by Daisy Allen
“Ahem, Anca is not a manslutsticle!” Hailey points out.
“Okay, maybe not that. I already told her she’s not allowed to have a boyfriend until she’s 50. And even then, only holding hands. And some innocent dancing, as long as they adopt the ‘6 inches between you for the holy ghost’ rule.”
“Yeah, that’s not what the 6 inches between us is going to be for, my loving brother.” I can’t help shooting at him with a wink, to the sound of whistles and whoops and a glare from Jez.
My eyes steal a look in Marius’ direction, who I’ve been trying to avoid and catch him doing the same. He holds my look for a moment, then coughs and looks away, pretending to call for the waitress for another round of drinks. I can’t help feeling disappointed, when I know I shouldn’t. You’re just lucky he hasn’t kicked you out of the band, you idiot. I remind myself. Stolen glances are not going to do you any good.
“Oh, but I’ve been meaning to ask.” Brad turns to me. “What happened at the beginning of your first song, you missed the cue a few times and then Marius went over to talk to you before you started playing.”
I open my mouth, but I don’t have a reply.
My eyes flit to Marius’s again, but he’s already on it. He stands up and hands around a bowl of peanuts.
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. I went over when Anca missed the cue and noticed one of her pedals was stuck so I just gave it a little… unsticking. It was fine after that.”
“It was better than fine. It was bloody, fucking magical.” Hailey says, throwing her head back, downing a shot.
“Thanks, Hails.” I smile at her. Every word of praise filling up the hole of dread still gurgling in my chest that they’re going to find out I’m a total fraud.
“Yeah, yeah, you’ve thanked me enough by adding some estrogen to the group. I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself with Cadence gone. Emily’s good, but she’s busy writing post-show a lot for her publication and blog, and these guys can be pretty unbearable with their chest pounding after a good concert.”
“Hey, I can pound a chest with the best of them.” I grin, thumping my fist against my chest and giving a little growl. The beer has obviously gone to my head fast.
“Oh my god, the images of Anca and Hailey chest pounding!!” Brad says and makes a panting noise. Then stops. “Oh wait, I’m engaged. Damn. Jez, you take over.”
“Gross, she’s my sister, dog turd for brains.”
“Fine, then Marius.”
“She’s Jez’s sister, double dog turd for brains!” Marius protests, and I’m careful to not look at him, in case he sees my disappointment.
“You guys are no fun. Sebastian?” Brad turns to his fellow engaged bandmate for help.
“Yeah, no. If I even thought about any other women chest pounding, she could hear it from 10 thousand miles away, I’m sure of it,” he cringes.
“Fine.” Brad says, sulking, mumbling into his beer.
I giggle and sneak a peek at Marius over the rim of my beer glass. He’s looking at his phone, absentmindedly scratching his stomach and I can’t help but think, what it would feel like, to be pressed up against him, his chest crushing mine, my hands scratching down his back.
I shake my head, but the images stick.
“Hailey? I’m going to need more beer.”
***
“G’night guys!!” I wave to the others as we stumble down the hotel hallway, stopping off at our respective rooms. “Thanks for the hangover!”
“No problem, babe! All thanks to Brad’s credit card!” Emily giggles drunkenly and blows me a kiss. She had joined us after posting her article to her editor. And made a worthy female ally in terms of keeping the guys in their places.
“Ugh, I was wondering where that went. Come now, me Brad, you naughty drunken woman,” Brad mumbles as he lifts his fiancée over his shoulder and carries her like a caveman back to their room.
“Dum dum dum dum,” I hum slightly out of tune under my breath as I fumble with my key card. “Ooopsidaisy,” I giggle when I drop it, and stare at it on the floor, trying to figure out how to get it back in my hands.
“Geez, here!” Jez comes up, picking it off the ground and sticking it in the slot. “Get in there,” he says, pushing me through the door and sitting me down on the bed. “You okay? You shouldn’t have drunk so much.”
“Ugh, didn’t I already say goodnight to you?” I say, trying to kick my shoes off.
“Yeah, that was before you couldn’t figure out how knees work.”
“Well, thank you for my biology lesson, you can go now. Anca go night-night.”
“No, Anca go tell Jez what happened tonight-night.”
“You talk funny.”
“Anca.”
“Ugh, what?”
“What happened on stage? Did you have another… um, thing.”
“Thing?”
“I don’t know what to call it. You know, panic thing. Because of the…”
I hold my hand up against his face. Don’t say, it Jez. Don’t say his name. Not today, don’t ruin my mood. “I’m fine. Just a little hiccup.” And right on cue, I hiccup.
“Why didn’t you take a sedative, I thought those were working for you?”
“I did and they are or were. I dunno, I think it’s just ‘cos it’s a bigger crowd than I’ve ever been used to. Anyway, Marius is going to help me.”
“Help you with what?”
“My stage fright, he helped me tonight on stage. And he said he’s going to help me get over it. He said he used to have it.”
“Yeah, he did. Oh god, the vomit.”
“Ew, vomit.”
“Yeah, big ew. Did you… does he know everything?”
“There’s nothing to know, Jezzy. Remember? It’s all over.” I feel myself tip over, and I cuddle up with a pillow. In the fuzzy background, I hear Jez sigh and feel him gently pull my shoes off.
“I don’t know if this was a good idea, Anca.”
“It was. Thank you. I had a wonderful night. My big brother.” I sigh and a blanket is pulled over me.
“Okay, then. Good night, baby girl. You did good tonight.” He whispers and kisses me gently on the forehead.
“Marius is nice, isn’t he?” I say, slowly feeling my body grow heavy and light at once as I fight sleep.
“What?” Jez asks.
“I mean, Marius is nice, for offering to help. With my problem”
“Um, yeah. Yes, he is. Don’t forget to thank him.”
“I won’t. Night, Jezzy.”
“Night, Anca.”
I think I’m asleep even before he leaves the room.
Chapter Fourteen
Marius
She’s trying to kill me.
Like kill me dead.
With a heart attack.
Like in a film noir, with me clutching my chest and lying prone on the grass in a Parisian garden while a camera zooms out and up, filming me from above while it spins. And she’s standing to the side, silently cackling, her mission accomplished.
I’m telling you, she looked up “the perfect murder” on the internet, on how to kill me without leaving a trace of her guilt, and now’s she implementing her plan, perfectly, step by torturous step.
How?
By wearing skin-tight, baby pink yoga pants, a G-string and bending over to reach her toes. Stretching. Right in fucking front of me, with that ass, that cock-instantly-hardening-like-a-baseball-bat fucking ass, barely three feet from my face.
Of course, now I can’t stand up and stretch because of the tent pole in my pants, after I agreed that I’d go through the yoga routine with her. A trade off, her yoga routine for my meditation session to help with her stage fright. Except the only thing that might frighten her now is my passing out from blood deprivation to the upper part of my body.
Fuck.
Please stop.
God, no. This isn’t happening.
Now she’s lunging. Lunging in those flimsy excuses for yoga pants
should be considered illegal. I’m bloody sure there are parts of the world where it is.
Seriously? This is NOT funny, love-god, or sex-god, or love/sex-devil. This is hell.
Hell not to touch, that is. But fucking heaven to look at.
When I knocked on her door this morning and told her to get dressed, I should’ve been more specific.
A garbage bag, should’ve been one of the suggestions. Granny jeans pulled up to your neck and socks with sandals, would’ve been another helpful outfit idea.
Though, with her body, I’d probably still want to fuck her anyway, garbage bag, granny shorts combo and all.
Fuck.
“Marius.”
“Huh, what?” I look up, half shielding my eyes in case she’s decided to do the splits, in which case, the murder mission would be complete.
“I’m done stretching,” she says. She’s done. Thank the bloody heavens. “Are you just going to sit there like a lump? You’re going to get stiff.”
“Er, yeah. I stretched this morning. In my room.” I stutter, wishing I was in my room right now. Alone. Taking care of my stiffness problem.
Jabba the hut wearing nipple tassels, Jabba the hut wearing nipple tassels, I repeat to myself, my go-to hard-on killer.
It’s working at least.
I get up, pulling my t-shirt down to hide the remnants of my erection and wave her over to a cool spot under a tree.
I tell her to sit on the ground, and she does, even though she looks a little wary.
“Have you ever meditated before?”
She tells me no and crosses her arms. It’s more for protection from failure than just pure defensiveness, I think. I can’t really see her expression behind the sunglasses, so I take mine off, and tell her to do the same. She hesitates so I reach over and gently take them off. She doesn’t protest but doesn’t look happy about it.
I ignore her and hold out my hands. “Anca, put your hands in mine.”
“What? Why?” She looks down and frowns at my hands outstretched towards her.
I smile gently and say softly, “Just do it.”
She sighs and then unfolds her arms and rests the tips of her fingers against mine. I don’t push for more, it was mostly to get her to unfold her arms without just telling her outright to do it, that would’ve only made her more uncomfortable than she is.
“Close your eyes,” I say, and wait for her comply. I know it’s hard for her to let me take control; she’s still fighting every request, but I know by the time we’re done today, she’ll feel better and by tonight’s performance, her outlook may change completely.
“Now, I’ve been where you are, and I’m going to help you. Do you trust me?”
She doesn’t say anything, and it’s almost like she’s holding her breath.
“Anca? Do you trust me? There’s no point doing this if you don’t.”
She lets out her breath, slow and long before she responds. “I trust you.”
“Okay, let’s do this.”
Chapter Fifteen
Anca
It’s just me. And him.
Him. Marius.
Not Him… the Maes-…
No. Don’t say his name.
It’s Marius.
He’s sitting in front of me, my hands in his and he guides me.
He’s telling me to breathe.
He’s telling me I can do this.
He’s telling me I’m talented and beautiful and strong.
He’s telling me to breathe again.
Why do I keep forgetting to do that? He’s asking me, even as he’s laughing.
I can feel my mouth laughing with him.
Just as I can feel my heart pump so loud and fast in my chest, I think I need to hold my palms against my sternum to hold it in.
I can do this.
“I can do this,” I hear myself say out loud.
“Yes, you fucking well can.” He tells me again.
“No matter what anyone has said in the past,” I say, before I can stop myself.
There’s a flicker of a frown, but he lets it pass. His hands are on either side of my face.
“Deep breath, babe.”
I close my eyes and fill every single cavity of my lungs with air.
“Don’t worry about anyone else. Listen to me. Trust me. You are a fucking ROCK. STAR. Do you hear me?
“I hear you.” I hear every word, Marius.
“Just don’t forget to breathe.”
Just don’t forget to breathe, Anca.
Breathe. And forget.
Breathe, he mouths the word to me and nods.
I nod back.
It’s time.
Chapter Sixteen
Marius
“Anca! Anca! Anca! Rock Chamber Boys! Rock Chamber Boys!! YEAH!!!!” The cheers from the ten thousand strong audience thump in my ears, ricocheting off the edges of my skull and fill up every inch of my brain. Anca grins as she blows another kiss into the crowd and then joins us as we take each other’s hands and bow in unison.
“Merci, Paris. Je t’aime!!!!!” Sebastian yells and I can see him wipe a tear away. He always gets like this when we perform in his hometown, and they love him for it. I run over and jump on his back giving him a big sloppy kiss on his cheek and the crowd roars. The other boys join in the bear hug and I can’t help grinning at the sweaty faces of these men I love so much. Jez holds his arm out to his sister and Anca runs over, letting herself be pulled into the love fest.
Then the lights go down and we rush off the stage. The inevitable chant starts up again.
“ROCK CHAMBER BOYS, Encore! ROCK CHAMBER BOYS!”
We look at each other on the stair leading backstage, grin at each other and run back on stage. Grabbing our instruments, Sebastian yells out, “Bohemian Rhapsody!” and Jez nods, breaking out into a face splitting grin.
I look around, and she’s not there. That’s not right. She should be here.
I turn to the wings and she’s standing there, face gleaming like an angel’s. I wave to her and she shakes her head, laughing. I run over and pull her on stage and push her onto her harp stool. The crowd’s cheer grows even louder and I lean in and whisper, “You see? They want you.” I don’t add what I really want to say, that I want her too.
I join my guys and we raise our arms, ready to play. We play with everything we’ve got. For those who gave us everything.
***
“Oh my god, that encore was truly inspiring, guys.” Dennis says, sinking into the couch in our communal living room.
“Um,” Sebastian looks up from his phone, forehead furrowed, “Did someone spike Dennis’s drink?”
“What? No, why?” Brad asks, his head lifting off the couch head rest.
“Then why did he…” Sebastian leans in and says in a conspiratorial loud whisper, “say something nice to us?”
“Oh hush, bluefromagefucker,” our manager retorts, rolling his eyes, but still smiling. “Can’t I compliment my band when they do something well?”
“Ha, of course. We’ve just never heard it before. Did you lay all the money we made you on the bed and roll around naked on it this afternoon, Denny?”
“Ew, guys, gross.” Hailey says, not able to look her father in the eye.
“And Anca, you were great tonight,” Dennis says to her kindly. “You had someone look at your harp pedal? It didn’t seem to give you any trouble tonight.”
She turns to me. “Well, right at the beginning, it might’ve been a little touch and go, but someone gave me some tips on how to deal with it and it seemed to work, so no, no problems. I think… I think I might have found a way to fix it.”
And the smile she gives me is like a million people chanting my name at once, except that I can only hear her voice.
***
“Marius.” Jez comes with me when I wish everyone good night and make my way back to my room.
“Yeah, man. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to say thanks,” he says, surp
rising me.
“Thanks for what buddy?”
“For helping Anca. With her… with her problem.”
“Well, firstly, it’s not a really big problem, nothing a few good, deep breaths couldn’t solve, and secondly, no need for thanks.” I give him a pat on the back.
“Okay. But I still wanted to say thanks... for helping. My little sister.” He says the last part slowly and pointedly, putting his hand on my shoulder and looking me in the eye.
Ah.
I nod, returning his look.
“I got it,” I tell him.
And I do. Get it. Whether I like it or not.
***
“Whose bright idea was it to take the train?” Sebastian grumbles the next morning at 7 a.m. as we walk down the long train platform at Gare de Lyon to get to our carriage.
“Yours, fartbreath.” Brad reminds him, pulling his shirt collar up around his neck. “Oooh, vous must see se country-side on ze train, eet ees soo bootifoool,” he continues, imitating Sebastian’s French accent.
“Well it is. Just not at 7 a.m. Why don’t we ever leave at 1 a.m. when I am most awake?”
“Yeah, I love looking at the view out of the train window after midnight,” Jez taunts him.
“We’re here. Stop complaining. People will think we are over-privileged rock stars who can’t wipe our own asses,” I tell them, helping Anca onto the steep step of the train.
It’s a three-hour train ride to Lyon, and while the view for first hour or so is gray train tracks, gray train tracks, and more gray train tracks, once the city opens up into countryside, it really is quite lovely.
We spread out over three carriages and take turns wandering around between them, annoying each other. Jez and Brad never really were the best at sitting in one spot for too long.
Anca sits by the window in one carriage, earphones firmly planted in her ears, her stockinged feet up on the opposite seat bench, an unopened journal sitting in her lap.
I stand by the carriage door and take a mental picture.
