by Allie Hayden
Chapter 21
(Cecilia)
If there was one thing that I knew at this moment, it was that I loved him; I trusted him to do the right thing for me, emotionally and physically. I had no reason to doubt that adventures would unfold between the two of us for the next many years.
Bill had swiftly sent me payment, and so I had no fear of poverty; he had managed to sell the house and put my possessions in storage, giving me nearly four hundred thousand dollars. I figured that I was set for a while now.
I also heard from many of my old friends from Juilliard; Gaetan Bizot was a brilliant French student who had been a good friend in New York, and I reconnected with him. Gaetan played violin in the Avignon Symphony and sent me a link one day about a vacancy for the second desk position.
With Darius’ help, I even applied and spent days practicing my French repertoire. I had many of the works of Bizet, Fauré, and Berlioz sent my way. I set to work on this stuff, and on the day of the audition, Darius drove me to the hall in Avignon, where I performed behind a curtain in the blind audition.
Later, after the good news of my offer was made public, I returned and was warmly greeted by Gaetan, and the conductor Grigory Maranofsky, who had been with the Mariinsky Theater orchestra for several years before and who had conducted the orchestra in Minneapolis as a guest.
Darius was by my side the whole time, and he blended in very well—a massive contrast to my previous situation with Bill. He spoke intelligently about the French repertoire that was the specialty of the Avignon Orchestra.
I had to take myself out of my body to believe that this could possibly be happening. Joy overflowed, poured over me. It made me a much better musician. The joy at the sounds I could now make from my cello stunned me sometimes.
I knew that in September, I would be in heaven, playing with this group of fascinating and interesting musicians. I also resigned the position I had in Minneapolis, to the surprise of nobody, and thanked them for their support for so many years.
I looked out the window of the bastide, saw the rolling hills dappled with sunshine. I still wondered at the miracles that happen when you seized the day and took the opportunities your soul offered.
“Re-examine all you have been told; dismiss what insults your soul,” Walt Whitman once said. I remembered having loved the line, and for the first time since I decided to go to Juilliard so many years ago, I felt that I had lived that dictum to the fullest. I knew that life was opening up and that many adventures would follow.
Acknowledgments
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Also by Allie Hayden
Check out the first chapter of
Off Limits:
A Second Chance Rockstar Romance
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Off Limits
Bonus: Chapter 1
The day was not going as well as Lillian had hoped. This was supposed to be the best day of her life, her first real assignment as a photo journalist, and some careless writer had spilled coffee all over her shirt the minute she walked into the office.
She understood that today was hectic, what with everyone scrambling to put together the issue after their best photographer and several of their most prolific writers left for a competitor’s magazine. But really, they should have known better than to be running through the office with a hot cup of coffee.
So now here she was, standing in the bathroom stall in her coworker Ana’s extra outfit, scared to go out because she didn’t want to look at herself in the mirror.
There was nothing wrong with the way Ana dressed, it was just different from what Lillian enjoyed wearing. She had been perfectly happy in her button-up shirt and silk pants, but the universe had different plans apparently.
No use hiding. She was going to have to face it at some point. This was, after all, her chance to make it big, her chance to prove to her parents that moving away on her own to New York City was a good plan, and not a rash, impulsive decision.
“Oh!! You look really cute,” Ana said, clapping her hands together as Lillian exited the stall.
“Please don’t say that as if you didn’t think I would.” Lillian examined herself in the mirror.
She did indeed look good in the clothes Ana had lent her. The tight pink skirt hugged her hips and went down to her knees, so she guessed it was appropriate enough. And the white silk shirt’s first button was maybe just a little lower than she would have liked, but it would do.
“You really should dress like this more often!” Ana said, clearly still excited about seeing Lillian in her clothing. “I can take you shopping if you want—I know where to get all the—”
“No thank you.” Lillian cut her off as she turned around and started heading back out to the office to collect her camera and meet the writer she was working with for the day. She felt bad about cutting off Ana like that, but it was really all she could do to keep her head up as she exited the bathroom. Today was truly not the day to be lacking confidence due to clothing choice.
She felt as if all eyes were on her as she walked through the halls of the office, even though she knew there was no logical reason why they should be.
“Nice outfit,” Clarisse, the writer she was working with said, looking her up and down as Lillian came into her office. “Trying to impress someone?”
“Nope, just a coffee accident.”
“Ah, I see. That’s too bad, you look really good.” Clarisse winked at her, and Lillian couldn’t help but blush a little. The whole office knew Clarisse was a lesbian, and sometimes she flirted with the other girls for fun.
“Let’s uh…let’s just get going.”
“Sure, whatever you say.” Clarisse smiled as she passed her, and the two of them headed out of the office.
They took a cab to the venue where Dreams of Compass Gods was playing that night.
Dreams of Compass Gods was an up-and-coming rock band from the countryside in New York. They were known for their visceral lyrics, and bad boy lead singer Ash Bennett. Lillian had listened to some of their songs before, and yes, they were good—there was no way to avoid the fact that Ash had a sensuous voice—but she had her own theories about why the band was so popular.
Tonight, the band was playing at Mercury Lounge—a smaller venue that showed a lot of indie bands. Though it looked like nothing much in the daytime, Lillian knew from experience that the crowds of people and the darkness of the night would change that.
The day was overcast, and Lillian shivered as they exited the cab, wishing that she had brought a coat. She inhaled deep, the scent of wet pavement from last night’s rain and leftover smoke from the people who regularly occupied the place filling her lungs.
They were directed backstage to where the band was in one of the dressing rooms, relaxing and getting ready for their performance. As the two of them entered, all heads came up, and again Lillian had the feeling that all eyes were on her.
“Knock knock,” Clarisse said, “We’re the writer and photographer, here from Illusions to interview Ash Bennett.”
He didn’t have to stand up for Lillian to immediately know who he was. She couldn’t help but be drawn to him.
He had the energy of a star performer about him, something that you drew you in, dared you to keep watching. His hair was a deep dark red, and one side of his head was cut short, while the rest of his hair curled down and around his face, framing the sharp cheekbones and startling eyes.
He was undeniably handsome.
And he knew it.
Lillian hated the confidence that Ash exuded from every pore of his body; how his eyebrows seemed to arch so provocatively while he surveyed the two girls. She hated that he probably thought he could get both of them to
do whatever he wanted within a second.
“And who do we have the pleasure of welcoming to our dressing room,” he asked, that insidious half-smile still lingering.
“Clarisse and Lillian, as I said before, writer and photographer for Illusions,” said Clarisse, and Lillian was thankful for it. The writer always knew how to handle these kinds of situations.
“Charmed. We’re happy to have you,” Ash said, sitting back down. “I’m assuming you want an interview with just me?”
“That would be what the magazine asked for,” Clarisse replied, and the rest of the members took this as their cue to stand and exit the room, giving the two girls a final look before shutting the door behind them.
Clarisse took a seat in front of Ash, readying her recorder and pulling out the paper with her list of questions and a pen and paper to take notes.
Lillian turned on her camera then, taking a few test shots and adjusting the settings until she was happy with the exposure. Ash turned to face her as she did this, winking at the camera and then holding smoldering expressions on his face that Lillian knew would be enough to make any teenage fan swoon. But those weren’t the kind of photos she wanted for this assignment, she wanted to capture the raw, true essence that was Ash Bennett, not the mask he put on for his fans.
“Just pay attention to Clarisse,” she said, “if I need you to pull strange faces I’ll let you know.”
Ash threw his head back and laughed, a deep sound. “Okay, whatever you say, princess.”
Clarisse hit the record button on her recorder, and then snapped her fingers, drawing Ash’s attention back to her.
“So, Ash, our readers really want to know, what led you to becoming a rock star?”
“Oh, starting off deep, are we?” He laughed again, and Lillian captured the moment, but it still felt forced, artificial. “I’ve always had an admiration for rock stars, ever since I was a kid. I used to consume issues of The Rolling Stones like they were candy, completely entranced by the lifestyle. I loved the freedom they had, how many people looked up to them, and as I grew I learned to love the music too.
“When I was in high school I started a band with a couple of my classmates, and things just seemed to click. It felt, right, like I had always been destined for this life. For the late nights, the shows, the freedom, the power, the women.” As he said this last part he winked at Clarisse, who rolled her eyes and consulted her notepad for the next question.
The rest of the interview continued in much the same way, Clarisse asking a question, Ash’s responses starting off genuine, but then fading into that artificiality that Lillian hated so much. He flirted and bantered, paying very little attention to her, as she had asked, but the photos still weren’t coming out how she wanted. His expressions still felt forced, his movements unnatural. The lighting was right, and his words were interesting, but the camera still wasn’t capturing the rawness she was known for.
“Alright, well I think that’s it, thank you for your time Ash,” Clarisse said as Ash answered the last of her questions. She stopped the recorder and started gathering her things. She turned to Lillian, “Are you ready to go?”
“Do you mind if I stay a few more minutes? I’m not quite happy with the photo’s I’ve gotten yet.” Lillian directed this last part at Ash.
“Need a few more for your personal collection?”
Lillian brushed off the tease with a scoff and an eye-roll.
“As if.”
“Oh, come on, you know you want it,” Ash adjusted his expression into a half-lidded gaze that Lillian was quite sure he thought was bedroom worthy, but to her it just didn’t feel natural at all.
“Stop that,” she said.
“Stop what?”
“Making those kinds of expressions, be natural?”
“I don’t know what you mean, this is natural for me.” He leaned back, angling his chin at her.
“It comes out looking forced on camera. I want something that feels more candid.”
“Then what would you have me do?”
Lillian stopped to think for a moment. Usually when she was in these types of situations talking to the interviewer was enough to get some candid moments, but maybe he hadn’t been quite comfortable, or had been too focused on still keeping up a sort of persona, or flirting with Clarisse.
“Ummmm, let’s just talk maybe? What did you have for breakfast this morning?”
“What kind of a question is that?”
“One that’s meant to make you stop thinking about keeping up a facade.”
“Alright, sure. I had French toast from a café down the street, with a cup of coffee, and a bowl of fruit.”
“Very tasty. Now, what’s your favorite movie?”
“Are you sure you’re not just a groupie gathering information?”
“Just shut up and answer the question.”
“Not sure if I can do both, princess.”
“You know what I mean.”
Lillian continued to snap a few more pictures of him, keeping the conversation going. Though the banter still annoyed her, she could tell he was feeling more comfortable, getting more relaxed. In the end, she ended up getting some shots she really liked, and even worked with having him do a few interesting poses, though those pictures would probably never be used.
“I think that’s good,” she said, turning her camera off.
Ash stretched out in his seat, pulling out his phone to check the time. “The show’s going to start in a couple of hours. You want to come back to take some more photos?”
Lillian paused packing up her equipment to consider the question. She already had the pictures that would go into the story for the magazine, but there wasn’t a reason for her not to stay. She had no other obligations for the night, and it could be good practice. There wasn’t any harm in saying yes, right?
“You know, why not.”
“Great.” He flashed her another one of those smiles, that rockstar level charisma flooding his expression, his voice, his movements. “I’ll see you in the crowd then. Don’t let yourself get pushed around too much.”
“I’m sure I can handle myself.”
“Have you ever been at a hardcore concert?”
Lillian paused to look back at him. “Are all your concerts considered hardcore?”
He laughed. “Thankfully for your equipment, no. We’re a little too soft for the hardcore crowd. I would still suggest standing in the back though, I can get one of the crew to bring you something to stand on.”
“That would be uh…” Lillian tried to ignore the jab at her height. She knew the sentiment was supposed to be helpful, but she still felt like she had to do things herself, as if she was trying to prove something to him. “…great. Thank you.”
“Any time baby doll.” Ash blew her a kiss as she left, and Lillian again had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at him. God, he was cheesy, why did anyone even like him again?
She would discover the answer to that question many times, in many different ways. But the first of those was that night.
For the second time that day, she emerged from a cab in front of the Mercury Lounge, this time with a coat wrapped around her.
She had to walk further to get to the entrance, as there were too many cars, too many people, at the very front of the building. As she traversed that distance, avoiding the line with a nod at the security officer, her heart leapt up into her throat.
She didn’t know why she was nervous. The night was beautiful, the air cool and clear, and she would only be taking photos from the back. Maybe it was the thought that her equipment might be damaged, maybe it was apprehension about what kind of music the band might play tonight.
But in her mind, she knew that none of these things were the real reason.
Standing in the back of the Mercury Lounge on top of a short stool one of the crew members had dragged out for her, camera forgotten in her hands, attention held, completely entranced by what was going on in front of her, she found
the reason for the butterflies in her stomach.
Oh, she understood now.
The passion with which he sang was undeniable. There was a tenderness in his voice, in his lyrics, in his hands on the microphone, in his eyes as they closed at a particularly emotional line. His expressions, his movements, his words, Lillian could understand the crowd now, could understand why they were obsessed with him.
She could understand the trance that the audience seemed to be in, becoming one emotional mass, forgetting their identities to exist here, in this space, with this music.
And, god, he was handsome.
And she found herself feeling grateful and sad at the same time that this was probably the last time she would ever see him.
Because as he sang, as his eyes scanned the crowd, she felt like he was looking for her, singing just for her.
And she didn’t want to fall for him.
After the show Lillian waited outside on the street for the cab she had called. It had taken a bit for the venue to clear out, and she had taken the opportunity to take a few more photos, these ones artistic, just for her portfolio.
But it meant that it was late, and dark, and cold, and empty when she left to wait on the sidewalk. And her mind couldn’t help but wander to subjects she had promised herself she wouldn’t think about. That was made quite difficult when the subject of her forbidden thoughts pulled up in front of her on a motorcycle. The engine still purring as he whipped off his helmet to hand it to her like he was in a slow-motion Herbal Essence commercial.
“Need a ride home?” he asked, smile dangerously sensual, hair tousled, eyes red-rimmed—from the smoke, the excitement of the night-- or drugs, Lillian couldn’t tell.
