That sounded much more reasonable. If not for one tiny detail, she’d jump at the offer. Donovan. She’d have to split with him for sure if she wanted to pursue a full-time career in New York, and at the moment, that was too painful to contemplate. Every morning when she woke up, joy filled her at the thought of a day spent with him and another night to come. They were halfway through their scheduled time together. Next week they’d have to make serious decisions.
She gazed at this man, met his dark eyes with a smile. Someone who didn’t make her heart quicken, someone she hadn’t followed for years, someone who didn’t do something she couldn’t possibly emulate. She liked him, liked the quick wit she’d witnessed, the pleasant demeanor, the laid-back attitude combined with the sharp business sense. In her real life, the life without rock bands and luxury hotels, without security details and sexy, half-naked musicians, she could see him fitting in. As a friend, and possibly an employer.
This offer gave her something to look forward to. Making a sudden decision, she said, “I’m definitely interested. Can I get back to you?”
“Sure. I don’t need anybody for a month, but if you’re available, call me and you can come in and take a look around.”
“I really appreciate this. Thank you.”
He touched her hand and smiled. “The world doesn’t run on love alone. I’m making this offer in good faith.”
Tears sprang to her eyes at that moment of reassurance. After all her self-doubts, things were working out. Someone wanted her for herself, could see some use for her apart from who she could bring with her.
He raised a brow. “The media will associate you with Donovan Harvey for a while, if you let them. Are you going to let them?”
“I don’t know.” She paused. She didn’t want to tell him that she and Donovan told each other “I love you” every day, because he might not understand that they meant that day, now. At least Donovan did. He’d made that quite clear. She didn’t, and each day she meant that it was temporary less. It kept her sane to recall how short a time they’d known each other. It couldn’t be love, couldn’t happen that fast. Impossible. “It just doesn’t seem real, you know, part of regular life.”
The lights dimmed and the crowd roared, but nothing else happened. The guys on top of the rigging, the ones operating the lights, shifted on their perches, but as yet, nothing.
“This is regular life for him,” she heard Elliott say. “This is what he’s gonna have to cope with for the next year, and afterward the studio, and then more of this. Until the bandwagon stops, if it does. The Rolling Stones have been going fifty years, but when you read the interviews, they say they never expected it to last more than a few years when they first started out. You never know.”
“They’re as good as the Stones. I can’t see it stopping.”
“We’re his safety net, you and me,” Elliott said. “We give him his alternative and we ground him.”
She knew what else he was saying. Donovan couldn’t expect support from his manipulative mother or his weakling father. His siblings had caved to his mother’s demands and got jobs, bought houses close to hers, lived nearby. A support network could be excellent, but not when it was provided under duress. Having met Donovan’s mother, she had no doubt about the duress part.
Fuck, Elliott was right. She would have to be Donovan’s alternative, nothing else, because she couldn’t see how to make her career work on the road, not the way she’d planned it. Although she didn’t have a clear view of her career, she wanted one.
Unlike Donovan, she had what she thought of as normal parents. They loved her, sent her into the world with their blessing and a promise that they’d keep their door open for her. She contacted them regularly and had told them where she was and who she was with because she knew they wouldn’t tell anyone unless she said they could. Good people. Parents she wanted to make proud because she was sure proud of them.
The lights went down properly now, leaving the arena in near-darkness, and the crowd cheered and yelled. Then the band walked onto the stage, Hunter with his drumsticks, the rest of the band with guitars of various kinds slung over their shoulders. Riku in something she’d seen before, the outrageous zebra-print pants and jacket set he’d bought at the vintage store, to which he’d added fringe a mile long. The others wore variations on T-shirts and jeans, Zazz’s so tight she wondered how he got into them, Jace’s almost indecently low-slung. V wore a slinky knee-length dress in shades of purple. Classy but edgy. Her blonde hair hung down to her waist in a sheet of golden fire.
Each member of the band knew where to go and it was more taking their favorite places than going to pre-ordained locations. No white crosses on the floor that she could see.
Her stomach muscles grew tighter still. She had the best seat in the house for the band that excited her above all others. Nothing else mattered. Leaning forward, she watched Hunter hit his drum kit once, twice, then Zazz picked out a gentle, simple melody on the guitar and sang plaintively about sitting in the middle of a field in a storm.
At which point, the band exploded into sound. Difficult to discern who was playing what at first—it was just sound.Beautiful, incredible, how-the-fuck-did-they-do-that sound. At that moment, she let go, stopped thinking and opened herself to them. Joined the seven-thousand-strong audience and gave herself into the hands and voices of Murder City Ravens.
Undoubtedly, they were great musicians, but they had the extra something that set them above musicianship and into another realm, where they could communicate without words, where music spoke.
Zazz started to sing. He added focus and point, sometimes viciously sharp, sometimes plaintively vague. He touched a spot somewhere deep inside and brought the audience to tears with a change of pace or pitch, suddenly switching up almost before the audience was aware of what he was singing about.
They began one of her favorite songs, Quiet Time. It started with a plaintive lament and he shrank the audience so that he spoke directly to every person there, one to one. The band came in, understated, just backing what he was singing. Then, at the end of the first verse, everything changed, as if a conductor had brought down his baton. Tight, almost jazz rhythms, and then the band opened up to rock, but it wasn’t sudden, it transitioned so smoothly it was impossible to say where they’d changed from sweet and sad to full-out, angry rock.
The piece ended with a wild, impossible solo from Riku, guitar, but like she’d never heard it before, not even on the album. Murder City Ravens never stood still, never merely reproduced what they did on the album. Each piece developed and grew, turned from a triumphal anthem to a lament of loss. And she had no idea how they did it.
Halfway through the concert, she became aware that Mrs. Harvey was fidgeting. In quiet moments, she heard the occasional moan, and she guessed what was happening. Mrs. Harvey was getting bored or embarrassed. Anyway, she wanted to leave. That struck Allie as deeply unfair to Mr. Harvey, but she couldn’t stop what happened next.
The mother of the bass player of the band onstage got up and left. Walked out, with her husband in tow.
Furious, Allie exchanged one bare glance with Elliott. “Save my place,” she hissed. “I’ll be back.” And like Arnie the Governator at his fiercest, she followed the Harveys to the exit.
With the door closed, they could hear themselves talk, but only just. “Where are you going?” she demanded.
“My stomach—”
She didn’t let the woman finish. “That’s your son in there. He’s at the height of his success, playing to thousands of adoring fans, but you know what? He’ll notice you leaving and it will hurt. Is that what you want?” Yes, of course it was. To keep him under her thumb, she’d do even this.
Mrs. Harvey lifted her chin and for once appeared the woman she was underneath. Her eyes would have spat fire, had that been physically possible. “He shouldn’t be here with his drug-taking friends, encouraging behavior like that, playing that weird stuff.”
“Give it a c
hance. Listen to it. Open your heart and listen.”
“Heart? Did you hear what that man sang? And you’re not telling me he’s not high on something?”
“Are you talking about Zazz?” How could she know so little about her son’s best friends? “Zazz doesn’t touch drugs, he’s the one member of the band who has never done it. His father’s an addict, or was. Don’t you know anything?”
“Why should I? It’s a phase. He’ll be home soon.”
Allie leaned forward, got in the woman’s face, ignored her sudden recoil. “He won’t. Ever, if he has any sense. Can’t you both hear what he’s doing here? It’s little short of miraculous.”
“Fans always say that. I thought that in my day about the Bay City Rollers.”
Fuck, this woman was impossible. Allie suspected her of being tone deaf. “Stay until the end of the set. Just until then. If you do that, I’ll tell him you felt ill. If you don’t, I’ll tell him why you left. You can’t stand it. You’re bored.”
“I don’t like the bad language.”
“Are you kidding? The occasional word among all those others? And they only use them when they’re needed. Come back or I’ll tell him the truth. We both know what that is, don’t we?”
She tried whining. “You know nothing about me.”
“I’m not sure I want to.” That came out before she could stop it. She didn’t want to antagonize the woman because of the trouble it could bring to the man she loved, but she found it nearly impossible to talk to her. She’d never met anyone so deeply selfish in all her life.
Mrs. Harvey was scared to step out of her personal comfort zone. She’d found a husband to pander to her needs and bred children, all but one of whom had caved to her demands. Creating a life like that meant she wanted the one that got away to come back to her. And leaving halfway through a performance formed part of that. Undermining him, making him think he was somehow less than perfect.
That wouldn’t happen, not on Allie’s watch. “Come back inside and I’ll back you up.” To a certain point.
“Bring him home or leave him alone.”
At that point, Allie realized this was the first time Donovan’s mother had acknowledged that she even existed, much less had any influence on her son. Maybe she was really scared. She’d seen the way Donovan touched Allie, held her hand, kept her close. Not the way he’d treat a groupie or an occasional girlfriend. Okay, so she’d use that too. Anything to get Mrs. Harvey back into the arena. And if she got the woman back, her husband would come too.
“You want him home? I’ll bring him home for you.” But not that home, not the one he’d turned his back on. If she had any influence at all, she’d help him get the home he wanted.
“You will?”
“The band is coming to Europe and playing several dates in Britain.” Everyone knew that. But she didn’t make any specific promise. Feeling mean for misleading her so, Allie reminded herself of Mrs. Harvey’s intended cruelty. Donovan had told Allie he didn’t care about his mother, but everyone did, to some extent. It would hurt, that she knew.
She brightened. “They are, aren’t they?”
“Come back inside.”
She glanced up to see one of the big guys from the convention. Chris, she recalled. She forced a smile. “Mrs. Harvey just needed some air. She’s going back inside now.”
Chris nodded. “I’ll come for you after the performance and take you backstage.”
Mr. Harvey brightened. For all she knew, he might be a frustrated rocker. Allie would try to fix it to get him backstage and Donovan’s mother back to the hotel, but she’d exhausted her resources and she badly wanted to get back and see the rest of the band’s set.
“I don’t think I can manage that,” Mrs. Harvey said. “You can go afterwards, Bill, and tell me all about it.”
“I’ll order a car for you,” Bill said, and just like that, they’d arranged it. Allie exchanged a glance with Chris over Mrs. Harvey’s head and he raised a brow and nodded. He’d fix that part.
Returning to her seat, Allie felt wrung out by her efforts but triumphant. Elliott nodded to her and she could see from his expression that he’d been affected by the power of the band.
She sat down and plunged straight back into the world of Murder City Ravens.
Donovan saw his mother leave. A sudden stir from the place he’d marked as theirs showed someone going and two people following. Shit, Allie was going too. Was there a problem or did his mother just want to make a scene? He hated her right at that moment, remembering the times she’d let him down, when she hadn’t turned up at a school play or she’d failed to be impressed at a recital, when he’d worked his bollocks off at a piece he knew she liked, and then she’d told him it was fine. Just fine. Nothing else.
Disappointment flooded him and he forced himself to concentrate, something he rarely had to do at concerts. Usually the music flowed through him, he became one with it and let it go where it would. Now he had to recall the piece they were on and what they were doing next. Their running order consisted of several key pieces, where they led the audience through moods, but other numbers could be switched out. Tonight they had decided to play it straight unless the audience grew restless, but so far it had responded beautifully. Perfectly, except for those three people in the seats at the side of him.
He played half of Restless and the first half of Sex and Diamonds before they returned. All of them. His father, mother and Allie. The woman he loved.
Why did it mean so much, that his mother sit through at least one performance, that she saw what he did for a living? Fuck, he’d paid off their mortgage, bought houses for his siblings from his earnings. The least she could do was watch.
No, it wasn’t that. He didn’t give a fuck.
Relief swept through him. He really didn’t. Not anymore. But he had, right up to the moment he’d seen them retake their seats. His mother’s approval had marked his childhood—what she wanted, what she didn’t want and the way she manipulated people without actually asking. Whining or talking through something she didn’t enjoy, denigrating it. His father always agreed. For the sake of peace and quiet, he’d told Donovan once.
So Donovan had drifted away, deliberately found a university away from home that he could attend, then gone to the pubs with his mates instead of going home. Kept away, gone back for duty visits only. Still he’d care, even after he’d left to go to art school, and then dropped out to play music. He’d sent them CDs they’d never listened to, videos they hadn’t watched, and each time he’d seen the things pristine in their cellophane when he’d gone home, a bit more of him died.
But now, watching the way Allie took her place and immediately turned to face the band, and how Elliott, a man whose judgment he respected, watched with concentrated attention, he realized that his mother could do what she wanted and her reaction wouldn’t affect him anymore. It didn’t matter. He’d send them tickets to the UK gigs, but he wouldn’t be disappointed or even surprised when they didn’t come.
However, he wanted Allie there. What she thought mattered to him.
A roadie brought him the Broadcaster he needed for the next piece and he checked the running order, then glanced at Zazz, who was standing behind the mike, devoid of instruments. That confirmed the next one and he waited for his cue.
He loved the stage performances in a different way from loving the way they composed songs. This was all about polish, listening to audiences and responding to them, playing what they thought the people would want to hear, which was different from playing what they expected. It meant following a mood, and sometimes abruptly changing it, working them and dropping familiar pieces in between the new ones. Playing these concerts had grown into an art in itself.
Everything fled his mind except the song, and doing it the justice it deserved. Halfhearted concentration wouldn’t do that.
They played an extra encore, and he’d hoped that would send the fans away more mellow, but they seemed rabid for more.
Usually he let Riku, Zazz and Jace handle the press, answering the few questions thrown his way when they came. He liked it that way. But this time they had questions for him.
“Who’s the woman, Donovan?”
“What woman?”
Riku nudged him. “Which woman?” A bit of nice deflection there.
The reporter didn’t give up. “The one on Facebook. You went shopping with her yesterday. Is she the one from the convention? And an older woman. Are you teaming?”
He swept the room with one comprehensive glance and smiled when he saw Allie. With his parents. His mother didn’t look happy, but when did she ever? Allie nodded, but when he lifted a brow, inviting her to join him, she swallowed. Did that mean no?
“She’s someone I met at the convention, yes.”
“You write books now, Donovan? How long has that been going on?”
“Forever. I’ve always drawn and scribbled stories. I went to an art college before I dropped out to join the band. Have you read it?”
Someone sniggered. “It’s a picture book. What is there to read?”
To his surprise, he didn’t have to answer that one. Someone else turned on the questioner. “It’s an illustrated novel, you ignorant pig. That convention was huge, and Donovan sold a ton of books.” The man turned back to Donoan. I’m here to ask you how you balance the writing and the music?”
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