SailtotheMoon

by Lynne Connolly

  “I blacked out.”

  “Kind of.” He allowed her that. He’d climaxed on her third time, withdrawn and disposed of the condom, returning to bed to find her half-dozing, a beatific smile on her face. “I’ll look after you.”

  “I know.”

  That complacency, that certainty of his care should disturb him. When women started with that shit, he tended to back off, knowing he couldn’t offer a woman anything other than temporary. After this tour, they’d have a period of residency in Chicago, where they’d do some studio work, then the album, then another tour. They were already thinking of a few small venues to test out the new songs they’d written. How could a woman be anything but a hanger-on in that time? Oh sure, the other guys had sorted it out, but he wanted someone sure of herself, who had her own life. Not that Beverley, Allie or Sabina were dependent on Jace, Donovan or Hunter.

  He puzzled over the problem. Laura had a life and a career she wouldn’t want to abandon to trek around after him for the foreseeable future. He didn’t know much about social workers, but he’d bet she’d have to train and qualify all over again if she changed her country of residence. Even if she wanted to. Besides, she loved her job. He’d seen her work now, with his father, and he couldn’t take her away from something that gave her so much satisfaction.

  What the fuck was he thinking? One long look into her dark eyes and he was losing his common sense. They had this, and if he could persuade her, London. Then they’d have to part. No question. Back to emails, perhaps a bit of phone or Skype sex from time to time.

  He pulled her closer and kissed her, long and sweet, lazily exploring her mouth with his tongue. He’d given up deciding on her taste. She was only Laura. When he’d exchanged emails with her about his father, he hadn’t imagined she’d be so fucking sexy in the flesh, had even imagined she was some kind of middle-aged spinster. After all, middle-aged spinsters liked rock music too, so her knowledge in that area hadn’t shocked him. He’d enjoyed her acerbic comments, her asides and the way they could chat about this and that. Once they’d dealt with business—authorization of various treatments and funds, keeping him informed, as next of kin, about Jimmy’s condition. At first he’d used the other discussions as a distraction from the old man, but then they’d become important for themselves.

  The old man wouldn’t move out to a facility, but maybe, if he stayed on a few days, he might be able to persuade him. Between bouts of stupendous sex with Laura, of course. He’d talk to Beverley, get her to book him a suite here for the rest of the week. This floor was only booked until tomorrow.

  Decision made, his mind eased. “Are you coming to the concert tonight?”

  She beamed at him. “Too right. I’d have hung about outside for a ticket if you hadn’t asked.”

  He tapped her nose. “Bad girl. Most of those are forged, and the bar code doesn’t work. You won’t ever do that, will you?”

  Smiling, she shook her head. “I can email you and demand them now.” The light in her eyes faded a little. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Not yet, you won’t. I’m thinking of staying for a few days. I don’t have to be in London until Friday for the final checks for Saturday night’s show. Three nights at Wembley.” He purred. “The last time I was in London, we played a smaller venue, and I wasn’t with Murder City Ravens then. Before that, I was playing pubs and clubs. When I started, I played guitar and sang for my supper, literally. I had no money, nowhere to live, and I’d never been so energized.”

  “Starvation sharpened your mind?” She stroked his chest with the flat of her hand, sending his cock stirring again. But he wanted this quiet time with her too. A friend.

  “Doing what I wanted to do most in life. Taking the chance.” That wasn’t the only reason he found himself in London in a series of scruffy squats, even spending a few nights on the streets. He leaned on one elbow, gazing at her face. He enjoyed the sight of her like this, relaxed after lovemaking, her face glowing. “I was young—fuck, was I young—so I had time to get it right. Or not. But if I’d failed, I could have done something else.”

  “Without qualifications?”

  He kissed her nose. “Not one. Riku’s classically trained. It meant he started doing the music he loves a bit later. Do you think he’s a better musician than me?”

  “Of course not.”

  He laughed at her indignation. “He is. He can play anything you put in front of him.” He considered. “Except perhaps a sitar, but I bet he could get some kind of tune out of it. He’s added amazing texture to what we do.”

  “You’ve added soul.”

  That pleased him immeasurably. “Thanks. I try to.”

  She cupped his cheek. “You open yourself onstage. What you sing is what you feel. That takes such courage.”

  “I get a lot of rewards.” Communication. It gave him thousands of new friends for however long the concert lasted. People who would remember him, and the way he made them feel. He’d never worked out precisely what gave him such a buzz, but it was the biggest high he’d ever felt. He gazed at his lover. Maybe he’d found something to rival it.

  Not to be thought of. He’d made a friend this weekend, solidified a relationship that had come to mean a lot to him in the last two years. When he’d had a bad night he could complain to her, albeit in vague terms, and she’d respond, cool and uninvolved.

  He didn’t want that time back though. He wanted this.

  “It’s what you do,” she said. “That’s why Murder City Ravens is so huge. You turn that stage into a small room, and you speak to everyone individually. And you speak to them about things they can empathize with, then you lift it to something universal.” She flattened her palm against his chest, warming his heart and heating his libido.

  He kissed her lavishly for that, and when they emerged, both a little breathless, he said, “Don’t say any more. I’m getting a big enough head as it is.” He ground his erection against her stomach and dropped his head, giving a helpless laugh. “That punished me as much as you. We can’t. We, or I, have to get to the arena.”

  “We,” she said firmly. “I want this. I’ll never get this chance again, to live the rock-star life.”

  “You might.” He refused to say any more, wanting her to enjoy the moment. “Live every moment like it’s your last” had long been a maxim he lived by. “Remember, sweetheart, live large.” He swung the bed sheets back and with regret, left the bed for the shower.

  They didn’t share, but he decided they would later, if she was up for it. He had stage clothes at the arena, and they traveled with the rest of the stage equipment, so all he had to do was find jeans and a T-shirt. They had a couple of hours before they were due onstage, and here, they had to be prompt, because the arena had an eleven p.m. curfew. “I’ll wear the three-fuck jeans,” he said, as if to himself.

  “What?” she looked up from donning her own clothes. She was still adorably tousled, her hair damp from the shower.

  “It takes me three fucks to get them on.” Tight, displaying everything in a kind of well-molded way. He was kind of right. It took four.

  “Fuck,” she murmured.

  Five.

  “Rock-star lifestyle.” He found an AC/DC T-shirt and pulled it on. “Ready?”

  She grimaced. “I guess. Underdressed now.”

  To his eyes she looked perfect. Jeans and T-shirt, both black, enhancing her fair skin and dark hair, which gleamed in the low lights of the suite. “Fantastic.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her close for a kiss. “Taste good too.”

  “It’s your toothpaste.”

  She’d applied a little makeup, enhancing her pretty features. She wasn’t stunningly beautiful, not the kind of model looks that would turn heads, but to his eyes, she looked perfect. And not the most exacting lover could complain about her body. She was a feast, breasts full enough for a generous mouthful, delectable indent at her waist, flaring out into beautiful hips. “My toothpaste never tasted that good. It’s you. Come on, be
fore I take you back to bed.”

  He wanted her again and he didn’t care if he didn’t stop until his cock fell off, because it was too good to deny. But they were strapped for time, so Zazz contented himself with one more kiss before they left the room. He also handed her his spare keycard. “This will get you into the lift, this room and the communal room.”

  “I’m not even sure what that looks like.”

  “Nope. But we should have eaten with the others. We’ll get something at the arena.”

  For the first time, they saw others waiting for the lift, but since it was a goods lift normally, they had plenty of room once it came. Zazz kept Laura by his side, but she went quiet, smiling shyly at the others. Except for Kelsie. They exchanged grins, but Kelsie clung to Riku like a limpet. Riku had a look Zazz knew—indulgence. Kelsie would get something out of this, but it wouldn’t last much longer. Riku needed a woman who’d stand up to him. He treated women, and some of the men he occasionally slept with, as pets, and most of them let him get away with it. He longed for the day when Riku would get his comeuppance, but it wouldn’t be this woman who delivered it to him. He hoped she knew, but from her proprietorial pose he doubted it.

  The lift reached its destination and they stepped out. He took the limo with Riku and Kelsie in it, figuring Laura would prefer to be with someone she knew, but as soon as they’d sat, Kelsie and Riku lip-locked. He exchanged a glance with Laura, quirked a brow. “Somebody’s got to look out for the Indians,” he said.

  “And it’s us cowboys.” From her expression, she knew as well as he did that if they started, they wouldn’t leave the limo for a while.

  He’d never found such difficulty concentrating on an upcoming performance before. From the grudgingly given spots in down-at-heel pubs, to the biggest arenas available, he’d looked forward to every one with a single-minded anticipation that blocked out everything else. Now, one glance at Laura and thoughts of crisp sheets and hot bodies intruded into his thoughts.

  Holding Laura’s hand, he watched the familiar-yet-not streets pass by the window. Years ago the IRA had planted a bomb, and while nobody had been killed, that part of the city had been completely rebuilt. All new, shiny glass and steel replacing the dingy yellow-tiled shopping center. They turned around the corner and passed the Cathedral, still in the same place. Unlike the old pub and Sinclair’s Oyster Bar, built hundreds of years ago, but moved twice to make way for new developments.

  He wouldn’t have known if Laura hadn’t told him. She kept him abreast of events in his hometown, had even sent him photos sometimes. Now he saw it anew. An eye, a Ferris wheel with capsules instead of seats, appeared incongruous to him. “I want to see what’s left,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  He turned away from the view to Laura, snuggled against him, and couldn’t help but smile at the sight. At this rate he’d lose his reputation for being a surly loner. “The city. I want to see what’s left from my time. The Band On The Wall?” He’d always wanted to play there.

  Riku laughed. Zazz had thought he was completely engrossed in Kelsie, but it seemed not. “I want to go there. That place is famous world over.”

  “Amongst jazz fans,” Zazz pointed out. “A dying breed.”

  “I bet that place is still full. Is it open tonight?” Kelsie asked.

  “One way to find out.” After nudging Kelsie away, Riku got out his phone and hit a few buttons. “Yes, but there’s nobody on tonight. There is tomorrow night. I think I might extend my visit to Manchester. Fly to London on Tuesday.”

  “I have to get to know an old man again, and someone else too. I thought I’d stay,” Zazz said.

  He leaned close to Laura. “I want to stay with you. I like your place. Can we bribe Kelsie with a stay at a five-star hotel, do you think?” He didn’t bother to keep his words down, so he expected Kelsie’s squeal of delight. Just not quite so piercing.

  Chapter Six

  They’d arrived at the venue. Manchester Arena, a massive place that he and the others would have to humanize. They’d done it last night. Last night! Shit, it felt like weeks. Christ, did he need to slow down, and did he need to spend more time with Laura, give his feelings a chance to settle down. It didn’t make sense to be so sure about a person after one day. One day and two years, he reminded himself.

  The cars nudged through the main barrier and into the area where they could get out. Flashes had brightened the windows, but Zazz sat back, knowing they couldn’t see in.

  After they got out, he gripped Laura’s hand and took her to the security guard at the door. “Show her to my dressing room, will you?” He gave her another kiss, full on, savoring her taste. “I’m going to sign autographs. I won’t be more than half an hour.”

  The other members of the band were already standing by the barrier where fans gathered, waving pieces of paper and taking photos. Just as well none of them were epileptic, because the strobe effect beat anything the lighting guys had put on the tracks. The lighting rig was so complicated, it was bar-coded, preprogrammed for each number, then, when they inevitably changed their minds, they could respond. It made sense. People came to see a show, and from the money they were divvying up, they deserved to get one.

  Now everything started to feel like the usual routine. He signed wrists, shirts, even autograph books, made noncommittal answers to requests for songs. Some of them went back to the days when Maxx Syccorraxx was the main singer and Murder City Ravens was a straight-down-the-line rock band. Zazz had loved working with Maxx, now Matt, in the studio. The nearest thing The Beatles had to a fifth member was their producer George Martin. Murder City Ravens could be said to have a seventh.

  Shit, the bunch of people around him was getting bigger and bigger. How did that happen?

  “Hey, are you free after the show?” someone asked. In the past, he’d have considered her. Full-breasted, wearing a corset-thing that looked like it might collapse at any moment, miniskirted. Not subtle, but available and pretty.

  “Nope,” he said without hesitation.

  “You can do better than that skank you arrived with.”

  He should have known better, but he turned on the girl, eyes flashing, fists clenched. Cameras went off and Riku and Hunter shouldered him out of the way, pushing him in Donovan’s direction. Donovan would have passed him on, but Zazz shrugged and spread his hands. “I know.”

  They didn’t have to say anything. He signed a few more autographs and headed inside.

  Donovan clapped his hand around Zazz’s shoulders. “I like Manchester. I might bring Allie here for our honeymoon.”

  Zazz paused and stared at him. “You’re really doing it?”

  “Sure, why not? I’m not likely to want anyone else.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  Donovan gave a happy crow of laughter. “You just do, pal. I knew after our first night together, but I gave it time to be sure. It didn’t make any difference. Go for it, Zazz,” he added, lowering his voice. “If it’s right, do it.”

  But what worked for Donovan might not work for him. Matt and V thrived on having different careers and spending time apart. He’d flown over for the Paris shows but had to go back to Chicago. She wouldn’t see him again until London, and then only for a few days. But after that, they’d be in New York. Shit, and he’d have to stare at the ocean separating him from Laura.

  They had the internet. Skype sex.

  Not enough. Not nearly enough.

  Back in his dressing room, he reached for her and she came to him. He turned it into a joke, with, “Missing you already.” He didn’t have time to get them both naked. He had ten, twelve thousand people out there waiting for him to come out and give them his best. He owed them that much. He owed it to himself.

  She must have seen something in his face. “I should leave you to it. You’ve got to put your mind on what you’re doing.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and when he wanted to follow it up, touched his mouth with two fingers. “No, don’t.
You don’t even have your makeup on yet.”

  That made him hoot with laughter. “Okay, you win. I’ll get someone to show you out front. After, wait where you are and he’ll come and get you.”

  “Exactly like last night.”

  “Fuck no. Now I know exactly who’s waiting for me out there.” And that made one fuck of a difference.

  Eyeliner—he refused to call it guyliner—dark metallic purple eye shadow, blusher, mascara and a streak of pink in his hair later, he changed into his stage clothes. Six-fuck trousers, leather with a laced fly instead of a buttoned one. A black poet’s shirt, buttoned for now, but he’d unfasten it later. Cuffed, black high-heeled leather boots that came to mid shin. That would do. Only one piece of jewelry, a diamond stud in one ear that would catch the light as he moved and tantalize the audience into wanting more. He’d thought of getting his nipples pierced, like Jace. He’d ask Laura. Maybe she’d get hers done at the same time. Matching nipple rings appealed to his quirky side.

  He didn’t have time for nail polish, but he had a cheating way. Little stickers. He applied one tiny heart to the pinky finger on his left hand. Give them something to focus their cameras on. He knew there’d be umpteen photos of his crotch before the evening was done, but he wouldn’t have worn these trousers if he hadn’t wanted them to look.

  He left his dressing room and headed for the stage area, not bothering to wait for the guy assigned to show him the way. He overtook Jace, going in the same direction. “Up for it?”

  Jace gave him a blank stare. “Huh?”

  “Manchester talk. Being home is eating into my vocabulary. Ready to go, maybe.”

  “I like up for it.” Jace flashed him a trademark grin. “This place is growing on me. You know all the hot spots, right? Wanna hit some after?”

  Jace considered. “Maybe. But if I don’t make it, you can try the Sound Garden for music, techno style, and Rusholme or Chinatown for food. Both have late-opening restaurants.”

  “Any in particular?”

  “Nope.”