Limelight

by Alyson Santos

  “This is a museum?” I ask. Parker seems damn proud of himself as we climb out of the van. Four hours straight of driving leaves us all stretching our limbs on the parking lot, gazes drifting in evaluation of our latest venue.

  “Do you think it has a dungeon?” Derrick asks.

  “It’s Pennsylvania,” I say.

  “So?”

  “So… never mind.” I turn to Parker instead. “Who’s our contact?”

  “Stella. She said to go in and ask for her at the desk. She’ll show us where to set up.”

  The building doesn’t seem big enough to pay what they are—until we go inside. Far from the undersized rooms of typical historic structures, this one opens into a vast wonderland of medieval fantasy. Giant tapestries hang from a cathedral ceiling and stained glass spreads up most of the eastern wall. I’d give up my Les Paul to see a sunrise in this place.

  “Pretty sweet,” Parker says, tone reverent as he pulls up beside me.

  “It’s incredible.” I know my wide eyes probably make me look five years younger, but this is—

  “Dude, swords! Let’s go fight some dragons and shit.” Derrick.

  I send a glare toward the anachronism. “I don’t think they want us touching their exhibits.”

  “We need to set up anyway,” Parker adds. “I’m going to find Stella.”

  Which leaves me free to explore.

  Paintings, weapons, furniture, clothing. This place is designed to fill a cosplay cult’s wet dream. Hell, I’d participate just to rock one of those suits of armor.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  I flinch at the interruption by a gorgeous redhead.

  “Jesse, right?”

  “Hey.”

  “I’m Stella.” She’s wearing a tight black top and ripped jeans to go with a smolder that wreaks havoc on a guy’s dick.

  “You work here?”

  “I do. Not what you were expecting?”

  I can’t help but smile at that—and the way each of her curves competes for my attention. The fire in my groin wants all of them.

  At least my head remembers previous business. “The guys are looking for you so we can set up.”

  “They already found me. Now they’re looking for you.”

  “They’ll manage.” I turn back to the armor I’d been admiring. She moves close enough to cement herself in my awareness. God, she smells good. “Do you think this getup would rust in the rain? You know tinman in the Wizard of Oz style?” My voice is intimate, like we’ve had lots of conversations like this.

  She squints at the intricate clasps connecting the metal suit. “Certainly would take some of the magic out of the joust if it did.”

  “I bet this thing weighs a ton.”

  “You could handle it. I watched you unload your trailer and carry your equipment.”

  Damn. No chance she’s the groupie-type, but the way her stare travels over my body…

  “Yeah, we’ve been doing this for a long time.”

  “How long?”

  “Depends. Technically, six years.”

  I’m not sure why she seems surprised by that. “Really? You look young.”

  Are we doing this? Right here in front of the ghost of a 14th century knight?

  “Well, with the start Parker and I had, it was either music or prison by the time I was seventeen. We decided to go for it. We had nothing to lose.”

  “You started your band at seventeen?”

  I shoot another quick glance. She’s hanging on strong to these disclosures. Tight, like that thin piece of fabric clinging to her incredible chest. I’m not used to interest in the non-rocker part of me.

  “No, that’s when we started touring and trying to make it. We started the band when I was fifteen. Parker was out of the foster system by then, and I moved in with him.”

  “Foster system?”

  Tinman is as confused as I am about why my story is exploding out to this woman. “Anyway, I need to go check in with the guys and help set up. It was good to see you.”

  “Mind if I tag along?”

  I don’t actually have an answer to that, a fact Derrick makes irrelevant.

  “Hey! …you. You’re the girl.”

  “Or Stella. Whatever,” she says, holding out her hand.

  Derrick kisses it. Inspired by the surroundings, I guess? “It’s a pleasure, my lady.” Yep.

  “Are they ready for us?” I interrupt, because what the hell?

  Derrick’s little jig is just as confusing. “Reece, Parker, and Jay are still unloading. They sent me to find you. Dude, did you see the chamber pot collection? So sick!”

  There’s a lot more information to be known about the chamber pots as we make our way back to the great room, and Derrick doesn’t hold back. Stella and I exchange a commiserating look when he finally gets distracted by our gear—which also requires the museum jig, apparently.

  She studies his animated movements. “Wow. He’s…”

  “A lot.”

  She snickers. “I should check on everything and make sure we’re on schedule. I wasn’t involved with hospitality for this event, but let me know if you’re missing anything.”

  “You mean free parking? That’s about the only rider we can get through since our epic collapse.”

  Her gaze settles on me. “What do you mean?”

  I thought that was pretty self-explanatory. “I mean, since our label dropped us we have no leverage. We’re back to where we were five years ago.”

  “Oh? Your brother didn’t mention any of that when we confirmed last week.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s Parker.”

  “In what way?”

  “He still believes in shit.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “Nah. Music is in my blood. I play it because I have to. The rest is bull.” The way she’s considering my words—so confusing. “Hey—”

  “Yo, Jess! You helping or what?” Parker shouts over to me. “T and A is for later, dude!”

  “Nice, Park. Sorry,” I say to Stella whose furrowed brow has smoothed into a grin.

  “I’ll go check with catering to make sure your water bottles and pretzels are ready.”

  I laugh. “Thanks.” Our gazes linger through a smile that suggests this conversation just started.

  ∞∞∞

  The house is packed. I expect the crowd to be stuffy socialites putting their trust funds to benevolent use, but there’s actually a good mix. A few guests hover around the perimeter cocktail tables, while the rest gather in anticipation of the eruption about to come from our makeshift stage. With Jay running sound they’re sure to be transported to a new dimension. Stella is off to the side, shooting me knowing smiles that scream, “I’m special in this crowd.” She’s not wrong.

  Derrick counts us off, and it’s through the pulse of our opening intro that I croon a greeting to the room. The crowd roars in response and the volume stays hot. This is just how I like it. Loud, passionate chaos that fills voids and erases history.

  I dig hard into “Candlelight,” a classic that never fails to draw a response. At the second pre-chorus, I shove the guitar around to my back and yank the mic off the stand. The crowd tenses in anticipation at the build, and I play it up for the ultimate eruption into the chorus.

  Derrick hits the downbeat and…

  Wham!

  Bodies jumping, baseline raging, Derrick slamming toms, cymbals, snares, and kicks. Yeah, we’re epic again. I hold the mic over the crowd and our music explodes from the impromptu fan choir on the floor into the rafters high above our heads. I pull the monitor out of my left ear so I can disappear into the echo I’d typically despise. This place is a nightmare for acoustics but it feels like magic. It’s here that I can let go. Forget I’m not good enough and actually believe my soul is locked in the right place at the right time. I’m safe. Real. Past, present, and future connect in one euphoric moment where the universe makes sense. That’s “music” to an unwanted Philly boy who’s n
ever had anything else.

  The music comes first.

  I pull the mic back, singing, screaming, pouring my soul out for myself as much as these paying witnesses. It’s obstinate, and beautiful, and glorious, and then it ends. The encore fades out, the lights come up, and suddenly you’re just a Philly boy standing in a crowd of strangers.

  My smile is trained for this moment. Adoration is a gateway drug. Once you taste it, the music stops coming first. Adoration comes first. And when it’s sucked away—

  Crash.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I rip my fake smile from the current face and shove it toward the new one. It falters at Stella’s searching gaze. Why isn’t she smiling? This is the part of the night where everyone smiles.

  “Fine, why?”

  “Jesse Everett! Omigod!” A troop of fangirls shoves its way between us, pens and flyers waving.

  “We love you!”

  “You were amazing.”

  “Will you sign this?”

  Will you?

  Will you?

  Smile. Smile. Smile.

  “Thanks,” I say through auto-scribbles. The squeals continue after I shift my fake smile to the next in line. This smile gets me an invitation to go out and a request for a photo. I’m game for the photo. Then the next. And the next.

  Stella’s attention is palpable through the groupie barricade separating us, and it’s getting harder to maintain The Smile. I don’t like that she sees through it. My gaze keeps finding its way to her against my will, each time helping the hypocrite inside claw its way to my face. I block her to preserve the Smile Session.

  It feels like hours before we’re finally free to retreat to the space converted to a green room. The remaining fans groan as we wave goodbye, but there’s only one way to empty a venue like this. I let Stella follow us back.

  “Hey.” She grabs my arm before we reach the others. They’re already laughing and attacking the beer inside.

  I turn, but she doesn’t speak. Instead, it’s those eyes again, looking for something. Saying something I interpret but don’t want to accept.

  “Have fun?” I ask.

  My deflection doesn’t work, and the fingers on my arm slide down to lace with mine.

  “You’re complicated,” she says.

  I swallow the lump of truth knotting in my throat. “Aren’t most musicians?”

  Her hand tightens in response. The other finds my face and directs me toward her. “No,” she whispers, painted nail tracing my jaw. Her gaze locks on my lips; mouthwatering curves press me into submission. I’m all about museums.

  ∞∞∞

  We barely make it to a vacant room before I have her shoved against the door. Her top peels off to expose the most incredible gems swelling from dark gray lace. She moans as I work my way down her neck and free them.

  “You too,” she says, fists crushing my shirt. I help her drag it over my head, and she smooths the hair from my eyes. It’s a second that takes days, weeks, as unspoken messages pass between us.

  I lean in and brush my lips on hers. “Is this really what you want?”

  “You?”

  “In a storage closet?”

  “I’d take you in a bathroom right now,” she murmurs.

  I’m on fire, harder than I’ve been in a long time. “You taste so good, baby.” She does. Raspberries. Intense, dark red, and I’m dying to know what I’ll find beneath those tight jeans.

  “You were amazing,” she says.

  “Mmmhmm.” Her skin, her hair, her mouth. I want it all. I drop down, sliding my hands along firm thighs, and unhook a clasp.

  “I mean it, Jesse. Something happens to you when you perform. You transcend.” She grips my hair and tilts my head back so I absorb her words.

  “I told you. Music is all I have. It’s what I am.”

  “I believe you.”

  Her gaze falls to her fingers absently tugging a lock of my hair. “You make people feel. Things they’re not supposed to.”

  Concerned, I straighten and tip her chin up. “Hey, you okay?”

  She bites her lip. Sucks in a breath. There’s a gloss in her eyes that shouldn’t be there. Not in a moment when we’re supposed to be flushed with need.

  Her head moves in the wrong direction for this scenario.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  “Sorry for what?”

  Her lashes squeeze shut. “This. I can’t… You’re just so… Ah!”

  She slips from my arms, turns away.

  “Stella.” I pull her around and brush her wet cheek with my thumb. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m so sorry! I… I’m seeing someone.”

  Oh god.

  “I have to go!” The words stumble out as she pulls open the door.

  “Wait!”

  But she’s already halfway down the hall.

  “Dammit!” I punch the door in frustration.

  ∞∞∞

  I find a lingering groupie to finish what Stella started. I’m polite and attentive, but yeah, it’s just a Smile Session for my dick. She doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn’t seem interested in anything except discussing how hot I am and how much she disagrees with Mila Taylor.

  I close my eyes when she finally commits and stops talking. Except now it’s Mila Taylor in my brain as this girl rewards me for being so so hot. I let her enjoy her fifteen with a rock star. Hell, I even return the favor a few times because I’m not a total asshole.

  Her name is K-something. She works retail. She says a lot of other things I miss while we’re cleaning up and I’m consumed by thoughts of Stella and Mila.

  “Want a drink?” I ask. Again, polite.

  “Wow! Seriously?”

  I’m not sure what she thinks I meant by that, but it’s clearly not what I’m offering. “Sure. I have some things I need to finish up, but you can chill in the green room if you want.”

  “Ahhh!”

  I force a half-smile and lead her to the promised land. She becomes Parker’s problem when I toss him an apologetic look and duck back out of the room.

  My phone buzzes and I glance down to find an e-mail. A hurricane rips through my veins at the name, and I draw in a deep breath.

  Hiya BP,

  I’ve not heard much from you, I was getting worried. Just wondering if you’ll send me a pic of you in your new uniform.

  Ta.

  MT

  *

  I’m starting to think that’s not really the pic you want.

  J

  7: TRAITORS

  “What do you think of a beach tour?”

  This must be today’s random Tuesday morning topic brought to you by Parker Everett. Derrick is crunching down the biggest bowl of children’s cereal I’ve ever seen; Reece is changing his strings.

  “A beach tour? Is that a thing?” I ask, dumping coffee down my throat like it’s my new job. Heh, Mila’s got me planning now. Jesse Everett: Barista.

  “You know what I mean. We line up a bunch of clubs and bars down the coast and—”

  “It’s January.” Minor detail, apparently.

  Parker grunts. “Do you have a better idea?”

  “Sure. How about anything that doesn’t include the beach in the dead of winter?”

  Eye-roll from Parker. Clearly, I’m not seeing his vision. “I’m not talking about Wildwood, obviously. But what if we go down south?”

  “Oh right, because the retirees totally dig our music.” I earn a flat-out eye-dart for that one.

  “I’m trying here, Jess. We need something.”

  “What about a ski lodge tour? Or maybe we could open for Santa.”

  Derrick snorts through his fruity crap and shrugs when Parker turns the glare on him. “What? A sleigh tour would be sweet. I bet even Reece would get laid.”

  “Shut up,” Reece barks from the couch. “I have a girlfriend.”

  “Oh right. Gina.” Derrick sings her name like he’s suddenly an opera house baritone.

>   Reece’s face scrunches into defensive mode, a common reaction when this mysterious girlfriend we’ve never met comes up. I’m with Derrick. Gina is imaginary. Or a dude he met on the internet.

  “What about a Caribbean tour?” Reece suggests. I guess throwing out stupid ideas beats defending Gina.

  “Way too expensive,” I say.

  “We could just sit around the house like losers for the rest of our lives,” Parker mutters.

  I pour another cup. “Now you’re thinking practically. I like it.”

  Parker doesn’t and shuts his laptop. “Jess, we need to call Jonas.”

  My blood pressure instinctively climbs through my body. “Hilarious.”

  “I’m serious.”

  I snap my gaze to his and meet stony resolve.

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  “What choice do we have?” Desperation is not a good look on Parker—especially when it involves the man who donated his sperm to our existence.

  “Okay, I’m out. Catch you later.” Derrick practically throws his bowl in the sink as he flees to anywhere else. Reece turns up the TV in the next room.

  “Have you lost your mind?” I ask the remaining bandmate. My limbs suddenly feel so stiff I have to lean against the counter for support.

  “He knows people, Jess.”

  “Yeah? So do we.”

  “He got us the deal with SauerStreet.”

  Parker could have just punched me in the stomach. That would’ve been way more pleasant. “That’s your argument?”

  He sighs, big-brother-style. “No, sorry. What you did for us—the band—it was epic, and he… It pissed me off too, but, dude, this is different. He’s different, and we need another push.”

  “Not from him.”

  “He wants to make things right.”

  My spine straightens into a steel rod, blood pounding through my head and driving furious eye-bullets toward my brother. “Are you kidding me? You must be fucking kidding me right now.”

  “Jess, it’s been a couple years. He’s—”

  “Wait, have you been seeing him?” My voice is a growl now, my hands shaking. He’s not looking at me which makes my stomach churn. I’m not a volatile person. You have to care about shit to get angry, but right now. Yeah, this might be the one thing I care about.

  I shove away from the counter. “Fuck you, Parker.”