Seven Minutes 'til Midnight

by Sunniva Dee

  Miss you. He didn’t have to say that. Shouldn’t have, really. Even Troll sees it, and starts shuffling plates around on the table like it’s his job to clean up.

  Troll clears his throat. “Test it out, Aishe. How ’bout we do this: if you like it on our U.S. dates, you do Japan and Europe as well. If you’re still enjoying yourself and if we still want you along”—he sends me a lopsided smile—“you do the rest of the tour. Honestly, we need all the good people we can get.”

  Nervously, I pull on my bangles, making them cling as they drop against each other on my arm. Troy stops my fiddling, holding my hand still.

  “You know what’s funny?” he asks.

  Troll rustles to his feet. He was always so loud in everything he did, a fond memory as I absently watch him shuffle over to the waitress for a refill of coffee.

  “What’s funny?” I return my attention to Troy.

  His hand shifts down to rest around my wrist. I should, but I don’t feel like pulling away.

  “I still think about the day you got those bangles. They’re so perfectly you.”

  “I didn’t buy the bangles with you,” I say, wanting to burst his bubble a little.

  His gaze holds mine. I’m more than happy to talk about how wrong he is—I need his flaws back out in the open. His lashes are too long. His smile tilts on one side. “Stop it,” I say.

  “Stop what?”

  “The smiling. I like it.”

  His smile tilts higher, and I’m seriously relieved when he doesn’t comment.

  “You’re right,” he says. “It wasn’t the bangles you bought. It was this.” He reaches out and touches my hair. Runs his fingers over the peacock feathers I have scattered throughout and drifts down to my earlobes, caressing the matching earrings. “You still wear them.”

  “I actually haven’t worn them since the video.” As I say it, I realize I should have held my tongue. It’s one thing to discuss the consequences of the video. Another is to rip into the reasons behind my going there, and how it made us feel to do the things we did to each other. Thankfully, Troll returns with his coffee.

  “Are Nadia and Zoe coming along?” I ask.

  Troll taps plastic lids on top of three paper cups. He slides one in front of me and one to Troy, belatedly asking, “Milk?”

  “Yeah.” I scoot a few creamers over to Troy—he doesn’t take his coffee black either—and grab one for myself.

  “We wouldn’t leave without the girls now. Can’t leave them to fend for themselves after this shit storm,” Troll says. “And Waris was easy to convince.”

  “Really? Doesn’t she have a contract with Lucid Entertainment?” I ask.

  “Isaias doesn’t see a problem with releasing her for this. After all, it was his people leaking the video. He’ll do anything to make things right.”

  TROY

  We don’t do business class on planes unless we have to, but L.A. to Boston two days after the video broke, we don’t have a chance in hell. The airport is packed with photographers, paparazzi, journalists, and fans everywhere. We even came here in town cars, because the paparazzi know all of our rides by now.

  “How about that picketing on the rotunda,” Hailey says in her little-girl voice. She bats her eyes too, which is sort of cute. “What did it say again?”

  “Bo, Emil, Troy, + Elias = Devil’s Work,” I say, rolling my eyes. She giggles, stretching her hands out in front of her as she studies her long bubblegum nails.

  “Are those handcuffs?” I point at her wrist. Twin golden bands are linked together with a chain link.

  “You noticed that? Nobody sees it.” She giggles again. “My uncle was a police officer. He got them made for me. They’re, like, bangles, but real. You know what I mean? I totes have a key to them and everything.”

  “Good thing too,” I say, “or you would’ve been stuck like that.”

  “Right?” She almost gasps out her giggle. That’s a bit much for me.

  I nod slowly, following Aishe with my eyes as she walks toward us. She’s dressed to kill in one of her long, gorgeous skirts and tight, wide-sleeved tops. These are the threads that made my blood hot and my dick hard. God, how I wanted that woman. Every hour of every day for months on tour.

  Unconsciously, she tosses her hair back. It lands in a mass of red and black that tumbles down to her waist. What wouldn’t I pay to gather it in my hands and pull her head back until her mouth was there for me, open, willing, and ready to be sucked on.

  “Troy. Troy?” Hailey’s volume increases when she realizes she’s lost my attention. “I think it’s business class now. Time to board that plane, for you. I wish I could go business class too.” She grimaces playfully. “Some other time. Guess if I get to be in a video with you or something?”

  I get to my feet and grab my backpack. Our gear is already in Boston where the buses are picking us up. A drumstick falls out of my backpack and rolls toward Aishe. She almost steps on it with one of her little black pumps, and my mind goes to how I’d like to wiggle her foot out of it.

  She bends, hair sliding out from behind her ear, falling until it brushes over my drumstick. She picks it up, holds it out for me, and when I grab it, I stroke her fingers for that inkling of a second that says it all.

  I don’t care. It had to be done. I mean, look at her.

  “I don’t think I’ve met you for reals before,” Hailey chirps behind me. “Are you going to introduce us, Troy?” Funny; there’s something proprietary about how she touches my shoulder. I suppress a smile.

  “Hailey Abigail Pawter meet Aishe Xodyar. She was our merch girl on the last tour, and you guys will be working together on this one.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Eagle-sharp, Aishe’s gaze scans Hailey’s face.

  “I’ve heard so-o-o much about you. Can’t wait for us to become besties,” Hailey says.

  I have seven sisters and a fiery mother, and I’m smelling smoke.

  We’re in the air when our official music video goes live, and the flight attendant is the one reminding us. She’s an older woman, around fifty, with a motherly attention to detail that clearly goes beyond her job description.

  The younger flight attendant has hidden behind her curtain in the front. When Bo passes the news on to the rest of us, she keeps peeking out.

  “Well,” Bo says with a shrug. “Guess all we can do is celebrate. Can we have a round of mimosas?”

  “Yes, breakfast of the gods,” Elias says, shifting sideways in his seat. “You want a mimosa, babe?” I can’t believe how easily he uses the endearment for Waris. She smiles sweetly with lipstick in some pearly color. It makes her mouth hard to ignore. I’m not the only one thinking that either, because Elias’ eyes drift down to it, waiting for it to move in an answer.

  “How can I say no to that?”

  “Right? How can you!” Elias claps and points at our flight attendant. “Two mimosas over here, and…?” He scissor-hand-points over the rest of us.

  “Sure.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bring it.”

  “Wow!” Nadia exclaims. “I had no idea we’d be on CNN. They’re picking up music videos, now?”

  “Wasn’t it supposed to break tonight?” Zoe says.

  “Ha, nothing has gone the way we wanted with this thing, though,” Emil says, lifting his laptop over his head to show us. He doesn’t care that there are strangers around us too. “Damn, look. Fucking amazing job Isaias’ people did. The editing?”

  “Actually, it was Isaias’ idea,” Janet says. “We ‘leaked’ the video to CBS, ABC, CNN, and FOX early this morning. We figured with all the hubbub of the uncensored, uncut video, they’d be interested. And sure enough. We’re officially uploading to your website and YouTube as we speak. Looks like fans have already uploaded their pirate versions, though.”

  “Holy shit, one of
them has over sixty thousand views already.” My eyes rove between Emil’s laptop and my phone. “This is nuts.”

  “Remember when we went viral with ‘Fuck You?’” Bo asks rhetorically.

  “Hell yeah,” a few of us mumble. I cast a glance at Nadia, the inadvertent reason for that song. If it weren’t for Bo’s stress levels during a time when she was unreachable, Clown Irruption might not even be on the music map.

  “Well, the big television networks weren’t with us on that one, so if they are now, expect the worst. I doubt we’ll have elbow room to do our job tomorrow.”

  Aishe sits behind me. She’s been quiet during the exchange and the lifting of laptops for everyone to see.

  I turn. Find her eyes over the back of the seat. The plane isn’t full today. I’d offered her a seat next to me, but she chose to sit next to Troll.

  “Are you scared?” I keep my voice low so she doesn’t have to worry about unwanted attention.

  Her response comes too fast. With a quick headshake, she looks up at me, black eyes glittering.

  “Come up here.” I pat the seat next to me. When she doesn’t answer, I add, “I’ve got something to tell you. Please?”

  She doesn’t bring her stash when she comes, not even her purse. I’m glad to see the tray of mimosas stop at my row as she sits down. She accepts a glass, while the flight attendant passes another to me.

  Aishe accommodates herself sideways so she faces me. “What’s up, Troy?”

  “Okay, let me cut right to it; I’ve been thinking, and I doubt you’ll be happy as a merch girl.”

  “What do you mean? You regret talking me into coming, now?”

  “No.” I draw orange-flavored fizz into my mouth and swallow it down. “But this video is getting more attention than we even hoped for, and the chance that someone will recognize you is probably high.”

  The wrinkle appearing between her brows is something so beautiful. I don’t want her worried, but how can I not enjoy the sight of that?

  “But my face isn’t all that visible in the video. Unless they’ve made major edits to it after I approved it?”

  “No, they haven’t. You’re definitely the least visible of everyone.”

  “I’m less visible than on the uncensored video, right? God, I’m starting to doubt myself.”

  “No, you are, but think about it, okay? I’d rather see you lay low than get into trouble at the merch stand. Cheers,” I say, lifting my glass to her.

  “Right.” She rolls her eyes like she wouldn’t dream of it. “Cheers.” She forms her lips over the edge of her glass, making me jealous of the crystal. We drink together. One swallow. Two. On the third, her eyes fill with amusement, and she takes a fourth before she lowers it.

  “Thirsty, eh?” I say, smiling.

  “Drowning my sorrows, maybe?” She shares in my smile.

  “Are you ready to watch?” I say while her guard is down, and that small wrinkle between her eyebrows makes a comeback.

  “It’s a summer breeze compared to the uncut version,” I remind her.

  Absently, she puts a long red lock into her mouth and chews on it.

  “Don’t do that,” I say, pulling it out.

  She fills her chest with air and lets it out in a huffed sigh. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  AISHE

  My earbud pops out on one side, but Troy hooks it back in again. He cracks little jokes, making me chuckle through my nerves, while he inserts the double adapter for our earphones. I want to stall this indefinitely, but there it is, loading, and before we know it, a still picture with the headline, “Clown Irruption,” then the name of the song, “Deep in You,” beneath it, is sprawled over Troy’s laptop.

  “That’s the picture they’re using for the video?” I gasp.

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No. I thought it would be one of Nadia and Bo.” It’s wild, gorgeous, a closeup of Troy’s face thrown backward, eyes half-closed. Through the slits, he looks up at me with reverence, dreadlocks pulling him downward in the picture. My hair mixes with his, diagonal stripes of black and red against his mahogany and blond.

  Of me, only parts of a temple and my nose are visible. The rest of my face is concealed by my hair. But our lips are meeting, and I can’t stop staring at them. That kiss is so soft, so full of languid movement, I’m drawn back to the moment we were in.

  Everything I felt for Troy bursts out: the love, the need for revenge, the bittersweet almost-hate. The urge to touch and please and be pleased. Not even with Emil had I lived a connection that strongly. In the aftermath of the shoot, I called in sick to The Thalias and stayed in my hotel room until I could stop crying.

  “Ready?” Troy wiggles his own earbuds into place, and I bob my head in agreement. He keeps the laptop between us, screen open with the story it’s telling.

  Color. Movement. The slow start to a song that will soon become danceable. Nadia at her house, feeding Selena. Bo shredding at a concert, his guitar heaved high, eyes closed while Emil sings about missing his woman.

  Emil’s raw happiness, shaking his head through the love he belts out. Elias appearing next, rocking his hips, eyes on the camera with his lethal mix of seduction and undead boyishness. But then, there’s Troy, and he’s just bigger than life. Biceps explosive with strength as he makes his drums snarl, rock-hard torso melting with heat. Troy doesn’t look at the camera at all.

  The airport. Selena stretching her arms out for Bo. Nadia’s face, glowing as she disappears into the embrace of her little family. Emil tossing Zoe in the air in their bedroom, peeling off her layers, kissing her eyelids, mouth opening in a playful roar like he wants to devour her.

  “God, this is so sweet, isn’t it?” I whisper to Troy. “I didn’t remember that.”

  “How could you with all the focus being on the crap video?”

  Troy and my scene fans out on the screen. Our set is a hotel room. He’s lying on the bed with an air of dejection. When he sits up on his elbows, his surprise isn’t an act. It’s real and big as the camera zooms in on his face and Emil cries out, “I need to be deep. In. You.”

  The angle shifts to me. I’m in the doorway, oozing revenge and seduction and hate. Dressed like my ancestors, I’m every Gypsy woman inflicted with the plague of a love too intense to endure. I stride to him, toss my hair out of the way, feathers and bangles rocking.

  “Shit. Look at you.” Troy’s voice is full of gravel.

  I look at us while I straddle him, skirt like an oversized, messy flower around me. I push him against the bed, and he lets me.

  “The shot… It’s so—clean.”

  “They promised us PG,” he murmurs.

  “I don’t know if I believed it all the way.”

  He turns to me while the video focuses on Elias. “Would you have done it if not?”

  His question hangs there. Would I?

  I thought it was perfect, the way I was taking from him, knowing how he felt about me, knowing how he wanted absolution for what he once did.

  It was revenge to take from him what he took from me, then without mercy, leave before he could ask for more.

  Give everything while giving nothing. Just like a guy. I could do it, play with his feelings. Punish him and punish him.

  That had been my plan.

  “No,” I hear myself say.

  It’s the truth summarized. I needed to try it, check if it could unknot these thoughts I’d had about him since I left the tour. But I wouldn’t have paid for it with my modesty if I’d known.

  “No, I wouldn’t have done it.”

  We’re back on the screen, and I’m moving over him. The way he shuts his eyes, lids trembling with barely retained ecstasy. How his Adam’s apple bobs while I ride him. Our bodies aren’t there—just the hint of my shoulder with the neckline sunken too low. Troy’s hand cupping
it, thumb stroking, then digging into my flesh with passion.

  “Oh” I say. “That’s… a lot, isn’t it?” I bite my lip, tempering my own reaction to his display.

  “There.” Troy stops the video and sends me a playful side-glance. I flush scarlet, although the one who should be embarrassed is him. “Remember this?”

  “Stop it.” I pull out an earbud and bring my glass to my cheek. Unfortunately, it’s empty and doesn’t offer the cool relief I was hoping for.

  “Crazy to see yourself like this, in the exact moment you climax. I’ve never seen that before. Doesn’t look that bad,” he adds, thoughtful.

  “Bad” isn’t even close. His expression is beatific. Troy radiates beauty, love, and a pleasure so strong he can’t even keep his eyes open.

  “You know what I wish?”

  “Do I want to know?” I toss back.

  “I wish they’d have shown your face. There’s nothing more stunning in this world than you coming.”

  AISHE

  The darkness is thick and my duvet soft, until it disappears in a slow caress down my breasts. I’m not wearing any clothes. Why am I not wearing my nightie? If I’m not with someone, I always do.

  I blink against the pitch black of my hotel room. I feel someone here, but I can’t see them. This is my room. I know for a fact I went to sleep alone.

  No sense of time or place. Just me, alone, in a hotel room. I must be out on a gig.

  A slow sigh above me. I recognize that sigh. Balmy, dreamy, it’s the color of amber and yearning, and my body opens up to it.

  He doesn’t talk. I don’t either. He’s all I need right now, and I’m all he needs. My arms fight for him. I’d claw him closer if I didn’t want to give him everything good. No scrapes on him. I don’t want him to hurt in any way. He’s hurt too much, and it’s been my fault.

  “Troy, my darling.”

  “Yes, love. I love you.”

  So real, here with me, his lip full and edible between mine. God, I have missed him for longer than I’ve known him. What is this, this miracle, that he’s just here with me in my room when we never even spoke about all that happened?