by Leah Collins
"That bastard!” Nora exclaimed. “He lured me away so his boys could get to our equipment!"
"Sort of looks that way,” Rob said. “What do we do now?"
"The only thing we can do,” Alan said, and gave the nod that he was ready.
The crowd fell silent as the lights went up to Alan standing alone in the center of the stage. He pulled the microphone toward him and apologized for technical problems that would force Wanderlust to withdraw from the competition.
The audience murmured sympathetically. Many of them were longtime fans, and were brokenhearted to see the band they'd followed have to miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime. News of the fight filtered among them. Words of support roared as Alan continued.
"Thank you,” he said. “I'm disappointed, too. I wrote a special song for tonight, but now...” Alan couldn't finish what he was saying above the chant of “Sing it, sing it, sing it,” that had caught on and spread wildly through the audience.
"Sing it, Alan!” Everyone shouted in unison, and laughed.
Alan shifted uneasily, but reached for his guitar.
"I don't usually sing ballads.” His nervous smile fluttered a hundred female hearts.
"I wrote this for you, Nora. And it's been hell trying to keep you from seeing it on the playlist.” He shaded his eyes and grinned at her as she sat wringing Rob's hands incessantly. “It's about a guy who doesn't realize what he has until it's almost gone."
"And you thought Alan didn't trust you,” Rob whispered to her.
"Turns out I'm a very poor judge of character."
Alan started to play and the audience fell mute. There were no special effects, no fog, or mirrors, or lasers—even the lights they'd ordered weren't working. No one had ever heard him sing without the blaring decibels of the band accompanying him.
I never felt so helpless, with nothing I could do,
I didn't know what I wanted until I wanted you...
Alan's voice was just plain beautiful.
His verses spoke a simple declaration of love, and every woman in the audience sighed at the sincerity in his voice. Knowing the words were meant for her alone made Nora's heart swell to bursting. Alan couldn't miss the obvious love on her face. When the words caught in his throat, Nora glanced to see several fans dabbing their eyes—and those were men. Most of the women had already given up and pulled out the Kleenex.
Nora smiled to think of how Derek's elaborate plans to usurp this contest had failed so completely in the simple light of Alan's talent.
The song ended to dead silence and sniffles. The beat of a few seconds passed before the auditorium literally erupted. Triumph's producers could hardly settle the cheering crowd down long enough to make their way on stage for their announcement.
Rob was clutching Nora so tight her arm was numb. The three fledglings were all but hugging each other in suspense. Alan moved aside to let the herd of record officials take center stage. Amidst the covey of short, bald men, one in particular stepped forward. Indistinguishable from the rest, he introduced himself as Triumph Records’ Vice-President of Production. He took the microphone and smiled.
"Tonight I think we can all agree that we've witnessed a true ‘Battle of the Bands!'” A deluge of hoots and clapping ensued.
"While Triumph Records certainly does not condone ... eh...” He groped for the correct word. Failing to retrieve one, he covered the microphone while an assistant whispered to him. “While we do not condone ... fisticuffs ... the level of passion these two bands have brought to this auditorium is commendable."
A round of cheers mixed with derisive laughter barbed the executives. Alan caught Nora's eye and shrugged helplessly.
"Our decision was not as difficult as you might think, since Triumph Records continues to monitor the pulses and trends of musical nuances that haven't yet reached the ears of the listening public."
"What the hell is he talking about?” Rob hissed. Nora elbowed him to silence.
"That being said—” the VP cleared his throat before continuing, “I am proud to announce—by unanimous vote—that the recipient of a contract deal with Triumph Records is—Wanderlust! May our mutual association be long and fruitful."
"Holy shit, Alan did it!” Rob shouted, as he and Nora hugged each other and laughed. They were on their way to becoming stars, and the audience roared their approval.
Alan was overwhelmed by the outcome. He thanked everyone several times before attempting to leave the stage. The place lit with hundreds of tiny flames as the fans screamed for more. Alan stopped short, and walked back to the microphone.
"Actually, I did have an encore planned,” he said.
"Do it, do it, do it!” they cried.
Amidst the deafening applause, Alan left his guitar and walked offstage to take Nora in his arms. He kissed her with a passion that every person in the audience could feel to their toes. And that was the ovation that really brought the house down.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Leah Collins hates to sleep, loves to read, dislikes social functions, and maintains several aquariums. She only wears one brand of sneakers, and is obsessed with all forms of caffeine. Leah has a wonderful family, and lives under the paw of a frighteningly intelligent dog that rules their household.
A native Midwesterner, she has been writing and editing both fiction and non-fiction for more than a dozen years. Backstage Pass is her first erotic romance.
Visit Leah's website at www.leahcollins.com
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