by Ann Lister
With three songs left to their second set, Annie saw the two dark figures leave the club. A lot of the patrons followed them outside, perhaps for autographs, or maybe to see if it was really Michael Wade. Annie wondered why Michael and his bodyguard were leaving early. Did her band really sound that bad? Did this mean their chance at stardom was gone?
She went home that night feeling elated and apprehensive, her body twitched with nervous energy. Working day to day with Michael would be a life changing event for her. The biggest event of her life. What would he be like, she wondered? Would he be an ego driven rock star or approachable and down to earth? She tossed and turned in bed. Sleep did not come easy that night and wouldn’t for days to come.
CHAPTER TWO
A week later they were again standing anxiously in Sir Morgan’s Cove, waiting for the appointed hour when Michael Wade and a Bostonian Promotions representative would arrive for their first meeting. Finally, a shiny black turbo Porsche came into view and pulled directly in front of the club. Two men emerged from a second car that came to a stop behind it. Michael Wade stepped out from behind the wheel of his Porsche and greeted the two men from the second car.
He was dressed in a pair of tight black jeans and a plain untucked white shirt, buttons undone almost to his navel, sleeves rolled back to his elbows. Dark shades hid his eyes and his long, dark hair was a mass of chestnut waves.
“This better fly, Annie, or I'll never forgive you for it,” Gary said through clenched teeth. It had been a week since he had learned about the contest and a week since he and Annie had talked. He was defiant and unforgiving because they had entered this contest behind his back. In his mind he felt he had lost some sense of control over what he considered to be his band. And it didn't help the situation, knowing Annie's feelings for her life-long rock idol. The idea of seeing them together in the same room made his blood boil.
“It’s time you put our band before your pride, Gary. At our age, this could be our last chance,” Annie said, her voice trailing off to a soft whisper. Michael Wade had her full attention now, as she watched him swagger toward the front door to the club. There was no extra room in her brain for another argument with Gary.
“Good afternoon,” the rep from Bostonian Promotions began, extending his hand for everyone to shake. “I’m sure you’re all familiar with Michael Wade.”
Michael removed his dark glasses and slid them into his shirt pocket. Then he offered his hand to shake as he went around the room. One by one, each band member reached for Michael’s hand and introduced themselves. Annie was last in line.
“Hi, I’m Annie Logan,” she said, her voice cracking in mid-sentence. She wondered if he noticed how sweaty her hand was and wished she had wiped it off before she reached for his.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Michael replied, giving her hand a gentle tug. His statement forced her to look into his eyes again. When she did, her stomach flip-flopped. Something clicked in her brain.
“What?” she asked. When their eyes locked, she felt the blood drain from her head to her toes. His eyes were a unique smoky, blue-gray color and shimmered like reflection pools. His skin was flawless. His lips were full and brooding and his jaw line was strong and convincing. She had never seen him up close and the impact of his masculine features took her breath away.
“I didn’t hear your name,” he said again, still holding onto her hand.
Annie stared back at him, mesmerized by his presence. As hard as she tried, she could not turn away from his penetrating eyes. He was holding her hostage by the mere power of his gaze and it scared her to death.
“My name is Annie Logan,” she managed, and followed her statement with a weak smile then nervously began chewing on her bottom lip.
“Okay, enough of the formalities. Lets get down to business,” the Bostonian rep said, pulling out a chair to sit.
Finally, Michael released Annie from the prison of his eyes. She sighed with relief, and yet the fullness she had felt while holding onto his hand was gone too. She retreated to a safe chair beside Buzz. Michael sat opposite Annie and next to the Bostonian representative. Several times throughout the meeting, Michael caught Annie’s gaze and attempted to hold her stare. Each time, Annie felt her face blush and she’d quickly look away like a naughty school girl after being caught in the act of some lascivious deed.
If someone had asked her to recall any of the details of that first meeting she would have failed. She could not get beyond the fact that she was sitting at the same table as Michael Wade and that he had held her hand. Or his eyes, and the way they seemed to soften each time they drifted to her and the way his hair hung so sexily, framing his amazing face.
An hour later, her hand was still sweaty when Michael shook it to say good-bye. She would never forget the emptiness she felt when his black Porsche pulled away from the curb.
“What the hell was that all about?” Gary shouted, giving Annie a shove on the shoulder.
“What was what all about?” Annie replied without emotion, as she watched the red tail lights of Michael's Porsche disappear into the distance.
“Jesus, Annie, you didn’t have one word to say in that meeting and it was you that got us into this fucking situation! It would have been nice to have heard some input from you instead of watching you throw ‘fuck-me-glances’ back and forth to Wade.”
“Excuse me? I did no such thing! Maybe I was a bit star struck, but I was not throwing ‘fuck-me-glances’, as you so eloquently put it, at anyone!”
“Lighten up man, I think we were all a bit star struck. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel anything sitting at the same table with Michael Wade. I thought I’d stop breathing when he shook my hand,” Buzz chuckled.
“Yeah, and did you see the ring he had on his left hand? Was that cool or what?” Ivory added.
“I think you’ve all lost your minds,” Gary sputtered with defeat and walked off toward his car.
“Need a ride home?” Buzz asked Annie.
“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”
“Come on, Ivory. I’ll drop you off too.” Buzz stated as he headed toward his van.
Buzz chatted endlessly on the way home while Annie barely made a sound. He felt exhilarated and could not understand why Annie did not seem to share the same excitement.
“Did I miss something back there?” Buzz asked.
“Huh, what do you mean?” Annie replied.
“I wouldn’t say it as crudely as Gary did, but it was obvious that something was going on between you and Michael Wade.”
“You’re both crazy. He shook my hand like everyone else’s. That’s it.”
“This is me you’re talking to, not Gary. What’s going on with you?”
Annie glanced toward Buzz and shook her head. “I’m fine. Just a bit awed by meeting him I guess.”
“That’s it? Are you sure?” Buzz questioned.
Annie smiled and felt her face flush. “He is pretty amazing, isn’t he?”
Buzz shook his head. “Damn it, Annie. Whatever you think you’re feeling right now you better ignore it. Let us not lose our focus here. Okay?”
Annie looked out the window, ignoring Buzz's concern. What was she feeling, she wondered? How could she define it? Meeting Michael Wade was better than she had ever imagined. He was breathtaking. Larger than life. And yet, there seemed to be a quiet introspective side to him that intrigued her. She wondered if he was thinking about her and then quickly laughed at the thought. With all the women he met in a single day, meeting her had to be a pretty insignificant event in his life. She was certain of that. She doubted if he would even remember her name.
CHAPTER THREE
As scheduled, two days later Michael Wade came back and sat in on one of White Rush’s practice sessions. For years the band had been using the old Play House in the town Annie lived as their practice site. It was owned by Annie’s uncle who let them use it for free during the day as long as they played one gig there every m
onth. The location was perfect for Annie. It was within walking distance of her apartment and the diner where she worked. The stage was large and lofty and the lighting bad but the acoustics were fabulous.
They had played and practiced at the Play House hundreds of times but on this day it felt like the first time they had used the stage. They fumbled to find the wall outlets and juggled amplifiers around mindlessly, aware of the fact Michael was in back of the theater watching them. The deal was just that. He would silently attend a week or more of their practice sessions, at the end of which, he would give them his professional critique on the strengths and weaknesses of the band. The end result would be a better, more commercially marketable band. It was all part of the bands’ grooming process to ready them for performing on stage as the opening act for Thrust. In the long term, they could possibly pick up a record contract with their new exposure.
There was a lot to do in a short amount of time and all were expected to make some sacrifices; first of which was to change their practice schedule. Instead of meeting once a week for a few hours, they now had to practice every afternoon from one o’clock to six o’clock in the evening. Their club dates were diminished to Saturday night only with the club sites to be approved by Bostonian Promotions. Sunday was their one day off to do as they pleased. They were asked to take a leave of absence from their day jobs and instead they would receive a weekly allowance from Bostonian Promotions. The allowances were not much but it was understood that they would have to make do with it. The bottom line was Bostonian Promotions, as well as Thrust, wanted White Rush to eat, sleep, and dream about their music and nothing else. When they were not practicing, they were expected to be working on new material.
These details were all agreed to and a contract stating as much was signed at the initial meeting. No one had a problem with it except for Gary. He now felt owned by Bostonian Promotions and hated the idea of being told what to do. He called it a dictatorship and resented every aspect of it.
“No band practices every day,” Gary balked.
“They do if they want to make it big,” Buzz replied, shifting his drum set.
“I can remember practicing until my fingers bled,” Michael added, as he slowly approached the stage. “It all depends on how badly you want to make it.” He sat with a fluid motion in a front row seat and stared directly up at Gary. “If the sacrifices are more than you’re prepared to make, then maybe you ought to pick a different career.”
A steely silence hung over the stage. It was as if an imaginary line had been drawn and both men were waiting to see who crossed it first. Annie looked at Michael’s eyes. Two days ago, they were soft and smoky. Now they were dark charcoal and cold. She gasped and looked away. Gary was blowing this whole deal for them, before it even got off the ground.
“No one said it was going to be an easy ride,” Michael added, never removing his eyes from Gary.
“Yeah, well everything was fine before Al entered us into your fucking contest.”
Michael stood with a loud whoosh. “I can get you out of that contract quicker than it took you to sign it. The choice is yours.” He turned and began to walk toward the front door. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee. You can give me your answer when I get back.”
They waited until they heard the slam of the door before they dared to speak.
“What the hell is your problem?” Buzz jumped on Gary.
“You’re acting like a child,” Annie added.
“Don’t blow this deal, man,” Ivory scolded, lighting up a joint.
Gary shook his head. “You guys are all assholes! You shove this whole deal down my throat and just expect me to jump for joy! They own us now, is that what you all want? You're gonna stand in line and take your allowance check every week like a good boy and hope to hell you have enough to pay the rent? You are all out of your fucking minds!”
Annie stepped away from Gary. “I'd like to shove that guitar down your throat, Gary!” What do you think the big time is like? You become the property of a record label. You get an allowance and you sell records. Lots of them. You start playing in large arenas instead of the cramped clubs we've been in. And you have millions of adoring fans! If you can't see this for the sweet deal it is then you're a bigger idiot than I thought. And, if that is the case, then maybe you should pick another career!”
Annie stomped off the stage in disgust. Buzz and Ivory followed her outside to get some air and sat on the stone steps together.
“He’s going to blow this deal and break-up the band in the process,” Annie sighed choking back tears.
Buzz threw a heavy arm over her shoulder to offer some comfort. “No, he’s not. He’s just pissed because his level of control over the band has been diminished. He’s not that stupid to throw away a deal of this magnitude. But he’d like you to think he would.”
“Want a hit?” Ivory asked Buzz, handing him the joint.
“No thanks, it’s all yours.”
“Shhhh, what’s that sound?” Annie asked.
Heated electric rhythms vibrated from the theater in quick fluid bursts of brilliance, as Gary brought his guitar to life.
“Sounds like Gary has chosen his career,” Buzz answered, listening to Gary’s quick riffs on his guitar. Relieved, they headed back inside.
Nobody said a word and quietly picked up their instruments and joined Gary in mid song. Half an hour later they were at full rock level when Michael slipped back inside the theater.
“That was a good practice,” Michael commented. “And I’m glad you decided to pursue the opportunity, Gary.”
Gary ignored Michael’s voice and continued to pick-up around the stage area. Annie stopped what she was doing and released a private sigh of relief when she noticed the warmth was once again back in Michael’s face. As if he knew she was looking his way, Michael’s eyes silently locked onto hers. The air stopped short in her throat and she felt unable to move away from his stare.
A slow smile melted the lines in Michael’s face. “Annie, isn’t it?” he asked, as if he was unsure of her name.
“Yes, that’s right,” she softly replied, completely amazed he had gotten it right the first time.
“You have a really strong voice,” he offered. “I mean, you sounded great,” he quickly added, shaking his head.
Perhaps it was her imagination, but Annie swore Michael seemed as nervous as she was. Even in the dim lighting of the theater, it appeared to her that he was blushing slightly, the notion of which made her heart lurch. She smiled at him, and he returned one to her then turned to leave the building.
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” he called out over his shoulder and shut the door behind him.
The sun was beginning to set and cool the late afternoon air. Michael shivered and went to his car.
Michael steered his black Porsche back toward Boston. The trip was a blur to him, as his mind wrestled with thoughts of Annie. How unexpectedly she had crashed into his life and turned it upside down, with nothing more than a smile.
He pulled up to the gated entrance of Brian Lofgren’s driveway. He and Brian were the co-founders of Thrust and best friends, but they acted more like brothers. Some said they even looked as if they were related. Brian and Michael disagreed; Brian was far shorter than his stage brother and his facial features sharply chiseled like a bronze sculpture.
It was hard to imagine Brian without Michael and vice versa. For the last twenty-two years, each trusted the other implicitly with the other’s life, and what a life it had been.
Michael knew Brian was a night owl and would still be awake. He reached out his car window and pressed the call button on the intercom box.
A few minutes later the raspy voice of Brian rang back at him through the speaker; “Who’s out there?” Brian asked, a note of concern in his voice.
“Who the hell were you expecting?” Michael grinned.
“I should have known,” Brian laughed. “Come on in!”
Michael waited while
the ten foot black iron gates electronically opened then he throttled his car onward up the long, winding drive and stopped by the massive front door.
Feeling edgy, he approached the solid mahogany double doors. Before he had a chance to knock, Brian opened one of the doors, shirtless, unshaven whiskers on his face, and his hair wild and uncombed. It was obvious Brian was not expecting company.
“Hey, Bro, what’s up?” Brian chirped with excitement. “Come in, come in.”
All the guys in Thrust were like brothers but Brian and Michael shared a bond that, at times, even scared them. Sometimes it was a love hate relationship, other times it was pure acceptance and adulation. Their shared years of sobriety had taught them that.
“You out cruising alone tonight?” Brian asked, quickly checking outside before he closed the front door.
“Yeah.”
“You look tense,” Brian remarked.
“You alone?” Michael asked, his eyes darting around the vast layout of the house looking for Brian’s wife and kids. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“No, but I can be. Come on, we’ll go out to the studio.” Brian pointed Michael in the direction of his new state-of-the-art recording studio that was recently built onto his home. “Go ahead, I’ll meet you out there.” A few moments later he appeared carrying two bottles of imported water. He handed one to Michael before sitting down in a director’s chair with his name imprinted on the back.
“Okay, so what’s got you so perplexed, my friend?” Brian asked, leaning back into his chair.
“I just came from a practice with my band.”
“So, how’s it going?”
“They need a lot of work.”
“Don’t they all,” Brian laughed. “I bet it reminds you of us, back in the day!”
