Backstage

by A. m Madden

  As I sit on the edge of the stream, mesmerized by its motion, I flip through all the days and nights Taylor and I sat on this very spot. Night after night of just being together while forcing her to listen to all the songs I was learning how to play on my guitar. We talked about places we wanted to visit. Never having been out of the state of Utah, she rambled off landmarks across the country that she would love to see some day. I remember laughing at her tourist bucket list, finding it amusing. Her biggest aspirations at the time were to see places practically in her own back yard.

  “Don’t you want to go to Europe or Hawaii or South Africa?” I had asked after hearing her list.

  “Nope. There’s plenty to see in the States. I want to see the Grand Canyon, Hoover Dam, and The Golden Gate Bridge. Ooh, the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty. But I also want to see the weird stuff. Like, there’s this humongous floating duck that sits in a Minnesota lake that I saw on the news once. It looks so cool. Oh, and the world’s biggest rubber band ball.”

  I laughed out loud at the look of excitement she gave me. “I’ll take you there. I’ll take you to every place you want to see,” I offered with a smile.

  “Really? No matter how stupid they sound?”

  “Especially to those.”

  I suddenly feel so tired. All my energy is being sucked dry by my sadness. When will it stop? I can’t imagine a day when I won’t feel this crushing, gripping pain in the center of my heart. I have so many regrets. The guilt I feel for getting Taylor mixed up with my life is my biggest regret. I pursued her relentlessly. I didn’t give her a choice, and now she’s gone.

  I inhale a huge breath of air. I stare up at the sky, willing her aura or her spirit to help me. “Taylor, if you are here, please stay with me? I need you.” The sun beats down, the breeze gently blows, the birds chirp. Any of these could be considered signs of her presence. I see them only as signs of her absence. The most telling sign of that is the emptiness I feel in my core. That’s the sign I will forever have to carry with me.

  I talk out loud, filling her in on what has happened, on what I plan on doing, on the hurt I’m paralyzed with. I reminisce of our first time, telling her how the softness of her skin and the touch of her lips are things I will never, ever forget. I confess to her that she will always be on my mind and in my heart, but I will not be uttering these words of despair ever again. Once I run out of things to say, I decide it’s time to go. It’s time to leave all these memories behind.

  I rub my hunk of junk’s steering wheel, encouraging her with my words. “Be nice to me, Babe. I need you to perform and get me to L.A.” She’s my only possession besides the bag and guitar beside me. It’s liberating to leave all my stuff behind. None of it has any sentimental value anyway. Most of it was bought with his money. Ironically, I have no problem stealing from him. The huge amount of cash I have stashed in my bag will probably never be missed. If he does find out that I took it, I dare him to come find me to take it back.

  It’s about ten hours to Los Angeles. I practically need to drive right through the center of Vegas, so I’m making a pit stop. Maybe a little gambling, squandering, and sexual debauchery will do me some good. As I’m driving out of the town limits and onto I-15 South, I can visualize my mother’s panic once she realizes I’ve left. She’s so dependent on my father. I can’t help but wonder how she’ll be coping without his heavy disciplinary hand controlling her every move. She’ll either shrivel up and die or curl into the fetal position in the corner. Part of me wishes I could see it happen.

  I have no intentions of stopping until I get to Vegas. With every mile marker I pass, one tiny piece of me flies out the open window onto the highway behind me. Piece by piece Trestan Barton disappears. The last part will be my name. As soon as I get to L.A., I’ll start the process. I already know what I’m changing it to. I can’t fucking wait to assume that new identity. Until then, I’m looking forward to being an unknown. I can’t wait to get to a place where no one knows me or who I am. The freedom that comes from being invisible is teasing me slowly with every mile I drive. For the first time in my life, I feel at peace and maybe even a bit optimistic. For the first time in my life, I am looking forward to tomorrow.

  I drove for seven hours straight, not even stopping to take a piss. The Vegas strip rises out of the desert as I’m driving through. Maybe I’ll stay for a few days. I’m sure I’ll be able to find a cheap hotel and live minimally. After all, this is the land of the cheap buffet.

  The traffic is slow enough that I’m able to take in all the sights from the cab of my truck. It’s like one huge party. There are rowdy people everywhere, most likely from all walks of life. The lines of responsible adult behavior are blurred. The old coexist with the irresponsible youth who have no problem sharing the same space. The tacky, flamboyant acting as if they have money. The snobby, upper class making sure everyone knows they have money. It’s all so funny, like watching a really good TV show in 3D.

  I drive up and down the strip a few times before I decide to find a place to crash. I should be exhausted. I’m not…I’m wired and antsy. I decide against finding a really cheap dump of a motel. The neighborhood changes drastically once you’re off the strip. Spending too much so early in my journey is a dumb move. I really need to save the funds, but I’m carrying a lot of cash. Springing for a nicer place is more for protection than for comfort. I pull into a hotel at the end of the strip and make my way in. It’s no Bellagio, but it could be a lot worse. There are slot machines sitting right here in the lobby.

  The desk clerk looks like she’s no older than me. Behind the heavy eye makeup and piercings is a pretty girl. Her brown hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s wearing a skimpy tank and shorts.

  “I need a room,” I demand, staring at her ample chest instead of her eyes. When I finally make it up to her face, she gives me a dirty look.

  “How many nights, asshole?” she asks while rolling her eyes. She acts bored and chooses to take out her life’s frustrations on me. I find it hilarious and decide to mess with her a bit.

  “Do I have to commit to that now?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  She sighs heavily, waits a few seconds and responds with, “We need to have an idea on how many nights the room will be occupied.” At the end of her statement she raises her eyebrows, waiting expectantly for my response.

  “Hmm, so you’re all booked?”

  “No.”

  “And if someone were to come in for a room in the next five minutes or even the next five days, they would have no problem?” She sighs again, not bothering with a response. “What’s your name?”

  “Do you want a room or what?” she counters.

  I lean over the counter until my face is a few inches from hers. The arrogance she was sporting a few seconds ago is now replaced with unease. She clears her throat, but she doesn’t pull away. “I’m staying one night, for now. I like to see how things go…ya’ know?” I offer a hand, adding, “I’m Trey Taylor, the asshole.”

  She drags her eyes away from my face to look at my hand as it hangs waiting for her to accept. Slowly she shakes it and replies, “Missy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Missy,” I respond, giving her my best smile.

  When she releases my hand, she says, “I need a credit card for security.”

  “Don’t have one. I’ll pay cash up front. How much?”

  “Sixty.”

  I hand her the cash, and she gives me a receipt and a key. “Room 310. Enjoy your stay, Trey.”

  “I’ve never been to Vegas. Anything fun to do around here?” I ask in all seriousness, and she laughs at my comment.

  “Nope, it’s boring as fuck.”

  “Maybe you can show me how boring it is?”

  “Are you an axe murderer?”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Do I look like an axe murderer?”

  She measures me up, taking her time to scan my body from head to toe. The way she quir
ks an eyebrow up, and the small smirk on her face causes my cock to twitch, which pisses me off. The anger swelling inside me causes it to grow even more so. I’m fucking turned on.

  “No, you don’t. But you do look like you’re up to no good,” she finally says after her thorough inspection.

  “Well, you have me pegged perfectly then. I’m an asshole that’s up to no good.” She smirks, shaking her head at my asshole-ness. She really is very pretty. I could definitely get into forgetting my life for a while with her…maybe for an hour or so.

  “Come on, show me around. Take pity on a clueless northerner in the City of Sin. Otherwise, I’ll have to brave that jungle alone, and anything can happen to me. I could end up in an illegal gay prostitution ring.”

  “Seriously?”

  “It can happen.”

  The desk phone rings, and she answers it with complete boredom. After a few seconds of monosyllable responses, she hangs up.

  “So? Is that a yes?”

  “Are you still here?”

  “I have no where to be.”

  She gives me yet another sigh and says, “I’m not going out with you.”

  “A cup of coffee. I’ll buy you a muffin. You like muffins? I love them.” I drop my bag and move around the desk. “I also like pie and cake. But muffins are my favorite.”

  “Fine. I get off at ten,” she says, pushing me out of her space. “You’ll get me fired.”

  I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s just about six now. That’s enough time for me to take a nice nap. “You know what room I’m in. See you then.”

  “I’ll be waiting here,” she responds while crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Gotcha,” I concede with a wink. “See ya’ at ten, Missy.”

  I can feel her eyes on me as I walk away. As I get to the elevator, a quick glance over my shoulder confirms my suspicion. She doesn’t get embarrassed when I catch her staring. Instead, she returns her own wink. Things are looking up. I’m in town all of ten minutes, and I already found a hot piece of ass.

  Once in my room, I immediately attempt to get some sleep. My mind is restless, but my body is exhausted. It’s not long before I’m drifting with visions of Taylor beneath me at the creek. It’s a reoccurring dream that I’ll never tire from.

  A knock on the door causes me to sit up abruptly, completely disoriented and dazed. It takes me a few minutes to remember where I am. The clock reads after ten. Fuck, I’ve been asleep for hours. I shuffle to the door and open it to find Missy, arms folded in a defensive stance.

  “Trying to piss me off?”

  “I passed out. I’m sorry.” I move aside to let her in. She waits a few seconds and steps past me.

  “I told a friend what room I’m in and your name, in case I go missing.”

  “Smart girl,” I concede, following her into my room. “I need to shower. Can you sit tight for a few minutes?”

  She sits in a chair in the corner, nodding slowly. “Sure. Make it quick. I’m hungry.”

  I drag my T-shirt off and throw it on the bed. She purses her lips, trying to feign indifference…but her eyes say otherwise. She’s just as affected by me, and I’m planning on using that to my advantage. Little does she know, but Missy has just become my experiment. I’m curious how far she’s willing to go with a perfect stranger. I’m more curious on how far my charm will get me. I’ve never behaved this way. What’s the worst thing that can happen? She slaps my face and then storms out? My money is on the opposite.

  “Be right out,” I say as I unbutton my jeans and lower my zipper. I take a five-minute shower, wrap myself in a towel, and emerge still dripping wet.

  She’s still sitting in the same chair, looking out the window. She turns toward me, and our eyes connect. “You’re very ballsy,” she accuses, never breaking eye contact.

  “My clothes are out here.” I shrug as if it’s a perfectly good explanation for my behavior.

  I move to my bag, pulling out some clean clothes. The towel around my waist shifts slightly, hanging lower on my hips.

  “So, Missy. What do you want to do tonight?” I ask with my back toward her. I remove the towel and let it drop to the floor. I slide on a pair of jeans and turn to see her gawking. She tries to act cool, but I know I’m affecting her. Her legs are crossed. She swings one of them nervously while tapping her fingers at the same time. As I sit on the bed closest to her, her movements stop.

  She’s equal parts feisty and vulnerable. The feistiness she pulls out as a defense mechanism. The vulnerability she can’t control. The more I stare, the more she gets uncomfortable.

  “Where are you from?” she ignores my question and asks one of her own.

  “Seattle,” I lie. “Where are you from?”

  “Vegas.”

  “No one is from Vegas,” I challenge, leaning in even closer. I can smell her perfume. My hair is still dripping wet, and she watches a drop of water slowly travel down my chest before meeting my gaze.

  “Well, I am. Mom and Dad divorced when I was only two. Dad took off and Mom stayed here trying to get discovered while working the swanky lounges. I’m so proud.”

  “Has she?”

  “Has she what?” she asks.

  “Gotten discovered?”

  “We’re still here, aren’t we?”

  “How old are you?”

  “Why?”

  “You’re very defensive. I’m just wondering.”

  She raises her chin a bit and says, “I’m twenty. How old are you?”

  “Same,” I lie once again. It’s amazing how easy they come out. It’s liberating to know I can say whatever I want, and she’ll never be the wiser. I use the lull in conversation to study her slowly, and she shifts uncomfortably under my scrutiny.

  “Are you going to kill me now?” she asks while smirking adorably.

  “No, definitely not. Blood and gore is not my thing. I am trying to figure out how I can kiss you.”

  Her eyes widen, and her leg jiggling starts up again. I reach over and place my hand on her knee to stop her movements. While there I skim her kneecap with my thumb. She lets me. I then stand, reaching for her hand to pull her out of the chair. She lets me. When we are face to face, I place both my hands on her neck and pull her close enough to feel her breath on my lips. I wait a few seconds expecting her to stop me. When she doesn’t move a muscle, and her breath hitches enough to indicate she is turned on, I shift so my first kiss is on the hollow of her neck. I let my lips linger on that spot, not moving them elsewhere.

  Her chest rises and falls with every breath. Her hands find my bare back, and she flexes her fingers into my damp skin. When I pull away to look into her eyes, I simply say, “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For allowing me to kiss you. I’ve wanted to kiss that spot since I first saw you.”

  “And?”

  I lower my hands from her neck, setting them on the curve of her ass. “And…I want more.” I pull her into me, allowing her to feel me. I can also feel her. I can tell she isn’t wearing a bra under this skimpy tank since her nipples are fully erect and fairly visible. Her fingers flex further, and I take her full bottom lip in between mine. She moans as I suck on it before claiming her mouth completely. Uncomfortably, my cock presses against the zipper of my jeans. By merely being a smart ass, she has worked me up to a point of no return. I’m quickly discovering the hornier I get, the more I forget about the dull ache in my chest. I guess it’s a transfer of pain. I, for one, rather it be in my cock than in my heart. Because that pain I know how to quell.

  She’s the first to break the kiss. Stepping back hastily, her legs hit the chair and she falls into it clumsily. When her cheeks tinge from embarrassment, I bite my lip to keep from laughing. This sparks her feistiness.

  “Are you going to feed me or what?” When I smile wide, she pretends to be angry.

  “Sure, give me another minute and we’ll go.”

  I leave her to finish up in the bathroom. Once
I’m fully dressed and ready to go, she stands and moves to the door wordlessly. I move right behind her, invading her personal space. She fumbles with the lock, getting more frustrated. I’m not sure if it’s my proximity or my effect on her. When I place both hands on the door in front of her, caging her in, her hands freeze on the lock.

  From behind, I skim my lips across the back of her neck slowly, until I reach her earlobe. With my lips now directly on her ear, I whisper, “Let me do that.”

  She drops her arms, but not before I notice them riddled with goose bumps. While leaning into her, I unlock the door then step away to allow her to open it. To our left is a wall mirror, and through it I can see her eyes are closed. I’m enjoying her reaction toward me. This is the ultimate human experiment. It’s amazing how trust is so easily handed over to a stranger. I trust no one. I had a difficult upbringing, but from the sounds of things so did she. Why would she trust me? I could easily be an axe murderer. The whole thing fascinates me.

  Missy steps into the hall as I pull my door shut. I grab her hand and ask, “Where to? I’m all yours.”

  “First we eat.”

  Neither of us speak in the elevator or as we walk out of the hotel to the parking lot. She follows my lead until we get to my truck. “Does that thing run?”

  “Sure does.” I unlock her door, waiting for her to climb in. She watches me walk around the front of the truck and get in beside her.

  “There’s a good place a few blocks away.” She directs me to it, and we are seated at a table minutes later.

  “Why are you in Vegas?” she asks the minute the waitress takes our drink order and walks away.

  “Just passing through.”

  “On your way to?” she leaves the question dangling.

  “Not sure. I may head east.” I play with the silverware and add, “Or south.”

  “What are you running from?”

  I level her with my penetrating gaze. “Who says I’m running?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  The waitress returns with our drinks and takes our orders. She leaves us again, and I sit silently watching Missy. “You haven’t answered my question.”