by L. V. Lewis
This time when we wrap up, I keep myself from claiming Sky again. The last thing I want is for her to lose face around the people who work for her. I have a feeling if I keep seducing her after each concert, it may just feed the rumor mill the backup dancers and singers have created.
Instead, I simply walk her to her dressing room. When we get to her door, I turn her around and kiss her senseless. She moans into me, and I can feel my hardness swell against my jeans. I stop before I change my mind and lock her in the room with me for the rest of the night. As much as that sounds like bliss, the manager side of me knows she has appearances to make while we’re on tour. I regrettably pull back from her.
“You should get changed,” I tell her. “You only have an hour before you have to meet the manager at the new club opening.”
“You’re not coming in?” The lust in her eyes weakens me to say yes, but if she breaks this night club opening, the press will have a field day with speculations like they always do.
“Not tonight, but I’ll make it up to you.”
“Promise?” she asks with a mischievous grin.
I laugh. No matter what she wants from me, I am sure I’ll let her have it. “Promise. Don’t stay out too late tonight. We leave early tomorrow for Minneapolis.”
“Yes, sir,” she says with a mock salute.
I like the way she says that. We may have to try some role playing in the near future. I kiss her one more time before heading to my dressing room.
I walk away, regretting my decision to let her go alone. At least I feel safe with Malik watching her.
My dressing room is quiet compared to the crowd. It takes my ears a bit to adjust to the relative silence.
I’m halfway undressed when I am frozen in place. All of a sudden, the quiet is too much and my breathing quickens.
No. It can’t be, my mind pushes out. Yet, it’s right there in front of me. I read over the short message again and again.
It’s written in a lipstick shade I haven’t seen in years, but there’s no mistaking the ruby champagne color she loved so well when we were together.
I close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them, the message is still there: Loved your singing tonight. See ya soon, babes.
Only one person I know signs off a message like that. Only one makes a heart with her kiss in the middle and a period below it to end a sentence. The only one to ever do all of it is supposed to be dead, her ashes in an urn in her parents’ home in Downers Grove, IL. Each stroke of the words feels like punches to my gut, because all of it looks like a message from Kim.
I stare at it so long that I lose bits of time.
This isn’t possible. It can’t be. Even with the evidence right in front of me, I can’t accept it.
I’ve never been one to buy into those shit and nonsense shows on ghosts. I believe in what you can feel and what you can see.
I move closer to the mirror. I swipe my finger through the heart and look at it. There’s no mistaking that color, one that looked so good on her but looked like blood when it got on my skin after her kisses. Even now, the color stains my skin like blood.
A knock on the door makes me jump.
“Yeah,” I call out without looking away from the message.
“It’s me,” Malik says from the other side of the door. “Just letting you know we’re headed to the club. Place checked out, so we’re taking Sky over now.”
“Good, good,” I tell him. “I’ll see you back at the hotel later.”
He pauses a bit and then asks, “You okay in there, Brody.”
I crack the door and let him see me, before he barges in and gets an eyeful of what’s on my mirror.
“Fine. Just tired. Watch out for Sky tonight?”
“Always do,” he says. “Something I should know?”
“No,” I say.
Malik gives me another close look, as if he’s trying to determine if my pupils are dilated or some shit. When he’s satisfied I’m clean, he turns away.
“Later.” He says over his shoulder. I close the flimsy door and lock it.
I use a towel to scrub away the message but it only smears lipstick on the mirror. I wet one end of the towel with soap and warm water from the adjoining bathroom. I scrub hard, almost to the point of breaking the mirror. If this is some fan’s idea of a joke, I’m not laughing.
Five
Minneapolis, Minnesota
BRODY
I’m jumpy on the entire ride to catch our flight to Minnesota. Sky asks me what’s wrong, but I dismiss it as being tired. The way she eyes me cautiously, I’m certain she doesn’t believe my answer at all. She stares at me with concern before letting it go.
I’m relieved because I don’t know how to tell her the truth without her freaking out or thinking I’m nuts. It was a cryptic thing for me to read, but I don’t share it with Sky because she has more than enough to think about for the rest of her tour.
Maybe it’s nothing to worry about. Lots of entertainers have obsessed fans. Not all of them are dangerous, even though some can be overzealous. For all I know, it could’ve been some diehard music lover who can’t separate reality from fantasy. Either way, it’s as freaky as shit.
I keep checking around us to see if anyone is following us or acting suspicious. I spot no one, and from the looks Sky and Malik give me, I know I’m not being subtle about my paranoia.
Sky is scheduled to make an appearance at a small charity event in Minneapolis right after our concert. I scheduled it weeks ago because of both good publicity and convenience for her to interact with the public.
“We should go together,” Sky says when we get to our seats on the flight.
“Go where?” I ask as I’m putting our carry-ons in the overhead bins.
“To this charity fundraiser.”
I shake my head. “They want to see you, Sky. Not me.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.”
“It’s your tour, Sky. I’m not going to hijack it from you by hogging the spotlight.”
“First, I’d never think that of you. I know you hate promos as much as I do. Second, did you ever think that I just want my boyfriend, Brody, with me sometimes and not Brody, my highly proficient manager, or Savage Saban the amazing musician?”
She pouts at me, and I laugh at her antics. It feels good after the stress I’ve been under since finding that message.
I pull her as close to me as our buckled seatbelts will allow. “I’m an idiot,” I say. “Sometimes the business side of me takes over when it comes to you.”
“Which is one of the reasons why I love you. You’re always looking out for me.”
“And part of that means being the dutiful boyfriend you deserve.”
“Damn straight,” I hear Alyssa mutter from behind us. “Sometimes a girl just needs her guy.”
Sky nods. “What she said.”
“I’d be honored to go to the fundraiser with you,” I say with a mock bow, although it’s hard to do it without looking silly buckled in.
Sky’s face brightens up as she smiles up at me, and I realize I would do anything for this woman.
“It’s a date,” she says.
I can’t hold myself back from kissing her soft and pliable lips. I could do this all damn day.
“Easy you two,” Alyssa says. “Some of us are sans loving back here.”
I grin against Sky’s lips before kissing her once more.
“Better, Alyssa?”
“It’ll do,” she says before going back to her fashion magazine.
“Happy to please,” I say as Sky rests her head on my shoulder.
Sky’s right. I hate promo events. They are invariably full of wannabes, assholes, and showoffs, not always in that order. Charity events are worse because most of the people who go are all about flashing their money around. I wonder about the characters who will be there tonight, but with Sky by my side, I may be able to handle the nonsense.
The fundraiser takes place in a museum wit
h abstract art I don’t begin to understand that also has a wide entrance that leads into a ritzy bar next door. It appears to be the retro craze for the elite: confusing art and expensive liquor combined into one cultural experience.
The only reason I set it up as a stop for Sky is because the owner has been a big donor to Sky’s charities, like her Sky Girl leadership program for middle and high school girls, and other similar programs in the local area. That means good publicity for Sky’s charity and her tour.
I walk around with Sky and meet most of the people in attendance. Some are a little too excited for my taste, and I wonder if any of them fit the profile of someone who writes crazy messages in dressing rooms from dead people. I need not worry about Sky in this contained space because Malik and his team has her covered.
Sky and Alyssa talk to some of the artists selling their work for charity, and I nod to the bar so Sky knows I’m nearby. The last thing I can do is bullshit an understanding of the pieces on display in this highbrow venue.
I move to a VIP section in the bar, which the owners have set up for Sky and her entourage and occupy myself with my one bottle of beer that I know I’ll never finish, even though it’s triple the price in a liquor store.
“Damn, Sav. Almost didn’t recognize you.”
Startled out of my head by a familiar voice, I look over to a familiar face and find my past staring back at me.
“Dylan?” I ask. “What the hell are you doing here?” I shake the man’s hand, but he pulls me into an excited, friendly hug. I wasn’t expecting to see my old band mate on a pop tour, but here Dylan Castle is in the flesh, the best drummer I’ve ever heard on a rock stage.
“Just had to see it for myself,” Dylan says. “I almost didn’t believe it. You’ve been out of the spotlight for so long, and I just had to see if it was real or complete bullshit that you really did come back into the business.”
“Not sure about being back in the way you think,” I say. “Sit down, man.”
He sits in the leather seat next to me. He looks good for someone I haven’t seen in more than five years. His former shoulder-length hair is trimmed down but still long enough to reach below his ears. After the early days of the Mohawk, he used to rock a long mane as the drummer for The Savages, but now it’s a more managed style than the instant bedhead look he wore when everything imploded. I know his arms still sport his colorful tattoos, but they’re covered by the black jacket he’s wearing.
“So you finally decided to crawl out of your bat cave and grace us with your precious voice again?” he asks.
I laugh. Anyone else and I’d think they were insulting me. Dylan has always been honest and snarky at the same time.
“I wouldn’t go that far, man,” I say. “It’s just a few songs at the end of Sky’s gigs.”
“A few songs, huh? Well, tell that to the rock music world, which has been in a shit storm since you came back.”
“Whatever,” I say. I drink a small sip of beer, but it’s not icy cold and tastes bitter in my mouth. I’m not sure if it’s really the beer that annoys me or if it has something to do with old memories flooding through my head seeing Dylan again.
“I’m serious,” Dylan says. “You sure know how to make a reappearance. Always did have a flair for the dramatic. Not only do you come back out in the music spotlight, but you do so with pop royalty. I’ve gotta hand it to you. It’s genius.”
I go on the defensive for Sky and any implication as to why I’m with her. The way he says it sounds like I’m using her in some way. “I didn’t plan for that to happen. It just did. If I had it my way, I would’ve stayed hidden.”
Dylan nails me with a look. “You can’t still be hung up on the past. I told you then and I’m telling you now, none of that shit was your fault. We were all adults and knew what we were into. Kim was no different. In fact, she’d come back just to kick your ass if she knew you were still on that guilt train.”
I smile a little, because he describes Kim to perfection. Before the drugs, she was a wildcat when it came to setting people straight, especially those she cared about.
I take another sip of putrid beer. “Let’s not talk about that now.” I shift in my seat. “I’d rather talk about what you’re doing here in Minnesota.”
“Well, to be honest, it’s not just me.”
I look at Dylan, who nods just past the roped-off area of the VIP section. I spot three other guys, who I recognize without prompting as the rest of The Savages. Finn, George, and Stephen look older, like adult life has caught up with them, but there’s no mistaking who they are. We had all been teenagers when The Savages were formed, all boyish faces and thin rock star bodies which hard rock living and drugs kept that way.
“We heard you might be coming to this charity thing tonight,” Dylan says, “and since those guys wouldn’t be caught dead at a pop idol’s concert, figured we’d try to catch you here. Hope you don’t mind.”
Seeing them all again under one roof is a little jarring at first, but I can’t say my first reaction is nice to see you.
“Hell, no. I don’t mind,” I manage, and hope I’m not looking as if I do. I beckon the rest of them over.
“What’s up, man?” Finn asks when they get over to us.
“A lot now that you guys are back around,” I say, not really sure if I mean it genuinely. Although it is nice to see the guys again, there’s so much past history in the air I would rather soon forget than dredge it all up again.
“It’s good to see you, Savage,” George says. “Been a long time.”
“Too long,” I say.
Stephen is the last to come up to me, and I can’t say it isn’t awkward.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“It’s all you, man,” I say.
Stephen shakes my hand and leaves it at that before taking a seat far away from me at the end of the section. I don’t miss the fact that he can’t look me in the eye for long.
“Nice surprise seeing you all here,” I tell them. “You guys have aged well.”
“Like fine wine,” George says with a chuckle. “You don’t look so bad yourself Savage. Not sporting that wild look only you could pull off.”
“Can’t look that crazy now,” Finn says. “He’d scare those pop kids senseless.”
“Funny,” I say. Then something Dylan said earlier comes to mind. “How did you guys find me again?” I ask.
They all look at each other, but it’s Stephen who answers.
“Come on, Savage,” Stephen says. “As famous as you are now, you’re not hard to find at all.”
His tone doesn’t sound as teasing as the others. In fact, it sounds downright bitter.
I choose to ignore it and move on. “So you guys decided to take a road trip to Minnesota just to say hi?”
“We just wanted to see if it was true, and it was really you working with Skylar,” Finn says.
“I hired on as her personal assistant, but I was outted at the end of the European Tour. Listen, I’m not some mythical creature, guys. I just needed a break to clear my head, you know? After everything.”
I think I hear a scoff from Stephen, but I don’t press him.
“Can’t old band mates just hang out and shoot the shit for a bit?” George says.
I grin. “Although it’s good to see you, I have a feeling it’s about more than shooting the shit. You wanted to see me back out here. Besides, you guys were never good at keeping shit to yourselves.”
They all look at each other before turning back to me.
Dylan clears his throat. “I think we were hoping to ease into this a little better,” he says. “But you’re always one to get straight to the point, Savage. Since you’re back in the game, it kind of got us thinking.”
“About what?” I ask. The way they keep looking at each other before talking is making me nervous, but I don’t show it. I stare at Sky, hoping she recognizes that I need her to come over and interrupt whatever this reunion of The Savages is supposed to bring a
bout. I’m as still as I can be until the next one of them speaks.
“We were thinking maybe we should give it another go,” George says. “You know? Maybe get the band back together.”
“Now that you’re back in the game, it kind of makes sense,” Finn says. “After all, there’s no Savages without you.”
I’m quick to imagine as a group again, all of a sudden. I remember the feel of the music with Dylan beating the drums like a madman, George strumming the bass with a skill that can only be described as possession, Finn playing a variety of instruments giving us a signature sound, and Stephen playing the keyboard as only his fingers can glide out into perfect rock beats. Back then, I played and sang like I was giving away part of my soul. Maybe I did leave part of myself on the stage with every performance.
There is something about performing that connects you and your audience on another level. It’s hard not to give pieces of you away with each intimate song, whether it be fast or slow.
“Snap out of it, man,” Stephen says. “Are you game or not?”
“For what?” I ask.
“Bringing back The Savages,” Finn says.
“There’s no band without Savage Saban,” George says. “We may have played the music, but you were the voice.”
“Not the only voice,” Stephen says, his eyes boring into me.
“Of course not,” I say. “Kim was a major part of our success, and we all know it.”
He nods his head, seeming satisfied at my acknowledgement. I’ve never once forgotten that since I retired from the band. I may have neglected her back then, but I’m wiser now. Kim was our backbone. Without her, we would have crumbled a lot sooner. Her voice brought a richness to our sound that made us relevant to rock fans we would never have been able to reach without her. Our voices blended well together and our performance chemistry on stage was incendiary.
“Hey, Brody,” Sky’s voice brings me back to the present.
I stand up as she moves closer with Alyssa in tow, and put my arm around her waist. I’ve never been so relieved to see her.
