by R. E. Blake
“That’s sweet of you, Bruno. Slumming with the likes of me.”
“Hey, you’re my home girl. Plan on making it, all right?”
“I will,” I say, but I sound doubtful.
“Promise?”
I sigh. “Okay, Bruno. I promise. There. Satisfied?”
His grin is ear to ear. “Don’t be all stressed. Have some fun.”
“This is me having fun. You should see me when I’m not.”
“No, thanks. Hey, we’re on for the encore, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Dinners in Vegas are some of the best we’ve had on tour, and tonight’s no exception, with wood-oven pizza and lasagna like mama used to make; or like someone’s mama used to make, anyway. I try not to eat myself into a coma, and busy myself checking the web for any news or gossip about Derek, who’s playing in Chicago.
The plagiarism thing has been in the news consistently, with the guy claiming Derek stole his songs saying that he’s filed suit for millions in damages. Derek’s reaction has been muted and tightly controlled by his label. I watch a YouTube clip filmed that morning in Chicago, where he appeared on a morning talk show, and one of the hostesses asks him about it. The camera closes in on his face and my heart feels tight in my chest as he grins, his green eyes flashing.
“Hey, you can sue anyone for anything. It’s a free country. I could sue Tarantino claiming he stole Pulp Fiction from me. Doesn’t make it true.” He shrugs. “I’m not supposed to say anything about it besides we’re looking forward to our day in court.” Then he winks and the audience goes wild.
God, he’s charismatic. I have a sudden urge to call him. But Amber’s hovering around, introducing a new makeup person – as our prospects have improved, our entourage has gotten larger. We’re now up to two buses, one for the band, one for the crew, and Amber has hired a combo wardrobe and makeup person, which is a total waste as far as I can tell given that I have four pairs of pants I rotate, two pairs of Chucks, and a handful of tops. Still, it’s pampering, and it feels good.
The show goes well. I never tire of being onstage performing. The crowd is more enthusiastic than usual, probably because everyone’s drunk leading up to the Vegas equivalent of the Times Square ball drop at the end of Bruno’s show, precisely at midnight. We wind up doing four encores, a tour record for us, and when we get offstage we’re amped from the audience’s energy.
I see a familiar face in the shadows and smile as I approach Ruby.
“Hey. I didn’t expect you to be here,” I say.
“Oh, well, there wasn’t a lot happening in Los Angeles, and I thought I’d come out and see how our favorite new star is doing.”
“Pretty good, I guess. The crowd seems to love us.”
“Always a big plus. And your sales are through the roof.”
“Can’t complain about much, then, can I?” Derek’s face pops into my mind, and I feel a surge of sadness at being alone, but then force myself back into the moment. “How’s Saul?”
“He’s taking all the credit for discovering you, but hey, it’s his sandbox, so let him. You can see how having him in your corner has worked out.”
“Some people were talking about another album?”
“Yes, ideally we’d release twelve months after this one, but Saul’s hoping for nine so we can keep up the momentum. We’ll have plenty of time to talk about that over the next couple of days. Hollywood’s pretty much closed down the last week of December and the first week of January, so that’s a next year discussion.”
“Hopefully you can get Sebastian again.”
“You now know everything about it that I do.”
“Okay, then. Hey, enjoy the show,” I say as the next band prepares to go on.
“Yeah, I have a seat right up front I need to get back to. Just wanted to say hi.”
“Maybe see you around at the after party.”
“Maybe.”
I watch the road crew put the finishing touches on the middle band’s gear and give the lead singer a high five, and then they’re into their set. I do my best to be upbeat, but the air is heavy and I’m feeling moody.
I don’t know why I’m so meh tonight, but the prospect of turning eighteen, alone in a crowd of people who aren’t my friends, is depressing. Melody’s not answering her messages or phone, and neither is Derek, although he at least has a good excuse since he’s also performing tonight. Even Jeremy’s been strangely silent, which I attribute to his turbulent personal life – last we talked, after chickening out countless times, he’d finally given his guy the ultimatum, and it hadn’t gone over well.
When Bruno takes the stage he’s like a live wire, and the entire hall seems electrified by his presence. He’s a true showman; for tonight he’s wearing a crimson zoot suit covered with sequins that would have made James Brown blush. The crowd eats his antics up, and as always I’m fascinated to watch a master work the audience – every time he performs, I learn something to add to my bag of tricks.
He finishes his act at three minutes to midnight, and I’m onstage with him for the big countdown. Then it’s a new year, and confetti is raining from above, and we’re performing our nightly song. When we’re done, Bruno surprises me by taking my hand in his and then standing and holding both our hands high.
“Everybody. Happy New Year! But you know what else it is? It’s this little lady’s birthday! That’s right, right here, right now, Sage turned eighteen, and she did it singing her heart out for your lazy asses. So give it up for her and make this the best one ever!”
The crowd roars, and I swear I can feel the ground beneath my feet vibrate from the outpouring of emotion. Bruno hugs me, and I wipe tears away as I wave at the sea of faces.
And then Bruno’s band is launching into another song and I’m headed to the side of the stage, where Amber is waiting. “I’m under instructions to escort you to Bruno’s dressing room and not let you slip away,” she says.
“Who do you work for, anyway?”
“He said he’d have my head if I let you flake out, so tonight, as of this moment, I’m working for myself.”
I sigh. “Fine.”
“Oh, and happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Got anything big planned? No shows until the second,” she asks as we make our way down a flight of stairs to the dressing room level. Bruno has the largest one at the far end. Amber stops me in front of our dressing room and leans into me. “Let me just make sure there aren’t any nude groupies or anything in there.” I nod and she continues down the hall.
My phone rings, and I answer it. It’s Derek.
“Hey! Is it your birthday yet? Did I get the time difference right?”
“Derek! You don’t know how happy I am to hear your voice. How did your show go?”
“Oh, you know. Just another stadium filled with screaming fans. What about you?”
“Same thing.”
Amber signals me from Bruno’s door, and I reluctantly trudge toward it. “Happy New Year, Sage,” Derek says.
“Happy New Year to you, too. But it would be a lot happier if you were here to share it with me.”
I reach the door and Amber nods at me to open it. I roll my eyes and push it open. It’s pitch black. “Derek, hang on–”
The lights blink on and a room full of people are screaming, “Surprise!” I almost drop my cell as I scan the faces: Sebastian, June, my dad, Saul, Terry, Ruby, Melody…and, smirking as he exits the bathroom, Derek.
“Oh, my God! You scared the crap out of me!” I exclaim. I’m trembling. Everyone kind of rushes me and Melody’s hugging me, then my dad, then June and Sebastian. Derek hangs back until the initial crush is finished and then slowly approaches as June pops the cork on a bottle of champagne. Everyone’s laughing and chattering as he nears, but for me there’s nobody else there, just him, green eyes glowing like a cat’s.
When he reaches me he takes me in his arms and hugs me. I bury my head in his
chest and then turn my face up to his. He crushes his lips against mine and I’m lost, dizzy, my heart jackhammering in my chest, and then he breaks the connection and whispers in my ear.
“You didn’t think I’d miss both New Year’s and your eighteenth birthday, did you?”
“I…but your show…”
“I ran to the airport after the last note. Terry had arranged for a plane. I made it here with fifteen minutes to spare.”
“How many days can you stay?”
“Tonight and tomorrow. I’ve got to be back by the second. Just like you.”
Two nights. It isn’t nearly enough, but it’s everything.
“How long do we have to hang out here to be polite?”
“Realistically? Maybe an hour. But it’s your birthday. You can do whatever you want.”
I look at the group. “Lots of people flew in for this. We can’t just leave.”
“Give it an hour.”
I want to see my friends, but my desire to be alone with Derek is greater. I groan and then mask it by pretending to clear my throat. “Okay.”
Saul comes over like a big friendly bear and toasts me. “Happy New Year and happy birthday to the biggest star of the year!”
I smile and toast him back. “Thanks, Saul. Have you met Derek?”
Saul’s eyes narrow. “No, can’t say as I’ve had the privilege. Hello, young man. Congratulations on your success. How does it feel to be in the top forty?”
“Sage here says it’s nothing like what it feels to be in the top twenty.”
“I said in the top five. That’s where it gets really good.”
“Sweetheart, your next single will be number one. You can take that to the bank,” Saul says as Terry moves near.
“Terry, should I be getting nervous? Saul’s talking about banks.”
“Count the silverware before he leaves,” Terry says. “Although your record’s doing better than anyone could have hoped, so maybe he’ll play nice.”
“I always knew it would be a hit,” Saul says. Sebastian winks at me from across the room. “And the next one will make this look silly.”
Melody’s hovering near Sebastian, talking to June, who looks a hundred percent. I spend some time circulating, chatting first with my dad, then June and Sebastian, but every minute all I can think about is Derek, right here with me, making this birthday my absolute favorite ever. June’s now fully recovered and is entertaining everyone with her dry wit, and I introduce Derek to her with a shy smile. She leans into me when Derek’s looking away and winks, offering one word of comment: “Nice.”
Bruno and the band arrive and the party kicks into high gear, with other celebrities showing up as time goes by. After forty-five minutes, I beg off and say good night to everyone, thanking them for coming, but Saul won’t hear of it and barks something into his cell phone. Five minutes later a steward arrives with a massive chocolate cake in the shape of a guitar on a rolling table, and I shake my head at the eighteen candles. Melody takes pictures with her phone and I study the inscription below my name: Eighteen, and the Best of Everything!
I glance at Derek as I blow out the candles, and it wouldn’t take rocket science to know what my wish was. After ten more minutes we finally escape, and I lead him by the hand to the security entrance.
“Want to see my lavish hotel room?” I ask softly.
“Tomorrow. Tonight let’s stay in mine. It’s insane. Like the honeymoon suite.”
“Okay. But tell me it’s close by.”
We walk out into the moonlight, a tangerine moon high in the cloudless sky, and he points to a glowing tower across the strip.
“That close enough?”
“Race you.”
Chapter 37
Derek’s suite is the size of a house, but it could be a postage stamp as far as I’m concerned. I want to take a shower after being on stage, and Derek joins me in the marble bathroom. He kisses me gently as he slips my clothes off, accompanied by the hiss of the warm water, and then I undress him, reveling in the chiseled flatness of his stomach, the ridges of his abs, the carved steel of his arms.
We’re both naked, mouths locked hungrily together as we move into the shower, which is big enough to park a car in. He’s still kissing me as he feels for the soap, and when he finds it, he takes his time lathering me, his strong hands caressing me as water runs down our faces and into our mouths. But neither of us wants to break that link, and after a few minutes I take the soap from him and return the favor, my hands marveling at his naked perfection.
He groans as my soapy hand wraps around his shaft, already rock hard, and it only takes a few strokes for his breathing to change to one of panting hunger. I know what he wants as I let the soap fall from my fingers. I turn, his stiffness straining against my skin, and then his hands are cupping my breasts as he slides along my slick opening, teasing. The feeling of him is unbearable.
“Now,” I cry in a hoarse whisper, wanting him inside me, taking me like an animal from behind, but he pulls away.
“Condom,” he whispers, and I shake my head.
“I don’t care. Just don’t come in me.”
His cock plays along my oily wetness, and I push back, hoping to feel him thrust into me, but he backs away and moves to his jeans. He’s back in seconds, tearing the condom package open with his teeth, and then he’s clutching me to him again, and this time the entire measure of his hardness drives into me. I gasp at the throbbing fullness of him, and I rock against him, his hand supporting my right leg under my thigh as the incredible sensation pulses through me, the warmth of the water combining with my juices as I grind, never wanting the intense pleasure to end.
My hands splay against the marble wall as I push against him, willing him on, making small noises in the back of my throat. His other hand moves to my wet hair and he’s pulling it, taking me, mastering me, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before – we’re one, together, and I can’t get enough of him. Then the tightness is building in me, the tension mounting, my legs go weak and I’m coming, spasm after spasm rocking me, on and on, the intensity so powerful I’m bucking out of control against him.
He cries out and drives even further into me, and we moan together as our bodies contract. I’m still pulsing as he thrusts into me again and again, and then he’s holding me, the warmth of the shower rinsing us clean as our hearts beat together.
We slide downward, my legs weak, and he holds me, sitting on the shower floor. The water splatters around us like hot rain. I close my eyes, happier than I’ve ever been, the afterglow of my orgasm still radiating through me. I feel his lips on my shoulder, on my neck, and on my tattoo.
“I’ve been waiting forever for you,” I whisper.
“I’m here now.” I can feel the light dusting of stubble on his chin rub against my shoulder. “Happy eighteenth, Sage.”
“Does it feel any different now I’m legal?” I tease. He’s only a few months older than I am.
“You mean now you’re a mature, older woman?”
I twist and kiss him, then push to my feet. “I’m turning into a prune from the shower,” I say. “You going to stay in here all night?”
“Just give me a second and I’ll join you. There are some chocolate-covered strawberries in the bedroom by the minibar.”
“I’ve never had chocolate-covered strawberries before.” I turn and hold his gaze as he rises, the needle spray of water washing down his chest and back. “I hear they’re good for building stamina in older men.”
He grins. “Only one way to know for sure.”
“You read my mind.”
I find a thick white terrycloth robe that must weigh ten pounds, and after grabbing my clothes, I head into the magnificent bedroom, which is not only huge but lavish beyond imagination, right down to the stereotypical mirrors on the ceiling over the bed. The whole thing is so opulent and over the top I laugh to myself and shake my head, my hair still wet. I return to the bathroom and use Derek’s black plastic br
ush, sneaking glances at his naked form in the shower as he dries off.
“You know, you can just walk around like that. Won’t bother me a bit,” I say.
“What, soaking?”
“Um, nude, actually.”
“Oh. Because I might catch a cold or something if I walk around wet. Seems impractical.”
“Judging by the way things look, it’s not that cold in here.”
“I can see this will be too distracting unless I have a robe, too.”
“What do I have to concentrate on besides you?”
“I feel naked.”
“You are. That’s the part I like.”
“Have you tried the strawberries?”
I shake my head. “I’m waiting for you.”
He steps out of the shower and reaches for the other robe. I debate grabbing it and running off with it, but he’s too fast and has it on before I can pounce. I settle for kissing him. I just can’t get enough of his taste, his scent, the way he feels.
Eventually we stumble together to the bedroom, still kissing, and collapse on the bed. He brushes a wet lock of hair out of my eye and glances over at the strawberries aligned on a silver tray like little soldiers.
“Pretty good start to the year so far, huh?” he says, and I grin. I’m so happy I could burst, and I hug him to me.
“The best. Let’s just stay like this until we’re a hundred, okay?”
“I think we’d have a hard time paying for the place that long.”
“Then let’s find someplace we can afford and stay there.”
“Like together, on tour?” he asks. “In a week we’ll have almost ten days together.”
“That’s not enough.”
We’re both silent, and I finally stand and reach for the strawberries. I pick one up, eye it skeptically, and take a bite. My face warms and I smile at him. “Oh…my…God. You have got to try one of these.”
“That bad?”
“I’m serious.” I pick up another one and carry it to him. He lies back and opens his mouth, staring at his reflection in the mirror overhead. I place the strawberry on his tongue and he bites it in half, then munches, a look of concentration on his face. When he swallows, it’s audible.