy, dancy way, the way that could make a girl’s heart jump if she weren’t someone like me.

  TROY

  Aishe had joined our first world tour like a loaded grenade. I have seven sisters and a fiery mother, but Aishe was like no one I’d ever met. With black eyes full of purpose, she narrowed them like a cat before it struck.

  I groan, slapping water on my face in the hotel bathroom mirror. I need a shaving. She saw it too, earlier tonight. She’d run her stare over me like she wanted to take care of it herself.

  Aishe triggers a softness in me with those large eyes framed by kohl and dark eyeshadow. She doesn’t need any makeup, but my cock always does a lazy jerk whenever I register the small smudge at the edge of an eye.

  I remember well how she looked afterward. I’d thrown her up high, making her moan in ecstasy, eyes squeezed shut and blotting her makeup. I’m not going to lie; I’d love to smudge her makeup again. Over and over.

  It’s past midnight when someone raps on my door. I open it in my boxers and find Bo outside. He comes in, while I throw myself on the bed. When he walks to the window, opening a small slip of the curtain to peer out, I know he’s here to deliver news.

  “The official video’s out soon. Tour starts in a few days.”

  I nod as he turns to me, letting go of the curtain.

  “We can’t leave them here to fend for themselves. You know that, right?”

  “As in Aishe and Waris?”

  “Yeah. Obviously, Elias is all over it.” He lets out hummed amusement. “Pretty sure he thinks he’ll get laid twenty-four seven.”

  “If this is you asking if I’m okay with Aishe coming along for the tour, it’s a yes,” I say. “You talked to Emil and Zoe already?”

  “I have.” He crosses his arms, settles into the office chair, and does an absent half a swing in it. “There was no way I was going to get on Zoe’s bad side.”

  “Yeah.” I crook out a smirk. No one wants to be on the girls’ bad side. My friends have chosen strong, opinionated women, and for the sake of peace on Earth, we better have their approval. “I don’t think Aishe’ll accept just tagging along, though.”

  “Exactly, which is why I’m thinking we’ll take her back on merch.”

  I really look at him now. “You want to fire Hailey? She’s been doing okay, though, right?” Hailey is young, blonde, and smiley, and a hit with our guy customers. Her signature outfit is some sort of bubblegum pink getup with a short skirt or skintight jeans. According to Zoe, she does have several outfits. To me, they all look the same.

  “It’ll be the two of them. Hell, if Waris wants to sell a few shirts, we’ll be even better off.” He lets out a small chuckle, and I picture exactly what he’s picturing, the breathtaking lineup of our new merch team. “Anyway. Hopefully, the official video takes off and overshadows the leaked disaster.”

  Bo shoves his hands into his pockets. Saunters to the door and opens it. “Catch you later, man.”

  “Night, man.”

  Once he’s gone, I throw my covers open for some hours of shuteye. As I get comfortable, I let my thoughts roam to Hailey Pawter. She’s been with us for a few months, now, and I can’t quite place her. Adorable little thing, of course. Doesn’t come off as the brightest bulb on the tree with her lack of impulse control. She’s part of the crew, but she’s got a way of inserting herself in the action, partying if we party, of swaying her hips into the green room looking for advice or having some question she needs answered.

  I’ve ended up with her suddenly in my lap after a show quite a few times. A couple of times, in my bed too. Not my brightest moments, for sure; you really shouldn’t have sex with your employees, and after Aishe, this band knows better.

  As I fall into Dream World, I try to imagine how the tour will play out. In most places, we’ll have a band bus and a crew bus. On the crew bus, there’d be four girls instead of two: Waris, Aishe, Hailey, and our light designer, Irene.

  Irene is a pro who’d never engage in shit that could hurt the band. But Hailey is an impulsive little immature twenty-one-year-old, and… Aishe is Aishe. Elias could decide to pursue Waris during the entire tour—six weeks spanning over three continents—and how would that affect the other girls?

  Yeah. The dynamics of this tour are bound to get interesting.

  AISHE

  Troy shuffles into the breakfast room, blinking away sleep. “Hey. What’s the rush?”

  “Have a seat, sir,” Troll says. “As you know, Clown Irruption would like to employ Aishe as our merch girl again. Bo and I have been trying to convince her for the last twenty minutes, but we’ve been having a hard time.”

  “It would be like stepping back in time,” I say like I did five minutes ago. This time, I open my arms too, showing them my palms and letting my bangles sing along my lower arms. Troy’s gaze draws to them. “I can’t go back to where I was a year ago. It wasn’t a good place.”

  “It won’t be the same,” Troy says in his unused morning voice. “Can I have that orange juice?”

  Troll hands him his glass, and Troy i
nhales it in one pull. “You know it won’t be the same, Aishe, and we all want you there.”

  “You just feel bad for me,” I tell him, “and that’s not how you employ people.”

  “That’s not true at all,” Troll says. “You were the first girl we ever had selling merch, and our sales skyrocketed.”

  “Right, because I’m a girl. Any girl could do my job.”

  “And she does,” Troy says, making both Troll and me stare at him. “Hailey is her name, and she’s any girl. Not you.”

  My heart hops a little. I’m not above enjoying that. “Firing people left and right, going Thalias-style, are we?”

  “Not at all. Let’s just say we sell a few more shirts these days than we did when you were with us. We simply need another person, and we want the best,” Troll says.

  I scoff. “That’s such bull. All you do is sell great shirts for a great band. It’s not exactly rocket science.” I think back to hopeful concertgoers, their anticipation before the concerts, the rush it gave me to be in the middle of it all.

  “Easy sell for the right sales person, for sure. Hailey’s good, but you still have a thing or two to teach her.” Troy tips his head back a little, looking down at me in the regal way he has. “Aishe, honest question, and I’m not saying this to be insensitive. I just want you to think things through: you don’t have any plans for the next few weeks, correct?”

  Besides a sole waitress, we’re the only people left at the penthouse breakfast club of the Gargoyle. I find myself staring toward the veranda, another of those too-big-to-be-a-balcony things, surely occupying a large portion of the roof. Does it qualify as a terrace? What if I walked toward it, opened the door… and disappeared?

  “You know I don’t,” I clip. “I’ll find something to do soon enough, though.”

  “Of course, but what do you have against touring with us now that you’ve sorted out your differences with Emil?”

  I swing back toward Troy. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? The whole band agrees. And Zoe, Nadia, Troll—everyone. We want you back with us. We miss you.”