by Imani King
He never thought that not being focused on in the tabloids would be a source of sadness for him, but there it was. He almost wished that they were hounding him because he was 'canoodling' or however they put it, with a young black American girl, speculating on where it was going, whether there was a bump or if there would be a ring any time soon. Anything. Any news of Jasmine would make him happy.
Was she even thinking of him? He wondered.
This is stupid.
Focus, Leo. Fuck us Leo. Fuck us, Leo, the girls would be saying. Perhaps he should just lose himself, like he always had, with drugs, drink, and girls. Sex, drugs and rock and roll was the name of the game in his business and it had always served him well.
Yes, perhaps he would allow Graham to bring someone to the room tonight. Just to see how it went. Maybe even two girls. Unbidden, a picture came into his mind of two Jasmines, but he quickly dismissed it. He didn't even know what to do with one Jasmine. She was altogether to threatening. No, bring a couple of nameless bimbos. That might be enough for him to forget her. And a bucket of Jack Daniels to go with it.
There was a palpable tension in the green room before the show. It was a good tension, a positive tension: the kind of tension that meant that the show was going to be full of energy. Nothing was worse than an opening show where the band wasn't excited about the concert.
Nigel was running around punching the air wildly, yelling out martial arts cries as he did so, barely missing certain valuable objects in the room, such as a Riff's face, for one.
"Piss off, you bugger," he said swatting Nigel away. But he had a smile on his face. "Why aren't practicing your chords, you should be practicing."
"I practiced all night, when you were asleep!" He continued to punch the air. "But I have to practice my fisticuffs, just in case Leo takes a swing at me again!" He grinned at Leo. "It's all in good fun mate, don't hit me!"
"I won't, I won't – as long as you behave!" Leo was doing deep knee bends, working in his skinny jeans to just the right amount of play. In a few minutes the makeup artist would be there, but for now the men's faces were the faces they had as boys, at least a little. Some of the innocence was left before the stage makeup went on. It wasn't overdone – just a little to look extra good in the monitors.
Reg was drumming on the back of a book, using it as a practice pad.
"Don't tire yourself out there," said Leo to both of them. "Save some of that energy for the show."
"We've got endless reserves of energy," scoffed Nigel. "It's you who has to worry, mooning around all day."
"Watch it, Nigel," said Colin. "You know how cranky he gets."
The door flew open, and Graham leaned in. "Are you lads ready? The show's supposed to start any minute. The opening band is just about finished, if you want to catch their last number from backstage." The band did as he said, grabbing their instruments and tumbling after him, as energetic as kittens, excited for the new American tour.
Leo hung back a little, gathering his energy. It was no easy feat to focus entire stadium on yourself, and make them feel as if they were you. That was the trick, really. To get them to believe in their heart that it was just you and they. The ones who really understood each other. The cool ones.
Nigel looked back at him. "Hurry up mate, this band doesn't sound half bad." They listened to the last verse of their last song, before hearing the crowd erupt in applause, but then it was something else.
"Or-i-gin! Or-i-gin!" chanted the crowd as one, gaining more and more power with each repetition.
Leo stood backstage arms open, welcoming it all in. This is what it was all about. This moment. This had to be better than anything. Didn't it?
Wasn't it?
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Quartet vs. Origin of Species in performance
The cellist was always the last to enter. Jasmine walked out on stage, trailing the two violinists and the violist. Her gown swooped behind her in a graceful gesture, as she settled herself on the artist bench. There was a buzz in the air, a sense of anticipation as the four women fine-tuned their instruments, and opened their music on the stands.
All eyes in the hall were on Carrie as she first held up her bow to the strings. With an almost imperceptible cue, she spurred the other musicians on to a rousing but perfectly controlled opening.
Jasmine fought to contain her excitement as well. She had to keep each note in the perfect range while still being alive and vital. Luckily for the quartet, the audience was listening so carefully, every nuance of their playing was audible, a true gift. When the audience listened like that, the hall was so silent – but the silence was anything but empty. It was expectant, it was caring, anticipating, waiting… It made it easy to pour all one’s passion, nuance, beauty into the rarefied atmosphere.
What was that they said? thought Jasmine. Silence is like a canvas for an artist? We paint with sound.
As the crowd screamed louder, Leo strutted out onto the stage, his arms still wide. They were eating it up. It was going perfectly. He could barely hear the other musicians. Nigel was yelling something to him – he could tell only because of the shape of his mouth, and the intensity of his eyes. In fact there was screaming as far as the eye could see, faces twisted in excitement, contorted in mid-shout, until he couldn’t make out any detail anymore. The individual appearances just became a sea of people.
The arena was huge – larger than anything they played in England, but rather typical for the states. That was one thing that made these American tours so exciting – the sheer amount of people who were desperate for you. If you could fill a theater like this, there was nothing you couldn’t do. Nothing.
He spun in the center of the stage, head back, as the crowd roared in approval, before he finally struck his first note. Thank heaven for the monitor in his ear that made sure he was relatively in tune – not that it mattered that much when you screamed.
In the silence, Jasmine ended the first piece harmonizing with her colleagues in the sheerest, finest way possible, doing a perfect and exquisite diminuendo, only a cell of one hair of her bow drawing the string as they finished. The audience was in complete silence for a full ten seconds as they finished, the unbroken stillness of the quartet looking at one another from under lowered eyelids. Then there was a burst of applause, held strongly for two minutes straight. They had done it – won over one of the most discerning audiences. The sound of the clapping was like the rush of a waterfall washing over Jasmine. Cleansing her. Washing away all the negativity from the last few weeks.
This was it. This was why she did it.
And it was better than love, wasn’t it?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jasmine and Leo
Birds were singing already. The dawn had come, but Jasmine was still awake from the night before. Something about their performance that night had been extra special - electric. The promoters were thrilled, looking to book them for the next season right away.
But there was something else flickering besides the first rays of the sun. It was her phone, beside her on the pillow. Jasmine picked it up.
"Just had our first concert of the US Tour. Had to tell you - was brill. Everything ok in UK?"
It didn't say who it was from but there was no question it was Leo. How had he gotten her number, she wondered? Regardless, after staring at the message for a minute, she put the phone down. Then picked it up again. Then put it down. Then picked it up and wrote:
"Congrats. We played last night too"
She sent, before she could think too much.
How'd it go?
Amazing - they want us back
Gotta go, too much going on - will txt l8r
She put the phone down and a smile grew on her face. So he hadn't forgotten her after all.
Leo shoved the phone back in his pocket when Graham came bustling up to him.
"That was absolutely brilliant," he practically spat all the syllables at Leo in his enthusiasm. "You were bloody phenomenal. You
really belong in an arena that size, my boy -"
"Only one big enough for his massive ego," quipped Nigel, coming up behind him. The boys clapped each other on the back. "Now was that a great show, or was that a fucking great show?"
"You've outdone yourselves, certainly," said Graham, and then, eyebrows waggling: "Now if you'll excuse me I have some groupies to wrangle."
Leo almost called after him to tell him not to bother, but when he saw Nigel's face, filled with anticipation and lust, he knew he couldn't. He'd have to just let whatever happened happen and roll with the punches. His plan to lose himself in groupies was shattered, when the only person he wanted to tell at the end of their triumphant concert was Jasmine.
And who knew if she'd even understand. She might be a musician, but it was so different for her. Still, she knew passion, power, the ability to hold an audience or not - they just had vastly different audiences in nearly every single way. But none of that mattered. What did matter is that she was the only one he had wanted, and needed to tell about the victory on American shores.
And she had texted back!
"Look mate, sorry if I spoke out of turn the other day," Nigel said, grabbing his arm. "I had no idea this girl was anything to you. You going to see her again?"
"I don't know," Leo turned to him and said. "I really don't know. But let's not worry about that right now, let's just enjoy the after party."
It was looking like it was going to be a good one. They could see celebrities milling about backstage - starlets, ingénues, even some established movie stars. It was the marker of success when other successful people wanted to be around you, to bask in your glow. It meant you'd made it.
Leo was just noticing how empty 'making it' was if there was nobody to share it with. He fingered the phone in his pocket before turning to a tall young blonde woman.
"What'd you say your name was?" Nigel was joshing. "Taylor?"
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Jasmine and Leo
Jasmine got up and stretched, reaching her long brown arms above her head. It was just 5:45 but she hadn't really gotten used to the time change, so she never knew when she would awaken. She pulled on some jeans and a tank top, and as a last minute addition, grabbed a cardigan. Might as well, since you never knew how damp it could be in England. She grabbed her phone and shoved it in her pocket, before letting herself out the door, and walking down the street.
The sunshine was gentle, and the birdcalls were getting louder. There was a sense of peace in her soul, because of the success of the night before. She was always concerned about the quality of their concerts, but lately with all the distraction, it had been worse. And when rehearsals weren't going well one never knew if they would be able to pull off the performance. But last night she did.
She realized that in some ways, it wasn't peace and quiet that was making their performances great. The angst she felt was actually making things better. It gave the performance that edge of excitement, of vitality. When she touched the bow to the strings and felt the vibration through her body, her knees, her chest, as they embraced the deep cries of the instrument, in some ways she was making love to Leo. She was touching her strings as if they were his shoulders, his chest... his beautiful, leonine body. Strong, but lithe, the angles of his legs and ass elegant but powerful and dangerous all in one. Leo... she felt her breath catch in her throat. Had she made an impression on him after all?
Why did he text her?
It had to be something good, she thought. Maybe she had judged him too harshly after what happened with Nigel. Maybe she did mean something to him after all, something special, something real. She felt her phone alert her again, its vibration sharp and arresting in her pocket. She pulled out her phone, which was ringing. It had to be him. After all, nobody else would be calling at this time unless it was her family and there was some emergency. It was 5:30 AM and she was in England after all.
She pressed the button and answered. "Hello?"
There was no response, just the sound of breathing.
"Hello," she repeated again, wonderingly. What was going on?
"Do you want a blowjob?" came a seductive voice. Then there was silence, and the connection was severed. A coldness slithered over her heart. Maybe Leo didn't want after all. Maybe he wasn't thinking of her. Maybe he was thinking of getting fucked. And that was it.
***
Leo turned around to see Graham with a group of women - all young, gorgeous. Mostly blonde, all barely dressed.
"Ladies, I would like you to meet Leopold Wellington-Kerr," he said grandly. Leo knew he was trying to impress the Americans by using his full name. He was nonplussed.
"Hello, there," he said, and smiled, which set up a round of squealing from the girls.
"Leo, these are...” he paused, realizing that he didn’t bother memorizing their names. “…the ladies. Would you like any of them to accompany you to your dressing room?"
They preened and did their best to look seductive in the awkward silence that followed the question. Leo was trying to think of something to say, fingering his phone in his pocket, when one of them piped up with, “Do you want a blowjob?" The rest laughed awkwardly.
"Maybe some other time," he answered, barely able to keep a sneer from his lip. It didn't do to be rude, but he was really not interested. He turned around to see Riff there with a Jack and coke in his hand.
"Drink?"
"Oh God, yes," he answered. "Thought you'd never ask."
Riff and Leo watched as Nigel worked the crowd of women, charming them with his accent and his best rock and roll persona. It was one of Nigel's absolute favorite aspects of being a musician, he knew, the afterparty's promise of sex. And lots of sex. And up until recently, it was one of the biggest draws for him as well. Since the concert was like foreplay in a sense, it was only right that it would end with a incredible, earth shattering orgasm. But Leo sipped his drink and thought.
If I can only get hard when thinking of Jasmine, if it isn't her there is no point. Still the others will expect me to take at least one girl back to my room. Perhaps there's one who just wants to talk? He couldn’t believe the thought was in his head, but it might solve his problem.
Graham came up beside him, bumping his arm and speaking quietly. “Terribly sorry Leo, but were these girls not to your liking? I can find more you know, say, if you prefer non-blondes, for example," he said. He was clearly distressed, since Leo had never turned him down before. Here on one of the most crucial nights of his life, he might be disappointing his most important client.
Leo looked down at him, seeing the concern in his sweaty, slightly bloated face.
"Oh no, dear god no, Graham, please don't bother yourself with that."
"Would a brunette be more desirable? If your tastes have changed, just let me know," he continued. "I can easily find some darker-haired beauties - if you would prefer."
"Not at all, Graham, thank you," he said. Inwardly he felt a pang in his heart, thinking of Jasmine's dark hair, warm glowing dark skin, flashing dark eyes, but he suppressed it. "Look why don't you have a drink and relax, it's what I'm going to do."
Graham nodded. It was unusual to see his manager so unsure of himself, but he supposed it came from the rules suddenly changing and him feeling off his game. He didn't need an insecure manager, that was for sure. Maybe it would be the right thing to at least talk to one of these girls, just to get everyone off his back.
There was one in front of him right now, as a matter of fact. Her dress was silver, sparkling, and hung off her like it would from a clothes hanger, revealing plenty. Her blond hair fell in front of her face, cascading down her back in loose curls. She should have been just perfect, but Leo could barely muster even the slightest interest in her. Could she make a cello growl and sing? He didn't think so. But it was important not to lose face in front of the band. He stepped forward, took her by the elbow and led her over to the drinks table.
"I’m Leo Wellington-Kerr. And you are…?" he
prompted.
***
What the hell even was that? Jasmine asked herself. Do you want a blowjob! She was fuming. Did he butt-dial her, or did he call her with the express purpose of her overhearing? And if it was an accident, what was he doing texting her anyway? She felt stupid for even thinking that anything was between them. Still was there a chance that it was a mistake? A small voice within her said. A small chance that there was an explanation?
Another voice inside her argued. Take a hint, Jasmine, it said. Don't be stupid. He's a rock star, and that means that he can have anyone he wants, at just about any time. And that's just the way it is. No man can resist that offer, can he? That's the dream. He's living it.