IntheMood

by Lynne Connolly

  All of it combined to give this venue an unforgettable air, one unlike anywhere else in the world. He loved it.

  Then his cell phone rang. “Yeah? AZ, everything okay?”

  “Perfect,” came his engineer’s voice, so calm but with an undercurrent of something else. Worry? Excitement? Fucked if he knew. “Better than I thought. You know that English guy, Terry Waters?”

  “Sure.” Terry Waters was hot property. An exile from an aging boy band, he’d recorded a single that had taken the world by storm. Even better, he’d written the fucker. Now everybody wanted a part of him. But he was volatile, a handful, enjoying his new image as a rabble-rouser.

  “He wants us for his album.”

  He gripped the phone harder. “You are shitting me.”

  “No, I’m not. For sure, Matt.”

  Instantly he forgave AZ for interrupting his vacation.

  V was fine, sitting with Jace, sharing a beer and a chat. She seemed okay now, beyond her fear, but he didn’t want to go very far away from her. “Brilliant news, AZ.” Waters had more talent than people gave him credit for, but he needed careful handling. That wouldn’t be Matt’s problem, but he had to make sure the contract was watertight, in case the guy didn’t make it all the way through. “So when did you know?”

  “Half an hour ago. Thing is, Matt, he wants to see you. Now.”

  “He can’t. I’m at the Garden.”

  “I know. He’s at your hotel, waiting for you. He wants to see the concert. We need to keep him sweet until he’s signed on the dotted line.”

  Shit, yes. “Yeah, sure.”

  “He wants you to meet him at the hotel so you can chat on the way.”

  But he was here. Fuck. “Hold on, AZ.”

  Swiftly, he outlined his problem to V and Jace, concentrating on not shrieking his delight. Jace made up for it by shouting and clapping him hard on the back. “You are the king, Matt.”

  “I won’t go, I’ll send a car for him.”

  “You have to go,” V said. She smiled broadly and he couldn’t see a smidgeon of doubt on her face. He glanced at Jace, but he didn’t know if she’d told anyone but himself about her fear, or even if she wanted anyone else to know.

  “Are you sure? I’m here for you, V. But it didn’t take long to get here from the hotel. I can be there and back in half an hour. Forty-five minutes, tops.”

  She nodded, smiled, told him she was fine. She’d change and get onstage. Relieved, he kissed her and promised he’d be back soon.

  He’d get a handshake and get a feel for the guy, how he worked, what he expected. A discussion like that would be extremely useful. If he went now, all he’d miss would be the opening act.

  He had a word with Chick, who assured him he’d make sure Terry Waters had a great seat, or he’d look after him backstage. He grabbed two AAA passes, and headed back to the hotel.

  He raced outside to flag a taxi down on Eighth. Getting back to the hotel took the fifteen minutes he’d planned. Thank fuck, Terry Waters was sober and waiting for him in the café, where he sat with his manager, a gorgeous British blonde. Hey, he was taken, but he wasn’t blind, and he’d have to arrange another pass for her.

  She assured him that all she wanted tonight was sleep, and she did look beat, her makeup inadequately covering dark shadows under her eyes. Matt got the feeling this young guy kept her busy. Full of himself, but not quite at the obnoxious level, eager to learn and work on his career, Terry seemed fresh as a daisy and willingly accompanied Matt to the taxi outside.

  In the short interval it had taken Matt to meet Terry and his agent and then take the guy outside, all New York had come out to play. Either that, or there was a huge pileup somewhere.

  When he asked the cabbie, the man held up both his hands in a gesture of despair. Matt wished he’d keep his hands on the wheel, because although they weren’t moving fast, people were darting in front of the traffic alarmingly close to the vehicle.

  “It’s the time of day,” the driver said. “People come out at this time. The restaurants are opening, the theatres too.” The beads draped over his mirror and the little dangling image of a many-armed goddess rattled against the windscreen as he jerked on the handbrake.

  If he was alone, Matt would have given up and jogged the two miles or so, but Terry Waters was a VIP and he couldn’t suggest that. If he’d known him better, maybe. So he sat back, wishing he could find the time for sure, keeping an eye open for a clock outside. His watch was under the long sleeve of his jacket, and he didn’t want Terry to know he was anxious about anything. This game involved a lot of face, and admitting he was worried might cause him to lose his.

  He smiled and chatted about the traffic, about life in New York, about Chicago, then Murder City Ravens, but only because Terry seemed fascinated by the band. Then he got on to Terry Waters, at last. The kid seemed to know what he wanted. He’d studied music at high school and although he started early, he wasn’t swollen-headed enough to think he didn’t have a lot to learn. Matt liked that, and Terry’s innate swagger. He decided he wanted to do this album, but now he had to sell Terry on his studio.

  If Matt hadn’t been on edge, it would have been easier. As it was, he wasn’t sure what he said, and he was far from giving the marketing spiel he knew he should be spouting.

  At last, they arrived. Matt had managed a few surreptitious glances at the time, from clocks hanging outside stores, electronic timepieces and the like. A shame they hadn’t gone via Times Square and he never thought he’d wish for that. He thrust some notes at the cabbie and they exited to the sound of clacking beads. Not the restful music he’d needed.

  Then he had the bad luck to find someone who had no idea who he was, or who Terry was, and who thought the passes, which took the form of printed, colored wristbands, were fake.

  Ah shit, this had taken so long, the band would be onstage by now. He’d miss V’s big moment. He wanted to punch this guy standing in front of him, staring at the passes as if he’d never seen one before. Eventually the bastard radioed someone and got permission to let them in.

  He almost collided with his manager. Chick grabbed Matt’s upper arms and glared at him. “Where is she? Did she go with you?”

  “Who? V? Isn’t she onstage?”

  “No, she fucking isn’t. I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not in her dressing room.”

  With Terry watching, an expression on his face a cross between bewilderment and amusement, Matt felt as though Chick had punched him on the jaw. “Is her instrument there?”

  “The case is. I’ve been too busy looking for her to look for saxophones. We’ve found a substitute, but they’re reading the music. It looks bad. Doesn’t she know what she’s supposed to do if something happens?”

  “Have you called her?”

  “You think I’m a complete fucking idiot? Her phone’s switched off.”

  Matt wanted to hit something, someone, but most of all he wanted to punch himself for leaving her alone. He should have known better. “So she’s missed it?”

  Chick growled like a wounded bear. “No. They changed the running order to give her time. They’ll play some of the older stuff first. Forty minutes max, then the number goes in, whether she’s there or not.”

  Matt had never introduced anyone faster, but he had Chick and Terry best buddies in the next thirty seconds. Terry’s manager would probably hate his guts. She should have come, if she wanted to keep hold of her boy, but perhaps Terry had tired her out. Already he was plying Chick with questions. He had a glass in his hand. Matt would bet he used alcohol to slow himself down a bit. He should know, he’d been there, done that.

  But not now, not tonight. He knew what had happened, but not where V had gone. She’d panicked. He could have sworn she’d be fine. They’d talked about it, practiced it. She promised she’d be okay. Why didn’t she call? They weren’t supposed to leave their cells on in the backstage area, but most of the talent ignored that. Who’d stop them?

 
; He had to fight to quell the panic rising in his belly, force himself to think. Dressing room first. He reached it in record time, but she wasn’t there, although he searched every spot.

  However, her stage clothes were gone and her street clothes were draped over a chair. She must be wearing those crippling high heels too, since he saw her sneakers tucked under a chair. And the clothes in the bag, the ones she packed for after the show remained too. So was her purse, and a quick check inside showed her cash and credit cards intact. And her hotel cardkey.

  Cursing under his breath, he realized she must be in a bad way. She hadn’t used the dressing room safe, and she wasn’t stupid enough to leave all that unattended in her right mind.

  She must be fucking terrified. Sitting in the room, waiting alone for him, thinking… He really thought she’d gotten over the worst of it.

  After taking time to shove her purse in the safe and type in a number, he left the room and took the direction away from the stage. She’d run. But she hadn’t left the building, not by the recognized exits. Chick had already radioed everyone. That was the reason for the security check when they’d come back.

  Matt searched every unlocked room and hammered on the doors of the few locked to him, but couldn’t find her. She’d run and hide. That would be her instinct. And if anyone challenged her, she’d fight. Room by room, hallway after hallway, how had he ever thought this place was small backstage?

  He finally found her in a bleak bathroom near the exit that led to the parking area. They’d come in that way, so her instincts would have taken her there. Once he realized that, he’d followed the trail back the way they’d come.

  Although he couldn’t hear anything, he knew she was there. He felt it, and her perfume wreathed around him, still seductive despite his desperate worry.

  “V?”

  A tiny whimper rewarded him. Something in his heart gave then, and he let the truth flood in. All of it. Pride, self-respect, reticence, all disappeared in the deluge of relief and need that swamped him now. “V, do you want to go home? I swear, sweetheart, I’ll make it happen.” Then he realized that was the last thing she needed. Probably the first thing she wanted though.

  “Matt?”

  He followed the sound down to the last cubicle. She huddled on the seat, hands clasped over her bare arms, shivering, her hair falling over her face.

  “V, sweetheart, you scared me.”

  Shocking him, she laughed, tremulous and shaky, close to hysterical. “I scared myself.”

  “What happened? Was it building all day?”

  She shook her head. “Just before I went on.”

  “It exploded over you?”

  She nodded, then her head jerked up and she met his agonized gaze. Her water-stained eyes stared into his, black mascara streaked down her cheeks and her lip was swollen where she’d been biting it. “Just after Jack called.”

  The bastard. He might have known. He was right about that guy. “What did he say?”

  Her voice shook. If Jack had been anywhere close, Matt would’ve taken him apart with his bare hands. “He wished me luck. Said he hoped I did it perfectly this time and made a joke about not making the same mistakes twice. Told me to favor my left side, because that’s my good side. Asked me if I’d tested my dress in front of a bright light.”

  Anyone who didn’t know might think that an innocuous call. But Matt knew. Jack had been subtly undermining her confidence for months. Just that one call would trigger all the doubts that he’d been planting in her head and send her screaming for shelter. No, not screaming, because somebody would have picked up on that. Just running.

  “Come back to the dressing room. Let me look after you.”

  “You won’t make me—”

  “Darling, I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.” When he reached his hand out to her, she shrank back. Water dripped, the sound ghostly and dank. “Please, V. I swear it. If you want to go home, that’s what we’ll do. All the way back to Chicago. I’ll hire a car and drive through the night.” Then he could kill Jack sooner. At least he had that consolation.

  Tentatively, she moved forward. He remained still, holding his breath, waiting for her. If he tried to grab her, he’d scare her all over again.

  After what seemed like forever, she touched his fingers and slowly slid her hand into his. He grasped it, not too tightly, not wanting her to feel trapped. Her warmth brought him more relief.

  He tugged her very gently and she got to her feet. He stepped back, pulling her with him, never taking his eyes from hers. She followed, step by step, until he had her closer, in the main part of the room. But he wouldn’t rush her. Let her heart start beating at its normal rhythm.

  The little pulse in her wrist fluttered, far too fast. That came with extra adrenaline, the energy that she should have been expending on stage.

  “So Jack decided you wouldn’t go onstage?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Jack cares for me.” Her voice was breathy. So sexy, and his relief, plus her presence, had its inevitable effect.

  Yes, he probably did. “I know. But he wants to keep you as you were, the bud that didn’t blossom. Your family did everything to get you sorted out, didn’t they? That’s why they didn’t turn up to your performances?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” She turned a stricken gaze on to him. “Is it true? Are they here?”

  “As many as could make it.” What was the point of lying to her now? “Quite a few. They love you, V, they want to see you succeed, be everything you can be.”

  Her face crumpled. “I’ve let them down, haven’t I?”

  “No.” He drew her close and she went to him, nestling close against his heart, her hot tears bathing his T-shirt. “They love you whatever you do. Besides, it’s only one night out of the whole of your life.” He cradled her, knowing he would be there for her. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. You still have your life, you still have me.”

  “But I wanted to do it!” The vehement cry ripped away from her heart and her shout echoed around the bathroom. “I thought I could!”

  He had to be careful here. “Do you still want to do it?”

  “Yes, but I can’t.”

  “Yes you can. They’ve held back the number, rearranged the running order. All the new stuff is later now.”

  She gasped. “Wow.”

  “Yes, wow. That’s how highly the band thinks of you.”

  She took a breath, steadier now, and he felt her move in his arms. “I don’t think I can, Matt.”

  “Come back to the dressing room.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

  He took her to the basins. A white melamine held them, chipped at the edges, with a part at the end forming a small table. He grasped her waist and hoisted her up to sit.

  “Let me help.” He tore a few paper towels from the holder and ran cold water over them before squeezing them out. He applied them to her face, dabbing at the black marks as gently as he could, talking while he worked. “We’ll say you were taken ill. I can take you straight back, but you left your purse in the dressing room. It’s okay, I locked it in the safe,” he added, smiling at her gasp when she realized she’d left the room that fast. “Nobody has to know about this.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You told me, remember? You got stage fright, you said.” He paused, switching out the towel for a fresh one, but hesitated, and met her gaze once more. “And because I used to get it myself. I got it bad.”

  “Really?”

  He huffed a wry laugh. “Why do you think I started taking the drugs?”

  He saw when the awareness entered her eyes. “I never realized.”

  “Nobody did. Except Jace. No, he doesn’t get it, he just knew. Found me one night hunting down some speed because I had to have something to stop that panic. My stomach tightened and I couldn’t sing when I was bad. My nightmare was standing i
n front of the audience and nothing coming out.”

  “Is that why you gave up?”

  Thinking of someone else seemed to help her. The spirit was returning to her defeated soul. Her chin went up a tad, her eyes regained some of their sparkle. “No. I gave up because I was addicted to everything. Except the drink. By then I was on the hard stuff, and all the dealers in every town we visited knew it. They were waiting for me. I got my junk for nothing because of the custom I brought with me, all the hangers-on that follow a band. I enabled untold people. But when you give up, it has to be for yourself. Eventually I respected myself enough to want to do it.” He smiled, his heart steady. “I was lucky enough to find something I liked better.”

  “The studio?”

  He nodded. “The studio. I got over the stage fright. I can’t tell you when it left me, but it did, sometime on the first tour. After that I had no excuse. I was just another junkie. One who drew all the best stuff in every city we visited.”

  “I’m glad you gave it up.”

  He tossed the towel in the trash and touched his lips to hers. “So am I. Even more now. Are you ready to go?”

  She looped her arms around his neck. “Not quite. Make love to me, Matt.”

  He froze. “What?”

  “Make love to me. I want to try, I want to do the song, if it’s not too late. If you give me an orgasm, I can get over this, I’m sure of it. Sure.” She paused. “Anyway, I want to. It worked last time, at the studio. It’ll work now. I want you, Matt. Please.”

  He laughed. “Here?”

  “Here.” To prove her point, she widened her legs. Her dress slid up her thighs and she wrapped her legs loosely around his waist, her hands going to his fly. Her voice turned throaty and seductive. “Do it to me, Matt. Fuck me.”

  And there it was. Apart from the setting, this was the embodiment of the dream he’d had the first time he’d seen her in this gold dress. To push up her skirt and take her hard and fast and rough. How could he resist?

  He couldn’t think of one reason. Unzipping as fast as he could, he shoved his underwear down and brought out his damp, throbbing cock. His hand shook and he wasn’t afraid of showing her, but she made no comment. She braced her hands on the small table, pushing her pelvis forward to the precarious edge.