by Layne Harper
“You know, I have a reputation of being a very difficult person. No friends. No one likes me. Especially parents. They hate me,” I tease.
His response to my joke is a grunt.
I change the subject. “The restaurant I chose for us is in the Quarter. The food is great. It’s owned by one of the members of the Brennan Family. They’re like local celebrities. They own restaurants all over New Orleans.” He’s not listening to me. I’ve stopped his leg from bouncing but now he’s drumming on the steering wheel. “They make a fantastic rubber steak. Their purple green beans are amazing. And you will not be able to pass up the . . .”
My joke earns me a half-smile. “I heard you, MK.”
We turn into his driveway. He leaves the red robot car just inside the gate. Taking my hand as we walk towards the back entrance, he says, “Grace can come off as a bitch.” No kidding. “But she’s protective of me and what we’ve built. Just give her a chance to warm up.”
I’m so looking forward to meeting the ray of sunshine I had the pleasure of texting with and talking to today. Dropping Aaron’s hand, I smooth my winter white Herve Leger dress. I splurged on it last year and wore it to the wedding of one of my sorority sisters. I absolutely adore it. I don’t think Aaron has noticed I look sexy as hell.
He holds the door for me, and I step into the hallway by his bedroom. The house, which has been so quiet except for Aaron’s guitar, is filled with the sounds of a party. Music blares. I don’t recognize the song, but I can hear someone singing along. All the lights are on while Aaron normally keeps everything dim. It’s a bit odd. Grabbing his hand, I feel off balanced.
We walk into the kitchen and stand there a moment before we’re noticed. A really tall guy with hair as long as mine yells, “Here’s Johnny!” and then grabs Aaron, giving him a huge hug. My hand falls limply to my side. And then suddenly we’re surrounded. I don’t seem to be noticed, so I step out of the mob and lean against the wall.
Everyone is happy to see him. It makes me smile, but inside I’m so uncomfortable. I look around. Should I go sit at the dining room table and just stay out of their way? Do I catch Aaron’s eye and ask him to introduce me? None of it feels right. I’m not used to being a wallflower.
I decide to use his bathroom and check my makeup. While I’m there, I take a selfie against a bare wall. I’m careful to not show details of my location, and I post it on my Twitter account.
MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy
Off to meet some of the boy’s friends. Y’all, this is starting to feel real. #FeelingLikeAButterfly
I’m gone for about five minutes but no one seems to notice. Instead of doing my best to keep the wall upright again, I walk around the kitchen island and sit down on a bar stool. Aaron is the center of attention. It seems his magnetism is evident to more than just me. I’m happy his bandmates adore him. That’s important. I’m no rock band expert, but I would think my favorite word chemistry is important.
Reality smacks me in the face. Just Aaron and I together is not the norm. This is. Probably in his everyday life, he’s surrounded by people. Can I play the role of backseat passenger in his life? Probably not. If I’m honest with myself, I’m a bit jealous. I’ve liked his spotlight shined directly on me. These feelings are foreign. I realize in this moment that I’m normally the center of attention. Not that I crave it or seek it out, but at work, the ladies all deferred to me. In my personal life, I hang out at a bar where everyone knows my name. I was president of my sorority in college, and student body vice-president in high school. This is the first time I can remember being an outsider, a nobody in a room full of people.
After a moment, a tall, leggy blonde breaks off from the pack and walks over.
Trying to appear friendly and not the least bit uncomfortable, I extend my hand. “MK Landry.”
She takes it and replies, “Sam Moore.” Sam is very attractive in that over-exercised sort of way. Guys would be envious of her arm muscles. She’s also unnaturally tanned for the fall, but she’s got a genuine smile and kind eyes.
“Nice to meet you. Are you dating one of the members of the band?” I’m hoping to find a kindred soul.
She laughs. “Johnny hasn’t talked much about us, huh?”
I smile awkwardly as my face grows pink. “Guess not.”
“We grew up together. I play bass.”
“Wonderful,” I reply, wishing like hell I had gone back and read the music section of Aaron’s Wikipedia page, looked at band pictures or really just paid the least bit of attention. “I’m sorry. I know your songs, but I have to say that I’m more of a recent fan.”
“It’s okay,” she says and takes a sip of something clear, although I have a feeling it’s not water by the smell of alcohol on her breath. “His head’s so far up his ass right now with the new album and worrying about Jude and meeting you, we’re an afterthought. I’m a fan of your site.”
I’m a bit taken aback. I’ve never really met stranger fans of NPC. In a week, I’ve met two. “Thanks. I just quit my day job to try to do more with it.”
“Congrats. Want a drink?” she asks.
“Are y’all drinking in front of Aaron? I mean, Johnny.” I fidget with the hem of my dress, something a year in finishing school taught me never to do.
Her expression changes from jovial to questioning. “You call him Aaron?”
My head drops. “Sam, I’m not sure what to do here. I don’t know him as anything but Aaron. I don’t want to drink in front of him. I mean, his daughter was so worried, she visited this week. I’m scared he’ll fall off the wagon. I’m afraid to tempt him. It’s like walking on egg shells.”
Sam takes a swig from her glass. “First of all, Johnny is a big boy. It’s not like the band isn’t going to do their thing just because he’s clean. Second of all, it’s been a long time since anyone called him Aaron. You do whatever’s comfortable for you.”
“There you are.” His voice booms from somewhere behind me. He walks around the counter and over to my side, kissing my cheek. “Everyone, this’s MK.” He grabs my shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “She’s my person.”
I bite my bottom lip and pray for a mouse to run across the floor so the band and whomever else is standing in his house will quit looking at me with surprised and shocked expressions on their faces. On the outside though, you’d never know I was uncomfortable. I’ve quit my fidgeting. My shoulders are back, and my face is pleasant—finishing school graduate right here.
I look up at Aaron. He’s beaming. It makes my own heart do a little pitter-patter. It’s nice to see him happy.
He introduces everyone, but it’s so fast that there isn’t a prayer of me remembering their names. Then, he comes to a female who I assume is Grace. They share the same eyes. “Grace, meet MK.” There’s a warning tone in his voice, which makes the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Pleasure is mine,” she says, and turns to the guy next to her like he just said the funniest thing ever yet I never saw his lips move.
I rest my head against Aaron’s chest, wishing we never had to be around anyone else for the rest of our lives—except for my friends, of course.
“You okay? Want a drink?” he asks.
Yes. I would like an entire bottle of tequila so I can pass out and not have to experience this weekend. “No. I’m good. Although we should probably head for the restaurant soon.”
The next twenty minutes are spent with Grace attempting to get everyone out of the house, which is the equivalent of herding cats, and into the SUVs she arranged to transport us. Aaron hangs back and keeps letting each car fill up. There are fourteen of us and three cars. Somehow, the last SUV is full.
Grace looks at us with concern.
Aaron says, “I’ll drive.” The same V that Aaron gets between his eyes forms between hers. “It’s okay, Gracey. Now, that I’m clean, I get to drive again. Super-secret privilege.”
She shakes her head but climbs into the SUV.
We walk o
ut the back door to his car.
“Thank you,” I say as I slide into the passenger seat.
“For what?” he says, starting the red beast.
“For giving me a break.”
“No problem,” he replies as he takes my hand. “They can be a little much.”
We don’t talk on the way. Aaron uses his phone to play loud music with a heavy-driving beat, and I sit in silence while he bounces his leg, taps the steering wheel, and moves his head in rhythm.
We’re the last to arrive at the restaurant. He pulls the red robot boy-toy up to the valet stand, and the young kid looks like he just won the lottery.
Aaron asks, “You can drive a stick?”
The kid nods and has stars in his eyes. “Yes sir, Mr. Knite.”
“Take care of her.” He gives the kid a wadded up bill.
Normally, I’d have a smart remark, but I’m too anxious. I’m completely rethinking my restaurant choice. This is where I bring out-of-town guests, not a famous rock star and his band. Inside, camera flashes light up the bar area. I asked for a private room. Why are there a ton of people surrounding our group?
Aaron changed at his house into a dark pants and black button up shirt. He’s wearing the black wool fedora with a black silk band. What I soon realize is that Aaron is recognizable to everyone. I slide my arm around his as he helps me step up onto the curb.
There are a few men with cameras outside of the restaurant. Aaron pushes me towards a man standing near the door in dress pants and a dark purple silk T-shirt. The man grabs my arm and escorts me through a side door instead of the revolving one near the gang of cameras.
From inside, I watch Aaron talk to the paparazzi. He looks relaxed and has a bright smile on his face. One of the reporters asks him a question. I can’t hear what it is, but Aaron replies, “Doing great. Feeling like a million bucks.”
He signs a girl’s autograph and then replies with a wave. “Have a good evening.”
The guy who brought me inside goes back out and escorts Aaron through the same door I entered. Aaron doesn’t look pleased, and I regret reserving this place. Should have thought, MK. Not so public.
Aaron growls at the man in the silk T-shirt, “You shouldn’t have left her.”
He hangs his head. “Sorry, Mister Knite.”
Aaron takes my hand and examines me—as if I could’ve possibly broken a nail between the curb and the door. He points at me as if I’m a piece of furniture. “She’s treated like Jude.”
“Yes sir,” the guy replies, and walks to the rest of the band who are signing autographs in the bar.
We’re met immediately by a gentleman in a suit who introduces himself as the restaurant manager and shows us to a private room down a set of stairs. New Orleans is right at sea level, yet we’re in a basement of sorts. I don’t know how this is possible. I chalk it up to NOLA voodoo magic. He opens the door to a room already prepared for dinner, yet it’s empty. He excuses himself and says he’ll be back with the rest of our party.
As soon as the door shuts, Aaron pushes me against the red velvet walls, pulls my dress up to my waist, and positions himself inside my legs which he spreads. His lips slam against mine as his hand dips inside my panties.
“I fucking hate that shit,” he says as he bites my neck, surely leaving a mark. “You’re better than that.”
My whole body is tense. I don’t want his friends, coworkers, and sister walking in on him fingering me inside a restaurant. Plus, I’m still shaken from our experience with the paparazzi. “Please,” I beg. “Stop. You’re making me feel uncomfortable.”
He laughs as his lips move to my ear. “It’s fun. Just on the verge of getting caught. I have you while those bastards speculate.”
Two fingers slide inside, and his thumb begins massaging my clit. My body is at war with itself. He’s bestowing pleasure, which makes me feel fantastic, while my brain flashes a warning sign. “Please . . .” I gasp. “Please don’t embarrass me.” My eyes fill with tears.
I’m all about making out in public and love the idea of just maybe getting caught, but not right now. I’m too out of sorts with his sister not seeming to like me, and meeting all of these new people, and cameras flashing bright lights in his face. What would his band think of me if they caught us having sex in the room they’re supposed to be dining in?
Aaron’s fingers slide out of my panties, and I quickly scramble to fix my dress. “Why are you so upset?” he asks with a tight mouth as he tucks my necklace in my cleavage. “You’re shaking.”
I use the side of my finger to dab at my eyes. “Aaron, this is the first time I’ve been around people who are important to you. I want them to like me and not think I’m a fool. If they caught us making out against the wall in the room we’re eating in, I’d be nothing but another slut who you fucked on a rollercoaster in Vegas.”
His face relaxes. It’s almost as if he’s relieved I’m not shunning him. “Love. It. When. You. Talk. Dirty.”
I step into his embrace and kiss his chin. “Persons don’t get treated like groupies.”
“Please, sweetheart,” he says with a laugh, obviously feeling more okay with the situation than I am. “You can give me a blow job under the table any time.”
Rolling my eyes, I gain my composure. “That will happen next to never.” I reach down and grab his package. “But later tonight is a different story.”
The door behind me opens and I step to Aaron’s side, knowing full well I’ve left him in an uncomfortable position. Fortunately, the crowd is too busy being loud and rowdy to notice. Aaron pulls a chair out for me, and we sit towards the middle of the table. Next to me is Sam, and across from Aaron is Grace.
Drinks are ordered, and I decide that alcohol is needed. Everyone else is drinking, even Grace, so I order a glass of wine. Aaron doesn’t look pleased when he asks for water. I give his knee a squeeze and his pout changes to a weak smile.
Sam and I make small talk. We mostly discuss NoPinkCaddy. Her insightful comments tell me that she really is a fan. It’s so odd to talk shop with someone else about my website. Bella and other friends give me advice, but I’ve never met a stranger who knows so much about it. It’s a bit surreal.
Soon our drinks arrive and the first taste of wine is like heaven. It also gives me a chance to redirect questions back to Sam.
Aaron seems to be talking across the table to Grace so I ask Sam, “What was Aaron like as a child?”
She laughs and claps her hands. “One word . . . mess!” She yells across the table to Grace, “Let’s tell MK some historic Johnny stories.”
My face heats to uncomfortable levels as I peek up at Aaron through my lashes, hoping that he’s okay with this line of questioning. To my relief, he’s smirking. Loudly, he says to the whole table, “MK wants to know about the early days.”
The mood becomes raucous, and I pity the poor server trying to take our orders. Everyone seems joyous except Grace. Maybe she suffers from RBF. Resting Bitch Face is real and a huge problem. Bella and I taped a segment on it. One of her former co-workers suffered from it. We gave her a makeover and exercises to do to help her downturned mouth. Maybe I should suggest that Sam shares the video with Grace.
Aaron orders, but I don’t hear what he’s getting. It doesn’t matter. The chances of me actually eating are slim so I just tell the waiter I’ll have what he’s having. After Sam is finished, she says, “I’m going to share my favorite Johnny-in-high-school story.”
Aaron turns his chair and wraps his arm around my shoulder, positioning me so I’m leaning against him. “Do tell. Just remember you were part of most of the good ones.”
Laughing, she begins, “You see, MK, Aaron wasn’t always the suave guy you see before you. No. There was the time that he got caught with the principal’s daughter.”
Aaron yells, “Next. That story’s lame. How about I challenge all of you assholes to come up with a story that doesn’t feature a girl.” I wonder if he does this because I brought up
the rollercoaster incident a few moments earlier.
This results in hoots and hollering and all kinds of laughter. I’m thankful Aaron made me read that stuff about him. The fact that he was a male slut is now old news.
A big guy with a round belly and more inked skin than not, says, “What about when we were in your bar in Austin and you decided that girl was really a dude?”
“Punch line is she was really a girl. Still involves chicks. Next,” Aaron challenges.
“I’ve got one,” a guy with a full beard sitting next to Sam says. “What about when we were touring in Japan and we were all so sick and tired of eating their food?”
“That’s a good one,” Sam chimes in, laughing. “MK, you have to understand this was our first world tour. Most of us grew up in small towns around Austin and had never left the US. We were kids. . . you finish, Billy,” she says.
“First leg of the tour was Europe. We ate and drank our way through London, Paris, and a couple of stops in Germany. It was awesome. We all thought this touring thing was great. Then we get to Singapore, Shanghai and Japan. Singapore wasn’t bad, but Shanghai and Japan almost killed us. We all spent most of our time on the toilet. We couldn’t find American beer. We couldn’t find fast food. Johnny ordered pizza, and it wasn’t like any pizza I’d ever had. It had fucking seaweed and shit on it.”
The table breaks out in nods and grunts of agreement. “We were pissy and essentially staying drunk on the few bottles of Johnny Walker we smuggled and snorting coke like it was a white Christmas. Then Johnny gets this bright idea. We had the record label’s private plane. It was just sitting at the airport. He somehow convinces the pilot to fly to a western country and get us food. I’ll be damned. Twenty-four hours later, we were eating like kings.”
I lean back and look up at Aaron. “That was kind of you.”
He nods and smiles proudly. “I take care of my people.”
With pursed lips, Grace says, “Why don’t you tell us about the new album?”
“Yeah,” Billy chimes in, leaning forward on the table. “Sam said you’re keeping it secret and shit.”