by Karina Halle
He shook his head and brought out a cigarette. He offered me one from his tin, but I waved it away. He shrugged. “Thought maybe you needed one. Even non-smokers gotta smoke sometimes.”
“That’s an interesting philosophy,” I noted, standing up. “How do I hail a cab here, just flag them down? I think I’m going to go back to the hotel and get some rest before tonight. Maybe Jacob’s there.”
He stood up, too. “I’ll go with you,” he said quickly, flinging his spent matchstick onto the road. “We caught enough of soundcheck anyway, and the show doesn’t start until eight tonight.”
“So you really are my chaperone.”
“I like to look out for the ladies,” he said with a grin as he thrust out his arm, instantly stopping the nearest cab. After everything that Sage and I had discussed, I couldn’t argue with that. Especially when I was going back to the hotel where the supposed crazy maid was.
Once back at the hotel, I couldn’t find Jacob, so I ended up taking a much-needed nap. Even with the door locked and Max telling me to call or come to his room at any time, I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep. But I passed out right away and awoke to Max’s wake-up call, which consisted of him bleating like a sheep. Thank God it was still early enough for the sun to be in the sky, setting low on the horizon. I couldn’t have handled another disorienting wake-up experience in the darkness. Even so, when I got up, I made a point to turn on every single light in the bedroom and look everywhere for flies. There were none. I felt a trace of guilt for having been in Paris for twenty-four hours and not having seen any of the sights, but in the end I had to think of the big picture. And my job.
I got ready for the show, putting my hair up into a ponytail and pulling on boots, a denim skirt, and a thin tank top with Janice Joplin’s face sketched on it that I didn’t have to wear a bra with. For May, it was still quite chilly in Paris, but I knew the venue would be warm. That was one of the things I both loved and hated about concerts—that heat that only hundreds of sweaty, drunk, and adrenaline-fueled bodies can cause. It was just as intoxicating as the vibe.
Once again, I had missed Jacob, but I figured he was knee-deep in managing the band before they went on and making sure everything was going perfectly. With sharp bitterness, I imagined that Angeline was also there doing her job, and I tried to switch off my brain before I thought about Sage doing her. I honestly didn’t know how I was going to get past that. It was one thing to know he’d screwed lots of groupies and chicks over the last eight months; it was another to know what one of them looked like, to know she made her mark on his skin, that I’d have to see her in the flesh. It made everything so terrifyingly real.
I was heading down the stairs to meet Max in the lobby when I caught a peculiar odor on the fourth floor. I looked down the hall, thinking someone had left a bag of rancid garbage outside their door when all the lights on the floor started flickering. At the end of the hallway, a tall figure came around the corner and then stopped.
I stared at the figure, my hand covering my nose to block the stench, feeling like there was something terribly wrong here. The figure came forward, a black coat trailing behind, and I realized it was a man. He came halfway up the hall and then stopped again, in between the lights so he was hidden in shadow. I don’t know why I didn’t keep walking down the stairs, why I was so drawn to this person coming down the hall like a regular hotel guest.
Maybe because in my heart I knew he wasn’t a regular hotel guest.
“Dawn,” I heard a faint voice whisper, coming from his direction. “Dawn before the darkness.” The voice was ethereal yet menacing, and I started to smell the metallic tang of blood. I took my hand away from my nose and saw blood smeared on my fingers. A nosebleed.
I looked back at the man, but he was gone. The hallway was empty. Cold.
A woman in a tweed suit was coming up the stairs with a lapdog in her arms. She gave me an incorrigible look as she squeezed past me—I was too stunned to move. As she did, her Lhasa Apso started barking like mad down the hallway, toward the place where the man had been. The man who had whispered my name.
“Do you smell that?” I whispered, more to the dog than to the woman.
The women muttered something in French that was probably “buzz off” and kept going up the stairs, eyeing me suspiciously over the railing as she went.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up, telling me to go and go now. I swiftly ran down the rest of the stairs until I practically slammed into Max in the lobby.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he asked.
“Nowhere. Let’s go, I don’t want to be late.”
“Wait, what’s wrong?” He grabbed my hand and peered at it. “You’re bleeding.”
I tried to shrug. “Just a nosebleed. Came out of nowhere.”
He fished out a Kleenex from his pocket and handed it to me.
“Thank you,” I said, embarrassed. I wiped away the last of the blood and threw the Kleenex in the trash.
He tugged at his camera bag and gestured to the exit doors. “After you.” We started walking and were almost outside when he asked, “Don’t you need a sweater?”
“It’ll be hot in the venue,” I managed to say, trying to keep my wits about me and my paranoia under control.
“But you’re shivering.”
He was right.
Since it was a Friday night, it took us some time to hail a cab to the venue. By the time we arrived, the place was absolutely swarming with people. There were men outside with signs, perhaps asking to buy tickets, and a long line up around the block. My heart began to pound in my throat. Sage really was a big deal here—people everywhere were wearing his Sage Wisdom shirts or Hybrid shirts. My heart swelled with a strange blend of pride and jealousy—all these people were there to see him, just as I was there to see him. Tonight he wasn’t just mine. Not that he was ever just mine; obviously he was Angeline’s the other night, but even so, I knew I had to share him with the masses.
Max paid the cabbie and ushered me out of the car. I was so strangely starstruck by everything—his name on the glowing marquee, the squeals and cries of the fans trying to get in, and that thick, meaty rumble of the opening band already playing inside. Max brought out our press passes and gently put mine around my neck as he puffed on another cigarette. I barely noticed the smoke going into my face.
“Want to go in here, or do you want to try a little backdoor action?” he asked with a wag of his brows.
I smiled, letting the adrenaline fuzz all over me like radio waves. “Back door. I’m that kind of girl.”
“Good to know,” he said and took my elbow, leading me down the block until we could cut into the alleyway that serviced the back of the venue. I could be highly self-indulgent when it came to music and covering music. I loved my fucking all-access and press passes like nobody’s business, and since Hybrid, I hadn’t covered a show this big, let alone one that meant this much to me. I wanted to use all of this to my complete advantage, and if this meant going in through the back door, where only the privileged people or crew were allowed, then that’s what I was going to do.
We went down the alley, which was filled with alley cats and garbage that tumbled in the chilling breeze. I started shivering and Max took off his leather jacket and placed it over my shoulders. I didn’t even protest.
There were a few vans parked outside the door and roadies running stuff in and out. I recognized one of them from the soundcheck earlier and smiled at him. He grinned back and motioned for us to hurry inside while he carried in a pedal board. After we waved our passes at the theater’s bouncer, who scrutinized mine until the roadie had to tell him who I was, we stepped inside to the smoke-filled backstage area.
People were hustling back and forth, and the opening band was playing a wicked cover of Led Zeppelin’s “Heartbreaker,” which made the ornate lights above us sway and the crowd cry out.
“You think people will ever get sick of
hearing Led Zeppelin?” Max asked cynically as we flattened ourselves against a wall to make room for people who were bringing seat rows out of the pit and down the hall.
I shook my head. “I bet thirty years from now, you’ll still hear ‘Stairway to Heaven’ on the radio.”
“Mercy, I hope not.”
“Well, if it isn’t my redheaded brethren,” Jacob said as he appeared at the opposite end of the hall. He’d changed into a velvet suit that matched the chair cushions in the theater. He glanced at a pocket watch. “Running a bit late, yeah?”
“Sorry,” I said as we approachd him. “Took longer than we thought to get here.” I paused. “I was looking for you earlier.”
His beady amber eyes fastened on me in curiosity. “Been a bit busy, love. Hope it wasn’t too important.”
Well, it definitely wasn’t something I was going to spring on him here. I shook my head. “No, it was nothing. How are things?”
“Opening band sucks,” Max put in.
Jacob gave him a dry look before turning to me. “Things are chaotic. Everything is going to shite. If you haven’t noticed, people have started dancing and throwing themselves around in the orchestra pit already, so they’re trying to take away the seats. The venue is at capacity. Tricky’s amp has blown, so we have to see if we can borrow one. Sage has managed to stay sober, but I don’t know how much longer that will last. Oh, and I made the bloody keyboardist cry.”
“Where is Sage?” I asked. “Can I see him?”
“First door down there,” Jacob pointed. “Has a star on it if you can believe it. You can tell him he’s got fifteen minutes before they have to go on. Max will be down in the photography pit for the first three songs. You can watch from the side stage with me, Dawn. It’ll be like old times.” He grinned.
I nodded, clutching my pass anxiously, and scooted off down the hall before someone decided to take up all of Sage’s time.
I quickly knocked, hoping he was alone. In the background, “Heartbreaker” came to a thunderous close, which made the crowd erupt into muffled cheers. God, there was nothing better than live music, even when you couldn’t see it.
“What?” Sage yelled from the other side.
“It’s Dawn.”
I heard shuffling and suddenly the door swung open halfway. He poked his head out and looked into the hallway both ways. Then he put his hand behind my shoulder and scuttled me inside, shutting the door behind me.
The dressing room was small but was obviously used for actors in the theater, with its clothes rack and huge vanity mirror framed by frosted lightbulbs. On the desk was a bottle of Jameson whiskey, half gone, as well as a setlist and an acoustic guitar.
I looked to Sage, who was standing in the middle of the room, running his hand though his thick, black curls. He’d obviously drunk the whiskey, but his eyes were sharp and crystal clear. Maybe that’s what Jacob meant by sober.
He also looked amazing. A drop-dead gorgeous rock and roll star. He was wearing his combat boots, tight black jeans, a silver necklace with a wicked-looking cross at the end, and a black leather vest with no shirt underneath, which meant you could see the beauty of his body, his bronzed skin and the tattoos on his upper arms. He wasn’t as muscular as he’d been before having lost a bit of weight, but his form was still hard and well-cut. I had to touch my mouth to make sure I wasn’t drooling.
This was the last man who’d been inside me.
“You look great,” I found myself saying. Stupidly, I might add. “How are you holding up?”
He just shook his head and went straight to the bottle. He poured a full glass, handed the glass to me, and kept the bottle to himself.
“I need you to drink with me,” he said.
“You have to go on in fifteen minutes,” I said, eyeing the whiskey in my hands. “Jacob said.”
“And I won’t go on if I don’t stop freaking the fuck out.”
I looked at him sharply. He seemed so in control when I’d seen him perform earlier. Now, though his eyes were clear, I could see the fear in them and the way he tensed his jaw. I felt myself thaw a little inside, knowing how vulnerable he actually was. The veteran rocker who had been to Hell and back was actually afraid.
I tried to smile reassuringly. “You’re going to be fine, Sage.”
He shook his head and stepped over to me, putting his strong hand on mine and making me raise the glass to my lips. His eyes bore into me like burning stars. “Please don’t make me drink alone. I need you to…just be here with me.”
I felt the air sucked out of me, the tingling feeling swirling in my chest, the feeling of his hand on mine. I wanted that hand everywhere. Despite the setback, the pain over the last day, the creepy shit on the horizon, I still fucking wanted him like I’ve never wanted anyone before.
I nodded and opened my mouth, and he tipped the glass until the liquid burned down my throat. A tiny bit spilled out of my lips and his thumb was there, slowly wiping it away. I was so tempted to take his thumb into my mouth, but he removed it and put it in his mouth instead, slowly sucking the whiskey off. His eyes never left mine. My core tightened in response.
“This is a big show,” he said in a low, gruff voice. He turned my hand over so it was palm-up to his mouth. “And I don’t know how I’m going to please everyone. But most of all, I don’t know how I’m going to please you. Because in the end,” he kissed my open palm, his lips soft, “your opinion is the only one that counts.”
I gulped, my legs starting to shake slightly. This was turning from a pre-show check-in, some observation I’d later add to the article, into something else. Something much more. I could feel it in the energy around us.
He took another step toward me so that our faces were inches apart and cupped my face with both his hands. I couldn’t look away from his gaze, from this man I’d loved; I was trapped in it, and willingly.
“You know what I think,” I said in barely a whisper, my lips grazing his as I spoke.
“You’ve said a lot of things over the last few days,” he murmured.
I smiled nervously, so afraid to admit what he already knew. “To these people, you’re a golden god, Sage. More than that, you’re my golden god. That never, ever changed.”
He leaned in and kissed me right below the ear. I closed my eyes, relishing the sparks he created, breathing in his intoxicating scent. “I think you might be the best cure for stage fright this world has ever known.” Suddenly he pulled back and went to the door, hand on the lock. “How much time did Jacob say I had?”
“Fifteen minutes,” I told him breathlessly. “Maybe ten now.”
He grinned, showing off those dimples. “That’s enough time to make you come twice.”
My eyes widened while a beautiful terror wound itself around my body. My underwear was probably soaked in seconds flat. Before I had time to get really nervous, he locked the door and was at me, my face grasped between his strong hands, his lips on mine. He kissed me like a feverish man, lost and delirious and wanting, always wanting. I tried to catch up, my hands flying to his chest, feeling the coldness of the leather against the warmth of his skin. I clawed at him, clumsy and eager, while he fucked my mouth with his tongue, ran lips down my neck, pulled my body up against his until I could feel for myself just how hard he was, how badly he wanted me.
I felt like I was reliving a memory I’d abandoned, but this was real; it was happening. Our hands on each other felt like second nature, my body fitting against his like a puzzle piece that clicked into place. This was so easy, so fucking easy, and yet it thrilled me like nothing else, a hit of adrenaline worth a million live shows.
“Dawn,” he groaned into my mouth. “I want to fuck you so bad. I won’t be able to play my guitar until I play you.”
I gripped his head, my fingers lost in his curls, and was overtaken by the passion burning through me. “Then play me. Make me scream your name, and then make that crowd scream your name.”
&nbs
p; “You’ve got it,” he said. Then he picked me up, his hands under my ass, fumbled forward, and brushed the setlist and guitar off to the side until I was sitting on the desk, my head smashing briefly against the mirror, the lights shaking. I quickly pulled my tank top over my head and tossed it over it his shoulder. He covered my nipples with his mouth, smoothing them over with his wide tongue while he reached down and bunched my skirt up around my hips.
I moaned loudly. I hadn’t had this feeling, this exquisite, nerve-dazzling feeling in such a long time. I felt like I was being awakened from one hell of a slumber.
He reached around to his back pocket, and I heard the tear of a condom wrapper. While he fiddled with that, I grabbed his belt buckle and brought him right up to me, my legs wrapping around his slender waist, the heels of my boots digging into the dents on his lower back. I unzipped his pants, freeing his cock from them. It was still so fucking beautiful, dangerously beautiful, and once it again it was mine. I bit my lip, relishing the weight and length of it in my hands.
He slipped the condom on it with precision then stroked his long fingers against my clit until they slowly entered me, one by one. His skilled fingers that could coax the most amazing sounds from his guitar and make me feel like I was another one of his virile instruments.
“You’re ready for me again,” he said, his eyes staring hard into mine, his breath shaking with lust.
“I never stopped being ready,” I said.
His eyes flashed with fire, his mouth dropped open, and it was on mine again as he grabbed my ponytail with one fist while he guided himself into me with his other hand. I gasped at the intrusion, the stab of pain that only lasted a few seconds before my body relaxed and molded to him, another missing piece of the puzzle.
He pushed into me slowly, each thrust measured and controlled. But as his grip on my hair tightened, pulling my head back against the mirror and exposing my throat to his tongue, mouth, teeth, he pushed into me harder, fuller, all the way to the hilt. His pace became faster, his breath harder, his groans louder, his thumb sliding quicker on my clit until I was coming and couldn’t do anything about it.