Torn

by Deborah Bladon

  My phone rings. I glance down and Falon's number lights up my screen. "It's her. The sound of her voice is all I need."

  ***

  "The other lane is blocked completely," she says quietly. "We have to wait for the traffic on that side to clear before we can go."

  I ease myself back into the couch in my dressing room. It's not plush. Hell, the thing isn't comfortable at all, but it's a reprieve from standing. I've been pacing all day. It's always this way the day I have a show. I want to give everyone who comes out a night they'll remember. I put that pressure on myself but it's a good thing. It means I'll surpass even my own expectations.

  "How was the flight?" My leg twitches. I grab my knee to slow the tempo. "You flew first class, right?"

  "No." She laughs. "The tickets cost so much and the flight wasn't long. We flew economy."

  I don't want that for her. I want her to have the best of everything. I told Dita to factor first class fares into her fee. I should have known she wouldn't take advantage of that. Nothing about her screams excess. She's one of the most down-to-earth people I've ever met.

  "Asher?"

  My breath stalls when I hear her say my name. I miss her. Fuck, how I've missed her. "What is it, Falon?"

  "A woman called me." She pauses. "I missed the call because I was in the middle of a shoot. She left a message."

  My throat closes. The tremor in her voice is all I need to know that this has nothing to do with her work or her family. This is about me. I bury my face in my hand, trying to calm my own breathing. There are too many things I haven't told her about me. They're all things I keep close, shit that I don't share with the public. She's not the public though. She's my Falon.

  "Tell me about the message," I say in a constricted voice. I feel as though the past is being choked out of me, confession by confession. I missed my fucking chance to tell her all of that. Now, someone else has beaten me to it. I feel like I'm fracturing into a million pieces.

  "She said that she knew you." She hesitates and I hear voices in the background. "Oh, we're moving now, Asher. Finally. I should be there soon. Can we talk about this when I get there?"

  No, fuck no. I want to talk about it now. I want to know who the hell called and what the fuck they said to her.

  "We can talk about it now." My hand shakes on my knee. I fist it to quiet the movement. "Tell me what she said Falon."

  "I brought my friend, Maya, with me to Philadelphia. She's going to assist me tonight." She ignores my request and then explains it immediately. "I can't wait to be alone with you."

  I close my eyes, tightly, as I lean my head back. "I can't wait either, Falon. Tell the driver to be safe."

  "I will." Those are the last two words she says before she ends the call.

  CHAPTER 35

  Falon

  I thought traffic in Manhattan was bad. It's nothing compared to Philadelphia on this sunny Thursday evening. We had to stop again. This time it was for road construction. They were moving heavy machinery across the roadway so everything came to an abrupt standstill. I was tempted to call Asher back to tell him we were delayed yet again, but I know he'll press me for more information about the woman who called and left that cryptic, and downright creepy, message.

  It happened yesterday when I was busy taking photographs of a man who just launched his own software company. He was meticulous, wanting a say in every single shot I took of him. What should have been an hour long shoot, lasted for over two. I had to push the shoot that was booked after him back another hour. It messed up my entire day, but he left with the confidence that his headshot will make all the difference between his company succeeding or failing. I'm not sure it will have much of an impact at all.

  He was a handful to deal with and if he treats his future clients the same way, his business won't make it past launch.

  After that shoot, when I was readying for the next, I picked up my phone. I saw the missed call. The number was blocked, so I ignored the message. I didn't give it another thought until today when I was turning my cell to airplane mode after we boarded the flight. I listened to it then, as Maya chatted up the flight attendant, telling her the brand of shoes she was wearing.

  After I heard it once, I listened to it a second time and then a third.

  The woman said her name is Karen. She saw me with Asher last week outside the recording studio. She wanted me to ask him if he's told me about her. She laughed then and hung up.

  I wouldn't think a thing of it except that even if she did see me outside the studio, there's no way in hell that she'd know who I am. I'm not a recognizable face in New York. I blend in to the crowd, the same way most people do.

  "What did Asher say when you talked to him?" Maya taps her fingers on my knee. "Is he excited to see you because you sure as hell don't look excited to see him?"

  I glare out the window. The car is finally moving again. "He asked about the flight. I told him that we'd see him soon."

  "You'll introduce me to him, right?"

  I turn to look at her face. "Of course I will."

  She reaches forward to brush a strand of hair from my forehead. "Something has been off all day, Fal. What is it? Are you nervous about tonight? You're going to knock this out of the ball park."

  I know that I will. I studied the layout of the venue online and called the theatre's manager earlier this week to get a better understanding of where I'll need to be to get the shots I want. I rented a lens from the camera store near my studio. It will help me get the definition I need. "I'm ready for the shoot. I think it'll go well."

  "You don't seem ready at all." She looks at the back of the driver's head. "If something is going on between you and the rock star, I'm all ears."

  I know that. I also know that she'd never share what I tell her with anyone. Maya's discreet. She told me just a few weeks ago that she helped a big name celebrity rent a loft in SoHo. I pressed but she was tight lipped about who it is, telling me that even though she signed a confidentiality agreement, she gave her word to the woman and that was worth more than any notarized document.

  I think for a minute about how to respond. I don't want to lie to her. I've never done that. I won't start now. "There's something small nagging at me, but he's open to talking when I get there."

  "We can talk about it right now." Her eyes brighten. "You know I won't tell a soul what it is."

  "It's not worth talking about." I bend my neck to look through the windshield. "I think we're getting close."

  She fidgets on the seat next to me, trailing her hands over the fabric of her dark wash jeans. "I still can't believe we're doing this. You're taking pictures of your boyfriend, Falon. No big deal that he just happens to be Asher Fucking Foster."

  I laugh so loud the driver turns his head briefly to look at me. "It's not a big deal, Maya. It's just another job."

  ***

  "You can leave your personal belongings in the car for now." Dita, Asher's manager, walks out of the venue just as Maya and I turn to walk in. "Did you get my last email about the social media snaps?"

  I nod. Part of the job tonight involves me sending a few images to Asher's media manager so she can post them on his social media accounts. It may all look impromptu, as if Asher has his phone in his pocket and is snapping pictures from his vantage point on the stage. That's going to be me. Once I get the shots, I'll apply any necessary filters before I send them to the person who is actually posting as Asher Foster.

  When I took a look at his Facebook page yesterday, there were dozens of photographs of Philadelphia, including dinners at restaurants, cycling pictures and even backstage snaps at this venue. I can't say for sure whether Asher was responsible for any of them. I highly doubt it. The only time I've seen him taking a picture of his phone was last week when Eli and I were with him at the recording studio. He held up his phone for a selfie that included all three of us. When he forwarded it to me later that night, and I sent it to Eli, he immediately made it the wallpaper on his iPhone.r />
  "Where's Asher?" I ask Dita as we follow her into the backstage area of the venue. I pull on my camera case while Maya struggles with the canvas case of lights. The four inch heels she's wearing aren't conducive to being a helpful assistant. "I need to talk to him."

  She glances at a large, circular clock on the wall. "He's about to go on. You need to set up."

  "I just need a minute." I don't want to plead with the woman but I will if push comes to shove. I haven't seen Asher in almost a week. Talking on the phone and texting him has only made me miss him more and more.

  "It's the last door on the left." She hands me a media badge attached to a bright red lanyard, before she shoves one at Maya. "Tell the guard there that you're Falon. He'll let you in."

  CHAPTER 36

  Asher

  There's a faint knock at the door just as the woman who tries to handle my hair, pulls an industrial size can of hairspray from a bag she walked in with. I wave her away, my eyes glued to the mirror so I can see the reflection of the dressing room door.

  I'm out of the chair and across the room as soon as I see the first strands of her curly brown hair as she peeks around the door. I pull her into my arms, cradling her close to me.

  "You can go," I say to no one in particular. There are five people in this small room. I want them all out. The only person I want with me right now is Falon.

  They leave quickly under mumbled words of confusion. I typically like people fussing around me for those last few minutes before I hit the stage. I feed off their nervous energy as much as I do my own. Tonight, I don’t need that. The conversation I had with Falon earlier was enough to set my heart beat into overdrive.

  "Fuck, you're so beautiful." I cup her face in my hands. She's wearing the barest hint of make up again. Her mascara has smudged slightly. The lipstick she must have been wearing earlier is now just a faint tint in the middle of her bottom lip.

  I kiss it. I kiss her deeply, inhaling her scent as I do. She cups her hand around the back of my neck and parts her lips. I take it as an invitation. I dive my tongue into her mouth, crashing it against hers. I pull her closer, wanting to hold onto her like this all night. I can't. I have to let her go so I can take the stage.

  Her hands moves to the front of the blue t-shirt I'm wearing. She fists the fabric as she breaks the kiss. "Asher."

  "I can't believe you made it." I look down at her hands. They're trembling. "We'll go back to my hotel after the show, Falon. We can talk about everything."

  "The woman who called me said her name is Karen. Do you know her?" she asks the one question I can't answer right now. It's going to take more than a yes. If I say that, the inevitable question of how will follow. It's a part of my life that I try to forget. It's a fucked up piece of my past that I want to block out. I don't know why the hell she's bothering Falon, but that stops tonight.

  I drop my gaze to the floor. "I have to go on stage soon."

  The door opens suddenly before Dita pops her head in. "It's time, Asher. Let's go."

  "Who is she?"

  I close my eyes before I look right into hers. "I can't do this right now, Falon. I can't throw this at you this way. I have to go perform."

  She drops my shirt, steps back and tugs her hands to her chest as I walk past her and out of the dressing room.

  ***

  I take on another persona once I hit the stage and hear the fans cheering. I've tried to explain it to my brothers and my friends. That's almost impossible but the closest I've come is to tell them that the energy from the fans surges through me. It takes me to another place where my inhibitions float away and the lyrics take over.

  I use every inch of real estate on the stage on any given night. I walk, I run sometimes, I kneel before the fans who have rushed to the front in a desperate bid to touch my shoe, my leg or sometimes even my hands.

  When this was all new, the novelty was so thick that it went straight to my head. I'd make eye contact with a woman, sometimes two, and mouth to them that I wanted them backstage after the show. I'd take them into my dressing room and they'd leave satisfied and flushed, with a story to tell their friends.

  That part of it isn't for me anymore. I stopped it months ago, instead hitting the gym in whatever city we're in to workout before I go to bed. The band and the backstage crew still party with the fans. Judging by the amount of action they get, the women who want a piece of me are content with any cock as long as they're taking it in my dressing room.

  I'm on my knees now at the front of the stage, touching the hands of dozens of women, some grabbing onto my shirt, other's trying to dig their claws into my jeans. I swat away the hand of a woman who heads straight for my dick. A greedy touch like that does nothing for me now other than pissing me off.

  As I end one song, a pair of panties hits me square in the chest. I smile because that's what the crowd expects. I tuck them in the front pocket of my jeans. I'll discard them the minute I'm off the stage.

  I stand now, heading over to one of the crew so I can swallow a mouthful of water and change guitars. I use the break to search for Falon's face among all the people who have gathered backstage.

  The fans that paid a ridiculous amount of money for VIP packages wave to me. I curse under my breath as I lift my hand in the air in their direction. I'll have to meet with them after the show, sacrificing thirty minutes of my life so they can hang on me while their pictures are taken.

  I'll sign t-shirts, show programs and it's guaranteed that at least one woman will flash her tits with the hope that I'll sign one of them and invite her to stay after everyone else leaves.

  I circle back towards the crowd, pulling in a deep breath as I walk up to the microphone, lower my voice and sing the one song that will send every single person in the audience into a frenzy, Precious Beats.

  CHAPTER 37

  Falon

  "Do you want me to stick around with you, Falon?" Maya's hand touches my shoulder. "My aunt has probably gone to bed by now. She told me she'd leave a key in the mailbox. I don't have to rush off if you need me."

  I turn to look at her. She hasn't said a thing about what we witnessed onstage. Asher transformed into another person up there. He was full of energy, flirtatious, pointing at women in the crowd, touching them when he went to the front of the stage. I stared when he picked up a pair of pink panties that someone had thrown at him. He looked down at them before he tucked them into his front pocket with a wide grin on his face.

  I'm not sure what I expected when I took this job. I watched a few videos online of his performances. I saw much the same thing. It was different tonight though. I had to stare through the lens of a camera pointed at a man that I'm falling for while he fawned all over hundreds of screaming fans.

  "I'm good," I say breathlessly. I've felt flushed since we first got here and Asher couldn’t answer my question about who Karen is. The non-answer was enough of a response for me to know that whatever happened between them was serious, and maybe still is. If she's tracking down who I am, she must feel threatened or territorial.

  The last thing I need right now is that kind of complication in my life.

  "Are we supposed to be taking pictures of him with the VIP fans?" She gestures over my shoulder to the open door of Asher's dressing room.

  More than two dozen women were corralled in there immediately after the show. I watched from the doorway as they tousled their hair, reapplied their make-up and adjusted the neckline of their shirts or dresses, all in anticipation of Asher's arrival.

  There was a collective scream when he walked into the room. He was circled immediately, surrounded with no escape route in sight. It's not as though he was looking for one. He threw his arms over the shoulders of the women, chatting to them, and posing for pictures.

  "That wasn't part of the contract." I know there's relief in my voice. "We got a lot of great shots tonight, Maya. I think Asher's manager will be happy."

  "Are you happy?" She pushes my hair back behind my shoulders,
smoothing out the fabric of the thin blue blouse I'm wearing. "You know he's only doing that for the next twenty minutes. Once that's done, he'll be all yours."

  Logically I know that. I saw the smile he flashed me when he walked the corridor from the stage to his dressing room. He was surrounded by large bodyguards. Their bodies formed a human shield around him, blocking the hands of fans that had scored a backstage pass but weren't allowed into his dressing room. He reached out to a few, grabbing their fingertips in his hand, mouthing something to them that I couldn't make out from my vantage point.

  The entire night has been surreal. He's nothing like the man who walked down the street in Manhattan to meet me for pizza. This Asher Foster is a consummate performer, understanding the pulse of each of fans and how to make it race just for him.

  "I'm fine." My voice is barely recognizable at this point. I know I sound tired. I am. I'm exhausted in every conceivable way. "I'm sorry that you couldn't meet him. I didn't know he'd be so out of my reach. "

  "I'll meet him when we're all back in Manhattan," she says. "It's not a big deal."

  She may say that, but I know it is. I can see the disappointment in her face. I could insist she stay now so that once he's done she can meet him, but I want to be alone with him as soon as possible. "I'm going to start edits on the pictures in the empty dressing room down the hall while I wait for him to finish."

  "You're sure you don't want me to hang around? I don't mind."

  I need her to go. I can hear something in her voice that isn't usually there. It's concern.

  The entire night, as I shot picture after picture of Asher, she was behind me, watching my neck tense, seeing my shoulders stiffen. Maya knows me well enough to know that I'm not comfortable.