by Michelle Lee
I am standing in my ginormous closet, my second favorite room in my house, Harry is crooning in the background as I try to figure out what to wear. Then it dawns on me—why do I give a flying fig? It’s not like I’m going to the opera or the symphony, so I grab my pair of dark skinny jeans, a deep plum tank top with sequins covering the entire front that’s tight across my chest—the girls look good; he would never approve—and my charcoal grey cardigan. My black ballet flats and clutch complete my outfit. I assume it’s good enough for the concert. I decide to readjust my simple high ponytail, allowing some tendrils to frame my face, sweep my blush brush across the apples of my cheeks a couple of times, apply a few strokes of mascara and “Voila,” I am ready to go.
The two of them are picking me up in a limo. The PR firm Val works for signed on this band as a new client and wants to send us to the concert in style since they are a small firm. Landing this band was something Val had been working on for a while, going against other larger firms. Their manager fell in love with Val—who doesn’t—and signed right away even before the band met her. , the limo gives me a reprieve from being the designated driver. Usually I’m doing the driving. But that’s the least of my worries. I just hope I will be leaving with all of my brain cells and ear drums intact.
TRACY HAD LEFT the band’s latest CD when she first brought up going to the concert. I think what the hell, as a good reporter/writer, I always familiarize myself with my subjects, so listening will just be research. And since I’m ready and waiting for them to pick me up, I grab the nondescript CD, with just this capital greyish, silver R splashed like it’s dripping paint on the front of the case against a black background, and pop it into the stereo. My ears are immediately assaulted with the screeching and wailing of a guitar, while what I guess is the lead vocalist screeches a blood-curdling scream, nearly causing my eardrums to rupture.
I can’t hit stop fast enough, eject the CD, and pop in back into the case. I place it on a high shelf, trying to put it as far away from me as possible, when it decides it doesn’t like its new home and falls to the carpet. I go to pick it up when I notice a picture on the back of it, and I am instantly drawn to it by a pair of the most piercing, steel blue eyes I have ever seen. They seem to have the ability to call to me, to draw me in even though it’s just a picture. They make me want to get lost in them and forget about the world. Forget about what today is and everything else that plagues me. My eyes scan the face the eyes belong to, and the smile that graces what can only be described as a beyond attractive man seems to be at war with the intense gaze his eyes are giving off. His eyes say he wants to devour and possess you, while his smile says his ready to play and make you laugh until your sides hurt. Devil and angel. I notice he’s standing dead center of the photo with two guys flanking him. I can’t help but wonder if he’s the lead singer whose screeching just assaulted me ears. And I can’t help but wonder if he looks that attractive in person or if it’s just a trick of photography and Photoshop? I put the CD away, afraid if I continue to look into his eyes I will somehow be sucked in, which is ridiculous. I notice my hands trembling, as is the rest of my body, and a sheen of sweat covers my skin. What in the hell have I gotten myself into?
“KNOCK, KNOCK, ANYBODY home?” a familiar voice calls out to me from down the hall.
“In the living room,” I call back.
“Hey, Jules. Oh, shit, Tracy is going to go ballistic when she sees what you’re wearing,” Val informs me as she eyes me up and down.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? I think I look damn good. Besides, it’s just a concert. “Really, what’s the fucking problem?
“You seriously think our little fangirl is going to allow you to leave your place and be seen in public with her, at a rock concert of her favorite band, dressed like you’re going to hang out at the mall for a day of power shopping? Julia Megan Bennett, have you totally pickled your brain with all that wine you tasted recently? Or are you a glutton for punishment? If I were you I would hightail it to your closet and find something else to wear before she…” And before she can finish her sentence, scolding me, Tracy walks in.
“Oh, no, no, no, no, this just won’t do. Thank God I brought my garment bag,” Tracy objects, flailing her arms at me.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I question for the second time in less than five minutes. I think I look great considering I just got off a plane a few hours ago, and besides, I’m comfortable. I need comfortable. Being in a new situation, a very unfamiliar situation, I need to feel as comfortable as possible. This outfit helps guarantee that. I don’t want to have a full-blown panic attack in the middle of the concert, and with my luck… I haven’t had one in a while, but…
I know they’re trying to help. They’ve handled me with kid gloves for so long, and I love them for wanting so much more for me. I just don’t know if all of me is ready. My brain is torn. The logical side knows I’m being ridiculous and tonight is going to be fun. I’m with my two best girls. How can it not be? But the illogical side, the side that those tendrils slither and slide through, thinks that this is a bad idea, that Blake disapproves and I shouldn’t go… I’m not allowed to go. I don’t deserve to have fun; I deserve nothing because I am nothing. I hate that illogical part. One day I hope that that illogical part will shrivel up and die. And I will be free. Free of Blake completely, once and for all. Free to be me. Free to live. Free to move beyond surviving. Just free.
Tracy brings me out of my brain. Her voice is high pitched and playful even though I know she means business. “Jules, did you look in a mirror? Honestly, if you had, you wouldn’t be asking me what is wrong with your ensemble. We are going to a rock concert and will be enjoying it from a Skybox. You don’t wear that. You’re dressed like you’re going to have lunch or shop. You are going to a rock concert. The concert of one of the best and hottest bands in the country—shit even the world—right now. So your outfit is all kinds of wrong. Just trust me on this one, mmkay?”
Instead of fighting the losing battle and trying to invoke another veto, I decide to save that sucker for something really big. I succumb to her demands and go change. I figure this is easier than going toe to toe with her, full well knowing I will lose. I can only imagine what outfit waits inside her garment bag of torture. The last time she did this to me, I was forced to wear a tight, form-fitting mini dress thingy. Don’t get me wrong. I looked fucking hot in it, but it just wasn’t me. I hesitantly pull down the zipper, and nestled inside is a pair of black leather pants and a brilliant blue, asymmetrical top. I don’t know the first thing as to what to wear to a rock concert; that is all Tracy’s domain. She’s our very own concert aficionado, having been to nearly five hundred plus shows in her lifetime. She is the expert.
The pants make me cringe as I pull them out. “Tracy, are you kidding me? Leather pants? When did I become a biker chick?” I hold up the second-skin-looking garment. I am definitely not going to feel like myself wearing these. My logical part screams maybe that’s a good thing.
“Just put them on. Trust me. Oh, and lose the hip huggers, and put on the thong in the Victoria’s Secret bag,” Tracy yells from the other room, as I hear Val laugh in the background.
“You just , Winston, your time will come,” I threaten with my best tough-as-nails voice. Seriously, a thong.
“Ha,” Val simply responds.
I hold the leather pants like they are going to bite me just staring at them. You can’t wear those. You don’t have the body for it. What makes you think you have a right to wear something that sinful and sexy? Blake’s voice takes over my own, only for a moment. I shake away his words, grab the panties, or cotton square with string, and put them on. It doesn’t feel too uncomfortable like I thought it would. I can feel him scowl at me, but I ignore the feeling. Next are the pants. Leather pants are a bitch to put on, but once they are on, they meld to my form, and it feels as if I’m wearing a second skin. I then slip on the asymmetrical top; this too feels incre
dible against my skin. I take a look at myself in the full-length mirror and marvel at how I look, because I look pretty damn good. Not bad, Bennett. Not fucking bad. Now, what shoes to wear? As I glance down at my shoe collection, Tracy comes up behind me, as if she knew what I needed.
“Put those on,” she says, pointing to a pair of black high-shine leather t-bar sandals from Ralph Lauren.
As I slip my feet into my heels, Tracy pulls the hair tie out of my ponytail, gives my hair a few fluffs, and my hair cascades down my back and on my shoulders. I am mesmerized at the person staring back at me in the mirror. I know it’s me, but for some odd reason I feel as if I’m looking at a stranger. I honestlyfeel that looking like this, wearing these clothes, just might help me move on for some strange reason. Blake would not approve and probably take matters… He’s not here, he doesn’t get a say, and it makes me slightly giddy.
“You look hot, Jules. Now you’re totally presentable and will fit in at the concert,” Tracy practically squeals, giving herself an invisible pat on the back.
“Thanks.”
Before we leave my room, she pulls me aside and whips out a tube of this sparkly lip stuff, glosses me, and then tosses into my clutch. I give her the evil eye as I turn back to the mirror. Unbelievably, I look even more amazing. My lips are tinted an alluring red with a hint of sparkle. Not my usual go-to color.
“See, don’t ever doubt me, missy,” she teases, sticking her tongue out at me.
“Whatever was I thinking,” I tease back, rolling my eyes.
“Now that you’re finally ready, let’s go and rock out!” Tracy demands, again sticking her tongue out, but this time between some sort of hand signal, her fingers look like horns.
“Um… that was… can you guys just promise me an early night, please? I’m practically sleep deprived.” I guess I have some strange look on my face, because Tracy simply shakes her head, laughing. “Oh, silly Jules, you have a lot to learn.”
WE ARRIVE AT the concert, and as we make our way through the arena, I immediately begin to people watch. My eyes can’t believe the scenery. There are scantily-clad women parading about with the occasional male thrown into the mix dressed in jeans and T-shirts, all of them branding the logo Redemption or that silver-singular R. I assume this is the name of the band that will be playing and puncturing my eardrums later on. As I continue to assess the concert-goers, I am actually kind of grateful Tracy made me change. The outfit I had picked out would have made me stick out like a sore thumb, feeling embarrassed and extremely uncomfortable. Wearing the outfit Tracy insisted on, I am able to blend in and blending in at this point is a very good thing. We continue to make our way through the crowd, when Tracy spots a T-shirt vendor.
“I have got to get a shirt,” she squeals.
“Are you serious? What are you, a groupie now? Look at how long the fucking line is. And besides, don’t you have like a bijillion shirts of theirs already?” Val says with a somewhat annoyed tone.
“Well, if thinking the bass player, Lance Caulfield, is hotter than fucking hot and I plan on spending eternity with him having his babies, slap me slutty and call me a groupie. And I can never have too many concert shirts. Besides, I don’t have that new one,” she responds, sticking her tongue out.
“All right, little Miss Groupie, you stand in line and get your stupid T-shirt, like you need another one. The adults are heading to the Skybox,” Val sarcastically quips.
“Fine, I’ll meet up with you guys once I get a little piece of Lance.” And she floats off as if she is a fairy princess to stand in line.
“Come on, Jules, I so need a drink.” Val snakes her arm around mine and drags me toward the elevators marked with a sign “To Skybox”.
We finally arrive at the Skybox, and I am beyond impressed. Val’s company has gone all out. There is an endless buffet of food, plus a very impressive variety of wines and of course other elixirs that anyone could want. Val makes a beeline for the bar, ordering Apple Martinis for both of us. I’ve never had an Apple Martini, but when the bright green concoction envelops my tongue, I relish in its sweet taste. Val certainly knows her drinks. Finally, “the groupie” shows up, donning an oversized black T-shirt over her tank, embellished with the logo Redemption and a picture of who I assume is Lance Caulfield. I do take notice that the man on her chest is very, very good looking—with his chiseled features and dark eyes that stare right into you, through you. I can see why Tracy is so taken by him. My guess is she will get her man, because once Tracy Scott sets her mind on something, it gets done. Val introduces us to a few of the other people in the Skybox that she works with. One guy I notice can’t stop looking at me, and it’s making me feel a little uneasy. It’s just the way he’s looking at me, like he’s trying to figure me out or something and he’s not sure how to.
“Don’t look now, Jules, but that hot blond guy over there can’t take his eyes off of you,” Tracy whispers in my ear.
“I’ve noticed, and I wish he’d stop,” I say, shifting from foot to foot, feeling very uncomfortable. When I was with Blake, he would get extremely furious when another man would look at me. At first, I used to blush with embarrassment because of it, but after a few arguments and a heavy hand, I “learned” to just be uncomfortable. I’ve tried my damnedest to lose that feeling, but like all things Blake, there are still some residual feelings lingering. A shudder rips through me as a quick memory flashes in my mind’s eye. Blake hovering over me, his eyes wide and full of so much anger, his nostrils flaring, spit in the corner of his mouth, his grip tight on my arm—feeling as though my bones could snap…
“Hey, it’s okay, Jules. Just breathe. It’s just because you’re a hot little number tonight, thanks to me. He can’t hurt you anymore,” Tracy comforts with a calm voice and a nudge, trying to lighten the mood.
“Thanks,” I reply. Little does she know, even after eighteen months, he does still hurt me from time to time, although not as much as he used to. I’ve learned that what happened had nothing to do with me, but all to do with him. I was the victim, not him. But I refuse to let this feeling creeping inside blossom and ruin what my friends were hoping to be a fun night for me. I stomp those feelings down, harder, deeper, until they’re nothing but dust.
Tracy gives me a comforting hug and whispers in my ear, “You’re beautiful, Julia Bennett, inside and out. You have so much to offer the world. It’s time you see yourself as the rest of us see you—strong, beautiful and absolutely amazing. Tonight is more about you than about all of this. We love you and want you to see all the potential out there. It’s just a bonus you get to see my future husband.” She nudges me with her bony hip, a sweet, reassuring smile beaming at me.
I begin to sniffle at her words. Tracy always knows what I need, when I need it. I hug her back. “Thank you.” That’s the only thing I can say at the moment. Any more, and my fun evening my two friends have planned will be ruined by me and my emotional self.
“Can I get in on this love fest?” Val comes up from behind, and I feel her arms wrap around me and Tracy. Val became my rock before Tracy did. She was there about six months before I left Blake. She saw more of the devastation—the aftermath. Val became a lifeline—like oxygen I needed to live.
“And you do look all hot as fuck. Any guy would be stupid to not want you. I know Phillip’s staring is probably wigging you out, but he’s completely harmless. He’s a pretty decent guy, not a douche like some assholes you’ve known. I may have mentioned you to him a couple of times.” Val gives me that pointed look, letting me know that she won’t let anything happen to me and exactly who she’s referring to when she says douche and asshole.
“Thanks, guys. And can we just drop how hot I look? It just…” I ask. I know she was complimenting me, but a part of me that Blake still owns no matter how hard I tell myself he doesn’t wonders if she’s lying. I know it’s stupid to think that way, but I can’t help it. The tendrils find their way and freely wrap around part of my brain, suppressing all reason
.
“Anytime,” they reply in unison, giving me a knowing look. Val looks remorseful. I hate that it’s my insecurities creeping in have made her feel that way. It’s been eighteen months. Shouldn’t eighteen months be enough time? I’ve put so much distance between myself and that time in my life, but still, his voice lingers like a slimy residue tainting me.
I hate feeling like my old self sometimes. Uncomfortable in my own skin. He made me feel that way. He stripped away my confidence: my self-worth. I often fine myself reverting back to that girl; my mind takes me back to that time, holding me prisoner. I remember those hurtful, hateful things he said and did to me. The way he touched me like I was disgusting and I should feel honored to have his touch. And sometimes his touch became cruel and unyielding. My hand snakes around my side, gripping my hip, feeling the ghost of his touch. I shake myself, bringing me out of my reverie. I won’t let him touch me now, he can’t touch me now. I am strong, powerful, and above all else, beautiful and worthy. My mantra since leaving him behind—a mantra Val and Tracy have tried to instill in me every day since.
Val and Tracy mingle with the other guests while I look out over the edge, watching the crew prep the stage. The view is really incredible. I have never been in a Skybox before, and I am beginning to realize why they are so valuable. I just wish I was here to see something other than this rock band that apparently everyone but me is excited to see. My mind begins to wander, making a list of the things I will need to do when I get back to the office on Monday. I am totally lost in my head when I realize Phillip is now standing next to me.