by Karen Booth
She started back and I had to rush to catch up to her. It was clear her mind was on work and not on that kiss, or me, or the fact that I'd essentially asked her to marry me. Had the kiss only been nice? She'd seemed like the old Angie when we’d kissed, as passionate as I'd remembered, but perhaps she'd been putting on her own sort of show, all to get me to back off.
We strolled back to the Banks trailer and climbed the stairs inside. The guys were all sitting around, Chris playing guitar, Terence playing cards with Reggie. Nigel was talking to one of our techs about why he'd been unable to hunt down the bass strings he preferred. Angie loaded her camera with a new roll of film and went to work. On the surface, everything was just fine. Inside, I was dying a slow death, and I couldn't let on. Not only did it seem unlikely that Angie and I would get back together, she didn't seem the slightest bit upset by the prospect.
Chapter Eight
Angie
After several unfortunately dull hours backstage, during which I berated myself for kissing Graham, Reggie showed me to my place to watch the Banks set, up on the stage but off to the side in the wings. "You have everything you need, dear?"
I nodded. "I do."
"Good. Graham asked about you. He wanted to make sure you were okay. I'm not sure what you two talked about earlier, but it seems to be weighing on him. I hope everything is good between you two. Just tell me if he's being a prat and I'll get Chris to deal with him."
"No. It's fine. We're fine. Just a long overdue conversation." And an almost-sorta proposal of marriage. And a kiss that I really wish I could forget.
It was honestly the most bizarre talk I'd ever had with Graham and we'd been known to talk about some weird things. Maybe it was because it was the last thing I'd expected would happen during this trip. I'd spent the time since I got this assignment practicing what I would say if Graham had a new girlfriend or female companion. I'd just assumed that he would. It hadn't occurred to me that he might still care. Was he just lonely? Tired after months of touring? Perhaps he was at sixes and sevens, made crazy by months of being on the road. I thought about you every day. That seemed like a line. The only trouble was that Graham was not the sort of guy to deliver a line.
Bloody hell. Why in the world did I kiss him? I'd known it was stupid as soon as I agreed to it, but I was too tempted by his lips, and the fact that we'd been alone.
At least I finally had a moment to gather myself. Granted it was in close proximity to thousands of Banks Forest fans, but I'd take what I could get. I had credentials for the photographer's pit in front of the stage, but Chris and Graham had begged me not to take pictures from down there. It was too dangerous, they'd said. Security would be busy pulling fans out of the crowd, sometimes administering first aid. It remained to be seen whether it would become mayhem, but from the looks of the restless masses, chaos not only seemed possible, it seemed likely.
By all accounts, Swash and Buckle had done a good job warming up the crowd, although I'd only seen the last song of their set. Ridley winked at me when he walked off stage and saw me, and was sure to say that he planned to find me later in the evening. I'd told him not to bother, but yeah…Ridley wasn't good at following instructions.
As the sun started to fade and the anticipation for Banks Forest grew by the minute, the fans pressed ahead, doing anything they could to get closer to the stage. The thick wooden barricade separating them from the stage bowed and even made a few loud cracks, threatening to break. Security guards stood behind it, begging people to move back, cooling them off with water from spray bottles. It didn't seem to help much.
A recording of the instrumental version of Living In Infamy started over the loudspeakers, very quietly at first, almost imperceptible, except that I'd always be able to pick out that song after only a few notes. Christopher's winding and eerie guitar line was enough to give me goose bumps. I'd been there the day he and Graham had written that song—at the bachelor flat, in the lounge. I'd taken a few pictures that day, a portent of things to come.
I stepped around to the other side of the soundboard to get a better view of the crowd. I crouched down and got some great pictures of sweaty giddy girls, exactly the sort of thing my dad would've caught. It would remain to be seen whether the final photographic product would be any good, but for now, I was pleased. As the music became louder, announcing the impending arrival of Banks Forest, the crowd grew fitful. Girls raised banners made from bedsheets into the air, clusters of fans jumped up and down, people pushed harder against the front barricade, and then there was the screaming. Always the screaming.
Terence was the first one out and the crowd exploded with cheers. In artfully ripped up black jeans and a black T-shirt, he ambled back behind his kit and thumped the bass drum several times. Nigel came next in red leather pants and a flowing white shirt, waving to the masses and cuing a peal of screams as he picked up his bass. I was waiting for the other two when there was a hand at my elbow. Graham. He smiled and leaned closer to my ear, his breath warming my skin. "Don't get so wrapped up in taking pictures that you don't listen closely, okay?"
"Yeah. Of course."
"Good. It's important." He smiled, kissed my cheek, and joined Chris so they could walk out on the stage together.
As if I wouldn't pay attention. Of course I was going to listen closely. I wasn't about to miss a single minute of this.
The electricity in the air made it difficult to stand still. It was as if everyone was about to burst. That had to mean all hell would break loose as soon as they started to play. I might have seen this band hundreds of times, and it had always been exciting, but I'd never seen them like this. Never before this many people, never with this kind of anticipation. Graham was looking a little too spectacular in a pair of high-waisted black pants and a white T-shirt with the arms cut off. Graham had always been in great shape, but his biceps were more defined and his chest more built than the last time since I’d seen him. Perhaps he’d been lifting weights on off days or it was just from hours of intense performing every night. I’d never thought of myself as a girl who cared at all about muscles, but on Graham, they were dead sexy.
He stepped to the microphone and yet another wave of crowd noise came rushing at us. It was thrilling and overwhelming at the same time.
Christopher looked down at the floor as he silently tuned his shiny black guitar. Another of his girl-killing smiles spread across his face when Graham spoke.
"Is everybody ready for a party?" Ever the showman, he solicited a reply with a dramatic sweep of his arms.
The audience roared back at him. Yes!
Oh, they were ready.
"That won't bloody do," Graham said, always wanting more of everything. He plucked the microphone from the stand and traipsed to the very front of the stage. A flurry of arms and hands waved below him. He feigned a serious look. I could tell he was trying not to smile, not wanting his face to betray how much he loved every minute in the spotlight. "I want to really hear you this time. Are you ready for a party?"
The crowd was not about to let Graham down. They thundered back at him in near-perfect unison. Yes!
"Right then. That's more like it. Let's do this." He turned and in an instant, the drum intro to What Do I Say? started.
The only thing that kept me calm, let alone able to breathe, was the fact that there were so many amazing moments to capture on film. The camera kept my field of vision narrow and occupied. I caught Graham and Chris singing into the same microphone, smiling at each other like the lifelong friends they were. I snapped shots of Terence effortlessly twirling his drumsticks, never missing a beat, then pounding the crap out of those drums. Nigel was a different guy on stage, a fact I'd forgotten until I watched him through the lens. He was a really good looking guy, but the sex-appeal just gushed out of him when he was performing. Judging by the dozen of girls with their eyes glued to him, I wasn't the only one who thought so. Chris, of course, had a ridiculous amount of female attention, including from one girl who was
holding up a pair of pink knickers from her spot in the front-row.
And then there was Graham. It would be nearly impossible to put into words what he was like now. He'd always been confident on stage, but this was a different universe. He was bloody invincible. I was sure he could've lifted a car over his head or made the crowd float in mid-air if he'd wanted to. Everything about him on stage was that magical. He was a jubilant kid, jumping about, belting out his clever lyrics, dancing and spinning as if he'd never stop. He managed to mesmerize an entire army of girls. They gazed at him in utter adoration, as if he were a god to be worshipped. Oddly enough, in a setting where the girl fans were unavoidable, I didn’t feel my usual pangs of jealousy. It was easy to feel pretty damned special standing where I was.
After about ten songs, the stage lights dimmed. The sun was nearly set now, cooling off the night air slightly, although it was still warm and sticky. "We're going to play a very special song next. It's a new one and we haven't played it for anyone yet, so this will be the world premiere. I hope that's okay with all of you."
An ear-splitting noise rang out from the crowd.
"Sounds like they'd like to hear it," Christopher quipped into the mic.
"Wonderful. You see, this song is about a dear friend of the band and a girl who's very special to me, Ms. Angie Dawson."
My heart stopped in my chest. There were a few lines of Banks Forest lyrics about me, but an entire song? It’s new? How new? I watched as Graham paced on the stage, looking down at the floor. My pulse sprang back to life, but it was even more frantic than it had been when the band hard first started playing. I would’ve paid anything to know what Graham was about to sing.
"She's known us for a long time and well, let's just say that she's seen all of us at our best and our worst. Especially me. I hope you like it. This song is called A Lifetime."
The music started and I couldn't have been any more swept away if I'd tried. They'd never recorded many proper ballads, but this one absolutely was, a song to slow dance to and hold on to a guy and just melt into him, never let him go. Graham had been that guy. Was he meant to be again? The song was airy and dreamy, painting the most beautiful picture of sand and sea and breezes, of missing someone so much you feel like you want to die. Was that how he’d felt when we were apart? The lyrics seemed to suggest he did. I couldn't catch every word, but there were unmistakable strings that became imprinted on my brain as soon as I heard them. The one that really got to me was…I'd wait a lifetime for you to bring me home. I felt the heartache in every syllable and it made me fully realize just how much he’d been hurting while we were apart.
Hundreds of people in the audience held their lighters high, swaying back and forth, the flames twinkling like stars on a cloudless night. Graham belted out his unbelievably beautiful song in spectacular fashion, lit from above by a blue spotlight, the black evening sky behind him. It was hard to believe that he'd ever wanted me, just a regular girl from Stourbridge. He was meant for so much in this world. Was I meant to be part of that? I wanted to think I was, at that moment when everything felt oddly perfect even though so much was undecided. Everything I'd worked so hard on while we were apart was starting to feel like time and effort wasted.
The band played three more songs, then took their final bows at ten o'clock, the festival's curfew. Sweaty and worn out, but clearly jubilant, all four guys walked up to me on their way off the stage—Terence smiled and patted me on the shoulder. Nigel gave me a quick hug. Chris winked at me.
Graham was last, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with a white towel. "I'd give you a kiss on the cheek if I wasn't so sweaty."
"It was so amazing." I struggled to find more words, flat-out dumbstruck by the epic declaration of love. The set. The song. "Graham. I can't even believe the song. It's so beautiful. I loved it."
He smiled, his eyes warm and sweet, making me want to collapse against his very sweaty chest. "That's all that matters." Roadies began moving equipment around us, making it clear that we were in the way. "Come on, Ang. Let's go catch up with the rest of the guys." Graham took my hand and it felt differently than it had a few short hours ago. It felt right.
Chapter Nine
Graham
"Bloody hell, Reg. Who let Ridley into our trailer? Doesn't he have his own area of Philadelphia to ruin?"
"Terence invited him. I guess the two of them are talking about writing a song together."
I shook my head. Thank goodness we were getting ready to go on break. If Terence was going to collaborate with Ridley Archer, I was going to have a hard time keeping my opinion to myself. "Now I've heard it all."
A loud pop came from across the room, followed by a splash. Chris hopped back as the champagne he'd opened bubbled out of the bottle and onto the floor. "Grab a glass, everyone. I'd like to toast to the end of this tour. Last show for an entire month. That's a big deal."
Angie poked her head up from the corner where she'd been loading her camera. I waved her over as her friend Gigi stepped out of the dressing room loo and settled in on the couch next to Terence.
"So? I want to hear what you thought of the set. You haven't seen us play in a year," I said to Angie. I'd left it open-ended. I really wanted to know what she'd thought about A Lifetime, and I wanted a review that was better than the one she’d given of our kiss.
"The show was unbelievable." She nodded enthusiastically, her blue eyes gleaming at me. "I didn't really think you guys could get any better as a unit, but you absolutely have. Who would've thought you lot would become a proper rock band? Hell, practically the biggest rock band on the planet." She elbowed me in the stomach, her shoulder meeting my chest.
I put my arm around her and kissed the top of her head, breathing in the sweet smell of her silky hair. I was desperate to keep her against me, fold her into an embrace that never ended. Everything I'd ever wanted from my career was mine, now to bring things with Angie full circle. Tonight. I had to make it happen tonight. "And you liked the new song? The song I wrote for you?"
Her eyes misted, exactly the reaction I'd hoped for. "I still can't believe you did that."
"Of course I did. I love you."
"It might be the most beautiful song you've ever written." She looked up at me as if she was in awe of the achievement, but I was the one grappling with the things she was capable of—being so strong and giving, so pure of heart.
"It's not as beautiful as you, but I think we got pretty damn close."
She smiled sweetly and settled her head against my chest. "Well, thank you. I love it."
Reggie walked up to us, handing Angie and I each a plastic cup of champagne. "Time for a toast. Graham, I think you should do it."
As I collected my thoughts, looking around the room, I couldn't have choked back the emotion if I'd wanted to. With the exception of Ridley, I love every person in this room. We'd been through so much together, achieving so many of our dreams in a ridiculously short amount of time. There had to be one in a million odds on what had happened to us, and there was still so much more ahead. Some days, it almost didn't feel real, but standing in a dingy trailer in Philadelphia, worn out from one of the best sets of the tour, with Angie by my side, this felt better than real. It felt as if everything had fallen into place. "I just want to say that I love you all like brothers. We've worked really hard, we deserve everything that's happened, and there's no one else I'd rather be in a band with." I raised my glass. "To Banks Forest and whatever the future holds."
"Hear, hear," Chris said.
Everyone followed his lead and raised their glasses, except for Ridley, who simply knocked back his drink.
"Let's sit," I said to Angie. "I'm beyond knackered."
"I should really be taking pictures. At least for a little while. But I'll have another glass of champagne." She handed me her glass. The devilish smile that crossed her face as she slipped the camera strap around her neck had everything in me feeling tight again. Wonderfully tight.
"Don't yo
u think it's time to clock out?" I refilled her cup and I wasn't the least bit shy about it. "Plus, the guys deserve some time to unwind. It's been a really long tour."
"Fifteen minutes and I'll put the camera away?"
"Fifteen minutes, huh? I'm sending Chris after you if you don't stop."
Chris was standing over at the catering table, popping peanut M&Ms into his mouth. "What? Did I miss something?"
Angie and I laughed, eyes meeting, electric glances connecting. That was the moment when I finally knew for certain that I had a fighting chance. I'd always loved the inside jokes that she and I shared, the way we could amuse each other without trying.
She flitted around the room, taking pictures of everyone and everything, the constant observer. Chris was playing DJ, or as close as he could come to it with no real stereo system at his disposal, flipping cassettes in a boom box. He put on some Bowie, the Let's Dance album, one of my absolute favorites.
"I love the production on this record." I sat back and watched Angie as she worked while downing champagne in earnest. "It's a beautiful thing." But the truly beautiful thing was Angie. Everything about her was utterly fascinating to me, even after knowing her for years—the way she moved, the expressions that crossed her face, the clever or insightful things she'd say. That fascination was part of the reason I knew we belonged together for the long haul. We would never bore each other. Ever.
She finished off another glass of champagne and Ridley Archer managed to engage her in conversation. "I hope you'll send me copies of the ones you take of me. I'd love to see more of your work."
"Oh. Um. Okay."
What a wanker. I had to put a quick end to that. Just hearing him speak to her was enough to make me mad. "It's been fourteen minutes, Ang. Time to put the camera away."
