by Erika Vanzin
“They’re not bad at all.” Thomas’s warm voice in my ear brings me back to reality, and a pleasant shiver runs down my back.
At this distance, I can smell his scent. It’s not very strong, as though he put a little on in the morning and then let it soak into his skin. It’s not as aggressive and masculine as I usually imagine on men. It’s almost sweet, a delicate fragrance that makes me think of freshly baked cookies. And he’s like a cookie: good, sweet, irresistible. He’s that sin you gladly indulge in when you’re on a diet, but regret later. A sweet, pleasant torture you don’t know how to resist.
“Yes, they’re really good even if they are so young. They maybe need some experience on stage, but they’re not bad. I came here to interview them when they’re done. Do you want to come with me?” I propose without overthinking about the consequences. Being with him makes me almost reckless, as if this perfect bubble we’re in protects us from the outside world. Thomas has this incredible ability to turn off the rational part of my brain that warns me from getting too attached to him.
“Gladly.” I notice that he opens his mouth to say something else but then closes it immediately.
People start dancing, and Thomas’s chest ends up pressing against my back. The shock that comes to life along my spine makes my hair stand up on my neck. It takes considerable effort not to lay my head back onto his shoulder. People move to the beat, and we’re almost forced to follow the flow. Thomas’s hands rest on my hips, and when he slips his fingers under my shirt, stroking my skin, I almost struggle to breathe. My hands wrap his, dragging them to the front, on my belly, inviting him in a hug that tastes of forbidden intimacy. His head drops and touches mine. His lips taste my neck with kisses so light I’m afraid I’m just imagining them. His arms hold me, his fingers search for my skin. His tongue gets bold, reaching that spot just below my ear that makes me moan with pleasure. The warmth invading my body intoxicates my senses so much I forget everything around us.
“Get a room!” Albert’s voice falls on us like a cold shower.
I move away from Thomas just enough to get back to reality, to the concert, to Emily smirking, looking at us. Jasper’s mouth is wide open, and Albert looks disgusted. I turn slightly toward Thomas to try to understand what he’s thinking. His eyes are glued to mine, and I can read in them all the passion and frustration he’s feeling right now, reflecting my own. Confirmation that my teenage crush is more than alive. In fact, it’s grown to the point that it’s become a physical necessity. My brain, telling me to run away, is alone in this fight. The rest of my body wants him.
The concert continues in a sequence of songs I find challenging to follow. My senses keep searching for Thomas, who is still behind me but has not come any closer than before. I, who am usually famous for my rigorous attention to the band I’m reviewing, find my mind wandering to those few intimate moments with Thomas earlier. Finally, the band greets the audience and gets off the stage. I wait for them all to get to the green room backstage, then I catch up with them to do the interview.
“Iris!” Seb, the guitarist and leader of the band, welcomes me with a hug.
I met him during the classes I sat in on at the university, and I found him to be a cheerful guy, full of enthusiasm for his own music. I’m happy to spend time with him and talk about what he does with his band.
“You were great up there,” I say, pointing to the door behind me where the stage is.
Seb bursts out laughing and puts his hand on his chest in an almost theatrical way. “Whew! I must admit, I was afraid you might rip us. You’re very technical and detailed when you have to review something you don’t like.”
Everyone laughs, including Thomas, who’s on the sidelines.
“That’s not true!” I pretend to be offended, but I know I’m a bit of a pain in the butt in that regard. I just can’t lie if I didn’t like something; I can do it calmly, giving my reasons without tearing down other people’s work, but I certainly can’t shut up or write something that’s not true.
Some of the guys look over at Thomas, who I almost forgot was in the room. I introduce him, finally addressing his presence.
“This is Thomas, my...friend,” I say, choking on the last word because I don’t know if he considers it an exaggeration. I glance at him and he smiles, reaching out his hand, first toward Seb, then to everyone else who shakes it, and unceremoniously introduces himself.
They recognize him, of course, but they’re all professional enough, or perhaps intimidated enough, not to comment. I mentally thank them because I want this to be their moment, their interview, their space.
“Shall we begin? Do you mind if I also take some pictures for the blog?” I ask before sitting on one of the sofas in the room and pulling out my camera and notebook with the questions I prepared in advance for the occasion.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Thomas leaning against a table scattered with takeout containers and water bottles, crossing his arms and watching my every move. He’s discreet about it so it doesn’t bother me. On the contrary, I like that he witnesses what I consider my actual work. Maybe I’m looking for justifications for my lies. I’m hoping that when he finds out I’m a paparazzo, he can tell the difference between what I do for the sake of music and what I do just to survive.
*
“Do you want a beer?” he asks when we leave the green room. The second band has almost finished playing.
“Yes, I do.”
We both sit at a tall table away from the stage. It’s sticky with old liquor. Thomas nods to the waitress, gives her his credit card, and invites me to order first. I’d rather him not pay for my beer, but I have no choice, since my credit card is at the limit this month and I don’t have enough cash in my pocket. When I accepted, I didn’t know Manhattan bars prefer credit cards and don’t like cash.
When our orders arrive, I pull out my wallet, but he glares at me. “Don’t even think about it. I asked you if you wanted a beer, and I intend to pay for it.”
His voice is calm but firm. He wants to make a nice gesture. I bite my tongue and put aside my eternal battle about equality. Women and men should be free to pay their own way on dates without the unwritten obligation that the guy should pay for the whole night. But this isn’t a date, right?
“Thank you.”
Thomas smiles and sips from his beer. “You’re very professional when you do interviews. I hardly ever see journalists pulling out a prepared list of questions. They usually use the standard ones they’ve memorized without doing research on the band they’re interviewing.”
His words make me blush. It’s nice that he realizes I put commitment and passion into what I do. I’m proud of how I run my blog. “I like my job, I like music and, honestly, the most beautiful part of the interview is just getting to know the story of the people behind the songs. When I ask them questions, I want it to be like talking to a friend because I’m really interested in what they have to say. I don’t want it to be just a simple sterile question and answer, without any human contact, without emotions. After all, music is emotion. Why shouldn’t I put it in my articles when I talk about it?”
Thomas looks me straight in the eye, nailing me to my stool with those ocean-blue eyes. A smile forms on his lips, and his gaze lights up when he glances at my mouth. I didn’t realize I was so close to him until I feel his breath caressing my face. Thanks to the darkness of this corner, it feels like we’re alone. People crowd around the stage listening to the third band, but I don’t even care. All I can look at right now are Thomas’s eyes, loaded with desire, and his face inching toward me. His lips crush mine in a kiss so perfect it makes my toes curl. His hands slip into my hair, grab me tightly, and pull me toward him in a kiss full of desire and despair. It’s like he’s been waiting for this moment for a lifetime.
His tongue caresses mine in a mixture of frenzy and sweetness, releasing those butterflies in
my stomach I thought I’d managed to numb when I was sixteen. In fact, I thought this entire moment was just the impossible dream of a little girl in her first crush. My hands slip under his jacket, pulling his shirt until he gets off his stool. He presses his hot body against mine, letting out a little groan when my fingers slip under his shirt, caressing his skin, the muscles flexing under my touch. He takes a moment to catch his breath, but then his lips pounce desperately again on mine as he intensifies his grip on my hair. I groan into his mouth.
“Iris, we’re going. We’ll leave you here if you don’t move your ass now!” For the second time tonight, Albert’s voice interrupts us, and I’d like to kill him.
We’re still panting when we separate. Thomas can’t take his eyes off mine. I reluctantly look at my friend, and reality hits me like a landslide crushing my heart. The disgust on Albert’s face brings me back to the truth of who I am and what I do for a living. I grab my bag and jacket and, without one last look at Thomas, I walk away quickly. Thomas’s voice calling me sounds almost like a mirage.
We reach the others in the parking lot in silence, Albert pouting like a child, and I with the most conflicting feelings in my chest.
“What the hell happened?” asks Emily as soon as she sees us.
I look at her begging her to let it go, but Albert jumps right in. “God, I didn’t think you would become the groupie of the first rock star you met. How low can you stoop?”
His words hurt, but I try not to show it. “What the hell is your problem?”
“You stuck your tongue in the mouth of the first jerk you meet who has a little fame.”
“Did you kiss Thomas?” Emily’s incredulous voice makes me turn toward her to find a smirk painted plainly on her face.
I nod with half a smile, but I don’t tell her anything. I don’t want Albert to ruin this moment by making me feel guilty.
“He was practically fucking her on the table.”
“That is not true!”
“Really? When will you see him again?” Emily asks.
I give her the stink eye. “No, it’s not true, and I won’t see him again.”
“Did you give him your number?”
“No, I didn’t give him my number. It’s bad enough that I kissed him.”
Emily rolls her eyes and walks away from the parking lot.
“Where the hell are you going?” We all look at her perplexed.
“I forgot something inside. I’ll be right back.” She runs away and doesn’t give us time to call her back or follow her.
“So, are you fucking the rock star?” chuckles Jasper.
“No, no one’s fucking him.” I smile.
“Of course not. If I hadn’t arrived, he’d already have his hands between your legs,” Albert mumbles.
I turn to him, annoyed. “That’s not true. We kissed. Period. Don’t exaggerate things just to prove you’re a jerk,” I attack him a little too harshly.
The truth is, I’m not mad at my friend. I’m mad at myself for completely losing control with the only person I should stay away from. And what worries me the most is the whole time it never crossed my mind that I was doing something wrong. Everything about that kiss and his hands on me seemed right. But my fantasy is based entirely on my lies; if Thomas knew what I’ve done in the past, he’d be disgusted with me.
Idiot. I feel like a complete idiot out here at this café, looking at her through the window while she’s working on her computer, for God’s sake! I woke up this morning with last night still burned in my mind: her lips bending slightly upwards when she talks about music, the way she gets angry when people don’t understand certain songs, her persistence in defending some albums that, for the rest of the world, are really awful. I still feel her taste on my tongue, her hair in my fingers, her hands on my skin. The distance between us almost hurts.
She sucked me into her world, captured me with her big green eyes, and made my legs tremble like a kid. I look around as people passing by on their way to the office cast strange glances at me. They’re right. I’m here in the middle of the sidewalk in Alphabet City. The café in front of me is all painted in bright tones with graffiti. It’s a splash of color in the middle of the tall, gray, and dilapidated buildings in this area. It’s one of Manhattan’s less wealthy and popular neighborhoods, where the streets would be glum and bare without these vibrant spots. It’s certainly not as Christmassy as Fifth Avenue and its twinkling lights. Still, some decorations have appeared on the windows, giving glimpses of the festive atmosphere inside those spaces. And Iris is a splash of life amid those spirals of colors. Her red hair, gathered in a messy bun held together by a pencil. In the daylight, it almost seems to catch fire. She’s focused on her laptop, her lips pouting in concentration that makes her adorable and her forehead wrinkled as if she’s writing the next Pulitzer-winning piece.
A middle-aged man with graying hair and a suit at least two sizes too big walks past, bumping me slightly with his shoulder while looking at his cell phone and muttering an apology. That’s just what I need to wake up from my daydream. I take a deep breath and decide to go into the café and make myself look ridiculous for the umpteenth time.
I look around and get lost for a second at the endless list of items written in colored chalk on the huge menu attached to the wall behind the counter. The shelf in front of me is cluttered with glass vases containing various biscuits from a local pastry shop. Around me, the tables, sofas, and chairs are mismatched, as though taken from some flea market, giving it a quirky vibe. What may seem like a nonsensical jumble of furniture is actually an explosion of color that elicits a feeling of joy.
“Finally, you decided to come in. I thought you’d cut and run after you finished your cigarette and were about to light a third. You could still dash out if you want, because she’s so focused on her work, she didn’t even notice you coming in.” Emily teases me from behind the counter, although her infectious smile doesn’t embarrass me at all. I get the impression she’s like Iris: very straightforward and sincere in dealing with people.
“Are you suggesting I should avoid being an idiot and leave before she notices?” I ask with a laugh, but the truth is, I’m tempted to actually do it.
“Are you kidding? I didn’t run back to the club last night and tell you where she would be this morning because I needed the exercise. She’s a woman. How many have you had in your life? This is no different!” Her rebuke makes me smile but also feel like an idiot. “Do you want anything in the meantime?”
I study her for a few seconds. “I’m sorry, I’m lost,” I confess, a little embarrassed.
The girl smiles at me, and her brown eyes light up. “Do you want to order?”
“A black coffee,” I say without thinking about it, ordering what I usually get when I go out, avoiding the endless menus and the pressure of the cashiers who want to take your order and quickly dispose of the line behind you.
This is not the case with Emily; she looks at me almost disappointed. “A black coffee? Are you sure?” she asks, nodding to the wall behind her that’s crowded with dozens of different types of coffee, as well as herbal teas and a list of sweet and salty sandwiches so long it makes me anxious. Does anyone really need to order a decaffeinated latte with cream and sprinkles of caramelized hazelnuts? Can a person even drink something like that?
“And a double granola?” It’s more of a question than a statement, given my insecurity as I’m pointing a finger at the first jar in front of me. I basically have no idea what I ordered.
“Great choice. It’s one of my favorites.”
I have the vague impression that she’s good-naturedly making fun of me, but I can’t make any decent jokes to escape this awkwardness. Ever since meeting Iris, I’ve been piling up an almost embarrassing list of blunders. My awkward moments are evolving from bad to worse.
“Thank you, that’s reassuring
to know.” The statement comes out so serious and solemn that Emily can’t hold back a chuckle.
“Do you want to pay, or do you want anything else?” Her kind smile reassures me she’s not making fun of me at all.
“I’ll pay.” I smile at her shaking my head. I already know these two aren’t going to make my life easy.
When I finally grab my coffee and a very inviting looking cookie, I turn to Iris and find her staring at me with the same wide eyes as last night—like an alien just landed in front of her.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asks aloud, making half the people in here turn and look. I feel almost undressed, and not in a pleasant way.
Iris realizes she’s raised her voice too much. She beckons me to sit next to her with a smile that seems sincere. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I’m surprised to see you around here. It’s not where you hang out, is it?”
She’s trying to apologize, and it makes me feel terribly guilty. I should be the one to apologize for popping into her life so urgently I look almost psychotic.
“No, you’re absolutely right. The truth is, I wanted to see you and, since I don’t have your number, but I knew you were going to be here this morning, I came in person.” I hope my confession is not so honest it scares her. Although, by now, she should have run like hell.
“You could have contacted me on Instagram or on my blog. You didn’t have to go to the trouble of coming all this way to talk to me.” She smiles, but I notice she’s a little embarrassed. Maybe she regretted last night’s kiss, and now she doesn’t know how to tell me to stay away. On the other hand, I’d like to repeat the experience a thousand more times because, after tasting her sweetness, I can’t think of anything else.
I was wrong to come here without telling her. It’s clear that I’ve crossed more than one line with her lately, and it’s getting a little weird and embarrassing for both of us.
