Angel kissed Tommy. Tommy kissed Jessi. Jessi kissed Angel. The sound of their panting filled the room. Too exhausted to move, Tommy listened to their labored breaths grow softer and softer, until slumber carried him away.
“Angel’s gone again?” Tommy sunk his fork into a steaming plate of eggs benedict.
“He said he wanted to run on the treadmill for an hour or so, and then take a few laps in the pool.” Jessi refilled Tommy’s cup of coffee. “He’s trying to work off these big breakfasts and dinners we’ve been eating.”
Tommy ran his hand over his abs and felt a little extra padding that hadn’t been there when he was in his early twenties. “Maybe I should join him.”
“No. Angel said he’d meet us back here in about two hours, then we can all go over to the festival and catch the first day’s lineup. We have the morning all to ourselves. Just you and me. What trouble can we get into?”
Tommy pulled her into his lap and circled his hands around her waist, which was as trim as it had been since she was in college.
She laughed uncontrollably and wiggled in his arms. “Stop! That tickles!”
His mouth found her lips and silenced her laughter. In an instant, she relaxed and melted into his chest while letting out a deep sigh.
“Do you want to go back to bed?” he asked with a sly smile.
“I have a better idea. Let’s go to the New York New York Hotel.”
“And rent a room?”
“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of visiting the lobby and their tribute to New York City. Remember how we went to Coney Island on one of our first dates and rode the Cyclone?”
It seemed like a million years ago and like yesterday at the same time. “I remember every single moment we’ve spent together, hon. I bought you a hot dog and you dripped mustard on your top. I won a stuffed tiger for you by knocking over milk bottles with a beanbag. We laughed at our distorted images in the fun house mirror. I even tried to coax you into getting a tattoo.”
Jessi stared at him with wide eyes. “How can you remember all of that?”
“You mean you don’t?”
“Of course I do. I just never expected you to.”
“I may not be as romantic as Angel, but every minute we spend together is painted in my memory.” He squeezed her thigh. “I think it’s a great idea.”
They had only been on the road a few weeks but seeing replicas of iconic New York City buildings, fronted by Lady Liberty in all of her green majestic glory, hit Tommy with a bout of homesickness. He took Jessi’s hand and looked up at the arches that turned the walkway into a makeshift version of the Brooklyn Bridge. “It’s just like home.”
Jessi let out a whimsical laugh. “Only without the traffic.”
A wail of screams rose from a group of fans nearby as they realized Tommy and Jessi were at the center of the little bubble of security. Tommy waved and Jessi tried to step around the bodyguards to talk to the fans, but Tommy pulled her back to his side. “We don’t have much time before we have to get back. Let’s enjoy it.”
“There aren’t that many people. It will just take a minute.”
“I know. But you know what happens. It’ll escalate and get out of hand. Before you know it the morning will be gone and we’ll have to go back to meet Angel and miss our little trip down memory lane.” His plan was to reenact their date. It was a spur-of-the moment idea that popped into his head once Jessi mentioned Coney Island.
“OK.” Jessi wrapped her arms around him and gave him a smoldering kiss, which caused another wave of piercing screams.
Standing inside the hotel, Tommy felt as if they stepped into a different world. Jessi’s heels clicked on the cobblestone walkway underneath their feet. Even though they were inside, it looked as if there were outside. The façade of a New York City apartment building, complete with wrought iron fire escape, towered above them. A deli offered outdoor seating, while overhead signs announced parking garages and small businesses. It was surreal. The New York New York Hotel had been transformed into the city they left behind. There weren’t any fun house mirrors, but Tommy bought Jessi a Nathan’s hot dog.
“Oh no!” she squealed when a dollop of mustard dripped off the end. It didn’t hit her top, but landed on the floor at her feet.
Tommy laughed as he wiped it up with a napkin. She always smothered her hot dogs in so much mustard. Afterwards, they stopped in Nine Fine Irishmen, had a beer, and then took a ride on the roller coaster. He watched her, hair flying and laughing with a smile that lit up her entire face. Afterwards, Jessi wrapped her arms around Tommy and laughed harder than she had in a long time.
“I had so much fun today, baby! I feel like we’re teenagers again.”
“Me, too. I’m glad you had a good time, hon.” He loved seeing her so carefree and animated. They hadn’t had many days where it was just the two of them lately, so this unexpected time together was extra special.
Jessi checked her phone. “I think we can head back to the room now.”
“Everything OK with the kids?”
“No messages, so I guess that means it’s all good on the home front.”
When they got back to The Venetian, a large commotion filled the lobby. Tommy bobbed his head trying to see what caused the uproar when a flurry of long blond hair caught his eye. He should have known that Brandon Bullet evoked the mayhem around them. Even Tommy’s blood pumped a little faster at the sight of the heavy metal rock god. Tommy pointed toward the lead singer to Bulletproof. “It’s Brandon. Let’s go say hi.”
Jessi pulled Tommy toward the elevator. “He’s probably busy. Let’s go upstairs—”
“Is that Angel?”
“What? No.” Jessi tugged on Tommy’s arm again.
He stood still, his heart hammering and his gut twisting. He knew what he saw. Brandon had been speaking to a dark-haired man, and then they shared an embrace. It was at the last second when they pulled away that Tommy caught a glimpse of Angel before he disappeared into the crowd flanked by two bodyguards, and Brandon got swept away by his security team. “That was Angel with Brandon. I’m sure of it.”
“Where? I don’t see him.”
“That’s because he’s gone.” Unease tightened Tommy’s chest like a vice, while crazy thoughts ping-ponged in his head. He pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly tapped a text message to Angel.
TOMMY: Where are you?
ANGEL: In the room. Where are you?
Skeptical, Tommy’s brows pinched together as he stared at the screen. He took Jessi by the hand and raced toward the elevator without bothering to reply to Angel’s text message. Jessi watched him in the elevator while he tapped his foot on the floor and his fingers knocked against his leg. He ran down the hall as soon as the elevator doors opened and flew into the suite.
“There you are. I was waiting for you to text me back.” Angel sat on the couch watching the TV, feet on the coffee table.
Confused, since he was sure Angel couldn’t have made it back to the suite before them from the lobby, Tommy stared at his husband. Maybe he was wrong and it hadn’t been Angel downstairs with Brandon. Except . . . Angel was staring at a blank television screen and there were tiny beads of sweat on his forehead, and he was slightly out of breath.
Tommy stood at the side of the stage watching Stick Shift Lips, but his mind was somewhere else. Yesterday afternoon and evening had been spent watching bands and mingling backstage, so any misgivings about Brandon and Angel had been pushed to the wayside. When Tommy had gone to sleep last night his head had been in a good place. Today started out the same way, but as the day progressed and Immortal Angel’s set time neared, Tommy kept thinking about Angel and Brandon performing together.
He realized that there was another underlying reason why the on-stage connection between Angel and Brandon bothered him so much. He was expecting to bond with Brandon on stage. Brandon Bullet was someone that he admired. The man was an icon. Bulletproof’s frontman was a head-banging
heavy metal god who sang the genre of music that Tommy loved. The opportunity of a lifetime to perform with Brandon was thwarted because Angel was the one facing off with Brandon on stage – not him. He rubbed his forehead, baffled at the complexity of his emotions. He wasn’t just jealous of Brandon; he was jealous of Angel as well. And the three hours Angel and Brandon had spent together the other morning, without him, still haunted him.
Tommy returned to the tour bus, leaving Jimmy with Audra and her sister Kira at the side of the stage. He was bothered by so many things that it distracted him from enjoying the show.
His gaze went straight to Angel as soon as he boarded the tour bus. Standing in the kitchen, facing the opposite direction, Angel was buttoning his leather jeans. The perfect silhouette of Angel’s leather-clad ass greeted Tommy, and his eyes were riveted.
“Back so soon?” Jessi asked, barely looking up from tugging on the hem of Angel’s pant leg.
“I figured I’d just wait here until it’s time for us to head to the stage.” Damien and Alyssa were also on the bus, sitting in front of the flat screen TV. Tommy joined them on the couch, but his gaze kept returning to Angel.
Damien was flipping between channels, so they never got to watch anything for more than a few minutes. Tommy didn’t care because he wasn’t really paying attention, but it drove Alyssa crazy.
She tossed a pillow at Damien and stood up. “You’re getting me dizzy. That’s why you’re not allowed to play with the remote at home.” She huffed, rolled her eyes, and joined Jessi who was still in the kitchen area with Angel, now sewing something onto the sleeve of Angel’s jacket.
Damien put down the remote and gave Tommy an evil grin. “I just like to fuck with her.”
“I wouldn’t mess with her if I were you,” Tommy replied. Alyssa was a piercer who pushed a needle through flesh with sadistic joy. And no one knew it better than Damien did. Maybe that’s why he liked to fuck with her.
They watched whatever was on the TV without saying anything, until Damien nudged Tommy with his elbow. “What are you so glum about? We’re getting ready to do a killer show.”
Tommy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know. I should be ecstatic. We got this great gig tonight. Brandon Bullet and Derek MacAlister are joining us on stage. Playing with them is on my bucket list.”
“First of all,” Damien pointed out, “we’re not playing with them. They’re playing with us. That’s what makes it so cool.”
“Yeah. I know. It was Derek’s idea. I was totally blown away when he suggested it. And then when Brandon wanted to sing with Angel,” Tommy put his hand to his forehead, “I almost lost my fucking mind. I thought it was going to be fucking epic.”
“And it’s not?”
“No.”
“I was at rehearsal. It sounded pretty fucking epic to me.” Damien pulled his booted ankle across his knee. “They got real chemistry on stage too, especially for two dudes who sing totally different genres of music.”
That was exactly what bothered Tommy the most. He’d never taken a backseat to someone on stage before. It was always him and Angel feeding off each other. They provoked one another to dig deep and pull out notes and beats that neither one of them knew they possessed. Now Brandon was the one who gave Angel that extra push.
Damien leaned over and nudged Tommy with his shoulder. “You don’t like that gay blond dude, who happens to look just like you, up in your guy’s face matching vocals and sharing a connection that, up until now, only you and Angel shared.”
Tommy snapped his head in Damien’s direction, almost blinding himself on the spikes of Damien’s mohawk. Holy fuck. Was it that obvious?
“Besides the audience, Angel hasn’t looked at anyone else on stage since you joined the band,” Damien continued. “It’s always been you and him feeding off each other, grinding against each other, and driving the crowd crazy. Now someone else is up there for him to play with and the audience is gonna go nuts. And your rock star idol is paying more attention to Angel than he is to you.”
Damien just voiced every concern running through Tommy’s head, and it struck a nerve like a cattle prod. “What the fuck?” Tommy shoved Damien away with his elbow. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”
“I am. That’s why I’m gonna tell you that you’re an idiot. Since Angel met you, he’s been blind. A hundred people could be in the room. All he sees is you. He doesn’t want a look-alike.” Damien poked Tommy in the chest – pretty fucking hard. “He wants Tommy Blade. And that’s you.”
One thing about Damien’s crass, unfiltered truthfulness – it hits home real fast. The guy held no punches and laid everything on the line. It really put things into perspective. Tommy knew where he stood in Angel’s heart. And singer against singer is just how things went on stage. He may not be battling Brandon Bullet, but he’d be dueling axes with Derek MacAlister, and that was legendary. He needed to brush off his bruised ego and put on a show that’ll knock the hell out of this festival. He’d just have to deal with being in the shadows of Angel’s attention for a little while when Brandon Bullet graced the stage.
The energy level of the crowd was at an all-time high, thanks to today’s spectacular lineup. Tommy’s foot bounced on the floor and his fingers twitched on the neck of his Les Paul. He was itching to play the opening intro. He was ready to run on stage and rip down the curtain. All of the trepidation that had been swimming in his head and tearing him apart was gone. The only thing that mattered now was his performance. Immortal Angel needed to give the fans a show that topped the phenomenal acts that ran all day.
“Are you as excited as I am?” Angel whispered in Tommy’s ear from behind.
“I’m ready to rock my fucking—” Tommy stopped speaking as soon as he turned to face Angel. Known for his outlandish stage outfits, Angel was often covered in spikes and studs. And Tommy had the marks to prove it. Tonight, Angel went overboard. This was Las Vegas, and Angel was channeling Elvis Presley meets James Dean.
Back in the tour bus and on their way to the stage, Angel had been shirtless while Jessi adjusted last-minute bits and pieces of his jacket, so Tommy never saw Angel’s full opening ensemble. It was a bedazzled kaleidoscope of prismatic color. It was spectacular. Rhinestones completely covered the black leather motorcycle jacket. Spikes, in graduating lengths from one to at least three inches tall, ran up the sleeves and clustered on each shoulder. His signature skin-tight leather jeans had a splatter of crystals centered at the crotch and spread out like a starburst tapering off to the outer edges of his thighs.
Tommy winced at the sparkle. “Are you sure you have enough rhinestones?”
“They’re Swarovski crystals and our wife handstitched each one.”
Tommy squinted and looked closer. He slung his Les Paul to the back, so it didn’t get scratched by Angel’s metal protrusions, and took a step forward to examine the stones. Each one had tiny stitches securing it to the leather. “I thought they were glued on.”
Angel rubbed his rhinestone-encrusted crotch in a circular motion against Tommy. “They wouldn’t last ten minutes if they were glued on.”
It was a wonder the stitching didn’t tear just from the bulge at Angel’s groin. “I hope she used heavy-weight thread.”
“Of course I did.” Jessi’s voice was in Tommy’s left ear. “I know what happens once you two get on stage.”
They both turned to her with a smile.
“I can’t help it,” Angel said. “This man and the music he creates drives me into an erotic frenzy.”
A thunder from the audience filled the air. The lights had dimmed, which meant Immortal Angel’s entrance on the stage was imminent, and the crowd was screaming. The familiar chorus of “Imoooortal! Aaangel!” echoed in the desert air. Tommy’s heart raced. The call of the fans filled him with a euphoric high. He flipped his Les Paul around so it was across his chest once again and fingered the fret board, eager to bring his instrument to life.
Damien and Jimmy
joined Tommy and Angel in a pre-show huddle.
Angel professed his usual thanks and appreciation to the powers that be. “Thank you God and the universe for another amazing opportunity to do what we love to do on stage. May my voice and the music fill each member of the audience with the same joy and energy it brings each one of us.”
“Here’s to another night livin’ the dream with my brothers,” Damien said, yanking on Tommy and Angel’s necks with his forearms.
“I’m ready to kill it!” Jimmy proclaimed.
Tommy took hold of his Les Paul. “Let’s rock this shit!” He rattled off his signature intro and the curtain dropped. He ran onto the stage and fell to his knees at the apron, still fingering the strings of his guitar. Arms stretched toward him and screams pierced his eardrums.
Another round of cheers rang through the air when Jimmy jumped onto the drum riser and held his sticks above his head in one fist.
Damien sauntered on stage and slung his Ibanez over his shoulder, as if he had all the time in the world, while the fans yelled and pumped their fists up to the sky.
The warm desert air dusted against Tommy’s cheeks. There were a million stars shining down from the black sky. The open field made the crowd look a mile deep and twice as wide. The vast space amplified their voices as the fans cheered. Everyone was ready to rock, but Immortal Angel’s illustrious frontman had yet to grace the stage.
A different color of cone-shaped light illuminated each band member, but Angel’s spot remained dark. Shouts of “Tommy! Damien!” and “Jimmy!” were heard above the collective roar of the audience, but one chant was more prevalent than the rest – “Angel! Angel! Angel!”
The Stage Page 8